Chapter Text
For such a boring Friday, it was to be expected that the Department would be almost empty. Most of my colleagues had already finished their shifts, and I was still stuck at my desk.
What a shitty Friday.
Only dim lights and the distant echo of the parchment I used moving on its own remained.
I was finishing a report when I felt the door burst open. I didn't need to look up to know who the interruption was.
"How can I help you, Auror Malfoy?"
"Auror Malfoy? Are you kidding? Relax a little, Potter," he said lightly.
I looked up and didn't see him looking relaxed at all. On the contrary, he wasn't as impeccably dressed as usual. This time he seemed very tense.
"What brings you here, Draco?"
He didn't answer right away. I saw him sigh and fix his gaze on me. Gris and Esmeralda stared at each other for a few seconds that felt like hours. I found the way he looked at me mesmerizing, as if he wanted to do something. And it seemed neither of them wanted to give in, but I asked again without taking my eyes off him.
"Draco?"
"Are you having fun?" he asked immediately.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you having fun playing the charming game with Zabini?"
Oh shit, here we go again.
Harry placed his hands on the desk with exaggerated calm.
“I didn’t know I needed your approval to talk to whomever I want.”
Draco took a step forward. “You don’t.”
“Then this charade is pointless.”
He was silent for a few seconds, the air seeming to tighten around us.
“Stop it,” Draco finally said.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Do what exactly?”
“That.” He gestured vaguely with his hand toward me.
“Looking at him like that. Provoking him like you do to me, testing his reaction.”
“What if I like him?”
Draco strode across the office until he was right in front of my face. I barely had time to react before I was trapped between him and the desk.
A pale hand grabbed my robes and pulled him closer. “Don’t play games with me, Potter.” His voice changed drastically; he stopped trying to be elegant.
"Are you jealous?" I whispered very close to his face.
Silence.
A muscle in Draco's cheek tensed. "No."
"You're a terrible liar when you're angry, darling."
That broke him.
"You called him that too, didn't you?" Draco spat.
I held his gaze. "Does it bother you, darling?"
Draco abruptly released him and stepped back. He ran a hand through his hair, making a half-hearted attempt to compose himself. "You have no idea what you're doing."
"Enlighten me."
Draco looked at him with an expression that was meant to be unreadable, but which I already knew.
Istood up and faced him. He moved closer again, but more slowly this time. "I don't like being replaced."
"I'm not replacing you."
"You're trying, obviously."
I chuckled softly. "Since when am I still yours for that to be possible?"
There was another silence.
And that was the exact moment where everything could have stopped.
Draco took hold of the collar of his robes to pull him closer. Too close. "You're not mine, not yet," he murmured slowly. "But you're not his either, let that sink in, Potter."
The world seemed to shrink to the space between our breaths.
I didn't back away. Instead, I asked him, "Then why are you so upset, Dragon?"
Draco's gaze flickered. I had touched a nerve. I thought it wouldn't affect him anymore, but apparently not.
"It doesn't upset me at all, because I know that despite the time that has passed, you will always be mine."
Oh…
I barely smiled.
“Then… maybe you should give Zabini some credit too,” I joked.
Final blow.
Draco lost the last vestige of composure he had and pressed his lips to mine in a kiss that quickly turned possessive. A constant struggle for dominance, neither willing to yield.
When they separated just to breathe, Draco looked at me for a few seconds, his once gray eyes turning a deep black, and before I could say anything, he attacked me again, as if moving even an inch away was unbearable.
The height difference was minimal, but enough to slowly give way, and Draco seemed to notice.
The kiss became urgent, almost desperate, as if every second apart had been building up until that moment. His pale hands went to tighten around my waist, and i possessively wrapped my arms around his neck.
Draco kissed him as if he wanted to mark him, and though he hated to admit it, his body reacted the same as before.
And it lasted exactly long enough to send the message.
When they broke apart, Draco was breathing harder than he'd ever admit. "Stop teasing me," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
"Make me want to stop," I whispered back.
Draco took a step back, piecing his mask back together. "You're insufferable."
"I know."
It was one last heavy look, and then Draco opened the door and walked out as if nothing had happened.
Harry stood there, grinning.
Some things never change, it seems...
...
The door closed behind Draco Malfoy with a calmness that belied the chaos in his head.
He didn't walk away with the same confidence he'd shown when he left; rather, he practically fled.
The corridor was empty, the magical torches casting long shadows on the Ministry walls.
He took a breath, then two.. Nothing helped.
He'd lost control in front of Potter, again.
Damn Potter.
He brought a hand to his face, closing his eyes.
He'd been impulsive, everything he'd sworn he'd never be again.
And the worst part wasn't the kiss, it was Harry's response. He didn't back down, he wasn't surprised, and he didn't push him away.
He looked at him as if he'd known exactly what he was doing from the start. Draco clenched his jaw; he'd fallen right into the trap.
Then that damned name came back to him.
Blaise Zabini, A.K.A Judas.
The way Potter leaned toward him, the low chuckle, the unnecessarily close contact. It wasn't flirting; it was that Potter knew Draco was watching. And he watched anyway. "Idiot..." he muttered to himself.
He reached his office and closed the door harder than necessary. He leaned against it and thought: He was supposed to have learned everything from his mistakes after the war, after losing everything. After rebuilding his family name with blood, sweat, and tears, he shouldn't need anything. Least of all Harry, but he did. And that was intolerable.
He walked to his desk, trying to regain his composure. He picked up a report, not reading a single word. Because all he could think about was the exact moment when he said:
"...Make him want to stop."
He slumped into his chair, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, now slightly disheveled. He rested his head on his arm, and just as he was about to close his eyes, a soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Malfoy?" The voice was familiar.
Blaise Zabini. Perfect. Right on time.
"Come in," Draco replied, his mask now on.
Zabini entered with that nonchalant elegance that was so irritating. "You look... uneasy."
"I'm working."
Zabini glanced at the desk with a single file on it. "Sure..."
He trailed off, then blurted out, "Did you know Potter's trying to provoke you?"
Draco looked at him with calculated coldness. "Potter tries a lot of things."
Zabini barely smiled. "You don't like me getting close to him."
It wasn't a question.
Draco held his gaze. "I don't like you using him for your amusement."
"Oh," Zabini tilted his head. "What if I'm not the one having the amusement?"
That hit harder than Draco expected.
"Be careful, Zabini."
"Is that a warning?"
"It's advice."
Zabini took a step back, studying him. "Interesting."
He headed for the door, but before leaving he added: "You should decide soon whether you're going to keep acting like you don't care... or whether you're finally going to admit that you do."
The door closed and Draco stood frozen. Because the truth was brutally simple: It wasn't Zabini who bothered him, it was that Potter could choose and wasn't choosing him.
For the first time in years… Draco Malfoy didn't feel in control of his life.
And it was destroying him.