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The rest of the Auror trainees had already filtered out of the room - some headed straight home and some headed towards the Leaky Cauldron together. With the final field exams coming up, Instructor Jameson was working them overtime to make sure they were fighting fit. Training had been particularly grueling that day, filling up their entire afternoon with duels and combat drills, which more often than not, involved physical sparring.
Ron Weasley rotated a sore shoulder with a grimace. He had half a mind to join the others at the Leaky were it not for Hermione waiting at home with Rose. That reminded him - he was meant to ask Harry over for tea on Sunday. He stopped, then, finally noticing the glaring absence of his best friend and his assigned training partner, which didn’t bode well at all. He glanced back towards the showers warily, tightened his jaw, and snuck in beneath the echoing sounds of running water and hushed, biting words he couldn’t quite make out.
It wasn’t the first time he’d caught them in the middle of a heated argument.
It wasn’t even the first time of the day.
But it was the first time he’d found them going at it when they thought they were alone.
He knew that Harry could handle Malfoy by himself, and he knew his friend wanted him to stay well out of it - he’d said (shouted, actually) as much the last time he’d tried to come to his defense. It wasn’t that he thought Malfoy was dangerous anymore, either; it was just old habits, he guessed. And he couldn’t just leave Harry alone with the git, could he? He darted behind a row of lockers where he could hide and listen, drawing his wand just in case Harry did actually need his help this time.
The two men were still arguing in low tones, voices overlapping and muted until the shower suddenly stopped and a curtain was torn open, metal rattling against metal. The silence was deafening and went on a little too long. Ron held his breath and waited for the inevitable explosion.
Harry was the first to speak. “You know it’s true.”
“You’ve got to be joking.” Malfoy bit back, his voice tight.
“I kicked your arse, Malfoy. Just admit it.” There was a quality of amusement to Harry’s voice now and he could practically hear Malfoy grinding his teeth.
“You cheated.”
Harry laughed. “And How did I manage that while everyone else was watching?”
“You probably gave the Instructor one of those ridiculous come-hither looks-- you know he falls for that every time. That’s how you get away with everything .”
Ron’s chest hurt with the effort not to laugh. Malfoy had him there.
Harry did not sound phased. “Well, not everything. There was that one time with Lee-”
“You were being grossly obvious about it that time. You’ve gotten sneakier.”
“Must be all this proximity to sneaky gits.”
“Pity you can’t seem to absorb any of my agility. Merlin, Potter, look at this. You bruise like a peach.”
Harry gasped suddenly, a ragged and breathy sound.
And wasn’t that odd? Ron furrowed his brow at the sudden hush that fell over the room and shifted on his heels to peer through a space between two lockers. They stood by the shower stalls, Malfoy still fully dressed in his training kit and Harry with a towel around his waist. They were standing too close for his comfort, Malfoy’s arm reaching out to press a finger against what appeared to be a purple bruise blossoming on Harry’s hip, just above the towel.
Harry only stared at Malfoy, a strange, halting expression on his face.
Ron couldn’t see Malfoy’s face, but he said nothing - only closed more of the distance between them, opening his hand to press against more of the mottled skin.
They moved at the same time - Harry backing away a few steps and Malfoy following - until Harry’s back hit the tile wall, shocking a gasp out of him again, followed by a moan.
“It’s like you want to get hurt.” Malfoy murmured, and his tone made it sound like more of a wonder than an insult. He gripped Harry’s hip tighter, as if to test his theory.
Harry didn’t seem to be able to stop the desperate, pleading noises he was making. His cheeks were flushed pink and he looked back at Malfoy, biting his lip to silence himself.
Suddenly, Ron had the panicked thought that maybe he wasn’t needed here after all. He took a step back.
Malfoy was just stepping closer to Harry when Ron slipped on a puddle he hadn’t seen.
THUMP! CLANG!
Ron’s boot buckle clipped a metal locker, the sound reverberating through the room.
Oh, fuck . Ron scrambled to his feet.
“Weasley,” Malfoy was the first to reach him, blocking his exit with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Ron?” Harry furrowed his brows, clutching his towel. “What are you doing?”
“Er, nothing! It’s just-”
“Spying,” Malfoy smirked. “I think he thought I was going to attack you while I had you alone in here.”
“Weren’t you?” Harry shot him a sideways glance, his face still looking quite ruddy, before turning back to Ron. “I thought I told you I-”
“Tea!” he blurted desperately, suddenly remembering. “Tea. Hermione wants you over for tea. Sunday at two. Just came back to tell you that.”
Harry blinked at him. “Tea. Tell Hermione I'll be there.”
“Great!” Ron patted his friend on the shoulder. “Oh, and don’t worry, mums the word on all this, yeah? When you’re ready to talk to us about your, er, proclivities, we’ll be here-”
“Oh, for- just go, Ron! We’ll talk later!”
“Alright, alright,” Ron winked at Malfoy - who balked - and slipped between them towards the exit.
Just before he left earshot, he heard Malfoy say “So I was thinking, maybe we could move these proclivities to a more private setting."