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Harry gazed longingly at the two figures on the other side of the glass. Snow fell gently around them and they were appropriately bundled up for the weather, decked out in hoods and hats and scarves and earmuffs.
They looked happy even with the wet and the weather, content despite the company.
Staring, Harry watched wistfully as the final bits of snow fell at the men’s feet. When the last flake floated down and came to a stop beside the blond man, Harry glanced at the door to his office and listened for the sound of footsteps. Hearing none, he focused once more on the little snow globe he held in his hands. Turning it over and shaking it gently, he studied the scene as the fresh onslaught of white snow swirled down around the pair of men inside. His heart ached at the sight, yet he was unable to resist watching them again and again and again.
Hermione had given him the little snow globe for Christmas. She had even spelled the little figures to move about freely in their little watery world; once they’d built a snowman while Harry was sleeping and it stood proudly until Harry accidentally jostled his nightstand. He loved the gift at once but it didn’t take long until he decided to make a few small adjustments, Transfiguring the two people inside to appear a little more to his liking. One was blond now, with a long forehead and an even longer chin, though both features were beautiful in Harry’s eyes. The other darker-haired figure in the globe seemed to agree—he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off his companion, watching shyly through bright green eyes as the blond man reached out to catch a snowfl—
“New day, Potter!” Draco Malfoy burst into their office, coffee sloshing from the giant mug Levitated at his side, a hefty stack of folders under his arm, and an impressive trail of interdepartmental memos and one Ministry owl following in his wake. Admittedly, Harry’d follow him, too, given the opportunity.
Malfoy’s sudden appearance startled Harry. He yelped and fumbled the snow globe in his attempt to hide it from his partner, juggling it as he struggled not to drop the globe and have it smash on their floor in a watery pool of glass shards and figurines that Harry thought he’d rather die than have to explain. With horror, he bumbled it further, trying desperately to get a grip, until finally the glass sphere rolled off the tips of his fingers out of reach, plummeting to the floor.
Except it didn’t crash into a million pieces or crack against the hardwood; Draco’s casually flung Arresto Momentum had brought it to a halt mere inches from the floor.
Harry snatched it up and shoved it into his desk drawer. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Morning.”
“New day, Potter,” Draco said again, flashing him a smile. “New. Day.” Turning back to his own desk, Malfoy picked up his files and glanced through them, grabbing his coffee out of the air and taking a sip. “What shall we solve today, Harold? The Huntington-Amberberry case? No, no, let’s let ol’ Horace stew a bit longer; his moustache puts me off my lunch. We could get started on the Ellis Corner file, but I do like the idea of jumping into the Case of the Missing Tubers. That one promises to be smashing, don’t you think?” He opened the top folder in the stack and appeared to read the top page as a half dozen memos and the poor owl still zoomed around his head.
“Name’s not Harold,” Harry corrected, but without much enthusiasm. Anyway Draco obviously knew his name, and, frankly, “Harold” was better than some of the other nicknames Draco had tried out since they’d been paired together by Robards nearly nine months prior. At least Malfoy’d mostly stopped calling him—
“Right, right. Sorry, Potty.”
Harry sighed and watched Malfoy absentmindedly toss a treat to the still-hovering owl; she caught it mid-air then flitted over to Harry to deposit her message, apparently giving up on getting Draco’s full attention. As Harry accepted the parchment, he swore she rolled her eyes at Draco. Tell me about it, Harry thought.
Thanking the owl, Harry sent her on her way. Malfoy’d have to deal with his own memos, though. Harry wasn’t his servant. Except, perhaps, in his daydreams, where he’d eagerly serve Draco breakfast in bed or rub his feet or…
Right. Not the time.
Harry grimaced. He really must be more careful or Draco might start to suspect something, and that wouldn’t do at all. Auror partnerships had been dissolved over less. If he ever made a move—Merlin, he could be fired, couldn’t he? He thought maybe he could, even though he had saved the world. Then he’d have to mope around his flat in his undies for days on end staring at his little snow globe figures snogging. And they would eventually; Harry could tell. There was more sexual tension than fake snow in their little glass world. The lucky bastards.
Harry hazarded a glance over at Malfoy, who was still flipping through files and papers and muttering to himself, but then Draco looked over, his grey eyes sparkling. “So, what’ll it be today? Want to wrap up in Newbury or shall we deal with the issue of your Maidenhead—”
“Hey! Not my Maidenhead,” Harry corrected. “The case belongs to both of us.”
Draco waved him off. “Details, details.”
Harry dropped his head to his desk. “Fine. Let’s deal with Ellis Corner this morning and then wrap up in Newbury this afternoon—”
“Harry!” Ron interrupted, popping his head into their office. “I need you to see something!”
“What?” Harry asked, unsure whether he was relieved or annoyed by the interruption.
“Just come here, will you?” Ron gave him a pointed look.
Harry blinked. “But why?”
“Oh, go with him, won’t you? He wants to point out whatever Pansy is wearing today,” Malfoy said.
“It’s positively indecent!” Ron said, before catching himself. “Wait! You told him?” he asked Harry.
“No, actually.” Harry shrugged. “He figured it out on his own.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.” Ron insisted as his cheeks coloured.
“Of course not, Weasley.” Draco caught Harry’s eye before turning to Ron. “Now, Harry, do go with him before he turns inside out. I’ll not have the mess in my office.”
“Our office,” Harry corrected half-heartedly. Force of habit and all. “My name’s on the door, too.”
“Mine’s on top, though, isn’t it?” Draco grinned.
“That’s because they’re alphabetical!”
“You’ve yet to definitively prove that.”
“For the love of Godric, all of the other doors are alphabetical, too,” Harry pointed out.
“Coincidental, I assure you.” Draco grinned.
“I’m not going to send another memo to Kingsley asking. Last time I tried he made it quite clear that unless I wanted my name off the door altogether, I’d better not—”
“Sixth time’s the charm.”
“I’ll charm you, if you don’t…”
“Oh, Harold.” Malfoy batted his eyelashes. “You’ve already worked your magic on me.”
Ron knocked on the door frame. “Oi! Still here, you freaks. Harry, you coming?”
“Go, Potter. Pansy’s handbag is Muggle-made… or… perhaps made of Muggles. I wasn’t listening. Anyway, you should investigate. You’ll either like it or get to arrest her, so you’ll enjoy yourself either way,” Draco said. “Be back in 15. Some of us actually have to work.”
“Er, pretty sure neither of us actually has to work,” Harry pointed out, but he got up to leave with Ron.
Unable to resist a final glance, Harry snuck a peek at Draco as he shut their office door behind him. He caught a glimpse of Malfoy snatching one of his memos out of the air as he gulped down more coffee, his throat bobbing right above the collar of his Auror uniform.
Yes, that would be enough to sustain Harry for their brief time apart, he decided. He turned to Ron. “What are we looking at again?”
“Parkinson. She looks even more suspicious than usual,” Ron whispered now that they were out in the hallway. When they approached Pansy’s desk, Ron abruptly pulled Harry into a nearby cubical. “Assistants to the Assistant of Asinine Assistances,” according to the little plaque. Below it read two names—alphabetical, of course. Harry sighed.
Ron hushed him with a fierce look and Harry put his hands up in mock apology.
Gesturing wildly, Ron seemed to indicate Harry should peek around the edge of the cubical wall to catch a glimpse of Pansy, so Harry did, feeling very much like some sort of ridiculous spy.
Pansy saw him anyway, and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. The Slytherins must have sat around in their Common Room practising the expression on those evenings when they weren’t otherwise occupied tormenting Hufflepuffs or sacrificing virginal Ravenclaws.
Ducking back around the wall, Harry shrugged at Ron. Pansy had looked pretty harmless to him if he didn’t count the calculated way she’d gestured menacingly at him with a letter opener. “What am I to be seeing again?”
“She’s up to something,” Ron insisted. “Just look at her.”
Because they were best mates, Harry did. Once more, he peeked around the edge of the cubical at Parkinson.
She stared back at him, unapologetically mouthing the incantation for the pus-squirting hex, which Harry found somewhat ironic given her position in the Improper Use of Magic office. Gulping, he spun back around to Ron’s side of the wall. “Er. Looks harmless to me.”
Ron sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “You obviously didn’t look very hard. Did you even see what she’s wearing? No one good wears boots like that.”
“I suppose they’re sort of… high?” Harry said after thinking for a moment.
Ron nodded vigorously.
“And... tight?” Harry added, encouraged by Ron’s affirmation that he was on the right track.
“You know I can hear you, right?” Pansy called over to them. “Seriously, you two are the worst Aurors ever.”
“Bollocks,” Ron hissed and dragged Harry out of the cubical and back into the outside hallway.
Once they got farther down the corridor, Harry turned to Ron and looked at him apologetically. “I think you might be a little obsessed, mate.”
“Oi, Harry, no! Just because I’m keeping a close eye on her doesn’t mean anything,” Ron insisted. He narrowed his eyes at Harry. “After all, you’ve said the same yourself a few thousand times, haven’t you?”
Harry looked away and got busy reading a new sign that had been spello-taped to the wall, hoping Ron didn’t seem him flush. “Right. My mistake. Doesn’t mean anything. ‘Course not.”
Ron came over to see what had caught Harry’s attention. “A class for lactating employees? I didn’t know you were interested.” Ron elbowed him. “Want to sign up? Doesn’t say ‘witches only’. I think there’s a spell that we could—”
“Oh, shut it,” Harry flashed two fingers at him as they continued back to Ron’s office.
*****
As soon as Harry left, Draco cancelled the spell that kept the fake memos buzzing around his head and Banished them entirely. He wanted Harry to think him popular but the colourful slips of parchment had started to become terribly annoying.
After inhaling some more of his coffee, the next order of action was to determine the nature of the mysterious object Harry was trying to hide from him. He meandered over to Harry’s desk—look casual, look casual—and flicked his wrist at Harry’s bottom drawer. He’d long ago figured out how to get past his partner’s desk wards when he’d needed to borrow a quill. If he’d also dug around to find sweets and potential love letters because Harry’s other drawers were easily unlocked, well, Harry shouldn’t be so lazy. He’d have to lecture Harry on proper security measures sometime; Harry would get all wide-eyed and flustered imagining that Draco had uncovered something personal; reddened cheeks looked rather fetching on his partner.
To Draco’s surprise, the drawer he attempted to open remained firmly shut. He tried another spell and repeated the first again, to no avail. It only made him more determined. Potter was trying to hide something from him.
How dare he.
As he Summoned his coffee and gulped down the last of his beverage, Draco considered his options. Alohomora was too simple. An Accio wouldn’t work because he didn’t know what the strange object even was. Maybe he needed a Muggle device to cut through the wooden desk. Or he could burn the whole piece of furniture. Draco made sure he kept the most important files anyway. Or maybe…
He was about to Summon a knife from the Ministry cafeteria when he felt a weakness in the protective magic.
A passward. Harry had used a passward.
Well that was easy enough to handle. Harry probably thought he was being clever, but he always used the same words. Draco grimaced and aimed his wand at the desk drawer in question. After glancing around to ensure no one was listening, he grudgingly muttered his partner’s passward of choice.
“Gryffindors rule, Slytherins drool.”
Sure enough, Harry’s bottom desk drawer popped right open. Besides grinning at his own cleverness, Draco wasted no time before peering inside and retrieving the item he sought.
It was a… well… what was it exactly? Some sort of… it looked quite like… a crystal ball?
He’d gone to all that trouble but the object was only some sort of odd crystal ball. Extremely disappointing. He frowned; he needed more coffee.
But then he looked closer, and almost dropped it when he did. He’d never seen a ball with such impressive clarity. Remembering Harry’s struggles with Divination, Draco had to assume he’d gone to a lot of care to find a crystal ball that was so easy to use. Or maybe it had been a gift someone had given to him—five years later and Harry still always got special items sent to him because of his role in the War. Regardless, while Draco was reasonably gifted in the art of Divination, he hadn’t even had to use any of his own magic at all and already two figures were clearly visible inside the glass.
Wait a moment. Wait a moment! Those weren’t just any two figures enjoying the snow! They were. They were! Himself. And Ha—
Footsteps. Footsteps! Draco tossed the crystal ball back into Harry’s drawer and slammed it closed, trying to get back to his desk before—
The office doorknob jiggled and opened.
“Malfoy?” Harry was looking at him suspiciously.
Draco’s heart was pounding but he took the last step toward his chair, collapsing into it and then swivelling it around in a circle dramatically. “Yes, Auror Dearest?”
“Were you in my desk again?”
“Why would you think that? Harold, you wound me!” Draco protested. “To think, you don’t even trust your own partner…” His wit may not have been in peak form but his heart still beat wildly and he was having trouble thinking clearly after what he’d seen.
“Harry,” Harry corrected mildly as he headed for his desk and sat down. He sighed. “Malfoy… my wards are dismantled.”
“Well, then, you must do a better job, mustn’t you? What would Robards think about your shoddy security?” he teased as he buried his head in a file. Not that he wasn’t tempted to look—Harry was particularly attractive when he was annoyed. Then again, was there a time when he didn’t look entirely delectable?
“I know you went in my desk.” Harry started pulling open various drawers and shutting them again. “What did you take?”
“Nothing!” Watching out of the side of his eye, Draco saw Harry bite his lip, looking slightly nervous as he examined his desk, opening and closing drawer after drawer—except the one that held the crystal ball. Draco decided to put poor Harry out of his misery. “You’re out of those little crystalized chewy sweets again.”
Harry looked up, both exasperation and relief clear across his face. “That’s because you ate them all yesterday afternoon.” He paused and shook his head. “You know, you could get your own crystal gingers instead of always sneaking into my drawers.”
“I’ll have you know, Potter, that I have no interest in either your drawers or gingers.” Well, at least one of those was true...
“You seem awfully keen on getting in them, that’s all I know.” Harry looked pleased with his joke and Draco’s heart flipped with unexpected pride.
“Oh, Potter. What am I to do with you?” Draco asked, biting back a smile. “Lewd jokes in the workplace. I should go straight to Robards.”
Harry snorted and seemed to abandon his attempt to discover the extent of Draco’s desk drawer explorations. He started scribbling in his notebook, so Draco returned to the open file on his desk and tried not to grin at his ridiculous mess of a partner. His heart thumped in his chest but he doubted it had to do with the coffee he’d consumed. It simply wasn’t fair that Harry got to be so damn endearing without trying a lick. Salazar, he doubted Potter spent any time in front of a mirror at all, and yet! There was no justice, was there?
Unable to concentrate, he decided additional fuel was in order and made his way to the nearest office kitchen for more coffee. Even the normally comforting beverage—strong, black, and steaming—did little to lengthen his attention span upon his return, though. He spent a few minutes trying to decipher some of the notes on the parchments in front of him but the attempt was of no use. His mind kept turning over the scene revealed in the crystal ball.
Eventually he gave up. After making sure his expression was safely neutral once more, he handed the top few parchments to Harry. “Brush up. We leave in twenty.”
As Harry went through the information, taking the occasional note, Draco sipped his coffee and looked out of their office window, letting his mind wander. The weather was frightfully cold and damp. Not a day he’d choose to be outside, but perhaps if they finished early he could convince Harry to stop for a warm drink on their return trip—as Auror partners, of course. It wouldn’t do to risk anything more, regardless of what the crystal ball had shown him. But what a vision it had been, the two of them standing out in the fluffy snow looking pleased as pumpkins to be there.
The crystal had shown him reaching for a snowflake but when he’d turned to show the crystalline form to Harry, Harry had simply taken his other hand and pulled him in for a kiss.
A kiss!
Harry had kissed him. Draco felt warm thinking about what he’d seen. While the scene seemed very unlikely—he had found, to his dismay, that he could buy almost anything except the secret wishes of his heart—it had been so clear. Could it really be their future?
Perhaps he could use his own favourite divination tool to find out. As nonchalantly as possible—but out of Harry’s direct line of sight—he leaned down and opened up the hidden compartment in his own desk. Ducking down, he reached his hand into it until his fingers found the familiar cool plastic sphere. So what if he’d nicked it from a Muggle on a raid years ago? That Magic 8-ball was damn accurate.
He pulled it out and whispered a few words to stir to life the magic found therein and thought for a moment as to the best phrasing of the question.
“Hey, Malfoy. Look it’s snowing!” Harry spoke up.
Bugger. Draco jerked upright, banging his head on the top of his desk. “Oh, is it?”
Harry nodded, looking happy, and with a quick glance out the window, Draco could see that Potter was right. Puffy white flakes floated gently through the air, exactly like the centaurs had predicted. Lucky Potter probably didn’t even need the centaurs what with that crystal ball of his.
Rubbing his head where it smarted, he glanced back at the Muggle Divination device. It had responded already.
It is decidedly so.
But then, was it answering the question in his mind or the one he’d spoken aloud regarding the snow? He had to try again.
“Does Potter want to snog me?”
Ask again later.
Seven hells. He’d never encountered such a recalcitrant ball before. Accurate yes, but the bloody sphere refused to answer more often than he thought acceptable for a device with a Muggle upbringing. He’d have to try again. Perhaps additional specificity would help.
“Will Harry Potter kiss me outside in the snow?”
Reply hazy, Try again.
Frowning at its obstinacy, he decided to make one final attempt.
Swallowing hard, he whispered, “Might Harry Potter, my partner and the man with whom I may be ever so slightly in love, possibly… care for me in return? A little?”
Better not tell you now.
A crushing disappointment fell over him. The response wasn’t negative, but it wasn’t the one he’d hoped for, either. It seemed as good as a No in that moment.
“Draco? You all right?” Harry asked, and Draco looked back over at him. Concern was written on his face. “You’re… all hunched over. Maybe you should drink less coffee.”
Casually dropping the Magic 8-ball back into his hidden drawer, Draco and shut it with his foot. He forced a smile. “Certainly. Don’t you worry about me, Potty.”
Harry watched him for a few moments before nodding and returning to his work, obviously legitimately worried since he didn’t protest the use of the childish nickname.
Once more, Draco felt a deep longing for the Harry he’d come to know. He masked it thoroughly with caffeinated bluster and banter, but it was there. He wished again that he’d been able to watch the scene play out in the crystal ball. He wanted to watch them snog. Ached for it a bit, deep down, in that place Malfoys never discussed or even acknowledged.
He needed more coffee.
Looking over, he found Harry twisted around and arching awkwardly to scratch his bum through his trousers as he read through Draco’s notes, mouth breathing loudly and entirely unaware that his robe was inside out. Draco shook his head.
None of it mattered. Harry was a disaster, but he was Draco’s, even if Harry didn’t exactly know it.
He had to get out of the office before melancholy gave him wrinkles. “C’mon, Harold. Let’s be going.”
“Harry,” Harry mouthed as he stood and closed the file.
Draco winked in response as he put on his coat. As though he didn’t know Potter’s name. Everyone in Britain knew Harry Potter’s name.
“Get your scarf. It’s starting to come down harder out there.”
*****
Harry trudged along the snowy path that led to Ellis Corner. They hadn’t been able to Apparate closer into the largely Muggle village, so they were forced to walk the final mile and a half to their destination, a combination Wizard and Muggle shoe shop. (The greasy owner was suspected of selling dragon leather of dubious authenticity. That he claimed to have married a Horntail was another problem worth monitoring, though Harry held out hope it was simply a very uncharitable nickname.)
Unfortunately, the snow continued to pile up as they walked and Harry found it to be rough going, not that they’d made it very far. His footwear was painfully inadequate for the weather. Not only were his feet soaking wet, but his toes were frozen and he found himself slipping and sliding at regular intervals.
Draco, meanwhile, trod easily despite the snow, a stride or two ahead of Harry the whole way. Almost too gracefully. Also, he was whistling. No one whistled when his or her feet were wet. Harry narrowed his eyes. “Hey! What spell did you use on your boots?”
Glancing at his shoes, then looking back at Harry stumbling to catch up, Draco said, “Nothing beyond a standard bit of waterproofing. Why?” He spotted Harry’s feet and grimaced in understanding. “Oh, Harold. What am I going to do with you?”
“How could I know it was going to snow today? These are my normal shoes. And it’s Harry.”
Merlin, he was still standing upright, but he’d fallen so hard. Even Draco teasing him a bit made him giddy.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Sure, Potter,” he said with obvious sarcasm.
“What?” Harry asked, stopping there along the path to cast a warming charm over them both. “How did you know to bring your snow boots? Or do you keep a pair at the office? I guess I could start doing that. But the sun was out this morning!”
Wordlessly, Draco added a another layer to Harry’s original spell, the magic tingling over Harry’s skin and making him shiver even as it warmed him further. The spells also melted the thin layer of snowflakes that had settled on the shoulders of their coats.
“Unlike you, I need to listen to the wireless before work. I admit I wasn’t in initially in favour of centaurs predicting the weather. Seems like something wizards ought to be doing for themselves, don’t you think? And they make ever so many references—thinly veiled, mind—to the size of their… well, heavenly bodies, if you see what I mean. But, in the end, who doesn’t love to hear of an exceptionally Big Dipper as they’re eating their breakfast? Also, I’ve found centaur weather forecasting to be even more reliable than my Magic 8-ball.”
“You still have that thing?” Harry shook his head, fondness washing over him. “And what do you mean—“
“As though you’ve never pocketed an abandoned curiosity.”
“Abandoned? That Muggle child was using it when you took it right out of his hands!”
Draco grinned shamelessly. “Looked like Dark Magic to me. Besides, you of all people shouldn’t mock unique divining tools, don’t you agree?” He followed up the comment by poking Harry’s side.
“What does that mean? Are you making fun of my mad Div skills again?” Harry pretended to be offended, but in truth, he knew he was pants at it; always had been. “And did you just poke me?”
“Malfoys don’t poke.”
“Well that’s extremely disappointing.” Harry elbowed him back.
“Another lewd joke? Twice in one day? How can I be expected to flourish under the circumstances? I shall have to turn you in to the Aurors.” Malfoy’s eyes crinkled, sparkling even as he worked to keep a straight face, not entirely successfully.
Harry’s heart swelled and he grinned stupidly back at Draco.
“Careful. Your face might actually freeze like that out here. Now let’s keep moving and get this over with. Oh, don’t pout,” Malfoy admonished. “We’re almost halfway.” He flicked another warming spell at Harry as they continued on.
“But I can’t feel my toes and it’s slippery.” Harry was trying to keep up. He really was.
“To think you call yourself an Auror.”
Malfoy’s hair was probably the same colour it always was, but out in the bright white snowy world, it looked yellower than normal where it peeked out from under his hat. Considering his hair normally didn’t look very yellow at all, Harry found this notable. Then again, when Draco wore his formal black robes to Ministry events, he generally was as pale as a porcelain doll, with no colour whatsoever in his face and hair. Harry didn’t like that look as much—though the robes themselves made him mad with want—so he generally plied Draco with wine until his cheeks were red and his stormy eyes dilated behind pale blond lashes. Harry reckoned that look of Draco’s was the best of all.
Of course, he hadn’t seen Draco’s eyes in the throes of ecstasy or his hair mussed from a thorough snogging or the fancy robes tossed in a heap on Harry’s floor. He was fairly certain those looks would likely be even better still. Merlin, simply imagining it… Ngggh.
“Did you say something?” Draco asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Harry thought for a moment. “Ngggh,” he said. “I believe I said, ‘Ngggh’.”
“All right then. Don’t let me stop you.”
“Speaking of stopping… How about we—” Harry gazed wistfully back the way they’d come.
Draco looked at him, exasperated. “Really, Potter. How did you not know it was going to snow? You have the clearest, most responsive crystal ball and yet you still can’t figure out the most basic seasonally appropriate outer wear for work!”
“I can too figure out—wait, what? My crystal ball?” Harry was confused. “I don’t have a—”
“Oh, give it up. I’ve seen it. Curious where you got it, honestly. I’ve never seen one quite like it.”
Harry came to a halt. “What in Godric’s name are you talking about? You’re mad. You know I don’t have a crystal ball. Why would I? Can’t seem to get the damned things to work half the time and don’t see much when I do.” He kicked at the snow and a puff of flakes danced through the air. “I know I should listen to the wireless but the damn centaurs go on and on. Only they never say, ‘Wear your boots today, Harry. S’gonna snow.’ They talk and talk about the moon and how am I to know—”
“Oh please. I saw your crystal ball.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Harry asked.
“Bloody hell. Really? I went in your desk. I found it. Why were you hiding it from me? It could be such a valuable tool for our cases. Not to mention you could do with a few weather predictions to make sure you’re properly attired.”
“Malfoy,” Harry said very slowly and deliberately. “There is no crystal ball in my desk. By the way, there should be no Draco in my desk either. You really need to respect my priva—”
“In your bottom drawer, you nitwit. Why are you hiding it? Is it illegal? I didn’t pick up any traces of dark magic, but I suppose I wasn’t terribly thorough in my haste to…”
Harry’s stomach fell sharply when he realized what Draco had actually found. This was bad. Very, very bad. Extraordinarily bad. Worse, even, than the time he’d accidentally courted Mrs Longbottom. How could he possibly explain? Malfoy would figure it out eventually, too, if he started researching.
He looked at his toes. “S’not a crystal ball,” he mumbled.
Draco stopped his yammering and looked at Harry. “What?”
“It’s not a crystal ball. The thing you found.”
“Certainly looked like one,” Draco looked upset, but he always hated when he was wrong.
Harry sighed deeply. “It’s Muggle. It’s a... toy. Sort of. And sort of a decorative bauble. It’s called a snow globe. There’s a glass or plastic sphere with a little scene inside and then the snow floats around and makes it pretty.”
Narrowing his eyes, Draco said, “It showed me things. Little people were moving inside and it wasn’t plugged into electricity. Muggles need cords to make things move, remember?”
Harry groaned. “Normally nothing moves but the snow, and that only happens when you shake it or turn it upside down. Hermione gave me this one at Christmas. She spelled it to make the figures move inside. Sometimes they have snowball fights or make snow angels or… whatever.”
“But.” Draco started and then stopped. “They looked like… why’d Granger…”
Harry was loathe to admit the reason, but he saw no way around it. Draco wasn’t going to let it go and Harry didn’t exactly blame him. “I… I did that. Made ‘em look like us.”
“Why?” Draco asked, his voice softer than Harry would have expected, and entirely lacking the anticipated teasing. Still, Harry was mortified and looked off in the distance instead of at Draco.
“I suppose I thought we make a good team.”
“Oh,” was all Draco said in response. “That’s true, I suppose. We do rather, don’t we?”
Harry tried to smile as his heart thumped and he laughed nervously. “Never would’ve expected it, to be honest.”
“No, me either.” Draco agreed. “I must admit I was a… surprised… at what I saw in the crystal ball.”
“I’ll… I’ll get rid of it. Or at least change it back so the figures don’t look—I don’t know why I did that. Bored, I guess,” Harry lied. “Do I want to know what they were doing? I think they’d started building an igloo earlier.”
“Not exactly an igloo,” Draco shifted his weight in the snow. “They actually, well, they sort of… started snogging, if you must know.”
I knew it! thought Harry, extremely dismayed that he’d missed their first kiss. But then Harry realized something very important.
“You thought that was our future.”
“What else was I to think?” Draco asked, looking uneasy.
“You thought. You thought… you thought that could be our future.” Harry’s mind raced to wrap his brain around the fact that Draco must have considered it a legitimate future, or he wouldn’t have continued to assume the snow globe was a crystal ball. “You thought… one day… that we might.”
“Well, I’m not much for igloo building. That’s what house elves are for. And perhaps very clever penguins. At least I didn’t put the two of us into a little ornament for my own amusement!”
Draco’s face looked pink, but the bitter cold outside may have been responsible, and Harry was certain his own face was bright red as well. Wind burn, surely.
Clearing his throat, Harry gathered his courage and pressed further. “Did… er… did it seem like they… ah… liked it? In the snow globe?”
Draco looked surprised. “You’ve never seen them… do that?”
Harry shook his head. “It’s not like I sit around staring at it.” Lies. All lies.
“I… they seemed to… I can’t imagine they won’t be doing it again,” Draco said, shifting his weight again.
So Draco thought that his future self enjoyed snogging Harry's future self. Hope flooded Harry’s veins. Maybe, one day…
Harry realized Draco was gazing back at him, studying his face. Harry offered a nervous half smile.
Draco smiled back and Harry couldn’t help but feel like something had changed. It had. He had to work to keep from grinning like a Hufflepuff.
“Ready to continue on? Warming charms don’t last forever.” Draco nodded in the direction of the little village.
“My feet are wet and my toes are frozen,” Harry admitted as he half-heartedly took another step, though he was glad Draco was ready to change the subject. There was a lot for Harry to process about Draco’s curious reactions. Gazing at the long road ahead of them, though, was horribly discouraging. The going was terribly slow and seemed to be getting worse.
“I must admit I might have drunk too much coffee. I could do with a trip to the loo,” Draco said after a few more steps.
Harry snorted. “I could have predicted that, what with your coffee intake.”
“Oh Potty, my Potty. You’re ever so wise.”
“You’re mad.”
“These are dark times.”
“Very,” Harry agreed. “We could always—”
“Apparate back to my office.”
“Our office.”
“My name’s on the door.”
Harry huffed. “You’re impossible.” (Merlin, I love you, he thought.)
“I do agree that illegal dragon hides are unlikely to escape in the interim, should you choose to abort the mission.”
“The shop might be closed in this weather anyway. Why do I always have to be the one to abort?”
“Because Robards spits when he yells.”
“I don’t exactly want to be covered in spittle either, you know.”
“You wear glasses,” Draco said matter-of-factly. “And you’ve your mother’s love to protect you.”
“I regret the day I ever told you about that.”
Draco’s eyes got especially crinkly once more. “We all have regrets, Potter. I, for one, regret that last cup of coffee. So, if you don’t mind, take hold. I’ll Side Along you back to the Ministry.”
“I can manage on my own.”
“As well as you manage your footwear selection? I think not.”
“Fine. But you’re the one to abort this time. As the person whose name is on top, it should be your job to inform management, shouldn’t it?”
“Hmm. Well played.”
“I try.” Harry grinned.
“Buy me a pint and I’ll tell Robards this time.”
“Done,” said Harry.
“You’re too easy. I want dinner, too.”
“You get almost everything you want, don’t you?” Harry asked, his chest tight.
“Eventually.” The puff of air from Draco’s mouth hung between them.
Draco quirked his lips, a private sort of smile meant only for Harry, or so it felt. Harry smiled back his best smile, too. Just for Draco.
Draco’s eyes fell to his lips and Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
“Wait. Before we go.” Draco met his gaze, held it, and the look in them made Harry’s heart race.
Without his eyes leaving Harry’s, Draco reached out and captured a snowflake in his gloved hand.
“Harry,” Draco said, holding the snowflake out to him as another flake landed on his cheekbone.
Harry.
The simple word seemed to echo in Harry’s brain as everything else in their snow-covered world remained completely silent.
His nerves raced but he stepped forward—the crunch of snow far too loud in his ears but he persevered—then slowly reached out to brush the snowflake from Malfoy’s face. Draco froze at the gesture, his eyes fluttering shut when Harry’s thumb ran over his cheek, the snowflake in his hand entirely forgotten.
Draco opened his eyes and Harry’s arm hung there between them, a question that couldn’t be rescinded. Oh balls, what had he done?
Instead of dropping his arm back at his side where it belonged, he started to panic and almost backed away entirely when the snow crunched again. Draco was stepping in closer still, leaving Harry off-balance but with no choice but to lower his arm out of the way.
He tried to say something, though he wasn’t sure what, and proper words refused to come to his lips. He stopped trying to make sense of it all and looked helplessly at Draco.
There, he found the encouragement he needed—Draco’s grey eyes so warm, he thought he might melt—and he reached for Draco’s hand.
The gloved fingers entwined around his and stayed there, holding tight. Glancing down at them and then back up at Draco, his heart soared.
After that, there was nothing to do but lean in closer.
“Stay out of my desk, you ridiculous man,” Harry whispered and kissed Draco soundly.
The snow fluttered down around them.
*****
Unspeakable Granger stared into her crystal ball, smiling to herself as a snowy scene emerged from the mist.
At last. It had been, after all, a long time in coming.
Hermione’d had to take several required courses in Divination to become an Unspeakable, especially after dropping the class at Hogwarts, but even without the specialized education, this outcome would have been perfectly clear regardless.
Inside her crystal ball, snow fell gently around two young men who were appropriately bundled up for the weather, draped and decked out in hoods and hats and scarves and earmuffs.
They looked… happy. They looked content. They looked… well, they looked at each other, mostly.
Hermione watched as flakes of white swirled through the air until they landed at their feet. One was blond, the other’s hair was a dark brown and they looked beautiful together. The darker-haired figure in the globe seemed to agree—he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off his companion, watching through bright green eyes as the blond man reached out to catch a snowflake. Then Harry, her sweet, sweet Harry, flushed from the cold and as darling as ever, reached for Draco’s hand, at last acknowledging what they’d been dancing around for months.
When they kissed, she thought her heart would explode in her chest, she was so pleased for them.
Finally.
After one more look, she gently placed a soft velvet cover over her favourite crystal ball—their private moment no longer meant for her eyes.
Then she was off, first to let Ron and Pansy out of the lift she’d trapped them in an hour or so ago—for the good of the entire Ministry, really—then to dash over to Ellis Hollow. After all, someone had to see about the certain illicit dragon leather dealer.
Silly Aurors couldn’t be trusted with anything.