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Harry sits, staring blankly at the cluttered mess of papers before him, mind anywhere but on his work, when the sudden thud of a newspaper being slapped on his desk pulls him from his hazy thoughts.
“The ‘Alliteration Admirers’ strike again,” Malfoy says, waggling his eyebrows at Harry from where he leans against his desk, tossing a green apple in the air and catching it.
“Let me guess, ‘Merry Mastermind’s Methods Muddled’?” Harry muses.
“Not your worst guess Potter, page three,” Draco replies, taking a bite of his apple with a satisfying crunch. The Prophet has been titling articles about them with cheesy alliterations since their first case as auror partners, becoming the source of much amusement, and more than a couple bets. By far, Harry’s favorite had to be ‘Daring Duo Drops Dancing Desperado’ after they apprehended a wizard that was imperiusing muggles and forcing them to dance for hours on end.
Flipping to the page, Harry reads ‘Creepy Christmas Caper Closed’. Below is a picture of him and Malfoy exhausted and covered in tinsel. Despite himself, Harry can’t help but laugh as photo Draco attempts to pry a bow off his head with a look of disdain.
“Glad to know my discomfort is so amusing to you,” Malfoy gives him an icy look, but his words lack any real malice, “Maybe I should let you finish that report by yourself.”
“Why? So you can complain about how I did it wrong, and redo it all yourself later?”
“It’s not my fault you’re a bumbling idiot Potter,” Malfoy smirks, pushing off Harry’s desk and returning to his own.
“And it’s not my fault you’re such a bloody tosser,” Harry retorts, right before Malfoy shoots a stinging hex at him. “Hey! What was tha—” but he’s cut off by a knock on the door.
Malfoy holds his hands up, feigning innocence, and shouts, “Come in!” looking all too pleased with himself.
The door swings open revealing a very festively dressed Ron, huge grin plastered on his face, arms full of colorful packages and christmas crackers. For a moment, Harry thinks he’s going to be sick. After last night, if he never saw a Christmas cracker again, it would be too soon.
“Everything alright? You look like you’ve just seen ghost,” Ron says, a worried expression crossing his face as he looks between Harry and Malfoy.
“Just a bit shaken up still after yesterday, that’s all.”
“Shaken up is one word for it,” Malfoy shudders, “I for one, will never be able to look at a Christmas tree the same way again.”
“Sorry to scare you, but hopefully this’ll make up for it,” Ron laughs, “I’ve got your secret santa gifts right here,” he tosses Harry a gift neatly wrapped in glossy green paper, silky red ribbon tied round it.
“And for you ferret,” He tosses another more plainly wrapped package to Draco.
Draco startles, but doesn’t miss a beat, holding his hand over his heart in an exaggerated fashion, “Words are powerless to express my gratitude Weasel.”
Ron makes a show of giving a little bow, as best he can with his arms still full of gifts, “Coming to the leaky tonight? Zabini’s buying,”
“As tempting as that is, Parsons is expecting this report by tomorrow morning and we haven’t even finished tagging evidence yet,” Malfoy replies, earning a groan from Harry.
“Well, you know where to find us if you change your mind,” Ron winks before heading out the door.
____
The nights he and Malfoy work late always make Harry acutely aware of how bustling and noisey the office is during the day. Now that they’re alone, the silence weighs heavily, only broken by the noise of quills scraping against parchment, and the occasional squeak of a chair or rustling of papers.
Harry yawns, and tries to wipe the blur from his eyes. He looks up from his desk at Draco, who is deeply immersed in his work, a few stray hairs falling in his face as he checks the evidence logs meticulously, licking the tip of his finger as he turns each page. Years ago, Harry could never imagine working with Malfoy, let alone befriending him, but here they are, sharing a strange companionship that hardly makes sense, but somehow works.
“Can I help you, Potter?” Draco says without looking up, smirk audible in his voice.
“Huh?” Harry shakes his head, realizing he's staring.
“I know I’m beautiful Potter, but we’ve got work to finish.”
Harry rolls his eyes, “As beautiful as you are humble,” though that wasn’t quite true. Malfoy was rather fit. If you were into pointy gits. Which Harry definitely wasn’t.
“Guilty as charged,” Malfoy quips, “I probably deserve to be called heavenly, but I settled for beautiful. If that’s not the picture of modesty, I don’t know what is.”
Harry snorts, returning to his work, “You’re a git, you know that?”
“And you’re an utter wanker, but do I hold that against you?”
“How generous of you,” Harry retorts before they settle back into a comfortable silence.
Soon enough, they’re signing the last form, finally able to call it quits for the night. Harry can’t help but smile to himself, as they begin cleaning up silently, each so familiar with the routine speaking is no longer necessary. Harry sorts through their papers, placing them in the proper files, while Draco packs up the evidence box, only glancing up to pass documents to Harry.
Picking up the last of the folders, Harry wanders down the dark hallway to Parsons’ office, softly humming a tune he can’t quite place. Plopping the files on Parsons’ desk, he wonders absentmindedly if Draco might still want to join him for a drink after they got off. Merlin knows he could use some time to unwind. Harry makes his way down to the evidence room, where he knows Draco will be fussing about, organizing the overstuffed shelves. Sure enough, the door is partially cracked, a small sliver of light escaping into the corridor.
“Draco did you want to—” Draco just about jumps out of his skin at the sound of Harry’s voice, stumbling and falling to the floor, the evidence box flying from his hands, its contents strewn everywhere.
“Merlin’s saggy—” Draco groans, rubbing his back where it collided with the ground. Harry rushes to help him up, just as Draco’s eyes grow wide and he holds out his hands shouting, “Stop!”
But it’s too late, Harry is already next to him, only then realizing his mistake. There, in Draco’s lap, sits a small bunch of mistletoe from the evidence bin. They exchange frantic looks, already knowing the capabilities of the other nightmarish Christmas trinkets. What mess have they gotten themselves into now?
As if to answer, the mistletoe begins to dimly glow and rises in the air above them. Harry helps Draco to his feet, as they continue to watch the light of the mistletoe softly pulse, before dimming almost completely.
“Well, this can’t be good,” Harry says, eyes fixated on the mysterious mistletoe.
“Ah yes, how insightful,” Draco snaps, pulling out his wand and beginning to cast an array of detection spells. As he does, the mistletoe starts to grow, and branch out, vines creeping down towards them.
“Run!” Harry shouts, tugging Draco out from beneath the mistletoe. They break into a sprint, but before either can reach the door, the vines ensnare them. Harry struggles against the ropelike branches curling tightly around his wrists and ankles, but it’s no use. With a sudden tug, he’s pulled back beneath the mistletoe with such force that the wind is knocked out of him.
Suspended in midair by the intricate web of vines, Harry looks around frantically, trying to get his bearings about him, when Malfoy’s form comes flying towards him. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for an impact never comes. Finally daring to open his eyes, he finds Draco suspended centimeters away from him, eyes wide in panic, still struggling against the wretched plant. His resistance seems only to make things worse, as the plant winds tighter around him, forcing him closer to Harry until the space between their bodies closes completely.
Harry feels his cheeks heat, barely managing to spit out “For Merlin’s sake Draco, stop fighting it, you’re only making things worse,”
“I’m making things worse? It’s your fault we’re in this bloody mess in the first place!” Draco tugs at his restraints once more and another vine curls around their middles.
“How is this my fault?”
“You’re the one who snuck up on me like that!”
“I didn’t ‘sneak’ anywhere, it’s not my fault you’re a klutz,”
“I am no such thing,” Malfoy huffs, lips forming a familiar pout.
Harry sighs, trying not to focus too much attention on those lips. So maybe he did fancy pointy gits after all. He would have to think about that later, because now was certainly not the time—with said pointy git pressed flush against him.
“Arguing isn’t going to help us get out of this mess,”
Draco raises his eyebrows at Harry, “What do you propose we do then Potter?”
“I don’t suppose you still have your wand, do you?”
“What? After being hurled through the air by this infernal plant?” Malfoy scoffs.
“Wait then what’s—” Harry’s eyes widen, and a blush creeps across his cheeks “Oh.”
“Breathe a word of this to anyone Potter, and I’ll hex your bollocks off,” Malfoy says, red creeping up his neck. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to break the contact between them to no avail.
“Do you…?” Harry trails off.
“Po— Harry,” Draco looks at him with pleading eyes, voice hardly more than a whisper, “Can we discuss this later? Please?”
Harry tries his best not to think about the warmth radiating from Malfoy’s body, or how his vulnerability suits him so well, a certain softness contrasting sharp edges. How he looks so beautiful in this moment. How badly he wants to tell him this. Show him. Green eyes lock with grey, a wordless admission, a request for something more and Harry finds himself wondering if Draco’s lips are as soft and pliable as they look. Wondering what it would feel like to kiss him— but instead just clears his throat and says, “Okay, let’s just focus on getting out of here,”
Draco holds his gaze for a moment more before averting his eyes, shoulders tensing. Just like that, he’s all ice and prickly edges once more and it makes something inside Harry’s chest ache. Still refusing to look at him, Draco asks softly, “Where should we start?”
And that’s when Harry gets an idea, “We know struggling against it doesn’t work, but what if—”
He reaches towards one of Draco’s bound hands slowly, and sure enough, the vines do not resist his movement. Cautiously, he intertwines his fingers with Draco’s, who turns to look at him with a searching expression. Harry gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, “We can move the way it wants us to— towards each other,”
Draco relaxes visibly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips, “I guess you’re not a complete idiot after all,” he squeezes Harry’s hand in response, “What’s the plan?”
“Well, I’ve still got my wand,” Harry pauses, “But—”
“For merlin’s sake, just spit it out. I hardly think we have much left to be shameful about at this point,”
“It’s in my ankle holster, so reaching it is going to be a bit… difficult,” Harry says, knowing what’s coming next.
“I told you buying that bloody thing was a bad idea,” Draco rolls his eyes, “But no,”
“Draco,” Harry says exasperated, “Focus.”
“Fine, but that thing is going in the garbage as soon as we’re out of this mess,”
Draco raises his eyebrows, daring Harry to challenge him. He doesn’t. He just nods in response and asks, “Ready?”
The next moment they’re twisting uncomfortably, vines cutting into skin, accidentally elbowing each other far too many times. Finally conceding that writhing around at random is not going to work, they stop struggling. Out of breath Harry mutters, “Maybe we should decide who’s moving what,” so they do.
Their second try is slightly smoother, having developed some semblance of a strategy. Harry guides his leg up Draco’s, as Draco traces his hand down Harry’s chest until he reaches his hip. It would perhaps be sensual, if they weren’t being held hostage by a cursed plant— though there’s no denying the effect that Draco’s gentle touch or the delightful friction between them has on Harry. If Harry is certain about one thing, it’s that a long talk will be in order after this is over.
Harry hikes his leg up higher, just enough so Draco can run his hand down his thigh and—
“Got it!” Draco beams at him. Harry doesn’t know why, but he breaks into laughter, and pretty soon Draco’s laughing right along with him. If anyone were to walk in right now, they would probably look mad, suspended in midair, holding each other like lovers, laughing like maniacs, but Harry finds he couldn’t care less. It’s almost over, and he’s that much closer to holding Draco just because he wants to.
When their laughter finally fades, Draco casts a wordless accio, his wand flying into his hand, from somewhere across the room. Together, he and Harry set into breaking the curse together effortlessly, well in tune with each other, having done this a million times—though none of them quite like this.
Before they know it, they’re tumbling to the floor in a pile of limbs, finally free of this devilish plant. They’re a mess, bruised, cut, and sore, but Harry’s heart feels lighter than it has in a long while. He’s quickly disenchanted however, as Draco winces, and he realizes his elbow is jabbing him directly in the ribs. He rolls off of Draco and looks at him sheepishly, “Sorry,”
“You’ll have to make it up to me later,” Draco says, before wincing again as he sits up.
Harry smiles, “I think that can be arranged,” he takes Draco’s hand, “But first let’s get you cleaned up,”
____
After an abundant number of healing spells, and restoring the evidence room to something resembling order, Draco and Harry find themselves back in their office. Draco leans back against his desk, holding Harry’s secret santa gift, chewing at his bottom lip nervously. He taps his fingers against the gift before finally speaking, “I know we still have a lot to talk about, but I think you should open this now,”
“I take it you’re my secret santa?” Harry says, standing directly across from him.
Draco nods in response, “I may have made certain arrangements, so I could give you this,” he bites his lip again, “But… after tonight…well you’ll see.” He approaches Harry, handing him the beautifully wrapped gift.
He tears away the wrapping paper to reveal a small box. Draco rolls back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets as Harry opens the box—
“Mistletoe?” Harry can’t help but laugh.
“I promise you, this one’s not cursed,”
Without a word, Harry throws the mistletoe over his shoulder. Before Draco can even react, Harry’s pulling him into a needy kiss. At first, it’s rough, lips crashing against lips too hard, desperately trying to claim them, as if they could disappear at any moment. As if Draco could disappear at any moment. But as they melt into the kiss, it softens—lips become pliant, willing, taking and submitting in turn.
After what seems like an eternity, they pull away, Draco resting his forehead against Harry’s, and planting one last chaste kiss on his lips. Harry smiles. He could get used to seeing this Draco. His usually impeccable self, now mildly disheveled, face flushed, lips pink and swollen from kissing. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.