Work Text:
“Potter?”
“Whoa, Malfoy!”
Harry gasped in surprise, stumbling red-faced and panting through the open door and into their shared office. He huffed a loud breath and hastily dumped an armload of messy files onto the surface of double-sided desk they shared.
“Sorry! Wasn’t sure you’d still be here, this late. Here’s those old surveillance files we wanted from Archives this morning.”
“Well.”
Draco pursed his lips, tilting his head quizzically as he reached out a hand to tug the top folder over to his side of the blotter.
“Of course I’m still here. I can’t very well finish this afternoon’s report without you. But,” he went on, making a business of looking Harry over as Harry slung himself into the chair opposite. “Are you quite well? You look a bit...skew-whiff. Scarlet. And green, too. Not a very attractive combination, at least not in my opinion.”
“Um.” Not in the least offended, Harry pensively scratched at the slight stubble just blooming visible on the side of his lean jaw. “Thing is, about that? No, actually. M'not, so much. Had to stop in at St Mungo’s Spell Damage. Sorry about that, though, me taking so long over it. But I’m fine. Mostly. They say. Or will be.”
“Whaaaat? You did?” Draco countered quick as lightning, his casual survey turned vastly more fierce in intent. “Right, then. What for, Potter?” he demanded, shifting his arse about in his seat as if he were making ready to jump up, stride 'round, and conduct his own very thorough examination of Harry’s person. But he caught himself up instead, settling for scowling like a thundercloud and jabbing his quill point at Harry accusingly. “I see no new scars, no bandages, no blood on your robes--nothing! What in Merlin's name happened to you? You were supposed to be not even a minute behind me, Apparating out! How could you possibly manage to injure yourself in that short a time?”
“Ah.” Harry essayed a hesitant grin, making vague shooing motions at Draco’s angry quill. “No, no, steady on, mate. It’s nothing serious, really. Just a spot of bother, in the end.”
“Answer. My. Question,” Draco ordered, snapping his teeth for emphasis. “Wanker.”
“Haha,” Harry laughed nervously, furtively inching his chair away from his end of their desk and shaking his head ruefully as he ran a hand through his ruffled hair. “Right. Yes, well, there was one more Wizard still in the room, you see?”
“There was?” Draco exclaimed, casting his quill down and leaning forward to peer at Harry. “Merlin, Potter--where? We swept that room with Revelio, remember?”
“Uh-huh,” Harry nodded eagerly, happy to agree. “We did indeed and I recall it quite well; I was the one who cast it. But he wasn’t in the room till after that point, it seems. Snuck himself in behind us in all the commotion and ducked behind that racketty old metal cabinet Professor Snarlph and his minions used for storage. Did a DisIllusionment.”
“Fuck me,” Draco bit out, snatching up his discarded quill and absently rending off half the fletching in one go. “And we dare call ourselves Aurors, you and me.”
“Mmm,” Harry hummed, blinking at Draco, his vision blurring momentarily. “True, true,” he burbled, nodding and gesturing to the poor unfortunate quill. “That. Gurgh.”
He was all at once feeling quite hot-and-humid about the kneecaps and the base of his spine ached oddly, panging. He swallowed with difficulty, mentally flailing for composure. The Healer had warned him of what to expect but Harry had rather been hoping to be done with his part of the waiting paperwork for the case and be well away from Draco's vicinity before any of the patently obvious effects of the spell showed themselves. It only lasted a few hours altogether, Veritas, but he’d not been able to delay his return to their office any longer, as much as he wished he might.
“Uh...um. Work?” He shifted his trembling forefinger to point out the report form Draco had been contemplating so thoughtfully when he entered the office. "That there?" It was nearly finished, from what he could discern. Just a few more moments, perhaps, and then he’d be free to scarper. “We should finish that.”
“Right, right. But Potter?” Shaking his head as if to clear it of distraction, Draco impatiently threw down his battered quill a second time. “You’ve not told me what exactly happened, back there. Or what the Healer said. Talk, then. I’m your partner, remember? I rather need to know, don’t I?”
“Uh..." Harry hesitated, gulping hard. “Er?”
"Potter?"
He bit down upon his lip, nearly sharp enough to draw blood, and shut his eyes reflexively against Draco's pointed stare. This entire situation was really rather humiliating; Draco was correct. They were seasoned Aurors and he never should have allowed it to happen. Especially since Draco was watching him as if he’d grown two heads already and was about to sprout a third.
“Ah…yes? I suppose,” he allowed warily after a long moment, even as the sensations of the fading Veritas Charm snaked through his intestines and straight up his gullet, pushing and shoving. "Umph!"
“Right, that's it. You’re swaying, Potter, and now you’ve gone dead pale,” Draco stated flatly and this time he did rise up, slipping his wand out of his sleeve holster as he did so in one smooth motion. “Enough. Either tell me what you got hit with right now or I’ll hex you silly and trot you straight back to St Mungo’s myself.”
“Alright, alright!” Harry cringed back in his seat and threw up his hands, feebly attempting to ward off his determined partner. He definitely didn’t care for the ‘I mean fucking business, Potter’ glint in the git’s eye. “I’ll tell you--I will! All the bloody details. Just give me a half of a moment--”
“No.” Malfoy sneered, looming. “You’ve had ages. Tell me now or I hex.” He aimed the tip of his wand right at Harry’s Auror badge, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Oh, and? Have I mentioned recently just how much I utterly abhor your habit of concealing your all too frequent injuries? Or your damnable tendency to shrug off all your brushes with death as if they were but paltry nothings? Because I feel I should remind you of this peeve of mine right now, Potter. Talk!”
“It-was-just-a-tiny-little-Veritus-Charm-that’s-all,” Harry mumbled hurriedly, dropping his chin down nearly to his chest and glaring hotly at his own poor quill, laying innocent and pristine on the blotter, all fletching intact as he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to use it, what with all the heavy-handed interrogation tactics Draco was dishing out. “S'nothing, really, alright? Barely even felt the sting. Got me in the back of the knee just as I was disarming him, the little tosser, and mostly by sheer dumb luck. Don’t make so much of it, will you please, Malfoy? It’s bad enough already, having a child hex me.”
“Huh.” Draco snorted softly, rocking back on his heels and sheathing his wand carelessly. He smiled at Harry but it wasn't a particular pleasant smile. “Just a ‘tiny’ Veritus Charm, Potter? You don’t say.”
“Shut up,” Harry retorted, clutching at the edge of the desk in an effort to keep his balance.
The room did a languidly rollicking spin about him and his gut roiled unpleasantly in reaction. He blinked hard several times at Draco, bringing his disapproving expression fully back into focus.
“Really, just do, mate. I said I barely even felt it, didn’t I? I only went off to St Mungo’s because Peesely down in Archives carped at me for tripping. Oh, and Ron had mentioned the kid willingly confessed to casting it just after I turned him over for processing. Likely wanted to protect himself from any backlash from his putrid uncle. Said he wanted to make certain I, Harry bloody Potter, told the entire truth of it when he was booked in,” Harry scoffed bitterly. “Hah! As if!”
“Kid?” Draco probed, turning dramatically on a heel and pacing over to the door and back again with a decidedly miffed swish of his work robes. “What kid is this, exactly? You didn’t mention any bloody kid earlier, Potter,” he snarled, bearing his teeth at Harry in a sudden gleaming flash. “Fuck. So. There was a minor present when we were Incarcerousing Snarlph and his buffoons, is that what you’re telling me? And this child had the gall to try and hex you, the Great Harry Potter, all unawares? With an age-restricted Truth Charm? Circe!”
He halted himself all at once, planting his palms flat upon the desk and leaning far enough forward over it to nearly smudge Harry’s specs all in one gracefully threatening motion, matching Harry glare for glare.
“Oi!” Harry exclaimed, startled. "Watch out!"
“Are you,” Draco cut him off pleasantly enough, smiling still in a way that conveyed absolutely not a single shred of sincere good humour, “implying that just because a minor cast a Veritus Charm upon you it’s not a serious matter? Is that it?”
“Er--” Harry flushed hotly, rearing back, and incidentally upsetting his carefully attained equilibrium yet again. His chair rocked and teetered in a threatening manner. “No! Argh! Shite!”
“Mind!” Draco barked, catching Harry by the shoulder in a strong one-handed grip, just in time to prevent him from tipping sideways. “Idiot. Merlin, you were, weren’t you? Trying it on with me, acting as if nothing worth fussing about with had happened, you sneaky git!” he hissed, glaring and righting Harry on his seat with a gentle shove on the bicep. "Unconscionable!" He pulled back, standing up tall and straight with an irritated huff. “I swear, Potty-head, one day I really am going to--”
“No!” Harry burst out, gallantly attempting to ignore the weird bubbly rush of strangely icy heat up his throat. His spine had stopped twinging but now his esophagus felt bathed in Fiendfyre. “You don't have to! It’s nothing--I’m fine--really I am, it’s just. Just inconvenient!”
“Inconvenient?” Draco scoffed, folding his arms across his chest and radiating a species of low-key fury. “It’s bloody dangerous, is what it is! What if you weren’t here, in the office, Potter? What if you skived off to the pub or something--not that you would, but still! You could be blabbing any old thing to random passersby and no means of controlling it!”
“But I’m not, am I?” Harry protested, finally unclenching his fingertips from the edge of the desk. He folded his own arms across his own chest, albeit somewhat sloppily. “I’m here, safe as houses, right where I should be, alright? Now, may we please get on? We have the report yet, don’t we? To finish and turn over. Peesely’s waiting, the old trout.”
“Fuck Peesely,” Draco shot back nastily, disregarding Harry’s instinctive flinch and look of disgust. “When will that Veritus wear off, Potter? That’s the real problem we have right now; the report can go hang. How long yet?”
“Umm…” Harry squinted off into the the corner of their office, mentally calculating out what the Healer had told him. “Um, fifteen minutes or so, maybe? A little more? A little less?” Looking back at Draco, he quirked his lips hopefully, willing the other man to relax. “Not long, though.”
“Pfft!” Draco’s nostrils flared. “You say this.”
“Right. I do say. Look here, Malfoy,” Harry said, as calmly and reasonably as he could manage, what with mentally biting his tongue on all the other words fighting to burst out of his mouth. “Stop haranguing me, please. It's over and nearly done with. I’m here, it’s all fine--or will be, soon enough--and right now all I want to do is complete the blasted report and go home, alright? It’s not as if you give a minced shrivelfig if I keel over then, right? As long as the job’s done properly and I'm not going about blabbing departmental secrets to strangers. So, let’s simply do our damn job just as we ought and then I may go home and so may you." Harry grimaced at the pink flush that appeared high up on his partner's cheek bones, a sure sign of Draco's internal upset. "And maybe," Harry continued, "you might also stop acting as if it's a total disaster if something happens to me when you’re not around. Today was a stupid accident, that’s all. Could’ve happened to anyone, really. But absolutely not your fault, Malfoy--and I never said it was, either.”
Draco went stone still, face tightening into a bland mask.
“I see,” he said after a long and extraordinarily uncomfortable moment. “Is that what you really believe, Potter?”
Harry glanced instantly away, eyes moving about the room but barely taking in the smudged scrolls stacked by the bookcase, the hat rack adorned with a few random Muggle jackets and caps or the artificial beams of late afternoon light filtering through the dusty blinds shading the Magick’d window.
“...No,” he returned at long last, lowering his chin and staring miserably down at his stupid quill again for fear of meeting his partner’s eyes. “I don’t, really.”
“Then why, Potter, are you in such a rush to duck and run, may I ask?” Draco drawled, his stance relaxing a scant millimetre or so. “It’s not as though you’ve anything to fear from me.”
“Because,” Harry began, desperately wanting to explain exactly and in great detail all of these answers to all of Draco’s questions and knowing with all his heart it would be also precisely the wrong thing to do. He gulped, gritting his teeth. “Fuck. Just...because.”
He sighed gustily, scowling dispiritedly at the unfinished Incident Summary, left askew where Draco had shoved it aside, and renewed exerting every ounce of his will towards foiling the bloody Veritus within him. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say but he could tell Draco a different truth, just as valid.
“Because?” Draco prodded. “What, Potter.”
“Because I’m tired, alright? Knackered, in fact. I’d like a lie down, actually.”
“You look it,” Draco observed gently, quickly and quietly making his way round the desk to Harry’s side. “I’m sorry I shouted, Potter,” he added, laying a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder and giving it a careful squeeze. “But I really am concerned, you know. Auror business aside, Veritus Charm--even a ‘tiny’ one, cast by a minor--leaves a person vulnerable. And I value your hide, whether you realize it or not.”
“I know,” Harry mumbled, unwilling to look up. He dared not, truly, because Draco was very compelling, even when a person hadn’t been struck by a Truth spell. “Me, too. Yours, I mean. I mean, I feel the same way, about you.”
“Do you?” Draco’s voice was light and casual; the careful grasp he had on Harry’s collarbone was anything but. “I wonder, sometimes.”
“Of course I do!” Harry informed his fingers fiercely as he jammed them together. They made a lumpy mess on his lap, all jumbled like that, but he didn’t care. “I mean to say, ah. You’re my partner, Malfoy. Right?”
“Oh, certainly,” Draco replied, soft and low, just by Harry’s blushing ear. He must have bent over, to be slipping his hand down Harry’s arm like that, pressing the warmth of his body up against Harry’s side. “That’s all there is to it, then? For you.”
“Oh fuck,” Harry groaned, barely under his breath. “Merlin fuck.” He twisted his fingers together all the more, and harder, setting his teeth in a physical barrier against the stupid words. He could throw off Imperius, couldn’t he? So one half-arsed Veritus from a kid who probably didn’t even know his shaving charms yet shouldn’t be a problem--should it?
“It’s not quite all that for me, though,” Draco went on, his tone musing, his wandering hand somehow slipping round Harry’s twitching back to land casually across the hollow between Harry’s hip and rib cage. “I’ve known you for a long time, haven’t I? There’s feelings between us two, stretching way back. Aren’t there?”
“Uh-huh!” Harry gargled, sitting straight and still as he possibly could manage, and decidedly not leaning into the curve of Draco’s arm at his back as he so fervently wished to do. “Yes, those!”
“Not so many good ones, back then,” Draco remarked, as if the years of taunting and bad blood between them had been merely a blip in their existence. “But all much better now, I daresay. Wouldn't you agree?”
Harry jerked his head in the affirmative, biting his lips to keep them from flapping on about precisely how much ‘better’ all his feelings for Draco were now. “Mmmrgh!”
“I know l’m grateful to have such a brave and intelligent Wizard at my side, every day. A cunning and courageous one--a forgiving one,” Draco crooned, his voice silken smooth but also disarmingly sincere. “I don’t know that I deserve it, but I’m lucky, I think. Circe blessed, to have such a brilliant person in my sphere and in my care. I don’t honestly believe you feel the same, of course--that would be asking too much, wouldn’t it? Arrogant. But it’s frankly amazing to me to be here, every day, working so closely with you. And of course I do worry, constantly. You’ve always managed to terrify me, Potter--even if now it’s in an entirely different manner.”
“Tempus!” Harry gasped out, fumbling for his wand in desperation. “Merlin, surely it’s been--”
“About five minutes remaining, I should think,” Draco replied calmly, easing himself upright. He stepped away; Harry missed his departing warmth intensely. “We may finish the report for Peesely if you like. And then you may go, as you so wish. But safely.”
“No! No-no-no-no-NO!” Harry leapt up, shouting, and kicked his chair away with a clatter. He reached out grabbing hands and caught at Draco’s retreating form, yanking him back and round to face him. “You utter, you horrible, you beastly fascinating, you bloody charming git! Look at me--listen to me, Draco Malfoy!”
“Potter!”
“Don’t you dare ‘Potter’ me, Draco,” Harry ordered tensely, digging his fingers into those broad shoulders, the same ones he’d been side-eyeing lasciviously for years. “It’s well beyond blasted Malfoy and Potter and you know it! Now, are you teasing me or goading me or exactly what, here? Leading me on, just to drop me like a stone or do you really mean what you seem to say? Do you truly care that much about me? Tell me the fucking truth, for once! I wasn’t lying when I said I was tired, damn it!”
Draco inhaled sharply, standing quiescent in Harry’s grip, and gazed down at him in all seriousness, his expression returned to bland but his eyes glittering with a firestorm of emotions.
“Now?” he jibed back at Harry. “Or in three minutes, when it’s bloody worn off? Which do you really want, Potter? Because I rather think waiting that three minutes is--”
“Cruel!” Harry interrupted. “It’s downright mean of you. I’m under Veritus, you arse. Of course I want to tell you the truth. I generally want to anyway; I don’t care much for lying.”
“I know you do,” Draco replied, one eyebrow arching up in query. “That I know. But asking you to say what you don’t want to say when you’re caught by a Truth spell is pretty fucking unethical. I gave you the possible options to consider; I’m not asking for more. Not for another two minutes, at least.”
“Oh.” Harry stilled, though he kept his hands where they were. “Right.” They were very close, which wasn’t in itself unusual. As Aurors they were accustomed to sharing tight spaces at times; it was nothing new. But it felt differently even so, to Harry’s mind. “Fair point.”
“Not easily managed, I assure you,” Draco chuckled, patiently staying precisely where he was, neither shifting away nor coming too close. “But I’ve got a decently heroic enough lead to follow, right here at the office. Have had for several years now. Trust me, it does change a fellow, all that exposure to sainthood. One minute left, by the way.”
“Flatterer,” Harry grinned in return, his throat easing as the weight of all those unwanted forced truths began to finally recede. He reset his feet, cocking a hip out, and leaned a little nearer his partner. “Laying it on thick, are you? Thirty seconds.”
“...Tempus.”
“Time,” Harry stated firmly. He tilted his head, the better to peer into his partner’s eyes. “I, um. I have something to tell you.”
“Is it,” Draco asked carefully, cautiously reaching out to cup Harry’s shoulders with long pale hands, “something I might want to hear?”
“Difficult,” Harry laughed softly. “You are difficult and annoying. Must it always be answering a question with a question, with you?”
“No more than you,” Draco replied equably enough. He smiled, giving a quick nod. “But go on, then. I’m all ears.”
“I, ah.” Harry stopped, swallowing. The surreal pressure was vanished, his body was all returned to normal, the effects of the Veritus well and truly gone. “I care for you, very much. I do.”
Draco blinked at him, long and slow, as a kneazle does, stretched out in the sunshine. Or a dragon, happily safeguarding his horde.
“Yes?” he asked evenly. “Like a partner does? A...friend?”
“Yes, of course!” Harry shook his head impatiently. “That and more. A fuck of a lot more, in fact! I’ve been literally dying here, wanting to tell you that. Have you not even noticed?”
“You say ‘more,” Draco prompted, his hands tightening infinitesimally upon Harry’s shoulders.
They had somehow drawn closer together, their noses nearly bumping, their lips but mere inches apart. The warmth Harry felt radiating towards him had nothing to do with some little kid’s spell and everything to do with a deliciously tempting man not a palm’s breadth distant.
“What’s ‘more’, precisely?”
“Well,” Harry eyed him speculatively, eyes narrowing. “Since you ask me so nicely, ‘more’ means that I would rather like to leave here right now and go home--mine or yours, makes no difference--and take a bit of time to know my partner a bit better than I already do. Have a drink with him. Share a meal; I’m a bit famished. Can’t think well when I’m hungry, sorry. And, er. Have ourselves a lovely s--”
“Snog?” Draco suggested hopefully, eyes wide, brows waggling suggestively.
“Shag, actually,” Harry corrected him. “But snogging’s a good start, so yes. That too, definitely. So, ah? Are you game?”
“Just jettisoning Peesely altogether, are we?” Draco chuckled, gathering Harry into his arms. “Hmm, such dereliction of duty. However, you were in hospital with Spell Damage recently so I suppose it must be allowed. I’ll put it in your official report tomorrow. Oh, and mine too, if you don’t mind. Meanwhile, I’ve a nice white chilling and supper will be ready and waiting.”
“Brilliant,” Harry nodded. “Peesely can piss right off, interfering old git. I like your settee better than mine anyway. Mine’s lumpy or something. Ahem. Shall we?”
“Hmmm, Harry?” Draco hesitated, though, looking bemused. His eyes were focussed intently upon Harry’s mouth.
“Yes?” Harry cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. “What.”
“One for good luck, before we go? Just a little taste, that’s all. Like this.” Draco brushed his lips meaningfully against Harry’s, the barest tip of his tongue snaking out to moisten them. He drew back his head just as quickly, smiling wryly. “It’s been a long time I’ve been waiting, alright? A damned long time, really. Eternity, feels like.”
“No more than me. Oh!” Harry closed his eyes in blissful anticipation, sliding his hand round Draco’s nape and urging his face just that perfect miniscule fraction closer, more than happy to indulge in another. “No more than me, love.”