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The damn cloud had stolen his breakfast. Again.

Draco stared down at the damp patch on his desk and followed the trail of jam-smudged paper with his eyes. Up above, Neeph the office cloud hovered innocently near the lighting fixtures, emitting a low, rumbling burp.

“Unbelievable,” Draco muttered, Summoning what was left of his croissant.

It returned soggier and mysteriously bitten.

At the desk across from his, Camille Cartwright snorted into her tea.

“You’ve got to stop leaving food unattended. Neeph’s basically got a sugar sensor.”

“Neeph’s got boundary issues,” Draco said, flicking a Drying Charm over the papers on his desk. “And the emotional regulation of a Niffler.”

Neeph let out a shrill little zap and rained lightly on Draco’s hair.

It was a typical morning at the Department of Cyclones, Rainfall, and Atmospheric Phenomena—known to the rest of the Ministry, unfortunately, as CRAP. Despite the tragic acronym, it was a critical wing of the Ministry; managing magical weather fallout, regulating spell-induced climate shifts, and cleaning up after certain careless wand-wavers—Aurors, mostly—who didn’t know a temperature stabiliser from a hailstone hex.

Draco had been working here for nearly six months now. He was, irritatingly, quite good at it.

Today’s memo stack was taller than usual. He began to sort through it as Neeph drifted away, probably to menace the break room.

Lingering sparkle fog over Bath was attracting too many Muggle influencers. An emotional storm cloud upgraded from a Level Two to a Level Five and was now following the Minister, with HR insisting it wasn’t symbolic of anything. Clarification requested from the Department of Herbological Corrections: can hurricanes be used to clear invasive magical plant species?

Draco sighed and began scrawling out replies, charming the parchment to shuffle itself into the outgoing tray.

“Did you hear they finally trapped that storm that picked up the Muggle radio?” Cartwright asked, leaning back in her chair. “Apparently, it picked up half of Capital FM and started broadcasting Muggle pop songs at full volume.”

“I heard,” said Draco. “It was shouting toothpaste ads at people.”

“Well, they’ve got it in a containment jar now. It keeps trying to escape every time Take On Me comes on.”

“Reasonable reaction.”

A low chime rang out across the floor before a flying memo zipped through the air and smacked Draco squarely in the forehead.

“Urgent field call,” he said, flattening the parchment and starting to read. “A Level Five atmospheric destabilisation with Aurors on site. Auror in charge…Potter.”

Draco stared at the memo like it had insulted his mother.

He hadn’t spoken to Potter in years, not since the trials. They both worked in the Ministry, and Draco saw him in passing sometimes, at the canteen or in the lifts, but they only ever said a few words of greeting to one another.

It was hard to avoid news about him, of course.

Boy Who Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Junior Auror of the Year, Man Who Would Mistake a Basilisk Egg for a Paperweight. That sort of thing.

He supposed it made sense that Potter’s name had eventually found its way into Draco’s inbox. The Aurors were always causing trouble, casting all kinds of wild spells with no care to how it disturbed the environment around them.

“Where is it?” Cartwright asked, snatching the memo out of Draco’s hands to check for herself. “Corner of Everly and Bindweed. Botched Shield Charm? That’s odd. They’re tentatively classifying them as mildly enthusiastic tornadoes.”

“Excellent,” said Draco dryly. “Nothing says job security like Aurors mangling basic environmental containment.”

He started collecting his gear: wand holster, compact barometer, weatherproof cloak, containment jars. A small crackle of thunder in the corner alerted them to Neeph’s return.

“If my lunch is gone when we get back, you’re going in a jar,” Draco threatened with a pointed finger.

Neeph emitted a sullen puff of drizzle and rained into the bin.

*

Draco and Cartwright Apparated to the corner of Everly and Bindweed and were immediately almost blown into the side of a building. The wind howled like a banshee, shop signs rattling and rain slashing sideways. A runaway hat whizzed past his face.

“Bloody hell,” Cartwright breathed, holding down her curls with one hand as the wind tugged at her cloak.

Draco yanked his hood up and tried to take stock. Several mini tornadoes were indeed whirling down the street like drunken tops, tearing petals off a display of tulips and launching them into the air like confetti. One seemed to have swallowed a newsstand, with yet another battling a tree. A flock of enchanted advertisements had torn loose from a nearby tea shop and was now circling like aggressive birds overhead, shrieking out jingles.

In the middle of it all stood Potter.

Draco spotted him through the gale, soaked to the bone in Auror scarlet, hair windswept, shouting something at a fellow Auror. At the crack of Apparition, he had turned, wand still raised.

“Hey, are you the CRAP team?”

“Department of Cyclones, Rainfall, and Atmospheric Phenomena,” Draco corrected automatically, already stepping forward. “And clearly, you’ve outdone yourself, Potter.”

Potter held a hand over his forehead, recognition dawning.

“Malfoy?”

“What happened?” Cartwright asked, as though sensing the potential for an awkward reunion.

“We were in pursuit of a suspect,” said Potter, rubbing the back of his neck. “He threw a hex, I cast a Shield Charm at the same time as Corner. I think they bounced off of each other or something, because then the wind just sort of…exploded.”

Draco scanned the readings, casting a spell that rendered invisible air currents visible, turning them into angry looking coils that twisted around them like snakes.

“Exploded is right. It doesn’t look like you just bounced your shields. The collision of the spells compressed ambient magical pressure into a sort of pocket. Basically, it collapsed in on itself and then snapped back out. You’re lucky the buildings are still standing.”

Potter was frowning.

“That’s a thing that can happen?”

“I will never understand why Aurors aren’t required to take Atmospheric Magical Theory,” Draco sighed, opening a containment jar. “Cartwright, head northwest and set the stabilisers. I’ll siphon the more high-pressure currents so we can try to neutralise as much as possible.”

“On it,” she called, heading off toward a lamppost sparking with lightning, her boots skidding slightly on rain-slick cobblestone.

Draco cast a Stabilising Charm under his breath, letting his containment jar hover beside him as he waved his wand in a precise, fluid arc. The air currents closest to him shuddered and let out a wailing sound before unspooling like a severed ribbon, pooling into the jar.

Potter watched with wide eyes.

“Is it supposed to make that noise? Kind of terrifying.”

“It’s air, Potter, it doesn’t care about your feelings.”

But then…that didn’t seem to be entirely true. In fact, it looked as though the closer the air currents were to Potter, the wilder and more frenzied they were.

Draco turned slowly, gauging the next vortex, which had entangled itself in a wrought-iron bench and was whirling the entire structure through the air like a child’s toy.

“What was the hex?” he asked.

“What?” asked Potter, staring at Draco’s jar, which was shaking with the suppressed energy of the air currents trapped inside.

“The hex,” Draco repeated. “That the suspect cast at you. Did it hit you at all? What was it?”

“Oh, I don’t…” Potter looked around wildly, landing on his partner—Michael Corner, who was also standing in a somewhat frozen sense of awe, drenched in the pouring rain.

“You don’t know,” said Draco, feeling his heart sinking.

From the northwest corner, Cartwright shouted. “The stabilising field is holding!”

“Okay, keep it going!” Draco called back. “Let’s try to bring down the speed.”

Draco turned back to Potter, who was still standing dumbfounded in the middle of the street, dripping and bedraggled. His hair was plastering to his forehead in uneven tufts, and his sodden robes flapped in the wind like a banner.

“For Merlin’s sake,” said Draco. “Move off the convergence point unless you want your eyebrows taken off.”

“Convergence point?”

Draco rolled his eyes, pointing to the ground beneath Potter’s feet, where there still appeared to be faint circles, likely caused by the errant magic.

“That’s where your spells overlapped and initiated the surge. It could still be unstable.”

Potter stepped aside so quickly, he nearly tripped over himself. Draco directed his containment jar to seal itself with a sharp pop, narrowing his eyes at it. The currents inside pulsed like a heartbeat.

Cartwright returned, hair soaked.

“We’ve got a problem.”

“Yes,” said Draco. “Several. What’s yours?”

“The resonance points don’t seem to be dissipating, they’re relocating.”

Draco stiffened.

“What?”

“It looks like they’re starting to cluster towards the convergence point. Or actually—”

They both turned slowly. Potter stood a few metres away, speaking to Corner and sheepishly trying to cast an Impervius on his glasses. His magic sparked off him in uneven bursts, as though it didn’t know where to go.

Draco’s stomach dropped.

“Bollocks.”

“It looks like it’s feeding off of him,” said Cartwright, confirming his fear.

Draco swore under his breath.

“It formed a connection with his magical signature.”

“The hex must have been part of it,” reasoned Cartwright. “If it was just the Shield Charms, the storms wouldn’t be reacting like this. Do we know what it was?”

“Corner,” Draco barked, and both Aurors stepped over to them. “Please tell me you heard what hex the suspect cast at you.”

Corner hesitated.

“It was fast, too fast to identify. I didn’t recognise it.”

“Well, that’s helpful,” Draco snapped, starting to pace a tight circle.

He glanced around, the low clouds starting to churn in unnatural spirals.

“The high-pressure air currents are clustering,” said Cartwright. “There’s a chance they’ll destabilise completely.”

“And then what?” asked Potter.

“Then we could get a street full of microbursts. Roof tiles, street signs, chunks of pavement—ripped clean off.”

Draco exhaled sharply through his nose.

“We don’t have the right equipment,” he said. “We need reinforced warding rings and backup containment. Field dampeners…”

“Which we don’t have,” Cartwright finished grimly. “We came prepared for a Level Five, this is at least a Nine.”

“We need to get a better idea of how the connection formed,” Draco said. “You’ll need to report this back to the Department. Request emergency protocols. Tell them it’s an unstable magical weather event, tied to a living signature. I’d classify it as a Level Eleven for now, but it could get worse. Take Corner with you.”

“Me?” asked Corner.

“You’ll need to tell Robards,” said Potter, before Draco could speak.

“Right,” said Corner, looking from Draco to Cartwright.

“Take the readings and the jar,” said Draco. Cartwright took the containment jar with a grimace, and it pulsed menacingly in her arms.

“What about Harry?” asked Corner.

They all directed their gaze at Potter. He watched them with wary eyes, glasses still streaked with rain.

“He can’t leave yet,” said Draco.

“What? Why not?” asked Corner.

“The storm is keyed to him somehow,” said Draco. “I don’t know what will happen if he moves too far away. We could be risking a surge collapse.”

“So we’re just…leaving him here?”

“No,” said Draco. “We’ll have to anchor him.”

Cartwright raised her eyebrows and Draco knew what she was thinking.

“Clear it with Goldsberry, he’ll back it,” he said.

“Alright,” said Cartwright, before looking over at Corner. “You ready? I’ll Side-Along you.”

Corner nodded and Cartwright tightened her grip on the containment jar.

“Try not to let any buildings fall while we’re gone.”

“No promises,” said Draco, flatly.

With a sharp crack, Corner and Cartwright Disapparated, the air folding awkwardly around their departure.

Potter stepped closer, arms folded.

“Anchor me?” he asked.

“It’s complicated,” said Draco.

A sudden gust rolled through the streets, loud rushing wind. Both men instinctively steadied themselves.

“Right,” said Potter. “That’s…ominous.”

Draco rubbed at his temples. Despite his weatherproof cloak, he was starting to feel the chill from the rain. He could only imagine how Potter was feeling, in his drenched Auror uniform.

“I’m going to set up a perimeter. It’ll buy some time while Cartwright reports back.”

*

Cartwright reappeared a few paces away with a loud crack.

“Goldsberry signed off,” she said, immediately. “You’ve got clearance for anchoring. Robards is in the loop and backing it too.”

Draco nodded, already pulling Potter back onto the convergence point. The low rumble of the storm pressed down on them, thickening the air like wet wool.

“Er…didn’t you say I wasn’t supposed to stand in the centre?”

“Yes, well, that was before we realised you are  the centre. I need you right here now so we can start anchoring.”

“Right,” said Potter. “And anchoring means…what exactly?”

Draco exhaled sharply and stepped back, eyes scanning the swirling clouds overhead, the way the air pulsed around them.

“You’re becoming the storm’s fulcrum,” said Draco. “Whatever hex was cast at you, something got tied to your magical core. Think of it like a leash, you’re tethered here. If you move too far, the whole thing could tear loose and go haywire. Anchoring means we’re having you lean in, become the gravitational centre.”

“Like a lightning rod?”

“More or less,” confirmed Draco. “It’d be easier if we knew what the hex was; that way, it’d be a lot easier to break the leash. But we don’t, so we’re doing this instead.”

“Why did it get tied to me though?” asked Potter. “Why not Corner?”

“Honestly, Potter, it’s you,” said Draco. “When it comes to your magic, I stopped asking ‘why’ a long time ago. You’re a walking magnet for this kind of chaos.”

Potter let out a short, humourless laugh.

“Right. Lucky me.”

*

The storm had quieted. The churning clouds had cooled, the pressure easing to a dull throb, like a distant heartbeat instead of a pounding drum.

Draco lowered his wand slowly, fingers stiff from the delicate spellwork, bones cold from the rain. He’d layered wards, countercharms and stabilising charms—reinforcing the magical barriers, dampening volatile energy pockets, charms weaving around Potter.

“Hmm,” he said, voice level but cautious. “Looks like we got it.”

Potter glanced around, water dripping steadily from his sodden uniform, then up at the sky. The wind was slackening, rain easing to a soft drizzle.

“What’d you do?”

“Detached the tether piece by piece,” said Draco. “It’s like…trying to untangle threads without ripping fabric, but I don’t know if I got it all. Feels too easy.”

“You’ve been casting for hours,” said Potter, disbelievingly. “I didn’t even recognise half of those spells. You call that easy?”

Draco let out a dry laugh.

“There’s a few enchantments that have to be cast simultaneously. It’s delicate magic.”

Draco’s eyes were scanning the sky, the clouds fading from a bruised purple to a greyish lavender, everything slowly stilling.

“And it’s just done now?”

“Well,” said Draco, carefully. “Cartwright took the samples back to the Department, so I’ll take a look at them and see if that will answer some questions. Not knowing what the hex was makes it hard to determine.”

*

Draco looked up from a stack of memos as the glass doors opened, bringing with them a gust of damp air. The smell was the first clue—wet pavement, wind, that strange, charged quality of ambient magic.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Draco said, before Potter had even fully stepped into the room.

“Hello to you too,” said Potter, dripping rainwater onto the floor like a stray dog. His hair was soaked, and a trail of mist seemed to be curling at the edges of his boots.

“It’s only been forty-eight hours,” said Draco. “What trouble have you gotten into now?”

“Believe me,” said Potter, sounding equal parts tired and irritated. “I would give anything to be dry right now.”

Draco set his quill down, eyeing him warily.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” said Potter. “I haven’t even been on another case yet. Robards sent me down, said that maybe whatever you did to break the leash didn’t completely tear the connection.”

‘Of course it didn’t,” muttered Draco. “Because you’re a walking magical anomaly.”

A crack of thunder punctuated the sentence. Both of them paused, and a swirl of dark clouds bloomed over Potter’s head.

Draco sighed.

“Fantastic.”

He stood from his chair, starting to walk down the corridor and indicating for Potter to follow.

“Come on, let’s run a diagnostic.”

He led the way through the corridor until stopping outside a heavy door at the end of the hall.

“This is the Observation Lab,” said Draco, tapping his wand to the door.

The door swung open with a hiss, revealing a clean, circular room. The air was heavy with that antiseptic magical stillness that always reminded Draco of St Mungo’s.

A faint sound like sloshing water followed them, and they turned to see a little puffy cloud, floating at shoulder height behind them, clearly trying to sneak into the lab.

“Er,” said Potter, stepping aside. “What is that?”

Draco groaned, brandishing his wand like he was shooing a fly.

“No, Neeph! Out! Go on.”

Neeph let out a plaintive whistling noise.

“Go hover over someone’s desk,” said Draco, flapping his hand. “You know you’re not allowed in here.”

Neeph gave an offended huff, then floated sulkily away, trailing a faint scent of petrichor.

“Was that…a cloud?”

“Yeah,” said Draco. “Sort of our unofficial mascot. No one remembers where it came from, it’s been here since before I was hired.”

“And it’s…sentient?”

“More or less. It likes attention. And sugar. It’s always stealing my croissants.”

Potter blinked at him for a moment, before Draco waved him into the centre of the room.

“Go stand in the middle. Don’t move. Try not to…emote too hard. I’d prefer not to get struck by lightning today, if it’s all the same to you.”

Potter stood obediently in the centre of the room, damp and glowering, while Draco muttered incantations. The dome above them shimmered faintly, then pulsed with a pale grey light, darkening like the clouds above Potter’s head.

“Right,” said Draco, circling Potter with the air of a disgruntled art critic. “This should give us a read on any unstable magical fields or spell residue.”

He flicked his wand, casting until a series of hovering runes lit up around Potter’s figure. The shapes wobbled uncertainly, then began to darken.

“Hmm,” said Draco.

“Don’t say hmm like that.”

“Would you prefer oh dear? That’s also an option.”

He squinted at a particularly aggressive swirl, reddish orange, now circling Potter’s head. The air had grown noticeably warmer, and a few tiny sparks crackled above Potter’s shoulders.

Draco made a thoughtful noise and walked back over to the panel.

“Well, the good news is your magical core doesn’t seem to have been harmed. Bad news—it appears to be…broadcasting.”

“Broadcasting?”

Draco nodded.

“Your magic is interacting with the environment in real time. The weather is responding to your magical core, your emotions.”

Potter stared at him.

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now,” said Draco. “Congratulations.”

As if on cue, a rumble of thunder echoed in the lab, and rain began to fall from directly above Potter’s head.

“Oh, come on,” he said.

“Ah, yes, despair,” said Draco. “That tracks.”

He circled back, wand aloft.

“There must have been some residual entanglement during the field extraction. The storm’s tether to you must have just shrunken instead of disappearing, leading it to key more directly to your emotional state.”

“Brilliant,” said Potter, dripping.

“Yes, well, this is why we try not to create pockets of intense magical pressure in the atmosphere.”

“I didn’t mean to,” said Potter. “I was trying to apprehend a suspect!”

“Mhm,” said Draco. “How did that work out for you?”

Potter pushed his soaked hair back.

“Is it fixable?”

Draco hesitated.

“Well,” he said slowly. “In theory, yes. We need to free the emotional resonance from your core. That could mean a magical cleanse, or just—”

“Just?”

“Just mood regulation. You’ve always been a rather…emotional spellcaster,” said Draco, diplomatically. “Your magic has always been very attuned to your emotions, which tend to be rather…volatile.”

A fresh rumble of thunder rolled across them as Potter sighed.

“We’ll probably have to do some containment work,” said Draco. “You’re going to have to try to stay calm, avoid strong emotions, and—Merlin help me—no heroics.”

Potter gave him a tired look.

“So I can’t work?”

“Not in the field, no.”

Potter stared at him as if Draco had suggested he take up interpretive dance, before tipping his head back and groaning.

“Malfoy, have you met me?”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, tragically.”

*

The story had gotten around, of course. It was hard not to notice the storm cloud hovering over Potter’s head in the canteen, or the hail bouncing off his shoulders in the corridors. The rumours moved quickly—Potter had been benched, his caseload reassigned.

He’d been coming to the Department of Cyclones, Rainfall, and Atmospheric Phenomena three afternoons a week, tucked into the Observation Lab while Draco continued to run diagnostics and recalibration spells.

They were, in theory, trying to undo the connection formed between Potter’s magic and the weather. Progress was debatable. The connection between Potter’s core and the atmosphere didn’t show many promising signs of fading. If anything, the weather seemed to be growing more expressive, with a minor sleet incident in the Atrium last Tuesday.

But Draco couldn’t help but notice a pattern developing. When Potter was in the lab, the climate stabilised. He’d come into the Department with a little raincloud over his head, hair dripping, but as he entered the lab and Draco began his usual diagnostic spells, the rain would stop and the clouds would disappear. Sometimes, absurdly, the space filled with soft golden light, like a mid-morning in late spring.

Draco glanced up at the dome overhead—clear skies. Potter was slouched in the usual chair, arms crossed, a slightly sullen set to his mouth. But there was no rain, not even a dramatic breeze.

“Have you noticed it’s always bloody lovely in here lately?” Draco asked.

Potter shrugged.

“Maybe the lab likes me.”

“That’s not how it works.”

Potter smiled faintly and leaned his head back.

“I suppose you’d know,” he said. “You’d good at this, aren’t you? Seem to know what you’re doing.”

Draco glanced at him.

“If I were really good at it,” he said, “you wouldn’t still be bringing snow into the Ministry in mid-July.”

“How’d you get into this anyway? This job?”

Draco sighed, taking the chair next to him.

“I nearly worked in Spell Damage Control. Turns out I don’t have the temperament to handle screaming and bleeding people flinging hexes in a panic.”

“So you landed in CRAP.”

“In the Department of Cyclones, Rainfall, and Atmospheric Phenomena,” corrected Draco. “And you? Suppose it’s unsurprising you became an Auror. You like it?”

Potter shrugged.

“I’m good at it,” he said. “I’m not exactly used to being benched.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t be,” said Draco. “Always have to be out there, don’t you? In the field, in the action.”

“I like being useful,” said Potter.

Draco’s chest did something rather inconvenient.

“Well,” he said, as flippantly as he could manage, “you’re currently making the Observation Lab look like bloody Tuscany, that’s not bad.”

Potter smiled at him properly then.

“Do you think it’ll go away?”

“Eventually, yes, but not all at once and not by itself. Magic like this…it shifts, it settles.”

“It’s just weird,” said Potter. “I don’t think I’m an unhappy person, but most of the time now, it’s always raining. There’s always a thunderstorm or a blizzard or bloody hail. I mean, you said it’s connected to my moods, my magical core. It’s just been making me wonder, am I really that miserable?”

Draco didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t think I’m the right person to ask that,” he said. “Wrong department if you want someone to tell you how to fix your feelings.”

“Right,” said Potter with a snort. “Suppose I should go find the Mind Healers.”

“I hear they have a bowl of jellybeans that can diagnose specific types of trauma based on what flavour you taste,” said Draco.

“Yeah? What flavour’s abandonment, you reckon?”

“Liquorice, if I had to guess.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the feeling of sunshine beaming down on them from the dome above.

“I think,” said Draco, “that whatever this thing is, it’s not about you being miserable or happy or whatever. It’s more about the pressure and the containment. I think you’ve got things you’ve been keeping bottled up and now they’re…leaking.”

“Leaking,” Potter echoed.

“Initial diagnostics confirmed it’s a connection to your magical core,” Draco explained. “And sure, your day-to-day moods are going to affect it. But I think it probably goes deeper than that, and that’s why it’s still happening.”

Potter was quiet again. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Suppose that means it won’t go away unless I try to deal with it.”

“You will though,” said Draco.

Potter looked over at him then, something soft in his expression.

“You’re not what I expected, you know.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Astonishing. I’ve never heard that one before.”

“No, I mean—this job suits you. You make it all make sense.”

Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“Well,” he said. “We do our best here at C.R.A.P.”

That earned a laugh from Potter. Not a loud one, but genuine, from somewhere low in his chest.

The light from the dome stayed gold.

*

Draco glanced up from his notes just in time to see Potter arrive at the Department—hair dry and fluffy, shoulders relaxed, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Draco blinked. This was an unusual sight, the air calm instead of crackling with that jittery, staticky tension Draco had come to associate with Potter’s magical storms.

“Well,” said Draco, standing from his desk. “You look unsettlingly dry. Let’s go to the lab.”

“There hasn’t been any rain this week,” said Potter, sounding pleased. “Not even a drizzle.”

Draco gave him a sceptical once-over as they entered the lab.

“Really?” Draco asked, watching the spell’s readings carefully. “Did you do anything different? Diet, sleep, illicit potions use?”

Potter rolled his eyes.

“I had a long conversation with Hermione on Monday. I felt a lot better afterwards, like a weight had lifted, maybe.”

Draco’s eyes flicked up, intrigued.

“What was it about?”

Potter hesitated, glancing away briefly before meeting Draco’s gaze again.

“Just…stuff. Things I’ve been thinking about. It was overdue.”

Draco waited a moment, but when Potter didn’t elaborate, he said lightly, “Doesn’t sound very scientific.”

“You asked what was different,” said Potter. “That’s the only thing I can think of.”

Draco considered him, then the soft glow of the readings, which pulsed with a steadiness he rarely saw in connection to Potter’s magical core. No, steady was not a word he’d use to describe Potter’s magic.

“Well,” he said finally, letting his wand lower slightly, “whatever it was, it seems to have been helpful. Your core’s more balanced than it’s been in weeks. It’s like the pressure’s been—”

“Let off?” Potter supplied.

“Managed,” Draco corrected. “Letting off steam would imply something explosive. More storms, I suppose.”

Potter chuckled under his breath.

“I think I’ve had enough of those, yeah.”

Draco gave a noncommittal shrug. After a pause, he added, a touch too casually, “Appreciate you keeping the downpours elsewhere, by the way. It’s been nice to have the lab all sunny lately.”

Potter looked up, somewhat startled, then flushed slightly.

“Oh. Yeah, er, happy to help.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Well,” Draco said briskly, clearing his throat, “try not to mess it up before our next meeting. I’ve grown rather attached to the sunlight.”

*

Draco could hear the thunder from all the way down the hall, before the doors even opened. When they finally did, Potter stepped in looking like he’d walked through a monsoon.

“Merlin,” Draco muttered. “Did you swim here?”

Potter gave a short, unamused laugh. His hair was sticking to his forehead, robes dripping steadily onto the tile.

“You’re tracking water,” Draco said, unnecessarily.

“Noted,” said Potter, without looking at him.

They made it into the lab, the storm accompanying them. The air was dense with it, humid and tense. Draco cast diagnostics, knowing from the low flicker of the charms that the pressure was spiking again.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, after a long silence.

“Not really.”

“Potter,” Draco said, with a sigh. “I can’t do anything with this if you won’t give me something to work with. Your core’s clearly out of alignment again. Whatever equilibrium you gained last week is—”

“Were you at the Antler and Ash on Friday night?” Potter interrupted suddenly.

Draco blinked at him.

“What?”

“The bar,” said Potter, arms crossed, jaw tight. “You were there, weren’t you?”

“Yes?” Draco said slowly. “How did you—?”

“I saw you there,” Potter breathed, almost too quietly to hear.

Draco furrowed his brows, studying him.

“You could’ve said hello.”

Potter didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicked up, then away.

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt. You looked…busy. I figured you were on a date or something.”

Draco sputtered.

“With Theo?” he huffed.

Potter glanced up.

“Who?”

“Theodore Nott,” said Draco, incredulously.

“That was Nott?” Potter’s ears went pink. “I didn’t recognise him. He looks different to how he did in school.”

“Yes, well, I’d hope we all do,” said Draco. “It’s been years.”

Draco watched Potter carefully. Something shifted in the air, Draco felt it like a pressure drop. The static was bleeding out of the room.

“And it was not a date,” he added mildly. “Theo’s engaged, to a Muggle solicitor named Siobhan.”

The storm had begun to quiet, the heavy patter of rain easing into more of a whisper.

“Is that what this was about?” Draco asked, voice lower. “That’s what pissed you off so much you brought a bloody thunderstorm into my lab?”

Potter looked away, flushing.

“Right,” said Draco, softly. “Well, that’s something.”

He was suddenly very glad that the weather wasn’t attuned to his emotions or magical core, because he felt his stomach fluttering rather insistently. He flicked his wand, cancelling the diagnostics.

“Draco—”

Draco was looking up, to where the dark grey clouds above Potter’s head had disappeared. The faintest edge of sunlight spilled through the dome, warm and tentative.

“Next time,” he said, without meeting Potter’s eyes, “maybe just ask me.”

*

“Neeph, I swear to Merlin, if you do not give me that form back right now,” Draco was holding his wand up, “you are going in a jar.”

Neeph let out a sound rather like blowing a raspberry and dropped the parchment on the floor. Draco bent to pick it up, holding it delicately between his thumb and index finger.

“And it’s sopping wet,” he said. “Lovely.”

He looked up at the sound of the door opening, to find Potter wandering in, unannounced and uninvited.

“Did we have an appointment today?” asked Draco, knowing full well they didn’.

“No,” said Potter.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

Draco looked at him. There didn’t seem to be any significant weather events occurring at the moment. Potter’s hair was slightly damp, as though it had been raining earlier, but not wet, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight.

Potter wandered over to Draco’s desk, started fidgeting with a quill.

“You’re hovering,” Draco observed.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re loitering around like Neeph and waiting for me to extract information out of you.”

Potter made a face and a moment of silence passed. Draco began casting Drying Charms on his parchment.

“I was wondering,” Potter said finally, “if you might want to go out sometime.”

Draco froze mid-incantation.

“I beg your pardon?”

Potter swallowed.

“You know. Like, not for diagnostics. Just…out. With me.”

Draco stared.

“You’re asking me out on a date?”

Potter had the audacity to look sheepish.

“I mean, yeah. If you want.”

Draco set down his wand.

“Potter. You’re—we’re—you’re practically a patient.”

“That’s a strong word,” said Potter.

Draco gave him a look.

“You have a weather-based instability tethered to your magical core and emotional regulation. I am monitoring your core fluctuations. There is a professional power differential in our dynamic.”

Potter ran a hand through his damp hair.

“So that’s a no.”

Draco hesitated.

“It’s…it’s a not yet,” he said. “We need to stabilise your core. Once the instability is resolved…then we can talk about your poor romantic decision-making.”

Potter was quiet for a second.

“What if it never gets resolved?”

Draco looked up, surprised.

“Don’t say that,” he said. “We’ve seen what happens when you actually talk about things, cope with your emotions instead of pushing them down. The storms let up, the readings stabilise. It’s not impossible. You’re just—well. Repressed.”

Potter gave him a flat look.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Draco said, without missing a beat. “The point is, the connection eases when you’re not bottling everything up. So if you let it out—Merlin forbid you share your feelings like a normal person—it should weaken and then disappear.”

Potter stepped closer.

“So you’re saying I need to let out stuff I’ve got pent up inside.”

“Yes,” said Draco. “That’s the working theory.”

“Right,” said Potter.

And then he kissed him.

Draco froze. The kiss was brief, barely more than a press of lips, but it was warm, and startling, and slightly rain-scented, like the storms that had been following Potter around for weeks.

When Potter pulled back, Draco stared at him.

“I—Potter, this is highly unprofessional,” he said, voice a little higher than usual.

“You told me to let it out.”

“That’s not—!” Draco cut himself off, ran a hand through his hair, and gave Potter a murderous glare. “Do you always weaponize people’s advice against them?”

“Only when they’re dishy.”

Draco groaned.

“Get out, Potter.”

“But—”

“Out. We have an appointment tomorrow. And so help me, your core better be stabilised or I’ll take personal offense.”

Potter was grinning as he left. Draco stood there for a moment, staring at the door like it might swing open again and declare that the last two minutes had been a hallucination.

He took a steadying breath.

“Unprofessional,” he muttered, turning back to his desk.

“I dunno,” said a voice. “Looked pretty therapeutic to me.”

Draco whipped around. Cartwright was leaning in the doorway that led to the back corridor, holding a mug. She looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“How long have you been there?” Draco demanded.

“Long enough to question why our guidelines on weather magic containment don’t include a footnote about impulsive kissing,” she said, taking a sip.

Draco made a strangled noise.

“He is not—that wasn’t—!”

Cartwright just snorted. Draco groaned, turned away, and began rifling through a drawer with unnecessary intensity.

“If he comes back for round two, I’m adding it to the manual,” she added cheerfully.

Draco slammed the drawer shut.

*

Three weeks had passed. Three agonisingly long and painful weeks. Potter was a terrible flirt, and he wouldn’t stop. Every check-in brought a new infuriating smile, a fresh volley of double entendres, and some new excuse to hover around Draco’s desk long after diagnostics were finished.

The storms were gone. The erratic spikes in magical pressure had smoothed out, the static in Potter’s magical field had all but dissipated, and diagnostics had logged a consistent core reading for seven consecutive days. By all measurable standard, Potter was entirely stable.

Which made this morning’s arrival—Potter leaning against Draco’s desk, arms crossed, grinning like the cat that got the cream—entirely unnecessary.

“We do not have an appointment,” said Draco, without looking up from his notes.

“I know,” said Potter cheerfully. “I was in the building.”

You work in the building, Draco wanted to point out, obnoxiously.

"Your core is stable," he said instead. "The Department thanks you for no longer being a magical liability."

"Ouch," Potter said. "You were so much nicer when you were worried about me flooding the Ministry."

"I am always worried about you destroying the Ministry in one way or another," said Draco. "But it is no longer in the Department's purview."

Potter's grin only widened.

"So you admit you worry about me."

"Potter," said Draco, finally looking up. "You are no longer the Department's problem. Go bother the Aurors for your caseload back. Or buy yourself a houseplant. I don't care."

"A houseplant isn't nearly as interesting as you."

Draco stared at him. From somewhere in the back, Cartwright called out, "Is he here again?"

"Get out, Potter, I have work to do."

Potter winked at him. 

"Tomorrow, then."

After Potter walked out, Draco sat there, breathing in the silence. He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Potter’s magical core was stable. There were no more restrictions or professional boundaries to consider. Draco had lost his flimsy excuse for telling himself that it would be inappropriate to go out with him.

And yet.

What was he supposed to do? Ask if the offer from weeks ago was still valid? Just waltz up to him and say, "Remember when you kissed me in the middle of the Department? Fancy dinner and possibly a second offense?"

He didn't even know if Potter really meant it. Maybe it was a joke, just some strange Gryffindor-ish banter. Hell, maybe it had been therapeutic. Maybe Draco had just been convenient. The thought made something twist sharply in his chest. 

He was still glaring at a completely innocent teacup when Cartwright reappeared.

"Alright," she said, as if picking up a conversation they’d already been having. "So if his readings are normal, and he's not required to come in for diagnostics anymore, and you're not in a supervisory role anymore, why the hell haven't you gone out with him?"

Draco scowled at her as she took a seat on the edge of his desk, completely uninvited.

"It's been weeks," she went on. "You're twitchier than the humidity index before a monsoon. What gives?"

Draco stared at a point somewhere near her left elbow.

"I don't know if he was serious."

Cartwright stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"He kissed you."

"Yes, well. He's Potter. He's reckless and dramatic and fond of grand gestures," Draco said bitterly. "It could have meant anything. It could have meant nothing."

Cartwright narrowed her eyes.

"Draco. He flirts with you constantly. He's been showing up here daily since his appointments stopped. The way he looks at you—like he could cast a Patronus just from the sight."

Draco glared and Cartwright softened just a little.

"Okay, look. Maybe he was testing the waters. Maybe he's waiting for a signal that you're not going to bolt. I mean—you've basically had a giant sign over your head that says Professional Boundaries or Death."

"I have ethics," Draco muttered.

"You also have a crush the size of a hippogriff," she said. "Maybe do something about it before he gives up and flirts with someone less emotionally constipated."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, found absolutely nothing, and shut it again.

"Just think about it," Cartwright said, hopping off his desk and heading back towards her own. "And maybe next time he loiters around your desk, try not to yell at him or threaten to hex him. That's step one in most romantic strategies."

*

Draco was already halfway out the door when a familiar voice stopped him.

"Draco."

He paused and turned. Potter was leaning casually against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed, that grin that made Draco want to curse and sigh all at once firmly in place.

"Potter," he said, heavily. "What do you need?"

"I need you to tell me if I'm wasting my time," Potter replied immediately, eyes bright with a kind of earnest impatience. "Because if I'm not, I'm going to keep showing up until you either say yes or hex me."

Draco blinked, hesitating.

"Say yes to what, exactly?"

Potter looked at him like he'd just questioned whether the sky was blue.

"Yes to going out with me. What else would I be talking about?"

Draco chewed on his bottom lip.

"I wasn't sure…if that was still something you wanted."

Merlin, but it was mortifying to admit that. Potter's mouth dropped open.

"I've been flirting with you every bloody day. How could you possibly think otherwise?"

Draco shrugged.

"You're such a bloody Gryffindor, I didn't know if you meant anything by it. Could've just been…banter."

Potter stepped forward, eyes growing serious.

"Draco, I do not go around flirting with random people. I damn near wrecked the Auror headquarters with lightning strikes because I thought you had been on a date with someone else."

Draco felt a bit caught off guard at the confession and the image it conjured.

"You…what?"

Potter merely shrugged, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

"Yeah, and the thunder got so loud it broke through three Silencing Charms. Robards was not impressed."

Draco's lips twitched—half amused, half exasperated.

"You didn't mention that during our diagnostic."

Potter stepped closer, voice low now.

"So is that a yes?"

Draco swallowed.

"If the offer's still on the table."

*

The restaurant door swung shut behind them with a soft clatter, and Draco tipped his head back instinctively. The rain had stopped.

They started walking, the quiet click of their shoes on wet pavement the only sound for a moment. The clouds had thinned since they had first arrived, the air was mild, and the last traces of twilight glowed at the edges of the sky.

Draco glanced sideways at Potter. 

"You sure this wasn't you?" he asked, smirking.

Potter raised both hands.

"Innocent."

Draco snorted. Potter shot him a soft glance.

"Although," he said. "If the connection was still active, I think the weather would be pretty nice."

That gave Draco pause. 

He looked ahead again, the silence between them gentle.

They kept walking for a few paces. Potter kept looking at him, then down at his shoes, then back at him.

"I'd like to see you again," he finally said.

"You mean this wasn't a one-time gratitude date? Thanking me for my services over some overpriced wine?"

Potter huffed.

"Please. You nearly made the sommelier cry with all that commentary on oak barrels."

"He asked for my thoughts."

"And I'm asking to take you out again," said Potter, bold as anything. 

Draco stopped walking, and Potter turned to face him fully, eyes earnest under the glow of the streetlamps.

"If you want that," he added.

Draco didn't answer right away, but he could feel his expression softening—eyes thoughtful, mouth barely twitching in amusement. Something warm was winding its way up inside him, quiet and bright and a little scary. 

He took a step closer, and Potter mirrored him instinctively. For a second, neither moved. Then, tentatively, Draco leaned in.

The kiss was short. Light, almost surprised. But Potter followed it with another—slow, surer. Draco felt the heat of it, Potter's hand snaking up to wrap around the back of his neck, his tongue lightly tracing the seam of Draco's bottom lip.

When they finally broke apart, Draco was still close enough to murmur, "I suppose I wouldn't mind."

Potter's smile could've cleared the sky all over again.