Dashing Heroics (2/2)

[lokifan]

Title: Dashing Heroics
Author: lokifan
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco; background Ron/Hermione and Neville/OFC
Rating: R
Word Count: ~21 400
Content notes: brief non-consensual voyeurism
Summary: Harry loves being an Auror. He loves it less when the Aurors start taking on the trainees for a few weeks of on-the-job training. As it turns out, Malfoy wants to be an Auror too.
Author's Notes: Thank you melusinahp for the beta!

Part one here

Dashing Heroics on AO3 or
The next day was Thursday. The department was getting nowhere on the vampires, but Harry and Malfoy took care of three of the department’s burglary cases at once, in the person of Hadrian Cooper. They went to his workplace, which was the kind of dodgy apothecary in Knockturn that Harry usually didn’t bust for Gollyweed possession in return for information. They walked in and Cooper saw them.

“Stay calm, all right, do the intelligent thing -- ” Malfoy said. He was interrupted by Cooper hurling a glass of eyeballs at them. Harry ran straight through the exploding glass with his eyes shut and chased Cooper through the apothecary’s storeroom, dodging spilled jars and small explosions as he went. Cooper kept bringing down overstuffed, narrow sets of shelves behind him, slowing Harry down. Harry swore as Cooper opened the back door.

Malfoy wrapped Cooper in enchanted ropes. Cooper fell backwards. Malfoy, standing in the doorway, was backlit and Harry couldn’t see his expression, only his light-limned pale hair. But he sensed a sneer.

“I don’t know which of you is stupider, frankly.”

Not quite the spirit of deference one might hope for. “Quiet in the field, trainee.”

“I’m the one who obeyed the actual field manual! And got him.”

“It was a team effort, I scared him into you,” said Harry.

Malfoy snorted, and they took Cooper back to headquarters. Garner said “nice work, trainee,” as they passed, and Malfoy beamed.

They did the paperwork together, and a few Aurors paused as they passed Harry’s cubicle to congratulate the two of them. Harry half-expected Malfoy to rip into them for patronising him or sneer about how he didn’t need handholding. Instead he went all quietly satisfied; he didn’t say anything, just smiled quietly down at his report when he thought Harry couldn’t see.

Although that might also have been getting to call Harry an idiot who couldn’t follow procedure with a roadmap in something official.

“Stop talking about following the rules!” Harry spluttered. “You used to practise your fouls at school - ”

“And look where that got me,” Malfoy said, his voice unexpectedly sharp. “It’s a miracle I’m not planning Cooper’s welcome party from Azkaban right now. I do learn eventually, you know.”

Harry blinked. Malfoy looked up, and sent him a slanting grin; almost a peace offering, though it was needle-sharp. “Besides. Following the rules is how I get to make every Auror who sneered at me congratulate me. I don’t have the luxury of getting there any way I can.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Malfoy’s smile relaxed into a real, wide grin, and Harry blinked like he’d looked directly at the sun. “Showing people you’re nothing like they thought you were, that they don’t know you from the papers… I bet you know what that’s like.”

“Yeah, I do, but… it’s not really fun. It’s - I’m not what they expect, not usually, and they end up kind of disappointed.”

Malfoy looked like he was bursting to say something horrible. Harry raised an eyebrow. “Say it.”

“Everyone is disappointed by actually meeting you, Potter, especially the women who foolishly expect a hero with a mighty weapon - ”

Harry laughed, unable to help himself. “No mighty weapons in the office, Malfoy. And it’s men, actually. But I thought you’d know -- speaking of stuff about our lives being in the papers.”
Malfoy leant back in his chair and smoothed his hair, affecting an expression that was even more lordly than usual. “I spent a while throwing the Prophet across the room every time I caught a glimpse of your scruffy head. I’m sure you understand.”

“I did the same thing for a while, actually. They said such stupid stuff about me.”

“Harry Potter is so brave and heroic and marvellous - ”

“Well exactly!” Harry said loudly. Malfoy stared. “And they’d come up to me and ask me how I did it, and I didn’t know what to say - I never know what to say, I can’t talk about it. Do they want me to tell them about battle, about going to murder someone? About casting Unforgivables and seeing my friends - And, and they send their kids up to me to get an autograph and I’m terrible with kids.”

“I can’t tell you how very surprised I am,” Malfoy said. He didn’t look shocked by Harry’s outburst, just calmly mocking, like always. “Mostly because I’m not. I’m great with kids.”

“You’re an only child. You’re the only-iest child I know.”

“I have a nurturing soul.”

“Come with me to Sunday dinner with the Weasleys,” Harry suggested with cheerful cruelty. “Some of Ron’s brothers have kids, they’d love to have help.”

“Er. On Sundays I have Dark Wizards Anonymous.”

“Very anonymous, I’m sure. That hair’s like a beacon.” Harry reached over and tugged a strand of it -- so soft it almost slid out of his fingers. Malfoy slapped his hand away with a scandalised expression.

“You may have the hair of a wild animal but I take care of mine! Paws off!” Harry backed off and Malfoy looked a little gloomy. “You’re right, though. It’s like taking a white-blond sign that says ‘please curse me’.”

“Do people actually -- ”

“Not any more.” Malfoy’s eyes were pale and calm and reflective, a silver pool. You couldn’t see what lay beneath, not really. “I wear my Auror trainee robes out a lot.”

Harry had too, back then, but for different reasons; he’d wanted to blend in with the others, one of a team. Maybe the captain of the team -- but not a One by himself, chosen or otherwise.

He asked Malfoy to the Hippogriff’s Head after work. After a fraught pause, Malfoy nodded. He was still pleased from their arrest, and went even more liquidly relaxed at the pub, working his way through a pint and collecting congratulations. Harry tried not to watch his mouth while he talked.

Going for another round, Harry got trapped at the bar by three Brummie wizards. This didn’t usually happen at the Hippogriff’s Head, it was a Ministry pub, but here were three tourists and they were so pleased to meet the Boy Who Lived.

“We heard about the killer vampires!” one exclaimed.

“Aren’t most vampires killer…?”

“You must be getting ready to storm the barricades! Blood, fire…” The wizard mimed swinging a sword.

“Excellent!”

Harry felt rather sick. Soon they’d ask him about progress and what he was going to do, and the Aurors hadn’t got that far yet. He certainly wouldn’t be going in alone to tackle them; he’d learnt his lesson about that sort of thing very early on in his training, when he’d rushed off to save the day automatically and then almost been killed because Ron and Hermione weren’t there.

And when they heard that and got bored, they’d thank him for killing Voldemort and ask how he’d done it. Harry could see it all coming but he was tired, a little drunk, trapped against the bar by the Thursday night crush and these wizards’ hopeful faces. He needed to make it go away somehow, stop them asking about the Battle of Hogwarts or Dumbledore --

“Hello there,” came an unmistakable drawl. The Brummie wizards turned, and behind them was Malfoy. “What a pleasure to meet some of Potter’s fans.” Malfoy’s smile was chill and awful, and he made a strange little gesture, a subtle shake of his head. Bemused, Harry recognised it: it was Lucius’ gesture of shaking long hair back.

“Draco Malfoy?” one of the wizards said, sounding as if he dearly hoped he was wrong.

“Why, yes! You’ve heard of me too, have you?” Malfoy’s voice was smooth, a little deeper than usual, and death-cold as a shark’s eyes. His imitation of his father was dead on. “Do you know what I did in the war?”

A small, lethal pause, and the wizards were making their excuses and rushing for the exit.

Harry gave a sigh of relief at being rescued. “Cheers, Malfoy.”

Malfoy shrugged. “I just did it for fun. The murderous Malfoy reputation’s got to be good for something, right?”

Harry caught his arm before he could dive back into the crowd. “I. Look, you’re really annoying, just incredibly, and your approach to this whole Auror thing isn’t as altruistic or as Dark-Arts-free as I’d like…”

“We’re off the clock, I don’t have to listen to your stupid opinions about me - ”

“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant! What I meant was… they’re still wrong about you, those blokes. You’re not evil. Not at all.”

Malfoy paused, staying still in Harry’s light grip. “Well. What a grand compliment,” he said. His tone wasn’t half as sharp as the words, though; he sounded almost bewildered.

Harry released him, and for a split second Malfoy stayed frozen, blinking at Harry with wide grey eyes, before lowering his arm and returning to the others. Harry followed after a moment, juggling beers, and found Malfoy trying to coax everyone into doing a conga line with him. Harry laughed, and agreed to do it with him if enough other people joined in.

Harry reminded himself that there were plenty of other people in the world who were funny. And Ginny’s charm hadn’t been exhausting to watch the way Malfoy’s occasionally was, while he worked so hard to get the other Aurors on his side.

There weren’t many other people who understood about the Prophet, though. The exhaustion of meeting people who thought they knew you, and deciding to meet or defy their expectations. Feeling the shadow of the Boy Who Lived or the young Death Eater behind you.

Besides, he was – different. Except not. Harry spent a worrying amount of time that night contemplating how Malfoy was the same little git he’d always been, and how he was that pale ghost flinching from Voldemort’s gaze, and how he wasn’t either of those two things but someone quite different, which was disconcerting.

It was odd when Harry went in to work on Friday, and Malfoy wasn’t there: the trainees had a day off on Fridays, ostensibly so that they could revise. Harry had got used to having him around. Usually he couldn’t bear having a partner around all the time while he worked: they made his skin itch with frustration, and a day of paperwork always ended with Harry snarling through gritted teeth at his largely inoffensive partner. He’d only ever been able to investigate easily with Ron and Hermione.

But it wasn’t like that with Malfoy, when Harry had expected it to be much worse: the few times they’d been partners in Potions it had certainly been disastrous. Somehow they fit together after all, lock and key.

“Potter!”

Harry was rather glad to be interrupted in this mad train of thought until he turned and saw Collins’ face. “The vampires sent us another threat, and this time we have a deadline. We need everything you’ve got so far and everyone on deck.”

“Take my notes,” he said, standing and grabbing his cloak in one movement. “I’ll be right back with Malfoy.”

He headed out of the Ministry to Apparate, his heart pounding and his world going narrow and focussed with adrenaline. The strangest part was that it barely felt strange to be waiting for Malfoy’s shoulder against his.

~*~

Harry knocked on his door, and waited. No answer.

He was halfway through his second knock when he decided that Malfoy obviously wasn’t coming, and used three illegal spells to get through Malfoy’s wards.

Hopefully Malfoy had grown out of telling the Prophet things about him. If Hermione found out he was using those spells without a warrant, she’d do a number of terrible things to him. The editorial about the immoral, illegal behaviour of those charged with maintaining the rule of law for wizarding Britain would be the least of it.

The door swung open, and Harry stepped into the thickly carpeted corridor. His body automatically shifted into silence as he moved: if Malfoy caught him breaking in and managed to bring him down, Harry’s pride would never recover. He strained his ears for a sound to tell him where Malfoy was.

If Harry could sneak up on him, maybe pounce and make him scream, he would never let Malfoy live it down.

He caught a sound, small and muted by a closed door. He listened, and it came again: a pained moan. Malfoy was moaning.

Shit! What if the vampires have got to him? The strained sound grew, getting louder as Harry crept closer to the door it was coming from. He charmed the door to silence, sweat prickling on his forehead. A hoarse groan suddenly erupted from behind the door. Harry gripped his wand, and slipped the door open.

It was Malfoy’s bedroom, and Malfoy was quite safe. He was lying on his bed, stark naked. Wanking.

Oh God. He wasn’t in pain, he was – Harry stood and stared for a long moment, and he couldn’t pretend to himself it was due to shock. Malfoy was stretched out, all his pale, soft skin on display. His cock was red against his pale stomach, his hips rolling. His chest was flushed pink and shining with sweat, and so was his face. It looked strained; Malfoy’s eyes fluttered shut as he bit his lower lip. He made a tiny sound, and bucked, throwing his head back and exposing his sweat-slicked throat. The urge to lick it was so strong Harry actually had to look away for a moment.

That instant of looking away from Malfoy let Harry regain his self-control. Shame abruptly hit him and he lunged for the door. What was he doing, standing there getting an eyeful when Malfoy had no idea he was there? Harry’s sneaking was less successful on the way out; luckily Malfoy seemed too preoccupied to notice the small scuff of Harry’s shoes on the hall carpet.

He staggered back out of Malfoy’s flat and stood on the doorstep, trying to find his misplaced ability to cope. He momentarily wished Ron was there, and then realised how mad he was at this moment.

Harry noticed he was compulsively tugging at his hair, trying to tidy it, and brought his hands down with a snort. He knocked on Malfoy’s front door. Loudly. Harry kept knocking, feeling frustration begin to trickle in, making his skin feel tight and angry. Anger was easier than anything else. He threw a storm of blows against the wood, feeling his knuckles start to hurt. After four minutes and thirty-eight seconds (Harry counted very precisely in his head so he wouldn’t picture Malfoy’s orgasm) a fully-clothed, angry-eyed Malfoy threw open the door.

“What?”

Harry’s mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. He couldn’t quite speak, staring at the angry, closed-up face he’d seen so recently with a soft mouth moaning and bright eyes.

“What?” Malfoy snapped again. “Why on earth have you come pounding on my door like the world is ending? I assume something important is happening. Have the vampires killed someone?”

That question managed to pull Harry out of his fugue. “Not yet. They sent another missive to the Ministry, and this one says they’ll destroy a high-ranking Ministry official during the next twenty-four hours. We need to find them – there are too many people it could be.”

Malfoy nodded. “Don’t think I’m pleased with you for being so insanely knocker-happy, Potter, but I’m with you. Let’s go.”

They started walking fast towards the Apparition point. Malfoy was speaking as they went, obviously already thinking hard about their case. It was urgent, Harry knew that. But every gesture, every hand motion and tossed head and movement of mouth mesmerised him, threw him back into that room. He turned his head and stared determinedly at the pavement in front of him. He could do this if he just didn’t look at Malfoy.

“If it says ‘destroy’ specifically that might not even mean killing some important official. There are plenty of other ways to destroy a man than killing him – take it from me. They did threaten the families, so my guess is they plan to kill some poor person’s spouse and kids. But they might want to blackmail them or something – if it’s a Wizengamot member, that might even work. There are too many variables, that’s the trouble.”

Harry made a vague noise. Malfoy flapped a hand, hitting Harry’s arm lightly; Harry jumped a mile at the contact. “Am I talking to myself here?”

“No, no,” Harry said quickly. “I think you’re right.” He did, too; of course, he wasn’t thinking very clearly just now. “I think we need to concentrate on finding them before they can do anything they threatened – or maybe we can hold some of their people hostage, get the rest to come in peacefully. Their message was sent directly to the Ministry and the wizards and witches in the lab are looking at it, so maybe they’ll find enough evidence that we’ll have a better idea of where to look.”

“We can only hope,” Malfoy said. He slanted a caustic glance at Harry. “This had better not become one of the Aurors’ myriad excuses for raiding random parts of Knockturn Alley.”

“Nah, there’s no evidence linking the vampires to Knockturn. There’s not much evidence linking them to anywhere, really.”

Malfoy snorted. “And also, Granger would stake the Auror department out in the sun and flay it in every editorial. Fear will do what principles can’t every time.”

Harry scowled; it was an incredibly irritating thing to say, and more so because he didn’t have a good answer. He muttered something, then curled a hand round Malfoy’s upper arm to guide him into the alley where they’d Apparate.

Malfoy’s arm tensed under his hand; Harry felt a twist of lust at the swell of muscle for a moment before Malfoy shrugged out of his grip, scowling. “Stop tugging me about, Potter! I’m not a child, you don’t need to push me to make sure I go where you want.”

Harry bit back his instinctive reply and nodded: he’d have been annoyed himself, after all.

He Apparated before he could start swearing.

It was ridiculous. Sublimated lust had his heart pounding, and he was annoyed with himself for not giving such a serious case his full attention. But he had to get control of himself, or he’d lose focus. Get someone killed.

The Auror offices were bustling; everyone had been called in, some wearing weekend robes and weary faces. Bustling wasn’t the right word, Harry decided as he led Malfoy to one of the main meeting rooms, which was scattered with parchment and people trying to work out where the vampires might be hiding. Bustling implied a very different sort of atmosphere from the one which prevailed now. This was edgy, energised, waiting for news but restless. This was flickering gazes and lips moving as Aurors skimmed or trawled through the evidence again. The Aurors were too well-trained for hysteria, but controlled urgency was in every movement.

Harry couldn’t concentrate. This was important work, but every time he glanced at Malfoy he saw him naked and spread-legged in his mind’s eye. Harry flushed, shifting uncomfortably in the horrible prickly-cushioned office chair, and tried to ignore it.

He tried sending Malfoy off to get them all tea. Malfoy scowled at him but obeyed, apparently deciding that fetching tea was less damaging to his dignity than having a room of trigger-happy Aurors shout at him. For five blissful minutes Harry could focus, his brain working steadily through the possibilities. Then Malfoy was back and blowing on his tea to cool it down, pink lips pursed, and Harry crunched the bit of parchment he was holding into a ball.

Malfoy had a map of central London in front of him. He was covering it in explicable pins, golden and raspberry and striped blue-and-green. He bit his lip, concentrating, and Harry choked on air.

He looked back at the case file.

He glanced up again to find a question and Malfoy was biting his thumb, staring at the map with narrowed eyes. Malfoy pulled at his clothes, exposing the vulnerable hollow of his collarbone, and Harry couldn’t take it any more.

“Malfoy,” he said quietly. “Maybe you should go home.”

“What?” Malfoy’s head jerked up. He glared at Harry, his lip curled. “No! You practically knocked my front door down to get me out and on the case, I’m not leaving.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I know I bothered you when you were probably busy revising.” Harry glanced down and hoped very hard that Malfoy wasn’t a Legilimens. “It’s just, this is a big, serious case, and you’re a trainee. I don’t want you to get hurt, or someone else to get hurt, because I pulled you in when you weren’t ready.”

“I’m ready! I got Cooper, didn’t I? I’m almost done with my training.”

“That’s not - look, let’s go next door and talk about this.”

Malfoy scowled but obeyed. The other Aurors were too engrossed in the case to pay much attention as Harry and Malfoy found an empty room.

“If it was an average case I’d bring you along, of course I would, but we don’t usually have to deal with stuff like this - ”

“The whole point of having on-the-job training was to practice dealing with this stuff, you fool! To make me ready if I’m not. I can do it, I want to prove myself -- ”

“That’s a bad reason to be an Auror, you’ll get yourself killed! Take it from me, I wanted to prove I deserved to be here so badly, that it wasn’t nepotism that got me through, and I fucked it up so badly when I first qualified -- ”

“Well I won’t be an idiot like you! I’ll do it right and - ”

Harry’s frustration boiled over. “You can’t just be an Auror because you want people to like you, want them to think you’re good -- ”

For a moment hurt was visible in Malfoy’s face, painfully raw. Harry almost flinched from it, but “It’s easy not to need it when you’re sure you’re right. But I’m not on the moral high-ground, I’m hip-deep in the muck, just trying to get out of the quagmire.”

“Look, I respect that, I do. But you need to know when the situation calls for you to ignore the field manual, that’s an Auror skill too.”

“You rush around like an idiot and that’s an Auror skill? I’ll be clever, I’ll think about what I’m doing - ”

“I think about what I’m doing!”

“But you don’t have to think about anything else!” Malfoy was shouting now, leaning forward, face pale and livid. “I have to follow the rules, I have to think about what people will think, because they’ve got their eyes on me and if I fail I’m out! No second chances for me, this is my second chance. I don’t have room to fuck up! I have to walk in and be perfect -- ”

“You can’t do that, it’s not possible! God, you’re not cut out to be an Auror if that’s how you’re thinking. It’s not about you, it’s not about you righting your wrongs or whatever, it’s about the people we’re meant to help!”

Malfoy’s body was stiff. His upper lip curled into a snarl like a trapped predator. “I’m going to be a great Auror. You just can’t stand that I could do your job and be just as good as you when I’m not one of your little minions. I wasn’t in Dumbledore’s Army, wasn’t following you around like a puppy so you just assume I can’t be an Auror -- ”

“That isn’t true, but you keep talking about how you hate the public and -- ”

“Everyone who works with the public hates them!”

“I don’t!” Harry didn’t know how they’d got here, how it had escalated so fast. God, they brought out the worst in each other; he didn’t know why he wanted him, why his whole body was still pulsing with frustrated lust and anger. Malfoy was standing there magnetic with energy, drawing the eye; but he wasn’t even that beautiful wearing that sneer. He looked like his father who’d scorned everyone who wasn’t a pureblood, his mother who’d betrayed Sirius. He looked like himself, and suddenly all the history between them was a gulf too wide to cross.

“And you know what, I believe in second chances, but don’t you dare play the victim when people don’t trust you. You were a Death Eater, you agreed to kill Dumbledore and you brought enemies into Hogwarts.” Harry found himself squaring up to Malfoy like a boxer. Malfoy’s eyes went bleak, but the fire in Harry blazed too hot to stop. “You brought Dark Arts there, you knew so much sick stuff -- ”

“Which makes me a better Auror. I understand how dark wizards think, I know what they want. It’s dyed into my bones but I can use it to help you -- who d’you think knows more about where insurrectionist vampires would find allies to hide them, me or you?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about! I need to know you won’t get yourself killed in a tight spot or use Dark Arts to get yourself out of it!”

“I haven’t since - I was acquitted, Potter, who died and made you king?”

“The only reason you’re not a murderer is luck,” Harry roared. “And I know you didn’t want to and didn’t mean it, and I’m glad you don’t have to live with it, but not being totally evil isn’t enough!”

Malfoy actually swayed a little in place. Harry felt sick.

“Malfoy, I’m sorry, listen - ”

“Don’t,” Malfoy said, turning. His voice sounded muffled. “I’m going home. You win.” There was a tiny, bitter pause. “Like always.”

The door closed behind him and Harry slumped onto a table. His heart was pounding. He’d never shouted at work like that, not ever. Malfoy’s face --

He managed to make himself leave the room two minutes later. They had a case and it was deadly; the vampires would be coming for people very soon. He couldn’t get afford to be distracted by Malfoy. That was much of why he’d sent him away to begin with.

He returned to the conference room. There were some edgy looks but no one said anything. Harry looked over Malfoy’s notes, looking for a clue. He’d written about white roses, pureblood names Harry recognised. Harry put the parchment down, not wanting to look at Malfoy’s wild handwriting any more.

“I’m making more tea.”

The Aurors muttered assent. Harry stopped in his cubicle on the way back, looking for an old map of wizarding London he had in a pile of papers.

There was a note on his desk.

Brainwave!

The vampires are in Knockturn after all, fools, in Hare’s warehouse. It’s near a source of – well, I could explain but I’m in a hurry so just trust me, my evil upbringing tells me things that I KNOW are true. Going to sneak up on them, I have garlic to keep them away until I can arrest them properly, will be back in blaze of glory. Please have parade prepared for the dashing hero who worked out where the vampires were and arrested them all single-handed.

Draco

Harry read it all in seconds, and then stood staring at it while horror zigzagged down his spine and set his whole body tingling.

“Shit!”

Possibly the situation deserved a worse swearword, but Harry was busy thinking of much more literal curses, all of which he intended to inflict on those vampires if they’d dared to hurt Draco.

And they would, he knew it. Draco was more competent than Harry had ever expected, and he wasn’t a bad fighter, but he’d never been any good at fighting more than one opponent at once; he got pissed off with one and ended up with tunnel vision. They’d all attack at once, and he’d go down, they’d tear at his neck and he’d try not to cry out because he was stoic when he tried, but he’d end up screaming because they were hurting him and –

Harry shut down the horrible images. That side of his brain was going into lockdown. He had to stay calm, had to concentrate on logical steps. If he didn’t, he’d run screaming for Draco and the vampires would get him too. He couldn’t just hope that his luck wouldn’t run out, and that courage would be enough. Not when Draco’s life was in the balance.

So he went for reinforcements.

“Tim!” he yelled, running for Tim’s cubicle. “Get Akiko and come with me, call anyone you can get, head for Knockturn Alley. He thinks the vampires are in Hare’s old warehouse. He hasn’t got anything with him but his wand and some garlic!” His voice hadn’t been this loud since he was fifteen and screaming at everyone, between dreams of Cedric’s death.

He rounded the corner. Tim was at his desk and groaning. “Harry never learns, does he?” he said fondly, reaching for his enchanted coin to spread the word. “Always the hero.”

“Tim,” Harry said, his voice a little uncertain. “It’s me.”

Tim looked round and jumped. “So it is! Who’s gone running stupidly off in some heroic blaze, then?”

“Draco,” he said grimly. He could feel his shoulders bunching in readiness to pounce, his grip tightening on his wand, at the thought of Draco running into danger.

“Huh,” Tim said after a moment. He frowned contemplatively at his coin while he fiddled with it. “I suppose you taught him how to be an Auror Harry-Potter-style after all.”

“Shut up,” Harry said. His voice was suddenly hoarse, as if he’d been screaming.

Akiko appeared from round the corner, holding two mugs of tea. “Hi, Potter.”

“Draco’s run off to arrest those vampires,” Harry said. He was already sick of explaining it, and he hated it even more at that moment. Akiko was already frowning, and now she’d shout at him. He’d told Draco he couldn’t be a good Auror, that he was all wrong for it, and he hadn’t kept an eye on Draco when he was responsible for him. Now Draco was gone, and if he was already dead from trying to prove himself a hero, it was Harry’s fault.

“Idiot,” she said. “He’s got that stupid obsession with proving he’s worthy. Which I understand but really, being butchered because of your own insecurity is just embarrassing.”

She was moving as she said it: dumping the tea, drawing her wand and enchanted coin and starting to fiddle with it. She looked very calm but her hands were shaking slightly. She swore and dropped the coin.

“No worries,” Tim murmured – he was still working on his own, and a moment later Harry felt the glow that would tell the Aurors something had happened.

Harry flicked his wand up to his own throat, and muttered, “sonorous.” Then he started to shout. His voice rang through the office, calling up the Aurors to the defence of Draco Malfoy.

“Everyone! Anyone not working on something urgent, get over here.” There were scrambling noises and voices raised in inquiry as wizards and witches assembled; Harry ignored it, talking over the noise. “Draco Malfoy’s gone to Hare’s warehouse on Knockturn in search of the vampires. He left a note, and with his family history we’re trusting his breakthrough, which means we’re going as backup immediately – Malfoy’s a trainee and he’s alone.

People were arriving, but very few: most of the Auror force was out searching for vampires, or working as bodyguards for likely targets. By the end of Harry’s little speech there were ten people: seven Aurors, three of them with trainees. Harry felt some of the tightness in his chest relax as Ron’s lanky red form materialised at the back.

So there would be eleven on this mission. Odd number. Harry ignored the illogical pang this sent through him, and kept giving orders.

“Bad news,” said Ron suddenly. At Harry’s look, he said, “worse news. Hare’s warehouse, I was there six months ago on a potions-smuggling case. The place is jigged up to stop theft; there’s a spell on it that takes your wand when you arrive.”

“What?”

“It sends it to the owner’s safe. So no problem if you’re visiting but if you run in there on a raid - ”

“He’s wandless,” Harry said, the words barely a breath as they left his dry mouth.

“We’ve got to have a plan before we go in, Harry,” Ron said. “I know that look, but if we run in there we’ll be wandless too, and the vampires’ll be ready. This must be why they picked this place -- no wood and we can’t fight them properly. They’re used to going without wands in hand so they can’t get staked, and they still have their fangs.”

“Oh fuck.” Harry crumpled over for a moment, hand on his forehead.

“I know,” Ron said grimly. “The safe’s in the warehouse itself, it’s protected against Alohamora. Even if we get to it past the vampires -- ” Possibly seeing Harry’s face, he stopped talking. “He’s sneaky, Malfoy’ll be okay until we get there. We can come up with a plan. You’ve got all these Aurors and we’ll follow your lead. So what do we do?”

“Since Malfoy’s decided to go all Gryffindor,” Harry said, “I think you and me need to come up with a cunning plan.”

~*~

It was difficult to sneak in Knockturn: it was old, central London, and consequently every building was made of half-crumbling brick and tight against the next. On the plus side, they started with three Aurors in black hooded cloaks and nobody gave them a second glance.

Harry’s heart thumped as he gave whispered orders to the Disillusioned Aurors clustered around him. These were Aurors trained to fight dark wizards and use wandless magic; most of them had been in the war.

But most people weren’t any good at wandless magic; not like Draco, with his Occlumency and matchstick mastery. Worse, he didn’t know quite when Draco had gone, and a little countdown was ticking away in the back of his head: two minutes until the chance of recovering Draco alive was almost nil.

If an Auror goes to fight without backup, their chances of surviving the mission instantly reduce by two-thirds.

Vampires have hypnotic powers as well as their fangs; do not underestimate them.

Aurors must remain on-guard: almost twenty percent of the force dies in action, usually through complacency or arrogance.

Any terrorist group is to be considered Highly Dangerous if it exhibits continued evidence of teamwork...

What a fantastic time to start remembering his old notes. In the Field, Active Missions, Dark Creatures, Terrorism, Organised Crime...

Draco wouldn’t have taken all the courses yet.

“Everyone clear?”

Ten nods.

“All right. On my signal.”

Everyone got into position, moving like oil, slick and soundless in their dark robes. Harry gestured: any defensive spells on the buildings? No? Everyone in position - drop your wands.

The Aurors looked sick as they did it. Harry felt a pang of loss as his own wand was accio’d by the Aurors staying outside on watch.

Six would be staying outside, to work on the defensive spells that took people’s wands. The other four, with Harry at their head, were going in. Ron was at Harry’s side, face almost purple with concentration as he slipped noiselessly inside.

The warehouse was dim and airless, and utterly silent. He could hear nothing but the controlled breathing of the other Aurors as they moved behind him. Harry’s stomach was in knots, waiting for a trap to close. He signalled the other Aurors, sending them fanning out into the warehouse. Where were the vampires? Where was Draco?

The large central room was full of ceiling-high shelves choked with evil-smelling boxes. There were smaller rooms off to the side. Harry began opening them, slow and careful. He heard Ron whisper a silencing spell at the hinges of his, automatically.

They’d been inside less than five minutes but it felt like an age.

Ron nodded towards another door: the office of the owner. The safe would surely be in there. Ron headed for it. Harry was following, keeping close, when he heard a sound from next door.

“Draco?”

He was there: sitting huddled against the back wall, his hands tied behind his back. A trail of dried blood from one side of Draco’s neck had left a long dark stain on his robes. He did not look happy to see Harry arriving heroically at the head of a squad of Aurors to save him.

“Draco?” Harry said again, waiting for Draco to start telling him off. “Draco, Jesus fuck, are you all right?”

Fear was thrumming through him: Draco had bled (and Harry hadn’t killed a single one of those fuckers) and Draco wasn’t acting normally, and was he all right? And yet the sight of his pale hair and pointy face was bizarrely soothing. They still had to find and arrest all the vampires, but Draco was here, and alive, and Harry could keep an eye on him so he wouldn’t go rushing off into more trouble alone. It was all right.

“’M fine,” he said in a low voice, staring up at Harry with unreadable eyes. “But my wand - ”

“It’s fine, we can get it. Let’s -- ”

Something grabbed him from behind and Draco swore at the top of his voice.

Wanting to warn Ron, Harry did the same thing past the crushing grip on his throat. One hand was wrapped round his neck, another holding his arm twisted behind his back. The pain lancing through him made it hard to think, and Draco looked terrified.

“Another Auror come to ruin our plans?” the vampire said. Her heavily-accented voice was close and ice-cold, like a chill against his skin.

“Don’t,” Draco said urgently. “If you kill him people will hate you - ”

“As if they don’t already!”

“The editor of the Prophet runs pieces about creature mistreatment every week -- ”

“Creature!” This was a shriek. Draco flinched. The vampire forced Harry’s neck to one side, baring his skin. Draco struggled fruitlessly against his ropes. His face was bloodless, and his eyes were staring; Harry remembered Malfoy Manor, waiting for what he’d say. But Harry had got everyone out then --

At this point it occurred to Harry that while it had seemed like a great secret weapon at the time, staking a vampire using matchsticks and wandless magic really required being able to see your target. Ice went through his bones.

This time he might actually die. He might not be able to save anyone.

Draco seemed to see the change in Harry’s expression, even if he couldn’t have known why. Harry stared, trying to send a mute apology; he couldn’t have the vampire hear any of it. If she realised the other Aurors were here, they were done.

Draco cleared his throat.

“Don’t, okay, don’t. You want to mess with society? I’m much more important than him. He’s a nobody, no one knows who he is!” Draco gave him one ferocious glance of keep quiet, then kept looking up at the vampire behind Harry. His voice was hoarse and fear ran under its surface like a river under ice, but he kept talking. “I’m, I’m a pureblood, my family’s famous, I probably taste better than him too - ”

Draco’s voice wavered and broke. The vampire was talking but Harry couldn’t hear her past the rushing in his ears. He couldn’t feel the pain of the vampire’s hold on him. Draco had --

“Trudo!” Ron’s voice roared. The vampire was knocked backwards, bringing Harry sprawling with her. Ron lunged forward from the doorway while Harry rolled away. The vampire reached for him and Harry kicked out. Then he was out of range and Ron tied her up.

“Nice work,” Harry said as Ron Silenced the vampire. “The others?”

“I sent Akiko to bring them all in, wands out. I heard Malfoy swearing so I thought you might be in trouble.”

“Explain,” Draco demanded, no less imperious for being tied up on the floor.

“Wands automatically get transferred to the owner’s safe when you arrive as an anti-theft measure,” Harry said.

Draco snorted. “New-fangled… in my family we had peacocks that peck out your eyes, that’s always been good enough for us.” At Harry and Ron’s expressions, he rolled his eyes. “They’ve been retrained. Now they just scream incapacitatingly until the burglar is captured.”

“Well. That’s all right then,” Ron said, sounding deeply unconvinced. “So we came in without our wands, and I got into the office and picked the lock.”

“You what?”

“The twins taught me when I was a kid. Important Muggle skill, lock-picking.”

“I am so ashamed. A Weasley saved me.”

“Not half as ashamed as I am.”

They smiled at each other, wary but friendly, like Hermione’s cats when they both wanted her attention.

“Anyway. Take Malfoy’s wand and get him out, yeah, it’s not much good for me. I’ll go and help round up the murderous vampires.”

Draco’s mouth opened in soundless indignation as he realised whose wand Ron had been using. Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder, silent appreciation that he was still alive, then headed out.

Harry crouched in front of Draco.

“Can you walk? What happened?”

Draco looked down, not answering. It should have been very attractive, all soft-sheened white-blond hair falling into his eyes and pout-softened mouth. Harry imagined it usually was very attractive, and that Draco knew this to be the case. He’d probably used it to devastating effect against his governesses, and no doubt had attempted to use it against professors until his first lesson with Professor McGonagall. Right now, with his hair sweaty and stuck to his dirty forehead, his mouth tight and mulish with pain, Draco was not the picture of pretty contrition. He just looked tired and pained and disappointed.

Still pretty, though. Harry rather wanted to see if he could make Draco’s mouth go soft. But since Draco’s shoulders, which looked rather nice all bunched like that, were signalling very loudly that unsolicited contact would be met with a knee in the crotch, Harry simply asked if he wanted to be untied.

Draco gave him a Look for that, his grey eyes flat and scornful, that Harry probably deserved. He gave a little twitch of his tight shoulders, signalling permission, and Harry muttered a deknotting spell and flicked Draco’s wand. He thought it worked better than it had last time.

“Nice,” Draco allowed, his shoulders slumping without the ropes at his forearms. He winced, then, and Harry recognised the look.

“Pins and needles?”

“Like you would not believe.”

“Ah, well. Getting tied up by the bad guys is a good-guy rite of passage. You want some help getting up? The crashing and banging’s stopped, so I think our lot have killed the vampires.”

Draco gave him a narrow look. “And you call me -- if you’re a good guy, Potter, you should sound less gleeful about mass slaughter.”

“Oh. Right. Well, actually, I’m sure the vampires have been arrested and will be given due process. Which is great,” Harry said. He tried not to notice the blood on Draco’s wrists because that red mist was really sort of alarming.

When Draco put out a hand for his help, the torn skin mattered less than the feeling of Draco’s hand in his. Harry hauled him up, trying not to beam inappropriately and ruin this moment of trust.

At which point Draco’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed like a ton of bricks.

Harry held him up, and thought about how he wasn’t going to get any credit for catching Draco like a romance hero instead of panicking. It was all right, because Aurors could Apparate into St Mungo’s and he had an in with the best.

He carried Draco out of the warehouse, barely seeing the captured vampires around him. He didn’t answer questions, only noting Aurors to count them, checking for casualties. All accounted for.

He hit daylight and Apparated. “Padma!”

Harry only ever saw Padma Patil when he wanted something. Usually he was sweaty, bloody, sooty, or some combination of the three. Nevertheless Padma was a highly competent Healer who specialised in battlefield wounds, and the two of them got on tremendously.

To her credit, she only wavered for a moment when she saw who Harry was holding. He wouldn’t have caught the quick check in Padma’s movements when she registered the blond hair if he wasn’t trained.

She nodded, a quick movement that made her ponytail bounce. “Come with me.” She led him through the busy white corridors of the hospital, talking over her shoulder. “What happened? Anything wrong aside from the neck wound?”

“His wrists are wrecked – he was tied up. And it was vampires, I don’t know how much blood they took or if they did -- God, do they have venom or anything…”

“I see.” Padma opened the door to one of St Mungo’s rare private rooms, and cocked her head at the bed. “Lie him down and let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

Harry did so. Draco went down in a tumble of limbs, his body quite limp.

Padma bent over him, her ever-hoarse voice muttering spell after charm after enchantment in a continuous, husky murmur. Light sparked and played over Draco’s body. Harry sat in one of those visitor’s chairs that seemed designed to encourage short visits and tried not to get in the way. It was quite easy; Padma possessed a prodigal capacity for focus when it came to the human body. Harry was pretty sure he could sing opera in his chair without making Padma look away from Draco.

Which worked out well, since Harry didn’t want to look away from Draco either.

He watched Draco’s pale, still face for twenty minutes while Padma worked. He memorised the little lines on each side of Draco’s mouth and the white-blond, almost invisible eyelashes and the subtle arch of his brows and the tiny scar on his jaw from a peacock when he was eight. That had been one of his extended tales of his own bravery, and Harry had thrown balled-up parchment at him to make him shut up.

Mostly, Harry sat and was amazed at how well he already knew the details of Draco’s face. I know you by heart.

Padma moved between them, and Harry blinked.

“He fainted from the blood loss, that’s all. I’m going to get potions for replenishing blood, energy, and some things to fight infection just in case. He’ll wake in a little while. Would you do me a favour and contact his next-of-kin while I get the ball rolling?”

This was the least of what Padma had done for him, and so Harry didn’t even argue about being assigned the dire task of explaining to Draco Malfoy’s mother that he’d been hurt on the job.

Narcissa went ashen when she saw Harry’s face in the fire. But when he explained what had happened, and that Draco was all right, all she did was close her eyes for a moment and expel a breath. Then she stood. “Move out of the way, Mr Potter. I’m coming through.”

It took almost an hour for Draco to wake. During that hour Harry paced, tried to protect the St Mungo’s staff from Draco’s mother, and told Padma everything.

She was a Healer, and had therefore had training in how to give people bad news and be tactful. Padma still made a rather obvious No Comment sort of face when Harry got on to how he’d watched Draco wank because he’d been afraid Draco was being eaten by vampires; but she patted his hand and fed him custard creams and said she was sure it would be all right. And she explained, every time Harry asked, how there was nothing wrong with Draco but blood loss and that the potions would kick in and he’d be fine.

Around four, Padma yawned, and Harry realised that she must have finished her shift long ago, since she was in here with him. “You should go home, Padma - I’m sorry I’ve made you stay here so long with me.”

She favoured him with a bright, if slightly fuzzy, smile. “You didn’t make me, Harry. You just needed me. And I wouldn’t say no to that, not for you.”

Harry felt something warm and squishy inside, like a Muggle Creme Egg had broken inside his chest.

“But I do need to go home and sleep. I’d - do Hermione and Ron know you’re here?”

“Er. I think so. Ron probably does, anyway, since I took half the office with me on my mission.”

“Mmm. Well, I’d tell you to go and firecall one of them, since you still look like death. But I am going to resist the urge to contact your next of kin, because Draco should be waking up soon and I know how much you like making foolish decisions around him.”

Harry kissed her smirking face. “Thanks, Padma. Gotta go.”

He went to Draco’s room immediately. Padma had forbade him from sitting and watching Draco all afternoon for the sake of Harry’s mental health. Which Harry appreciated, despite having pointed out to Padma that it was probably too late for his mental health, and really it would be easier all around if he was just indulged at this point.

Draco looked better now; a white bandage was taped to his neck and he was in bed properly, tucked up with the duvet around his chest. He didn’t look like he’d moved since he’d been tucked in, which was a little unnerving. But Draco looked comfortable; there was no hint of a frown on his face.

He was still paper-pale, the blue veins visible at his temple and throat. “I guess you’re blue-blooded after all,” Harry murmured. “Wonder how you’ll react to the cotton pyjamas.” Draco was indeed wearing grey hospital pyjamas. They had a V-neck that exposed his collarbones, which Harry found frankly to be in bad taste: he was in hospital because of a vampire attack and they were enticing people to bite him?

Harry dropped into a chair without looking away from Draco. The little scrape of the chairlegs made Draco flinch a little, snuffling. Harry held his breath, and after a moment Draco’s eyes opened, pale and clear; they were washed-out crystal under the hospital’s fluorescent lights.

“Draco,” breathed Harry, the name tripping from his lips without permission.

Draco flinched again, looking startled, as his eyes fell on Harry. “What - er...” Draco managed to sit up, though with difficulty: whoever had tucked him in had done it tightly, and Draco was obliged to sort of wriggle out from under it.

“You’re in St Mungo’s,” said Harry.

“I know that,” Draco said, apparently able to snap at him after less than thirty seconds awake. “You watching me sleep like an enormous stalker was a bit of a hint, as well as all the white. If I didn’t know I was in St Mungo’s, I would not be a very good Auror.” His fingers found the bandage at his neck, and he winced. Draco hung his head a little, his shoulders tensing as his hands fell into his lap, and Harry tried not to be attracted to the bunch of muscle and ruffled hair. “Speaking of not being a very good Auror... how did I end up in here?”

“The vampires, remember?” Harry said. “You worked out where they were hiding in some sort of evil-heir way and then rushed off by yourself -- ”

“Oh. Yes. I remember,” Draco muttered. “No need to further explain how utterly unimpressive I was. The defeating the vampires in slick Auror fashion did not go to plan.”

Harry’s heart clenched in his chest. Draco had wanted to impress him? “You were very heroic,” he said. “Promise. I thought all the rushing in, wand blazing, was most Gryffindor-like.”

“I did not rush in wand blazing!” Draco snapped. “I sneaked sneakily in, which was most Slytherin-like.”

“And got caught.”

“Yes, well,” muttered Draco. “Nobody ever said we had to live up to the ‘cunning’ label all the time. I am not always the Master of Cunning I generally am, as you so often remind me.”

“Apparently not,” Harry said. Draco’s pale hands were fidgeting in his lap, and Harry wanted to put a hand over them, to still them and keep them warm.

He always got soppy when people nearly died. Ron had been kidnapped once and Harry had thought for sure he was dead and it had taken thirty-six hours to find him. When they did Harry kissed Ron smack on the mouth. This was no different.

Well, he sort of wanted to kiss Draco at other, less perilous times too. But then Draco didn’t have a wife who could make sure Harry’s body was never found.

“So...” Harry said, casting about desperately for an Auror-ish subject of conversation. Just here to check up on my trainee and talk over the mission, nothing to see here. “What went wrong? I thought you had garlic to keep them away?”

“Yes, well.” Draco blushed, and the rosy glow of colour in his cheeks was so sweet Harry almost melted. He sternly reminded himself that Draco had been foolish, and that if he stroked a blushing Draco’s hair and told him not to worry, somehow Ron would find out and mock him for eternity. “I, er, I thought I had. It... turned out not to be garlic.”

“Huh?”

“Er. I tried to fight them off with an onion.”

“...” Harry controlled his face for five long seconds, while the clock ticked and Draco blushed furiously. Then he burst out laughing.

“Hey!” Draco protested, laughing too. “I never had to cook anything, you know! I have house elves for that! How was I meant to know what a clove of garlic looks like?”

Harry kept laughing, but after a few moments the laughter faded. Draco was smiling a little, sheepishly, but he was fiddling with his nails and the blush hadn’t entirely gone.

“Still, it was ferocious. I wouldn’t have thought you could do that. At least, not for reasons unrelated to your desire to utterly defeat me.” Draco didn’t look up and Harry tried to think of something better. “Proactive, too. The department likes proactive. And... and I thought it was very brave.”

Draco looked up, the sheepish smile turning into that sharp one that gleamed like light off a blade. “Brave, hmm? This from the archetypal Gryffindor, too.” He stretched, catlike, with a similarly catlike expression of smugness. Harry frowned, and scrubbed at his hair, and tried to ignore all the flexing.

“And you saved my life, distracting that vampire. Telling her you’d taste better. In the most you way possible, I’m sure telling someone that you were a million times more famous than me and having them believe you was the culmination of a thousand fantasies, but - it was amazing.”

“Not that I approve of the rushing in without stopping to tell anyone what you’d worked out or getting back up,” said Harry severely, with a frown that he felt recalled McGonagall at her most terrifying. “I never thought I’d be telling you off for running off half-cocked because you couldn’t wait to defeat the bad guys. I don’t like having to tell you off – ”

“Liar,” Draco murmured, an odd little smile turning up the corner of his mouth. “You’ve probably been waiting your whole life to give someone else the lecture about unfortunate heroics.”

Harry flushed a little. “Quiet, you, or I’ll set Padma on you. The woman’s a holy terror when she’s worried.”

“A holy terror, I’ll grant you,” Draco agreed. “I doubt she’s all that worried, though.”

“Of course she was,” Harry protested. “You – she – you were on the right side.” Chickenshit, Potter, he told himself internally. Tell him why she was really worried.

“Oh, I – I was, wasn’t I?” Draco said, and smiled. The smile made Harry not mind so much that he was being such an incredible emotional coward. Perversely, it also made him want to actually tell Draco that Padma had been worried because she and Harry had had a heart-to-heart talk while Draco had been busy being unconscious.

Maybe he could. Draco looked happy, after all, and he’d wanted Harry to think he was brave, and Harry had flex-able muscles too. Maybe this was it. Draco had had a near-death experience, so now was the moment for Harry to lean in and kiss him, and Draco would be startled and fluttery but yearning and then Harry would shag him in his hospital bed and –

Guilt hit Harry like a Catholic tsunami, and he shut his eyes. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Oh? If it’s that you like men, Potter, I’ve got to tell you, that cat is out of the bag and dancing on the bar. Is it that you’re crazy? Because I am actually entirely aware of that– ”

I’m not sure about that, Harry thought miserably. “I. I. Er.”

“Potter, would you – ”

“I saw you wanking,” Harry forced out. “Today. I came round and knocked and you didn’t answer, so I spelled my way in and found you wanking.”

A scorching blush ignited on Draco’s face. He cringed, looking like he wanted to die. Harry felt rather the same way.

“I’m really sorry. I am. I know it was really wrong and you can change Aurors and everything, I’ll back you up. I didn’t meant to, I didn’t stick around and watch or anything, I mean for a second but that was mostly shock and -- And I thought you were in trouble! When I got in, I could hear you moaning and I thought the vampires got you and were hurting you, and...” The sentence committed hara-kiri in his mouth rather than go on.

At least Draco had apparently regained his voice. “You what? Are you completely mad? What, in your experience of me, led you to believe that if bloodythirsty vampires got me I would be stoically moaning rather than, just say, screaming for help in a loud voice?”

“I know.”

“I’m not – I can’t – I have no idea what to say,” Draco finished. “You’re petty and you’ve got a temper and you do not do well with boundaries, but I did not see this one coming at all.”

Harry stared miserably at his hands. One of them had buy Draco lunch written on it.

“When you say you stayed for a second due mostly to shock... what was the rest of it?”

Harry winced.

“So,” Draco said, his voice pleased but also made distant by shock. “My investigation suggests -- you fancy me.”

Harry said nothing in favour of having his blush stage a hostile takeover of his face, and Draco paused.

“You do fancy me, don’t you? This isn’t you being fucked-up from the war or something?”

“No, no,” Harry said hastily. “I mean, possibly that too, but I definitely fancy you.”

Draco paused again, but this time in a slow and pleased sort of way. His smile was like a lazy sunbather’s stretch.

“That works out nicely then. You see, I – Potter. Eyes on me.”

Harry managed to look at Draco, and found him making the Suave Face Harry remembered from Diagon Alley.

“I’ve got a secret too.”

“Oh?” Harry said faintly.

“Yes. I fancy you as well.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t seen you wank, of course. But. We could always change that?” Draco got it all out and was very nearly smooth about it and he leaned in to kiss Harry, and Harry sort of flailed out of his chair.

“Er. Draco. Don’t you think -- I’m not sure it’s a good thing that your reaction to ‘I broke into your home and watched you masturbate’ is ‘let’s kiss’! Although,” he added hastily, “I am pleased.” Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to produce a smile that wasn’t more of a leer or a grimace. “But – ”

“Yes, yes,” Draco agreed. “I’m so insecure I find your criminal violation of my privacy flattering, and it’s really rather sad. But it sounds more like ‘saw me masturbate’ than actually watched. I’ve seen you do stupider things to try and rescue someone when you thought they were in trouble. Besides this is a chance for us to kiss, so let’s focus on the positive, shall we?”

“All right,” said Harry, and leaned in.

The kiss felt like fireworks were going off in his brain: he was seeing shiny lights and felt there was a distinct chance he’d be horribly burned.

Harry’s heart stuttered in his chest as the kiss went on. He touched Draco’s jaw gently, stroking fingertips down his neck; the skin was warm and vulnerable and alive. Draco made a soft sound as Harry bit his lower lip.

Someone coughed.

Harry disentangled his tongue from Draco’s, sat back, and turned around. A woman in Healer’s robes was standing in the doorway. “It’s all right,” she said, smiling. “People snogging after a near-death experience showed them that they’re in love happens surprisingly often, really.”

Harry was too busy listening to they’re in love in his head and staying upright to listen to the rest of it. But Draco was smiling politely and after a few spells the Healer went away, so that was probably all right.

“I should go and find your mum, tell her you’re awake.”

Draco groaned, slumping back against his pillow. “No. No, Potter, you didn’t tell my mother I got attacked by vampires.”

“Now you learn why rushing in heroically is a bad idea.”

Draco gave him huge, tragic eyes. “You’re a hero. Save me from her.”

“Nope,” Harry said heartlessly. “She knows you were unconscious for a while, too.”

Draco groaned.

“I’ll tell her you’re going to be a great Auror, though.”

“Because I was an idiot?”

“Because you worked out something we couldn’t and then kept me alive until Ron could help us. I’m not happy with you but once you’re qualified…” Harry shot him a crooked grin.

“You’re hoping we’ll work together?”

“Actually I’m sort of hoping we won’t,” Harry murmured. “There are rules about fraternising.”

Draco blinked, grey eyes gone misty-soft as Scottish fog; like Hogwarts, like home. “I thought you didn’t like rules.”

“I follow them mostly. It’s just sometimes you know you need to break them.”

Draco gave a half-laugh. “I used to know that. I just… I made so many stupid mistakes, I wrecked things. I couldn’t trust my own judgement any more.”

“Maybe you’re not going to make those big mistakes any more.”

“Maybe.” Draco’s fingers were at Harry’s throat, hooking round his collar and pulling him in. “Maybe this is the biggest mistake yet.” His mouth was close to Harry’s, Draco’s lips catching his with every soft word. “You’d better make it worth it.”