A week after: Top Marks
Harry can see the jagged love bite he’d left on Malfoy’s neck that morning when they’d hungrily pressed into each other in an empty alcove on the third floor after breakfast, from all the way across the room. Malfoy’s gaze is lowered as he neatly arranges his gear on the table, setting out his mortar and pestle, carefully wiping clean his chopping board and pulling out the silver knife set Harry had gifted him, his eyes lifting at that point to meet Harry’s.
Harry grins and Malfoy bites his lip on a smile, gently placing the heavy wooden box next to his chopping board, sharply slapping away Pansy’s hand as she reaches out to run a finger over one sparkling blade.
Slughorn calls for their attention at that point and proceeds to inform them that he’ll be calling out the partnerships assigned to them for the rest of the term, and that they should quickly pair up and start brewing.
Harry yawns widely, tipping his chair back, watching Hannah Abbot clear a space on her table as Blaise Zabini saunters over and dumps his stuff next to hers. Ron and Seamus grin and bump fists as their names are called out, Hermione smiles at Terry Boot, and then Harry hears the next pairing and almost topples over backwards.
“Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,” Slughorn reads out, droning on without pausing. “Parvati Patil and Pansy Parkinson – oh, that’s quite a mouthful, isn’t it.” he chuckles stupidly to himself as Harry and Malfoy stare at each other in delighted wonder carefully arranged into impassiveness.
“Well, what do you know,” Ron comments snidely into his ear, and Harry catches him in a vicious headlock, before picking up his bag and practically bounding across the room to his boyfriend – oh, Merlin, his boyfriend.
“Don’t tell me,” Malfoy murmurs as Harry sits down next to him and immediately grabs one of his hands discreetly under the table. “You beat up Slughorn too?”
“No, Imperiused,” Harry says seriously. Malfoy’s garbled gasp of shock is drowned out by Dean’s loud groan as he’s paired with a confused looking Goyle.
“Potter?!” he hisses, his eyes bulging slightly as he throws Harry a sideways glare, trying to pull his hand out of his grip. Harry grins and tightens his grasp on the slender fingers.
“Joking,” he mutters, turning Malfoy’s hand over and drawing lazy circles on his warm palm. Malfoy shivers lightly.
“Don’t distract me, I can’t get anything short of top marks for this potion,” Malfoy says even as the corners of his lips twitch.
“You’re the one distracting me.” Harry slides a hand brazenly down Malfoy’s inner thigh.
Malfoy squeaks and slaps a hand over his, quickly schooling his expression into an innocent, blank mask, his face burning, his body shaking with silent laughter.
“Stop being fruity.” He finally manages to push off Harry’s hand, and hurriedly gets to his feet, scanning the list of ingredients up on the board and following a few others into the storage room.
Harry waits, setting out his own gear next to Malfoy’s, starting the flame under their cauldron, and then carefully scanning his classmates, counting quickly before getting up and slipping into the storage room.
Malfoy is waiting in the same spot they’d kissed for the first time, months ago. He grins when Harry finds him, quivering like an excited puppy when Harry pulls him into his arms, kissing his face, pausing over the brown freckle, and hair.
“What are the odds?” he says on a snigger. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Harry hums into his neck, licking over the hickey in quick little strokes.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Malfoy moans. “Oh, shit... Potter.” He grabs Harry’s mouth for a biting kiss, gasping into it as Harry crushes them together with a vice like grip around him. “No,” he says then, firmly pushing him away, picking up the little basket he'd crammed with ingredients. “Back to class.”
Harry groans, letting himself be led by the hand, Malfoy releasing him just before they step back out.
They end up working together in quiet, near perfect synch, Harry uncomplaining as he faithfully does as instructed, Malfoy patiently and attentively ensuring that their potion turns out perfect.
And what do you know, they score top marks after all.
Two years later: Mock Paper
Harry blearily stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes vigorously, his glasses dancing on his forehead with the movement of his hands. Malfoy, fully dressed and ready to leave, is rinsing out his mug, licking tea off his lips.
“You’re ready early,” Harry says, his voice thick with sleep.
“Morning.” Malfoy turns around in surprise. “Yeah, I have mock trials all day, starting at nine.” He sighs. “Also, my paper’s due today, so wanted to sit down and go over it one last time before the library gets full. And I have to go home to pick up my mail before that.” He looks slightly harassed.
“Oh.” Harry yawns, stretching, watching as Malfoy hangs up his mug on the hook next to Harry’s and picks up his jacket.
“You look like you could do with a few more hours of sleep,” he says to Harry, hurriedly shrugging his fawn coloured jacket on, picking up his bag and slinging it across his chest. “You got in late last night.”
“Field training.” Harry grabs his own mug and reaches for the teapot through the fuzzy cloud of the Stasis Charm. “Last day today.”
“Thank god it’s Friday, huh?” Malfoy sighs wearily, rifling through his thick folder.
“Yeah, and hey-” Harry spoons sugar into his tea and stirs, “-we still on for dinner with the others tonight?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Malfoy nods, frowning as he rearranges a sheaf of parchment. “It’s why I chose the earlier session of mock trials. I’ll be done by half six. You?”
“Six, half six, same.” Harry shrugs, leaning back against the counter, sipping his tea.
“Great. Well, breakfast’s in the oven.” Malfoy hurries over and presses his mouth to Harry’s. “See you,” he says pulling back.
“Wait a moment, come here.” Harry puts his tea down and pulls him back, gently cupping his face with mug-warmed hands and kissing him slowly. Malfoy makes a soft, happy sound, pressing his hands over Harry’s, opening his mouth willingly, and sighing deeply. “I miss you.” Harry nuzzles his nose, moving his mouth up to kiss that little dot.
“Me too,” Malfoy admits. “Is your weekend full?”
“Nope, clear as air.”
“Good,” Malfoy breathes, pressing into him for a second longer, hungrily kissing him again before pulling back reluctantly with a groan. “Okay, see you tonight. Wait.” he frowns, pausing, pulling aside the round neck of Harry’s t-shirt and running his thumb lightly over a large, painful looking bruise next to his collar bones. “What the hell happened?”
“Oh, we covered hand-to-hand combat yesterday.” Harry grins brightly. “You should have seen me, I literally--”
“Sounds delightful, Potter, but please don’t get yourself killed before you even make it into the force,” Malfoy says drily, reaching up and opening a cabinet next to Harry’s head, pulling out a jar from somewhere in the back. He unscrews the lid and scoops up a finger full of pale yellow ointment. “Off.” he plucks at Harry’s t-shirt and leans back as Harry pulls it over his head. “Jesus, this looks bad,” he breathes, frowning worriedly as he quickly dabs the bruise with gentle fingers.
“Hey, I’m a tough guy,” Harry says in a mock-deep voice, flexing his newly filled out biceps. Malfoy rolls his eyes, closing the ointment jar and putting it back in its place, Summoning a kitchen towel to wipe his finger, cocking an eyebrow as Harry waggles his eyebrows at him, winking at him over the rim of his glasses.
“For heaven’s sake, Potter.” He kisses his cheek and turns to leave.
“Oh, hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Harry says, and the forced casualness in his voice has Malfoy turning back around with his eyes narrowed. “I’ve been thinking...”
“Never a good sign.” Malfoy’s mouth lifts in a teasing smirk.
“I was thinking,” Harry continues pointedly. “How you keep having to go back for your mail and your clothes...” He speaks to the floor. “And all your different varieties of shampoo,” Harry adds, rolling his eyes.
“You can’t expect me to use that detergent that you call sha--” Malfoy starts, before breaking off at Harry’s grin.
“So just leave them here.” Harry shrugs.
“Well, what if I shower at my place?”
“What if I didn’t spend the night here and need to--”
“Spend every night here, Malfoy,” Harry interrupts loudly. “I’m asking you to move in,” he says abruptly. “Here. With me.” Malfoy jerks back, his lips twitching, his eyes shining.
“Why, Potter,” he says still fighting off a smile, pressing a hand over his chest. “You sure know how to charm a boy’s pants off, don’t you?” Harry grins.
“Is that a yes?”
Malfoy smiles wryly, lifting a brow. “Yes, Potter,” he says softly.
Harry steps forward and lifts Malfoy right off his feet, both of them laughing as he spins around. “Are they really coming off?” Harry asks hopefully, cupping Malfoy’s bottom through his trousers.
“Oh, definitely.” Malfoy nods as he kisses Harry's chin, pressing his hands flat and firm over Harry's bare sides, slowly, tantalisingly, grazing upwards over the hard muscles. “But you’ll have to wait until later tonight, I’m afraid,” he adds in a heated murmur against Harry’s jaw, fingers gripping his shoulder blades tightly for a few seconds.
Harry groans, not letting go of his hand as Malfoy pecks his mouth and turns towards the Floo. “What if I die in field training before that?”
“I’ll take my chances,” Malfoy says on a laugh, tugging free and hugging his folder to his chest as he picks up a handful of Floo powder. Harry sighs.
“Good luck on your mock paper,” he says morosely.
“Mock trials, Potter." Malfoy smiles over his shoulder. “And thank you.” He pouts a kiss towards Harry and throws in the Floo powder.
“Bye, roomie!” Harry grins, picking up his tea again and leaning his hip into the counter.
Malfoy’s ringing laugh leaves the room bright and warm for several minutes after he’s disappeared.
Five years after that: Pride
“Wait wait wait,” Ron yells, holding his arms spread out to get everyone’s attention. Then he clambers onto the bar top and lifts his pint high, ignoring Hermione’s wearily sighed, ‘Ronald!’
“I need to make a toast,” he announces self-importantly as everyone roars with laughter and breaks into applause. Leaning against the wall, Harry grins, his arm around Malfoy’s waist as he stands pressed into Harry's chest, shaking his head at the red head standing on the bar. “I know you’re all thinking that I have it easy now, my best friend being my new boss and all,” Ron calls out. “And you’re all fucking right!” There’s a fresh wave of screaming as Ron points at Harry with his bottle. “To the new Head Auror!” he bellows.
“To the new Head Auror!” everyone echoes deafeningly and Harry, redder than a beet, hides his face in Malfoy’s hair, laughing, before waving his thanks as everyone drinks to him.
“Did I tell you how proud I am of you?” Malfoy murmurs into his neck two hours later. They’ve just stumbled drunkenly into their flat, fumbling clumsily with each other’s clothes, toeing off their shoes and crudely grabbing at one another’s crotch and arse.
“Not yet, but you can show me,” Harry leers lewdly, closing his mouth around Malfoy’s. They both groan throatily, pushing and pulling each other, their enthusiastic kissing pushing Harry's glasses up onto his forehead, then to one side so they're hanging off one ear and finally to the floor, just as the two of them tumble onto the sofa in a half-clothed heap, Harry's tongue immediately finding Malfoy's neck.
“Potter,” Malfoy moans, arching into Harry’s mouth, now firmly clamped around his nipple. “Oh, so proud...” he whispers.
Harry sniggers, undressing him fully before flipping him over unceremoniously.
“How proud?” He bites softly into one pert buttock. Malfoy gasps.
“Exceedingly so." He squirms, muffling a laugh in his arm as Harry licks ticklish circles into the dip of his tailbone. “You’ll wear that special uniform now; the one with the gold laurel on your—oh!—chest!”
“Don’t tell me you have a thing for uniforms." Harry pauses, surprised. “I’ve been in uniform for years now.”
“I thought you’d find it stupid,” Malfoy pants at him over his shoulder. “Why do you think I make you leave those bloody, scratchy robes on sometimes?”
Harry laughs into his arse crack, gently prying the cheeks apart. “Well, I’m going to get a whole new set of scratchy robes.”
“With the gold laurel,” Malfoy groans, his arse rising up as Harry worms his tongue into him. “The gold laurel that says you’re Head Auror, fuck!” He bucks wildly and Harry quickly presses him back down, slurping noisily at his arsehole.
“Don’t tell me,” Harry pants. “You have a thing for powerful men too?”
“Why else do you think I’m with you, O Saviour?” Malfoy giggles as Harry bites down gently over his fluttering hole. “I’m in it for the rush; what, you thought I actually care about you or something? Ow!” He laughs breathlessly, rising onto his knees as Harry bites his arse cheek hard, tickling his sides ruthlessly. “Potter, no! Please! Harry, stop!”
Harry groans loudly. “Say that again.” His face disappears once more between Malfoy’s arse cheeks.
“Harry,” Malfoy breathes, one hand clenched on the arm rest, the other reaching behind him to fist itself in Harry’s hair. “Harry!” he cries as Harry begins fucking his tongue into him in earnest, Malfoy lurching forward rhythmically, his pants loud, Harry’s obscene smacking even louder.
Harry hums into him, making Malfoy clench his teeth and reach down hurriedly to squeeze his cock. Thumbing open his hole wider, Harry pulls back for a look, swearing at the sight and helplessly leaning back in to suck into the undulating pink hole.
“Please,” Malfoy gasps, pushing back onto his mouth. “Need you.”
“Want to come in you,” Harry groans, pulling back to nibble at the crease of his arse and thigh, “Want to fuck you till you scream.”
“Yes!” Malfoy nods feverishly. “Scream real loud. Going to scream for everyone to hear.”
“’cause you’re proud of me?" Harry snorts, finally straightening up and kicking off his jeans.
“So, so fucking proud,” Malfoy moans as with a casual flick of Harry’s finger, his clenching channel fills with slippery slick. “My boyfriend, the most powerful wizard in the world.”
Harry laughs shakily as he guides his cock with a trembling hand. “I don’t know about that.”
“In the world!” Malfoy repeats fiercely. “Oh god, oh yes, oh Jesus fuck yes, hurry up,” he urges as Harry starts pushing in slowly, inch by inch.
“Don’t rush me, I’m so fucking close,” Harry growls. “Oh fuck, you should see this, oh god, your perfect, pink hole, eating my cock, just fucking taking it.”
Malfoy blurbs out another giggle. “You have such a way with words, Potter." He shudders as Harry bottoms out. “Sure know how to make me blush.”
“Oh yes, your lovely blushing arse, look at it,” Harry moans and Malfoy laughs even louder.
“Seriously, just fuck me already? I can’t believe I’m still coherent enough to be laughing at you,” he chortles, deliberately clenching hard around Harry.
“Aaarggh! Stop that, you fucking git,” Harry screams. “Give me a fucking second, dammit; I’m so drunk and your arse is too bloody tight!” he whines.
They’re both roaring with laughter then, tears leaking out of Malfoy’s eyes as he wheezes for breath while Harry presses his forehead between Malfoy’s shoulder blades, giggling and snorting.
“Oh, god, yes,” Malfoy sighs as Harry finally straightens back up and rocks gently into him. “Fuck me.”
Harry pulls out slowly before ramming back in, and then sets up a rhythm, hard, rough and searing hot. Malfoy really does begin to scream bloody murder, although Harry doubts it’s something Malfoy himself is aware of, because Harry has already found his prostate and is refusing to let up for even one second, brutally pounding away at it, not giving Malfoy any room to catch his breath.
“Potter!” he begs, slamming himself back onto him. “Oh, mother of god, yes! Right there! Oh, you gorgeous, evil bastard!”
Harry huffs another laugh, sweat trickling down his brow, dripping onto his shoulder. “My perfect, beautiful wanker,” he coos.
“Ugh, cheesy idiot,” Malfoy snaps and then squeals at Harry’s next merciless thrust. “My big, glorious— HeadAurorohyesyesyes!”
He starts to come and his back dips downwards in a way that makes Harry’s breath catch. He runs his hand over the globular bum, up the smooth, long length of his back, curving his hand over one round shoulder, pulling him back onto his cock even as his soft, sweet hole flutters helplessly around him, Malfoy moaning wantonly through his orgasm.
“Oh fuck,” Harry snarls, his back bowing, body stilling, going taut and strained as he comes deep into the spent blond, his nails digging into sharp hipbones, his head thrown back.
Malfoy lets out a soft ‘oof’ as Harry collapses onto him, both of them drawing huge, pained breaths, panting loudly.
“So proud,” Malfoy suddenly pipes up and Harry’s silent laughter vibrates through them both. He lifts up onto one arm and turns a tipsily giggling Malfoy over to face him, kissing him vigorously.
“They’re sending me my new uniform tomorrow.” Harry grins, pulling back.
“Oh, I’m going to be even prouder tomorrow then,” Malfoy murmurs with a sly grin of his own, pulling Harry back down.
And four more years after that: It
“You’re going to do this; you’re going to just do this!” Harry mutters fiercely. He turns to face the mirror. “Just go do it, Potter,” he grits.
He strides out of the bedroom and pauses, nervously shifting from one foot to the other, staring at Malfoy sitting there, reading, on the sofa, one knee crossed over the other, reading glasses perched halfway down his elegant nose; poised and so fucking perfect.
“Hey,” he says casually, walking up to him and picking up the Prophet, folding it and then putting it back on the coffee table, just for something to do.
“Hello,” Malfoy replies vaguely, not looking up from his book. Harry chews on his lip for a few seconds before clearing his throat.
Straight to the point, no fucking dilly-dallying.
“Say, Malfoy,” he says airily. “Have you ever thought about... you know, later?”
Malfoy looks up now and his expression is one of pure bewilderment.
“Like, later today?” he asks, tilting his head, frowning lightly.
“No,” Harry says quickly. “You know, like... the future, and stuff.”
Malfoy licks his lips thoughtfully. “Sure." He shrugs. “I love being in court and all, but you know, Potter, I’m seriously considering that offer I got--”
“Not that future,” Harry cuts in impatiently. “Our future.”
“Yours and mine.”
“I know what ‘ours’ means." Malfoy scowls. Harry waits. “Well, what about our future?”
“Well, I was just thinking...”
“Never a good sign,” Malfoy immediately chimes and Harry grins reluctantly.
“I was wondering if... you know." He scratches the back of his head with one hand, his other hand clenching around the little box in his pocket.
“What, Potter?” Malfoy sighs patiently, closing his book.
“This is it for you, right?” Harry blurts out. “I mean... I’m it for you, right?”
“It?” Malfoy grins up at Harry. “What?” He suddenly chuckles.
Harry sighs helplessly. “You don’t plan to eventually leave me for someone else, right?”
Malfoy purses his lips, his nostrils flaring, before suddenly snorting loudly, leaning forward as he laughs up at Harry.
“Potter,” he heaves.
“Malfoy.” Harry frowns forlornly.
“Oh, do stop pouting.” Malfoy leans back again and rolls his eyes, still grinning playfully.
“Answer me, then.”
“No, I most certainly do not plan to eventually leave you for someone else.” Malfoy twinkles up at him. “You’re most definitely my ‘it’, Potter.”
Harry blows out a steady breath. Now for the actual scary part.
He pulls out the box, steps forward and gets down on one knee.
“Will you marry me, Malfoy?”