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[24/12/20XX] - Ministry of Magic: Auror Department - 

Identifiers: CLASSIFIED

“Listen up, everyone!” [HEAD AUROR’S] voice boomed around the Auror bullpen. “Assignments for the holidays have been posted. If you didn’t get the time off that you asked for, the decision’s already been made, so I don’t want to hear any complaints.” 

A collective grumble pulsed over the room as people realised they’d likely be on call over Christmas. The threat of working overtime didn’t bother Draco. He hadn’t spent the holidays with his mother in over a decade. With no family of his own, he usually volunteered for these shifts anyway.

While his co-workers rushed to check the assignments pinned to the wall, one sharp, cheerful laugh cut through the disappointed grumbling. His eyes were pulled toward the source across the room, against his will, as if Harry Potter’s magnetism was stronger than his own fucking will. His former nemesis, long-time crush, regretfully turned auror partner, stood over the communal coffee pot, chatting with some overly handsy colleague that Draco couldn’t recall the name of. Draco’s gaze felt glued to the scene as the pair chatted, and the pressure with which he shattered the quill in his fist startled him out of his hypnotism when he heard it crack.

“Malfoy!” [HEAD AUROR] shouted across the room.

Draco’s eyes darted away from Harry as if he’d been caught staring and was now in trouble. “--And Potter, my office, now.” [HEAD AUROR] didn’t wait for a reply and turned to his office. Draco resisted the urge to sneak a peek across the room to where Harry had been as he dutifully walked to [HEAD AUROR’S] office.

Draco took a seat, his eyes trained forward. He flinched when the door clicked shut behind him, held his breath when Harry brushed past him, and pretended that being trapped in an enclosed space with the man wasn’t the most nerve-wracking situation he’d ever been in—and he’d spent the war living in another kind of cage with Voldemort.

“What’s up?” Harry asked [HEAD AUROR] easily, the nonchalance emanating from him slowly fraying Draco’s nerves. 

A faint scent of burnt amber wafted toward Draco, that had him gripping his knees as he forced himself to calm down. As his fingertips dug through his thick trousers, into his flesh, he tried to listen to the conversation happening around him, but only bits and pieces made their way through as he struggled not to be sick all over the Ministry-issued carpet.

“—We can’t let them get away this time.”

“Understood, sir.” Sir. Said so casually, as if hearing the honourific out of Harry’s mouth didn’t threaten to light Draco on fire. Images of a sweaty Harry over a version of himself flashed through his mind as he recalled begging for him. 

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“Please.” A firm grip on his length.

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Draco crossed his hands on his lap, a useless attempt at concealing his hardening cock. The only thing worse than being rock hard and leaking in a work meeting would be getting caught in such a state.

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“You’ll refer to me properly if you want anything.”

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The memory rolled through his mind as he struggled to pay attention.

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“Yes, sir. Please, sir.” Draco had never said please before, but it had slipped out naturally in the fantasy, and he felt on fire at the prospect.

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“Can I trust you two to work together, properly, this time?” [HEAD AUROR’S] strong voice pulled Draco from the mirage of memories he couldn’t hold back. Both men were looking at him expectantly, surely noting how flushed his face was in the process.

“Yes, sir,” Draco mumbled, wiping his sweaty palms on his pant leg. He could have sworn he heard Harry chuckle under his breath.

“Excellent, arrange a portkey for tomorrow.”

When Harry got up and shook [HEAD AUROR’S] hand, Draco used the moment to escape. He darted toward the door and slipped through before he could make more of a fool of himself. Draco ran toward the bathroom and locked himself in the nearest stall.

His cock was aching, and he could feel his trousers becoming damp as he pulled his length out. The relief of tugging his hand over his cock was overshadowed by a sudden whack of the bathroom door opening.

“Malfoy,” a familiar, low voice called. He bit his lower lip to keep from moaning. A tight grip on his cock, combined with Harry’s voice saying his name, was a combo usually reserved for his forbidden fantasies.

“Out in a moment,” he managed through clenched teeth, his hand gripping his base to stave off his impending release.

“Just wanted to make sure you were alright after that meeting. You rushed out before I could check in with you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, desperately hoping his breathlessness couldn’t be heard through the stall door. 

“Will you be alright on the mission? Can I give you a hand with anything?”

Draco suppressed the moan that threatened to leak out of him. The thought of Harry giving him a hand nearly had him spilling his seed on the spot.

“I’ll handle everything,” he said, eyes pinched tight.

After a maddening moment of silence, Harry seemed to give up and hummed a quick, “Alright,” before leaving. The second the bathroom door closed, Draco gave in. 

His fist furiously worked his length as he came all over his palm, letting it drip through his fingers onto the bathroom floor.  Seeing the evidence of his shameful wank splattered across his workplace floor should have been clarifying, but all it did was make his mind wander again. Draco’s thoughts buzzed like static in his skull while he cast the necessary cleaning spells.

Back at his cubicle, he booked the portkey and hotel rooms, then double-checked the departure time, telling himself it was just protocol—not panic—making him act so neurotic. Then he triple-checked everything was in order to distract himself, but his stomach still flipped at the thought of being away with Harry for the holidays.

Draco hated how his hands shook when Harry teased him, how every routine briefing together dissolved into white noise in his ears, or how the sound of Harry’s voice early in the morning got him rock hard. But most of all, he hated how much he didn’t hate it.

He was a fucking mess. 

There was no way he wouldn’t fuck up this mission, too. 

He remembered the last mission he’d botched. For one near-fatal moment, he’d glanced at Harry instead of the target. One second of weakness had almost gotten them both killed. Since then, [HEAD AUROR] had been hesitant to pair them again, even though they were technically partners. He swore he wouldn’t let it happen again. Not this time.

Focus, he ordered himself. Keep it professional. But then he imagined the hotel room, the thought of Harry sleeping on the other side of their shared wall, and felt heat crawl up his neck. What if Harry asked why he seemed tense? What if he couldn’t control himself again, or Harry learned his secret?

He breathed through it, boxed everything up, and shoved it to the deepest recesses of his mind. He could do this. All he had to do was stay quiet, get the job done, and pretend he wasn’t hopelessly in love with his partner.

To keep the mission from flying off course, he’d have to find a way to even be in the same space as Harry without falling apart like a deranged, virgin freak. If every interaction ended with him wanking over his auror partner in secret like a creep, then Draco was probably going to spiral into a shame cycle and get fired if his indiscretion cost them the mission.

Again.

-***-

Something about ‘keeping the lineage pure’ led some of the oldest wizarding lines to be cursed with additional powers not seen in other wizarding families. His mother’s glimpses into the future, his father’s ability to bend elements at will. Draco’s own so-called “gift” was mind-reading.

This dilemma was exactly why he’d pulled away in the first place, even back in their Hogwarts days. Hiding his powers had been hard enough, but hiding the years-long crush he’d carried for Harry felt impossible and cruel. 

As far as he knew, and judging by his mother’s constant boasting to the society ladies, his was an especially rare ability. Unlike standard Legillimency, which demanded intense training, or unreliable divination, his mind-reading was triggered instantly with skin-to-skin contact. However, if someone’s magical core was especially strong, or if Draco’s emotions were worn down, their thoughts occasionally slipped through untouched.

As a kid, he couldn’t escape it. A pat on the head for a job well done became a punishment. Being carried to bed by his nanny would instantly wake him, screaming in terror. A knockabout from the Death Eaters that swarmed the manor became unbearable, regardless of the severity of their blows. Every touch knocked him sideways with a constant barrage of foreign thoughts and feelings he’d never asked for. It sickened him, overwhelmed him, and left scars that never fully healed after the war. 

The people drifting through his childhood home weren’t kind, gentle souls, so hearing their innermost thoughts left Draco with an unyielding sense of horror. During the war, he couldn’t openly defy Voldemort’s orders, but the vile and depraved things he witnessed in their minds, the cruelty and inhumanity, made turning his back on pureblood ideology the easiest choice he’d ever made.

So he learned to keep his distance. He avoided jostling crowds, dodged close friendships, neglected any and all amorous advances, and built careful walls around himself. Letting someone get close meant letting them in, and he didn't think he could survive that, even if it were Harry.

Narcissa had done everything in her power to keep Draco’s unique ability hidden from the public so the Dark Lord couldn’t exploit it. Unfortunately, being the Malfoy heir couldn’t protect him from all the monsters in his home. More than once, Lucius had used Draco to advance the Malfoy agenda. 

His father’s paranoia about their standing in the war inevitably led to him forcing Draco to get closer to the Dark Lord’s inner circle and casually touch whoever Lucius needed information from. The moment Draco’s hand met Voldemort’s cold, decaying skin, horrific visions would flood his mind. Every time his power was abused, bile would rise in his throat as he struggled to keep his composure before reporting back to his father. He was nothing more than Lucius’ chess piece, being moved on a board Draco never chose to play.

Over the years, the strain wore him down to the point he couldn’t trust anyone, not even the ones who were meant to love and protect him. Maintaining his pure-blood image while carrying everyone’s secrets in his mind left him increasingly fragile, until he finally broke when the war ended. Abandoning his family’s bigoted ideology was easier said than done, but returning to Hogwarts for Eighth year gave him a chance to start over—or so he thought.

Even if Draco decided to use his powers for good, he knew someone would exploit them, even those closest to him. That became one of many reasons he withdrew from social life; He learned that even the best parts of him could be twisted into something ugly. 

Those around him, especially at school, had wild assumptions to explain his distance when school started again. Rumours around the halls could be heard wherever he went.

Constantly being elbowed and bumped into on the benches in the great hall as his classmates ate and chatted animatedly was more than Draco could bear most days, so he found a small alcove to eat most of his meals in. Overhearing remarks about himself in the halls wasn't uncommon, but one day had stayed with him.

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Several footsteps paused just outside of his view one day as he hid, pressed against the stained glass window of his alcove. He stayed quiet, his half-eaten apple hanging in the air on route to his mouth as he listened to their chatter.

“I heard Mouldy Malfoy did stuff with Voldemort and that’s the real reason his family was in the inner circle.” 

“That’s foul, don’t even joke about it,” a girl’s voice said, laughter stretching out her syllables.

“Must be why he keeps to himself. Too afraid we’ll find out,” the first voice spoke again.

“Just stay away from him.” Draco’s ears perked, and he stopped chewing. He could’ve sworn that was Harry Potter’s voice chiming in. 

“Whatever, he just thinks he’s better than us.” 

“And he’s still a Pureblood bigot,” the girl added. Draco held his breath when their footsteps began again, desperately waiting to hear Harry’s response.

“I don’t think that’s why,” Potter’s voice faded as the group moved down the hall. “I think he can’t even stand himself. It’s just sad, really.”

Draco sat in stunned silence as he processed what Potter had said. He sat staring out the window of the alcove so long that he missed the rest of his classes. When he watched the sky turn vibrant and the last sliver of sun melt into the horizon, he finally trudged back to the dorm.

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He had ached to be known by Harry, truly known, so when Harry had revealed his honest perception of him, it cut into him deeper than anyone else’s cruel remarks ever could. Unlike other gossip, Harry’s words were too close to the truth, confirming every fear Draco still had—that he was pathetic, irredeemable, and not worth the effort to get close to. That was the moment Draco decided he could never risk revealing any more of himself, no matter who it was.

So he withdrew into a vicious cycle, being isolated to hide his powers, feeling dehumanised by them, then letting those feelings confirm every fear that he would never belong. He allowed himself to be trapped in the version of himself everyone thought they knew. 

Eventually, he realised he’d been living inside that same wretched version of himself, even in his own mind, believing every negative view others had of him. Years of isolation and self-pity shaped him into a repressed, anti-social shell of who he might have been without the war. He was desperate for connection and acceptance, yet too burdened by doubt and insecurity to ever reach for what he wanted. 

Harry became a quiet obsession in his heart, too perfect to approach, and too magnetic to ignore. No matter how close their lives drew, even as auror partners, Draco never allowed himself the relief of a real friendship. Harry had to remain in his neat little mental box; any closer, and Draco feared he’d lose himself entirely. His carefully constructed walls would collapse, leaving him exposed, afraid, or worst of all, a vessel for Harry’s whims. Draco couldn’t bear the thought of meaning so little to Harry while Harry consumed his mind.

-***-

“Ready for tonight?” Harry asked the next day, sidling up to Draco’s desk and perching his arse on the edge.

Draco moved to shift the paperwork littered around his perpetually cramped space, but his fingers inadvertently grazed Harry’s arse as he wriggled to get comfortable.

“I’ve never seen those glasses before.”

His cheeks flamed as he tried to ignore the implication that Harry had paid close enough attention to know he’d gotten new glasses.

“Tonight?” he managed to sputter out, shifting his focus back to the task in front of him. Flipping through mundane filings had to be better than inspecting Harry’s face and feeling let down once again by his easily explained away curiosities. He didn’t like Draco; he was just observant. It was the man’s job, for god’s sake.

“Yeah, you know, our date with a criminal?” 

Hearing the words “our” and “date” in the same sentence from the man he’d been, for better or worse, in love with for the better part of a decade, nearly did him in, but he pushed his delusions aside to list off their itinerary.

“Right. Our portkey leaves at 6, so I reckon we'd best leave by 5. You know how backed up the travel office can get around the holidays.” Harry nodded along, a smirk quirked at the edge of his mouth, but otherwise listened attentively. “There’s only one hotel in the village, but I was lucky enough to book us the last two rooms on such short notice.

“Excellent work, as always.” Harry gave him a praising nod and a flash of a smile.

Draco focused back on his desk as his heart clenched. Looking too long never led to anything good. “The latest intel says the suspect [CASE DETAILS REDACTED]. He’s taking a car to avoid breaking the statute of secrecy, which gives us plenty of time to pick up our rental and park out front to lie in wait.”

When Draco glanced up to make sure Harry was still paying attention, he was met with an annoyingly satisfied glint in his cheeky green eyes.

“But you already knew all that, didn’t you?” Draco said. “It was in your briefing, too.”

“Yeah,” Harry drawled, “but you know how I love hearing you prattle on about your little plans. You get this serene look on your face. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that relaxed in all the years I’ve known you.”

Brilliant. Now he was mocking him. Draco looked away as his cheeks flushed against his pale skin.

Draco resisted the urge to slink down in his chair, crawl under his desk, and evaporate himself from existence. Or shove Harry right off his desk. Instead, he stood abruptly and excused himself from his own workspace. Better to make himself scarce than have to confront Harry for the remainder of the day. It was already going to be a long, infuriating night, and he’d rather not have to prolong his misery.

Draco spent the rest of the day rounding up all the old casefiles that needed to be dealt with before they left, got a few hours of training in with the new recruits, and tidied his desk before he’d be away the next few days. There was nothing worse than coming back to a desk in disarray. 

At a quarter to five, when most of the office had left early for the holidays, Harry reappeared at Draco’s desk.

“Ready to go?” he asked, rapping a gentle knock on Draco’s cubicle wall.

“I just have to grab my shrunken luggage and my jacket, then we can be on our way.”

Out of habit, when Draco stepped onto the lift, he went to beline it for his preferred corner, but the space was already occupied by one of the secretaries from the floor below. He shot her a tight smile, then looked to the other corner that was filled with three other aurors chatting merrily. Just his luck, another cramped space with Harry.

“Go on then, budge in,” Harry said, inching closer to Draco than he would normally allow.

A small groan escaped Draco as he pressed himself against the cool, metal wall. 

“You’re not a germaphobe, are you?” Harry asked quietly, low enough for only him to hear. His voice rumbled through Draco, straight to his cock, and he resisted the urge to palm himself in the crowded lift.

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, far too breathy to rationally explain.

“Germs. You worried about them?” Harry seemed to be thriving in Draco’s obvious discomfort, taking an even more exaggerated step toward him until Draco thought his nerves might actually shoot out of his body.

“No,” he said, perhaps a bit too forcefully. Draco tempered his anxiety as Harry continued to let his eyes travel over Draco’s features. 

In a desperate attempt to pretend Harry wasn’t standing far too close and watching him far too intently, Draco shut his eyes and pretended the moment wasn't happening. Immature? Maybe, but he didn’t care. He focused instead on his colleagues’ chatter about their Christmas plans, letting their voices fill the lift until the doors finally opened and they filed out. The noise faded with the doors sliding shut, leaving the two of them in a suddenly, painfully awkward silence.

When Draco opened his eyes again, he had expected Harry to have stepped back. Of course he fucking hadn’t. If anything, he was closer. Close enough that Draco could’ve counted the freckles across his cheeks, traced the way the green of his eyes fractured into each different hue, close enough to do…well, something.

He cleared his throat, a little too sharply and a lot too flustered.

“You do that a lot, you know,” Harry said, finally breaking the tension that filled the air. 

“What?” Draco asked, still dumbfounded as to why he hadn’t moved now that there was room.

“Pretend I don’t exist.”

“I do not,” Draco immediately denied, indignant despite knowing some truth that lay in the accusation.

“I do, though.”

“You do, what?” he asked, quickly growing agitated with whatever mind games they were playing now. Draco didn’t know the rules, and it angered him to no end when Harry spoke cryptically.

“Exist.”

The lift doors opened, and Harry spun around without sparing Draco another glance or checking to see if he was still breathing. Fuck. Whatever tedious hell Draco had anticipated for this trip was obviously not even close to reality; He was well and truly, properly fucked.

Their portkey landed them on the outskirts of [CASE DETAILS REDACTED], so they apparated closer to the small inn Draco had booked. They trudged through ankle-deep snow the rest of the way, Harry in the lead and Draco trailing along behind him as he tried to calm his racing thoughts.

As they stepped inside, the lobby smelled of pine and sea air, and Draco let the festive warmth envelop him and ease some of the tension he'd been carrying. Maybe this place was exactly what he needed: a quaint little escape to forget about the never-ending tension between them.

“Booking under Malfoy,” Harry said to the clerk at the front desk. 

While Harry checked them in, Draco took in the soft, golden lights strung around the room and the evergreen garlands draped between massive holly wreaths, and chose to believe that nothing would ruin this for him. They’d get the job done, and he’d enjoy a little slice of Christmas. Then they’d return home, and life would go on just as it always had.

“Surprised you were able to make the trip with all this snow! Here’s your room key, and let us know if you need more wood for the fireplace tonight.” The clerk slid the key across the high desk, and Harry pocketed it. 

“Sorry,” Draco interrupted, leaning past Harry. “I think we have a second key as well.”

“I’m afraid not. We’re all booked up for the holiday, and we just have the one booking under your name.” The clerk’s sympathetic expression did nothing to still Draco’s racing heart.

“That can’t be, I’m sure I booked a second room.” Draco’s panic began to swell, but before he could ask them to check again, a large arm wrapped around his shoulder.

“Not a problem. We’ll only be needing the one.” Harry shot Draco a sly wink that had his insides ready to expel.

“Thank god it’s busy. Bet there’s only one bed too.”

Draco shrugged out of his hold, his cheeks burning from the implications of Harry’s thoughts.

“Wonderful! Happy Christmas, you two!”

When Harry unlocked their door, Draco cautiously stepped in behind him. The room was small, just as Draco had feared, and the slanted ceilings did nothing to make it appear any more spacious. A single bed stood mocking them in the middle of the room, with a tattered couch and chest of drawers to the side. The fireplace was already flickering softly, giving the room a false sense of safe, inviting warmth. It felt far too intimate.

“This’ll do just fine,” Harry said with a nod. “Bang-up job with the booking, Malfoy.”

“I know I booked two,” Draco snapped, his irritation evident, but unfortunately, it came out more whiny than anything. “It’s fine, though, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“The couch? Surely we can share a bed for one night. I promise to be well-behaved.” 

“Absolutely not, you’ve never been well-behaved a day in your life. We’ll finish the job and just crash here after. No need to unnecessarily make things awkward.”

“I wouldn’t feel awkward. Unless there’s a reason you’re worried, Malfoy.” Harry dropped his extended suitcase on the floor and crowded Draco. He instinctively took a step back, and Harry noticed immediately. 

“What are you always so afraid of?” Harry moved again, and Draco felt the back of his knees hit the couch as he retreated.

“I’m not afraid,” Draco murmured with far less conviction than he would’ve liked.

“You never let me near,” Harry said, now within arm’s reach of Draco. With nowhere left to retreat, Draco was forced to stay still, praying Harry wouldn’t push it this time. 

“A skittish little thing,” Harry murmured as his hand reached up and brushed Draco’s shoulder. 

“Just give me one chance.”

“We’re not that close,” Draco tried, attempting to ignore the discomfort Harry’s touch inflicted.

“We could be if you took a chance on me.” Harry’s thumb caressed the top of his arm as his hold tightened. Draco’s heart could probably be heard over the crackling of the fire. What the fuck was he doing? Since when did they openly acknowledge what they usually left unsaid between them? Why was he messing with their routine?

“But I want to be close to you. What have I done to make you so scared of me?”

“You haven’t done anything,” Draco mumbled distractedly.

“What?” Harry asked, intrigue seeped into the question.

“You didn’t do anything. I’m just used to being on guard. It’s not personal.”

“I didn’t ask you that.” Harry’s eyes roved over Draco’s face, and the proximity was driving him insane. What he really wanted was to reach back out to him and press his lips to his, but that wasn’t how they worked, and there was no chance of that changing.

Draco’s eyes flicked to Harry’s mouth, and he swallowed hard. He never let himself have these thoughts in Harry’s presence, typically saving them for when he was alone at night. Letting his fantasies run wild right now was dangerous, especially if they were sharing a room tonight.

“Do it. Please, just do it.”

“I’m going to—” Draco trailed off, gesturing toward the bathroom before making a quick escape around Harry’s large frame.

He slammed the door closed and pressed his back against the rough wood as he caught his breath. His cock was rock hard, straining against his trousers, but there was no time to get himself off before they had to leave. Draco applied a rough hand to the outer placket of his pants and dragged his palm over himself, desperate for any amount of relief. 

His mind began to wander, supplying an image of Harry on his knees before him, and the ache of his cock increased. Fuck, not helpful. He felt the front of his pants grow damp and walked to the sink to splash cold water on his face. He waved his wand to cast a concealment charm over his obvious bulge and one to dry himself. 

It would have to be enough. 

They had a job to do.

Once he’d calmed himself enough, Draco stepped back out and was immediately met with the most debilitating sight.

Harry stood with his back to the bathroom door as he pulled his shirt over his head. Draco’s eyes took in the scene, from the way his messy curls fell into place to the way his skin stretched over his muscles in the low-lit room. The times Draco had imagined this exact scene in his head could never have compared to the ache of witnessing it firsthand. 

Somehow, the man still seemed to be holding onto his summer tan all these months later, and the bronze glow of his skin made Draco want to stalk over and drop to his knees. He’d drain his vaults in a heartbeat if it meant he could drag his tongue along each ripple of muscle that spanned Harry’s torso.

A small whimper escaped Draco’s lips, and he prayed to every god he could think of that Harry hadn’t heard. Unfortunately, deities had never really taken care of Draco before and apparently didn’t see the need to start now.

“What was that?” Harry asked, turning slowly to reveal the most conceited expression—one that rivalled Draco’s own notorious smirks from their school days.

Draco could barely form a coherent thought, let alone answer. He may have mumbled something intelligible, but whatever left his mouth seemed to please Harry immensely. 

“See something you like, Draco?” The use of his first name had never sounded so sinful. 

Harry stalked closer, his shirt immediately discarded as his focus shifted. He moved like a predator who knew they were about to catch their prey.

All the air in the room seemed to vanish as Harry stood before Draco. His breath hitched on every inhale, and Harry’s eyes roved over his face, growing hungrier by the second as he seemed to catalogue every laboured attempt Draco made to calm himself down.

“I know there’s something going on. I can’t be the only one who feels this.” Harry’s brows dipped, and his mouth stretched into a thin line.

Draco warred with his mind, torn between finally giving in to his own repressed desires and admitting everything just to please Harry, or continuing down the well-worn path of denial. It would be so easy to just lean forward and taste the freedom of Harry’s lips, and Draco found himself avoiding the admission as his face tilted toward Harry’s.

Before he could make such an insane decision, though, Harry stopped him with a hand against his chest.

“Please just tell me. Whatever it is won’t change anything.”

Right. It wouldn't change anything; Harry didn’t actually like Draco. But the pain of holding the truth in all these years would eventually lead to a breaking point, and Draco found his resolve vanishing. 

“It’s nothing.” The lie burned its way out of Draco’s mouth, scorching his throat. The spell was broken. With his eyes downcast so he didn’t have to see the disappointment on Harry’s face, he stepped away. “We have to pick up the car.” He turned and made himself busy, pretending that unpacking his bag needed his full attention. 

He heard Harry’s sigh behind him, the opening of zippers, drawers opening, and rustling clothes as they prepared to leave in silence.

The suspect was meant to be arriving around midnight, so they’re plan was to [CASE DETAILS REDACTED]. Just observe and report. Fairly straightforward, which was probably why they were trusted enough not to fuck it up this time. As they made their way to the car rental agency, Draco recalled a memory that had started this all, the one that reminded him that being in love with the Golden Boy wouldn’t end happily for him.

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Christmas in Eighth year had been a lesson in many things, but humility sat at the forefront of that list. Fresh from the war, on the cusp of adulthood, Draco existed on the very edges of society, no more than a pariah. He kept himself withdrawn for sanity’s sake, though it hardly mattered; his reputation was still that of the bigoted prick everyone remembered.

Cruel whispers trailed behind him through every classroom and crowded corridor. Some students didn’t even bother to lower their voices, making certain he heard exactly how vile they found him. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t endured before, but now, after battling with himself to change his beliefs, it felt especially defeating.

And, as if the universe was determined to make things worse, all the returning Eighth years had been crammed into a single dormitory, regardless of their previous house assignments. Stripped of the comfort of Slytherin’s protection, Draco had no choice but to share living space with nearly every person he had ever antagonised. There was no safe refuge where he could disappear to anymore.

Yet, even while the whispers and stares followed him, he couldn’t stop himself from noticing Harry fucking Potter. Draco would catch himself searching for his familiar, messy head of hair in the halls, listening for his laugh in the common room, and ridiculously daydreaming about him when he was meant to be studying. On the rare occasion Harry glanced his way, even briefly, Draco’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

It was humiliating how much space Potter took up in his mind. It was mortifying how one person could make him feel so electrified, especially when that person was the last one he should’ve been obsessing over.

The pressure had been building for months, but that Christmas it finally reached a breaking point. 

The Eighth years had thrown a holiday party for the handful of students who had stayed behind, filling their common room with tacky decorations and contraband alcohol the Gryffindors were now brazen enough to smuggle in.

With nowhere else to disappear to, Draco loitered at the edges of the room. He couldn’t return to the Manor, and even the library had closed for the holidays, leaving him rudderless in a place that was meant to feel like home. While most students had somewhere else to go, someone waiting to see them, he only had this. The thought had stung more than he wanted to admit.

He sipped on a glass of water to blend in and tried to bury himself in an arithmancy text, though he could hardly process a word, let alone the whole bloody subject. The occasional glances shot his way ranged from wary to openly hostile. He did his best to ignore them and pretended not to notice, though his eyes kept drifting across the room to where Potter had fallen asleep on one of the old, tattered couches. Of course the Golden Boy could fall asleep in the middle of a fucking party. He was loved, comfortable, and surrounded by friends. Draco hated how tender the sight was.

Every so often, someone would stumble past and adjust the knitted blanket over Harry’s shoulders, and Draco felt a twist of something agonising in his chest. He shouldn’t care. But he watched anyway, stealing glances through the crowd. And if he imagined what it might be like to be the one Harry trusted enough to sleep beside, well…no one had to know.

As the hours passed, the crowd thinned. Pulsing Christmas melodies covered the unsteady steps of students heading upstairs.

Weasley hauled a thoroughly sloshed Granger from the couch opposite Harry’s, where she’d left a witch-shaped dent after her third mystery drink. Draco told himself he wasn’t being creepy for keeping track; The textbook just wasn’t gripping enough to hold his attention over the obnoxiously merry spectacle around him.

When they passed, Ron shot him a bleary, vaguely threatening look. One that might’ve seemed menacing if he had been sober. Instead, he radiated more ‘belligerent old man shutting down the pub’ energy than anything dangerous, and Draco bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing in his face.

“Better watch yourself, Malfoy,” he slurred, adjusting the sleeping witch in his arms. “I’ll be back down for him after, so I’ll know if you fuck with him.”

In the past, taunting Ron might have tempted Draco. Now he only rolled his eyes and pretended to return to his book, though his gaze shifted again to Harry, still sleeping peacefully.

The last couple in the corner finished mauling each other’s faces and staggered upstairs, leaving the room empty. The flashing lights cast long shadows across abandoned cups, over the cheap baubles scattered from the ceiling, making the common room feel twice its usual size.

Then it was just the two of them.

The entire first term had been spent tiptoeing around conflict, keeping his power carefully masked, and stealing far too many glances at the Chosen One. Draco swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was the loneliness or the longing that hurt worse. So, when the opportunity presented itself, Harry Potter asleep and unguarded, Draco couldn’t resist.

He rose from his chair as quietly as he could, casting a nervous glance around the room to confirm they were truly alone. Then he crept toward the couch, his heart thudding louder than the fading festive music left floating around the common room.

Harry looked peaceful. His dirty, round glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose, and the sight sent a sharp, unexpected pang of affection to Draco’s heart. The confident, powerful wizard now looked soft—beautiful even. Draco found himself kneeling beside him before he could even contemplate how fucked up the move was.

Caught in the moment, Draco had wanted to reach out and brush a curl from Harry’s forehead, but he hesitated. He never initiated touch. Merlin, he barely tolerated being near others. Despite his mind screaming at him to stop, to go back to his seat or retreat to his room, something about the quiet, or maybe just something about Harry, inhibited his usual restraint.

Either way, the second his fingers grazed Harry’s flushed skin, vivid visions flashed through his mind. He choked on a soft, startled whine as Harry’s dream came into focus.

“Be a good boy for me, Draco.”

Draco’s shaking hands slid over Harry’s thighs.

“If you’re going to sulk all night, I’ll give you something to cry about.”

A rough tug of his hair revealed his glistening eyes as he kneeled at Harry’s feet.

“Take my cock out,” Harry ordered, his thumb gently caressing Draco’s wet cheek.

“Yes, sir.”

Kneeling beside the couch, his cock was so hard that it ached in his trousers, straining against the material to the point of madness. 

What. The. Fuck.

Draco had no idea he could voyeristically enter people’s dreams since he’d never slept with anyone before, or felt inclined to touch someone while they were unconscious until now. The visceral experience was too immersive for Draco to handle, and he snatched his hand from where it was still making contact. 

He darted from Harry’s side to his shared bedroom and charmed his canopy shut. Once he’d silenced his bunk, he tore his pants open and gripped his leaking length. Still picturing the way Harry had tipped his head back with his cock in Draco’s eager mouth, he began frantically wanking. He repeated the small gasps Harry had let out as he sank into his throat, the commanding way he’d coaxed Draco through it, and the sheer bliss that had been on the dream version of his face. Within seconds, Draco felt like he was fit to burst, and he allowed himself a low moan as he spilt all over his fist and stomach. 

He’d never felt so thoroughly shagged in his life, and with a lazy wave of his hand, he cleaned himself off and drifted to sleep still half undressed and dreamt of Harry.