Author's note: This was just a little plot bunny that had popped into my head and I simply couldn't get rid of. I've been having somewhat of a writer's block, and I had absolutely no plan for this, so it may seem a little bit awful or jumbled, but I simply had to get it down in words! There will be more, so feel free to stay tuned :3
Also, I don't own them, no matter how many 11:11s I waste wishing I did.
Harry and Malfoy were always at it.
Why Malfoy decided to become an Auror, Harry didn't think he would ever be able to fathom. Of course, things were still very hectic in the aftermath of the war. Lucius Malfoy had been reinstated in Azkaban after his re-joining the death eaters, a feat not even the Malfoy name could overcome gracefully. Narcissa resigned with Draco at the manor, which had somehow managed not to be coveted by the Ministry - once it was reinstated, that is. Draco would never even have been able to so much as breathe the words 'Auror training'.
If it hadn't been for Harry, Of course.
Harry Potter, a famous name with a famous scar, was always irrationally deep in the hearts of wizards and witches and unfortunately deep in the limelight of their interests. Immediately after the war, everyone treated him as a beacon of hope in such troublesome, dark times. The following year, as the Ministry was reformed, the hype had died down and eventually, Harry was back to his quietly famous self without the drama and publicity of it all.
Still, being famous would always have its perks. Malfoy had very nearly been accosted and arrested right then after the war, though after the stories were shared and the events were examined, it was agreed that he had the right to be tried fairly on the account that he was truly forced into all the darkness that had overcome him.
Harry had testified at his trial, and being famous Harry Potter, his testimony was the trick Malfoy had needed to be let go with little more than a slap on the wrist. Harry owed the man his life, for goodness' sake, and it was the right thing to do, even if it was Malfoy. And, hopefully, now that all debts were repaid and the playing field had been evened out, so to speak, Malfoy and Harry could get on without anything more between them.
But, then again, Harry and Malfoy were always at it.
There was Potter, on the grounds and practicing combat spells while the head Aurors fawned over his work. Bloody famous Potter! He could easily be best in their age division just by simply being Potter and doing nothing else. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he has great form and lightning-like reflexes, a teensy tiny voice in the back of Draco's mind helpfully stated. Of course, Draco himself had great form and reflexes also, and if one actually bothered to think about it, he was just about as cut out for the job as Potter was.
The training pitch was so rightfully named by its function; it was used for helping young Aurors in the training course with preparing for field work and picking out the best of the best to be accepted. Only a handful were admitted into the program and even fewer actually became Aurors. Draco gazed with ill-conceived longing at the robin's egg blue sky, dotted with wispy white clouds that hung in the sky like flowing lace. The sun was bright, but not blinding, and shone down with lovely dry warmth that spread easily out over the vast area. Draco thought he could catch a glint or two coming off of Potter's hair as he worked with simple shield charms.
Draco smirked to himself. Finally, something to do that had more value than lying about with the other dunderheads that were in the program (dunderheads that Draco didn't particularly like because he hadn't really decided to get acquainted) had popped into his numbing mind. Briefly recalling a spell that this Miles bloke had used on one of the Gryffindor chasers in his Hogwarts day, Draco discreetly pointed his wand in unsuspecting Potter's direction and shot a carefully aimed charm just over his eyes. A bloke that was sitting a few feet from Draco, (decidedly fit) had let out a small chuckle as he recognized the spell that Draco had used. The expression on his face had looked decidedly Slytherin, and Draco thought that he might have to re-evaluate his impressions on some of his colleagues.
However, Potter had ducked his head down apologetically for whatever reason and Draco's spell didn't exactly hit the target in the centre.
Harry winced and rubbed his head as a hot, wet feeling spread over his scalp, as if someone was cracking a warm egg over the top of his head. The Auror he was training with, (Harry struggled to recall his name) gave him a quizzical look but Harry just shook his head. He didn't feel like explaining that Malfoy had (as Harry assumed, anyway,) just launched a hex at him as he so often did and instead muttered an excuse about letting someone else take his place as he stalked, frustrated, across the field. Malfoy had an almost nervous, but none-the less smug, expression on his pointed face. The slight nervous look in his eyes gave Harry a start. As much as he hated to admit it, Malfoy was generally very competent with his spell work, hexing Harry included. With a muttered oath and vow of revenge, Harry apparated back to the Ministry with a crack and rushed to the nearest loo, earning him a few odd glances.
He didn't look any different, Harry thought, as he examined his reflection, turning his head this way and that to look for any abnormalities. Although, his hair was getting rather long, as it had started to flick down over his jawline. Perhaps it was time for a trim- Harry jumped suddenly and interrupted his own train of thought. He watched with impossibly wide eyes as his hair lengthened further, slowly growing out inch by inch. Just as it had lengthened to reach a point where it flicked around the level of his chin, Harry bolted the toilet, fuming. He had one thought prominent over the whirring frenzy of curse words and plots of revenge and that thought was that he needed to find Hermione. Now.
It had been a whole day since 'Potter's little mishap' and there was yet to be any revenge paid. Draco had expected, as always, retaliation from the boy who just couldn't back down from a challenge but in fact, Draco hadn't even seen the great prat since their little training escapade. He was just sitting in the lounge and enjoying a scalding cup of English Breakfast when, as if pulled by his thoughts, Potter had appeared red-faced in the lounge with a fuming Granger behind him. Apparently, Potter had managed to scurry off to find her in wherever she worked in law enforcement and ended the growing of his hair before it reached epic proportions. Come to think of it, as he stood there angrily next to an array of smartly arranged neutral coloured tables (as was the colour scheme of the entire room) Potter didn't look too much different at all. His hair, as Draco had expected, had been the target of his lengthening charm rather than his intended eyebrows. The black tresses came to rest a bare two inches above his shoulders. Draco fixed his gaze more intently and gave him a once-over. His hair had seemed to grow out in its original layers, with some pieces curling in, some curling out, and basically different locks had curled in every direction until it was just a tousled looking mess. He had nice, thick hair that seemed to fall in sectioned locks instead of looking thin and wispy and all-together just not very nicely textured. Potter let out a grunt and Draco snapped his gaze to Potter's spectacled eyes, which gave him a puzzling look. Before he could even sneer, the annoying git was out the door in a flurry of movement, leaving Granger looking exasperated as she shot a glare at Draco and trotted after her friend. Draco was thoroughly confused.
"Oh for goodness' sake, Harry! Can't you just settle this petty rivalry?" Hermione had exclaimed as the golden trio sat comfortably in the small living room of Hermione and Ron's little cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole. The entire house had a very warm feel, from the browns and oranges and reds in the colour scheme (definitely Ron's choices) to the crackling fire nestled tightly in a small stone fireplace in the sitting room they were currently occupying. The room was strongly reminiscent to Harry of the Gryffindor common room and his heart swelled with a burst of nostalgia.
"You'd think Malfoy would just accept that Harry is worth 100 of him and move on," Ron sniggered. Harry smiled in amusement. And so it was true, none of them had really changed at all. They'd barely even grown up even though they were forced to so quickly, and Harry was only nearly twenty yet here they were, making their own way in the world already. The nostalgia was ever present.
"But Hermione," Harry continued, "It's Malfoy! What do you expect me to do? He's a git! Always has been, always will be. Now will you please drop it and just fix my hair?" Harry looked so exasperated. His black tresses still hung loosely past his chin. Ron had said that Harry now vaguely resembled a chaser on his favourite team, the Chudley Cannons. 'He gets all the girls,' he had said. Hermione shook her head.
"As long as you refuse to be mature then I refuse to help you." She had that resolute look in her eyes. Harry reckoned would have to find someone else to help him later, for Ron, who was grinning at him sheepishly, wasn't quite handy enough with a wand for Harry to trust him. Harry's hair was bad enough as it was already.
It seemed to Draco that Harry was popping up everywhere he went. It was normal to see him often, as they were in the training program together, but Draco would see him everywhere. On the field, in the corridors, on the streets, in the loo, at lunch…
Two things were bothering Draco. First of all, Potter hadn't even tried to get him back for his little charm. It would normally not take a day for retaliation but this time was different. Was he embarrassed? Well, he looks like a git anyway so why should he be embarrassed now? Malfoy thought to himself. Something was different, however, this time. The second thing that was bothering him was Potter's hair. Draco was good with spells – too good. Sure, Potter's hair was still a jumbled mess, but it didn't look like fire catching twigs and the new length somehow made it look more artfully styled. It was like he had that tousled, just-shagged look, but it was completely natural and it was so easy to tell. He looked like a bloody Witch Weekly poster boy.
Draco had finally snapped on Tuesday when he had run into Potter, again, in the loo on their lunch break. Each had been minding his own for long enough, until Draco flicked off the water tap and took a sideways glance at Potter while he tried helplessly to flatten his hair.
"Merlin, Potter, what on earth is wrong with you!" He let out in one quick breath, exasperated. Potter jumped at the outburst and whipped his head around, his curly black locks flying about his face. He looked surprised for a moment before the familiar expression of frustration had taken over his features and he shook his head.
"I don't know what you're on about, Malfoy." Potter spat the name, as he always did, and turned back to the mirror, tugging on the flipped out ends of his hair as he was before. Draco watched every movement. He continued watching him, in fact, but when he just realized that he had no further business in the bathroom and that he was staring, Potter had already turned and caught him looking. Again.
"Why do you keep staring at my hair? Examining your handiwork?" Potter grunted sarcastically. Draco sneered and avoided the question. Thankfully, years of practicing self-control kept him from blushing embarrassingly.
"Actually, Potter, I'm waiting to see what kind of wild animal will scuttle out of there when it's done hibernating." Draco retaliated coolly, his pale lips turned up in a smirk. Potter's face reddened and he stopped glancing at the mirror to fix Draco with a steely glare.
"If you'd forgotten, Malfoy, it's summer. And what kind of animal would you expect to see? I'd suggest a ferret, but you're right here," Harry responded, just as coolly. Malfoy's eyes darted up to the tousled strands of Harry's hair, now catching glints of light from the bright lamps adorning the cool white wall. Harry was fuming again, and flushed further in embarrassment, as he tracked the movement of Malfoy's gaze.
"I'd swear Potter, I think you're trying to insult me by doing such a shite job of insulting me and believing that I won't think twice," Malfoy muttered. His gaze was fixed.
"And I'd swear that you're obsessed! Why do you keep staring at my hair?" Harry exclaimed, half in anger, half in confusion. Malfoy avoided the question, and so Harry turned about and stormed to the door, his heavy black robes billowing in a way that would have made Snape proud.
"Potter!" Malfoy shouted, his voice sounding taunting but still as though he were calling him back. Harry whipped around and faced the tall boy, feeling as though they were in school once again. He looked as though he would soon snap, his fists clenched tightly at his sides and his hard jaw working, trying to hold back a load of comments. Malfoy began to advance, still expressionless.
"Why haven't you cut it yet?" he asked as he moved. Harry said nothing. He did nothing. He just stood there, looking like a million different emotions. Draco didn't know what made him do it. He could spend his life analysing this moment but he would forever be clueless. He marched up to Harry, stood close enough smell him, and sunk his long, pale fingers into Harry's curly black locks.
Harry jumped, his eyes widened impossibly, and his body tensed until he was nothing but a human board impersonator. Malfoy looked just as confused, but absently ran his fingers around the soft-as-silk tresses of Harry's hair. He tugged on the ends once or twice. It was a long moment of complete stillness and confusion and just general what the fuck? ness.
And then Harry moved, and move he did. His already clenched fist moved like an arrow into Draco's pale, hard jaw with a crack. Draco stumbled backwards, somehow gracefully, his jaw smarting, and he still looked just as confused as though he were still standing there fondling Potter's hair. Harry looked not angry, as he should feel, but still puzzled. The air of confusion hung in the air like fog. His knuckles were stinging.
"What the fuck, Malfoy?" He breathed quietly. Malfoy just shrugged. He shrugged it all off.
"I have no idea, Potter." With that, he reached out a long, pale arm and grabbed a fistful of Harry's robes. He gave an all-mighty pull and Harry stumbled forward, his chest suddenly plastered to Draco's. The sound of their heavy breathing filled the room. Anyone could have walked in at any moment.
Potters eyebrows furrowed as Draco's free hand reached up behind him, trailing along the ridges of his spine until it sank back into the soft nest of curls at the nape of his neck. Draco smirked.
"Well, Potter? Are you a Gryffindor or aren't you?" The words had the intended effect. Potter's eyes held a challenged in them and his jaw was set. Carefully and deliberately, he reached up and gently removed his circular spectacles, folding them neatly in one hand. Without hesitation, he chucked them somewhere in the general area of the sinks behind them and crashed his mouth onto the pale lips of Draco Malfoy.
The glasses clinked and fell into a porcelain basin but neither boy was paying attention. So much was whirring through Harry's mind; I'm not bent, am I? I hate Malfoy! I guess blokes can be attractive.. What the fuck is going on! Oh, that feels good…
The kiss progressed as Draco clenched down hard on a fistful of black hair and swiped his tongue across Harry's lower lip. The boy immediately granted him access and Draco thrust his tongue into the other's hot mouth and, god, how had he not known that he wanted this?
They snogged for long minutes, fighting to get closer and each boy letting out a breathy moan or growl every now and then. It soon became apparent that someone was bound to walk in at any moment, lunch would soon be over and the footsteps that sounded distantly down the hall were like a splash of cold water to their faces. They broke apart immediately, jumping back as if burned by the reality that was just setting in. Harry had never looked more dazed, and Malfoy had certainly never looked more dishevelled. In the end, they were just two very confused boys, no older than they had been years ago. A tall, official looking man stepped into the loo then, eyeing Harry and Draco questioningly before grunting a greeting and stepping over to the toilets. Harry took that as his cue and bolted from the room, red faced and dazed. Malfoy didn't call him back this time.
Harry didn't even get the chance to think until he had arrived home to his small, dated flat, located in a quaint little wizarding area in London. He flopped down onto a squashy red sofa and pinched the bridge of his nose hard, trying to ebb away a quickly blooming pain at the forefront of his head.
He had left his glasses at the ministry and his blurred vision had been causing him stress and frustration all afternoon. He had figured that he must have left them in the ruddy sink where he threw them before, but no, he thought, frustrated. He had returned to the toilet bare minutes after their encounter, absolutely not hoping to run into Malfoy in any way, and they hadn't been there. He doubted the burly looking employee would have stolen some random person's glasses. And so the conclusion that Harry had been avoiding all day was inevitable. No matter how he hoped that they would turn up randomly, or Ron would come bustling in saying 'Oy, Harry, I found these…", it was all in vain. He'd have to pay Malfoy a visit, he supposed.
TBC.
So, yeah, that sums it up. I'm certain that I'll have to up the rating quite soon O.o