Title: Elevation
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns these characters, and I'm just some crazy person that likes to toy around with the idea of them. And nope, no one pays me to write these silly things, because who would?
Pairings: Harry/Draco all the way! Plus all of Harry's pathetic attempts to date someone before Draco, but pshh, we all know who he's destined for.
Rating: M. And if you are some naughty young whippersnapper that insists on reading this anyway, please don't tell me about it. I don't want to be liable. I took a business law class once; I totally know what "liable" means!
Warnings: Draco being a goddamn tease. Long-winded speeches. Oodles of sexual tension. And me being right on the edge of breaking the fourth wall. I think I cracked it. Just a smidge. Don't tell my mommy.
Summary: No sane relationship ever starts with over a decade of animosity followed by random snatches of snarky conversations in a lift, but then again, Harry and Malfoy were never sane people to begin with.
Author's Note: I will finish the next chapter of ASM tomorrow. It will then be sent to my beta, and then, depending on how fast she is with it or how impatient I get, it'll probably be posted in a couple of days.
As for this particular story, I started this while sitting around in a university library, trying to kill time in a way that does not involve Facebook, Twitter, or any other form of social media, thanks to their strict computer usage rules. It's funny, you know. Going on a completely PG-13 Facebook page might get me into trouble, but writing a M-rated word document? I can do it with impunity.
Then I sent the first few paragraphs to myself via email, and it pretty much just sat there for weeks until I finally downloaded the document today and finished it.
Most of this story takes place in a lift (or an elevator, if you prefer that term) because I wanted to experiment with setting. But the second thing I wanted to experiment with was Draco Malfoy's personality, so that necessitated a change of scenery eventually.
Are Harry and Draco OOC here? Depends on your opinion, really. To me, this is exactly how they are, but you are free to disagree. After all, who knows what they'll be like after Hogwarts, corny epilogue aside? This freedom of possibility is exactly the reason why any of us are interested in Drarry in the first place!
Unlike Tangent Lines, I went for the humourous route this time. It's summer, I'm happy, and I want my stories to be happy, too.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did, because I won't be writing any more one-shots until I make some real progress on ASM.
The first time Harry saw Malfoy in the lift, his whole body tensed, and the fingers of his right hand itched for his wand.
He restrained himself from taking aim, though. After all, there were hundreds of Ministry rules that he was obligated to follow as an Auror, and one of them was surely something like, "Do not fire hexes at others in the lift for no reason, no matter what sort of history you have with them." Come to think of it, the magical world in general was very dangerous, and without regulations like that, people would just hex all their emotions away, and then that would lead to people hexing people away, and then what? No more wizards? A whole community of people, extinct due to petty drama?
Harry snorted softly, but thankfully, Malfoy didn't seem to notice. The pointy git was actually immersed in what looked like a really elaborate set of scrolls. Harry surreptitiously snuck a peek at the parchment, only to end up furrowing his brows at the sight of line after line of incomprehensible symbols, each arrayed in some sort of confusing fashion. How did one even know where to read first? Was the reading style left to right, right to left, top to bottom, or bottom to top? Was it diagonal? Was it a spiral?
A female voice informed Harry that they had reached his floor, so he shrugged and stepped out, putting his silly questions aside. Malfoy's business was Malfoy's business, and if he didn't even have the decency to notice Harry's presence, then there was no reason for Harry to notice his.
The next time he saw Malfoy in the lift, Harry was engaged in a conversation with Ron.
They were Auror partners, which everyone expected, and it was really one of the many things he loved about his job. After graduation, a tiny part of Harry had been worried that Ron would just pair up with Hermione and be so immersed in their developing relationship that he and Harry would drift apart, especially since Harry and Ginny had mutually called it quits a few months after the Battle.
Thankfully, though, there had been Auror training right after school, which had been gruelling enough to not only bond him and Ron closer together, but also create a bond between them and their fellow trainees. Harry loved feeling like part of a closely-knit group again after the dissolving of the DA, and being Ron's partner meant days of field work and paperwork together and nights out at the pub.
So there they were, walking and talking about the latest Quidditch match, when they entered the lift and saw Malfoy. Malfoy saw them, and his conversational partner saw them, too. She—for it was a frail, willowy brunette with big grey eyes wearing the same burgundy robes as Malfoy—gave them a light nod of deference before turning back to the conversation. Malfoy glanced at them, his lips tightening slightly, but he didn't seem to find them worth halting his conversation with her.
Ron, for once, did not make any sort of scene as he usually did when confronted with people who were on the other side of the War. He simply focused on the lift's doors and continued doggedly on with his speech.
"I think the Cannons totally have a chance to win this year, Harry. Their Chasers have been really good lately, and their Seeker just got a new broom! All he needs is just a little practice in actually catching the Snitch…but hey, at least their Keeper is top-notch, eh?"
Harry nodded, murmuring his own encouragements and reminiscing with Ron about their own Quidditch experiences back at Hogwarts, but he couldn't help letting parts of Malfoy's conversation with his co-worker leak into his hearing.
"No, Isabella, the problem is not that we do not have enough resources to do the research; the problem is that we do not have enough interest. The knowledge is out there, and we have the means to get it, but what we lack is the motivation."
"And why do you think that is, Draco? Do tell. But actually, before you give me another one of your long-winded speeches, let me just say that I personally think you are wrong about the resources. You are fine, since you have your own library in your grand Manor—"
"What's left of it, anyway—"
"Yeah, well, the Dark books they took away wouldn't have helped us solve this research question, anyway, so save me the sob story. Look, you may have extra sources in your archives, but most of us only have the sources right here in the Ministry, and access to it is limited unless you can play politics and behave like some sort of lapdog—"
"Harry, wake up! It's our floor!" With a start, Harry realised that Ron was tugging on the sleeve of his robe, already heading for the exit.
"Right, sorry about that," he muttered at his best friend's receding back.
As he made his way out, he could have sworn he felt the intense gaze of stormy grey eyes on his back, but then again, he always overreacted when it came to Malfoy, so it could have just been his imagination.
Harry was stomping into the lift, grumbling about nit-picking, judgmental secretaries and their insistence on being unable to read his handwriting, when he noticed that, yet again, Malfoy was on the lift with him.
His eyebrows shot up as he realised that Malfoy was speaking on…a Muggle mobile device?
Apparently, Malfoy couldn't quite believe it, either. "I don't get the point of this, Pans! Why, in the same of Salazar, would you assume that I would want to hear your voice whenever you want without at least your…assets here for me to ogle? Hm? Oh, stop whining, you know that that was a compliment—stop asking for confirmation; it makes you look desperate. What the bloody hell is this contraption, anyway, a metal Howler? …WHAT. A Muggle device? You sent me a Muggle device? That's it! I am going to hunt down that insipid boy-toy of yours and hex him into oblivion, as soon as I can figure out how to effing shut off your voice!"
Malfoy jabbed his finger aimlessly at the phone, and Harry winced, feeling sorry for it.
"Give here, Malfoy. I'll hang up for you."
He rounded on Harry, his glare hitting him with the force of a hurricane. "You'll hang nothing for me, Golden Boy! My clothes are perfectly dry, thank you very much! Now, where the hell is the—"
With a sigh, Harry yanked the phone out of Malfoy's hands with a well-placed Accio and hung up, cutting off the sound of Parkinson's raucous cackling.
"Here you go." He tossed the phone back, and Malfoy caught it deftly.
"Hmph. Thanks. I still hate you, though." Malfoy literally turned his nose up to the sky, and Harry, despite his better judgment, could not help but find it adorable.
"Hate you too, darling." He turned away, biting back a smile.
"Darling," Malfoy spat out. "Very funny, did Granger write that joke for you?"
"Nope. And besides, her name's Weasley now."
"Urgh, please don't remind me. I heard she's swollen with the next spawn, is that right?"
Harry clenched his jaw and was about to turn around to retaliate when the doors opened.
"Ta-ta, Potter. That's my floor."
He floated out of the lift, swishing his robes around dramatically, leaving Harry to fume about how some arseholes never changed, as well as wonder why the hell the git smelled so good.
The lunchtime rush was honestly the worst time to get into the lift, Harry concluded. Normally he would just wait for the next one, but there was only one functioning lift today—curse those budget cuts—and he really, really needed to get to this particular lunch meeting on time. After all, it was not every day that a murder suspect agreed to have a sandwich with you, never mind that he has no idea that you're an Auror.
He squeezed himself in, glad that he was already wearing his undercover disguise. He did not want to get groped by some starry-eyed fan today.
Everyone really was too close for comfort, though, despite the lack of intentional groping. Sure, he may have spent most of his childhood in a cupboard, but at least he was alone, damn it! Now he had to deal with arses rubbing against him in places they should not be, not to mention arms and elbows and—
Was that a face on his neck?
"Potter," breathed a voice behind him. "Nice disguise. Ginger hair doesn't really suit you, but at least it looks so horrible that no one would dare look at you twice."
He felt shivers run down his spine. How the hell—?
"I don't know what you're talking about, mister. The name's Rob Hutchinson, and I'll thank you to keep your comments about my hair to yourself."
"Can it, Potter. I know it's you. Only you smell like that."
"Wh—?"
But before he could ask, the lift opened at the ground floor, and the ensuing rush out the doors made it so that he lost track of the strange person who seemed to recognise him by scent.
He frowned and moved to the first public loo he could find before pulling out a bottle of cologne he still kept in his briefcase due to his laziness when it came to cleaning out his belongings. Harry never used cologne, even though his ex-girlfriend Ginny kept giving it to him as a birthday present as part of an inside joke between them, but maybe for this disguise he should.
He held his nose and drowned himself in the scent, before silently thanking whoever the hell it was that inadvertently helped him out.
What a disaster, Harry thought to himself miserably. Although the suspect had been sufficiently fooled by Harry's disguise, another crime occurred while Harry was eating lunch with him, and it had had the same M.O. as the other crimes that this suspect was supposed to have committed. In other words, they had the wrong man, and Harry had met up with some random stranger for nothing. Now he had to start all over again in his search, write yet another report, and will probably have to set up another "date."
Even worse, the suspect was actually attracted to the awful cologne, and he had been all over Harry, touching his face and his hands and just—just—ughh.
He slumped against the back wall of the lift and closed his eyes. Why did he attract all the weirdoes? Why? Even without the scar and the glasses, they instinctively knew that he was "hard to get" or something, and that seemed to make them all latch on. Honestly, Ginny had been the most normal of the people to ever be attracted to him, and she was unfortunately normal enough to actually dump him in the end.
Just as he began to start up a good lamenting-to-self session about how she was the only person to ever dump him rather than vice versa, however, he heard a disgusted sniff to his right.
"Circe, Potter, what the fuck have you done to yourself? You smell as if a swarm of bees decided to up and vomit their half-digested nectar all over you. Must you hate yourself so much that you feel the need to systematically destroy every single quality about you that could ever be construed as attractive? Wake up, Potter! Self-loathing and martyrdom went out of vogue ages ago. Confidence is in now, and I suggest you pick some up!"
Harry felt insulted for about two seconds before realising that this was the same exact voice that had recognised him by scent and had smelled his neck, and he could not help but grin, finding the compliment buried somewhere in that long, hateful speech.
"Are you implying, Malfoy, that you did find something attractive about me before? Was that why you buried your nose in my neck earlier?"
There was a huff and a shuffle of feet. Then, "Honestly, Potter, that question is not even worth answering. Good day."
As if on command, the lift doors opened, and Harry opened his eyes and admired the git's clothed arse as he strutted out.
"Oh, look, it's Potter!" shouted a too-loud jovial voice the moment Harry stepped into the lift.
He looked up and groaned as his eyes met the glazed over gaze of a clearly-inebriated Zabini, who was just barely restrained by Malfoy's arms around his waist.
"Blaise, please don't do this," begged Malfoy in a whisper-hiss. "He's an Auror; he could arrest you for public indecency. I know I would if I were in his position."
"Potter, Potter, pretty, pretty, Potterrrr. Ohh, Potter. So perfect and polished and possibly poncey. Tell me, how's your prick doing? I wonder if it's as pretty as the rest of you?"
Harry felt his face flame at the ridiculously lewd slurs, and he edged toward the farthest corner possible. He met Malfoy's eyes and saw a mixture of amusement and embarrassment.
"Blaise, I know it's tough to have to deal with yet another new step-father, but get over it! You're an adult now. It's not cute anymore."
"Draco, what kinna fren are ya?" whined Zabini, turning around to paw at the front of his robes. "Yer supposed tuh…stupposed tuh fuck me. Pity fuck. Pity pretty fuck. Fuuucck."
"Oh great, almighty Salazar! If your spirit is possible of being aware of my lowly existence, please end it. End everything," moaned Malfoy, even as he struggled to hold the drunken prat up while somehow keeping him at arm's length. "I paid my dues! I got myself a respectable job! Why must I put up with idiocy day in and day out?"
Harry chuckled at him. "Maybe it's because you're still a prat, so you'll be forever paying penance?"
Malfoy scowled. "Watch it, or else I'll just let go and unleash this monster upon you, consequences be damned!"
"Mm…I didn't know your prick was that impressive, Malfoy. Now I'm curious."
Pale cheeks turned impossibly red, a hue that could even rival Ron Weasley at his angriest. "I…I…shut the fuck up!"
Harry doubled over laughing, and Malfoy threw a pin at him.
"Ow! You git, why do you even carry a pin around?"
"I picked it up from the ground."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "You, the prissiest of all the prissy ponces in the world, picked something up off the ground?"
He sniffed, a sniff that was nearly drowned out by Zabini's incoherent gurgling. "It was shiny."
"Uh huh…well, that's my floor. Farewell, and good luck with your Zabini. Maybe you should grant him that pity fuck, after all."
He smirked as Malfoy shouted several unprintable lines from behind closing doors.
Harry continued to run into Malfoy on the lift every once in a while, since they apparently had similar ideas about when to enter work and when to leave work. Each time, one would always find a way to wind the other up, as if it were the continuation of some game they had been playing since their Hogwarts days. Of course, neither used magic against each other, and there was no face-punching involved, either, but that was because they were both "adults" now, and neither wanted to end up looking more immature than the other.
They didn't always get the lift to themselves, of course. The Ministry employed hundreds of people, and more often than not, there would be at least two other people on board with them. Whenever this happened, Malfoy would always sidle closer to Harry, whispering his snide comments on the appearance and hygienic practices of their fellow lift-riders.
"Look at that old hag. I'll bet you she hasn't washed her hair in a month."
"Shut it, Malfoy, that's not nice," Harry hissed.
"What's not nice is having to smell her filthy head. Yuck."
"So you decided to come over and smell my head instead?"
Malfoy pinched him on the arse for that comment, and by the time the doors opened, Harry had no idea if he should count that as a win or a loss in this odd game they seemed to be playing.
That bloody hurt, though. The bastard must have claws in place of nails.
One day, he and Malfoy were alone in the lift again, when suddenly the lights went out and the lift halted to a stop.
"Oh no," whined Malfoy. "This is such a cliché! Isabella warned me this would happen! Bloody Ministry and their bloody budget cuts! Is it too much to ask that they do a little bit of maintenance on the lifts that hundreds of people use every day? Is it?"
Harry sighed. "D'you think we can Disapparate?"
"No, you imbecile, we bloody well cannot! If we could easily Disapparate out of the damn place, why would we even use these lifts in the first place?"
Harry rubbed his temples. "You're right. I wasn't thinking."
"Do you ever?"
"On occasion."
"Probably on occasions when I'm not around, then. Maybe in your dreams."
"Which is more than you, honestly."
"What. I'm a researcher, Potter. I think all the time!"
"Mhm. Which is exactly why our conversations are always so enlightening and enriching," Harry deadpanned.
"Well, I don't waste my brainpower on you."
"But you just said you think all the time! Now you're just contradicting yourself!"
"I—UGH, whatever! My head hurts. It's been a bad day even before this, and my head hurts."
"Aww, poor baby. Well, I know a—"
"—'solution for your headache, blah blah, let's shag.' Your pick-up lines are so predictable, Potter. Tell me, did any of them help you to pick up Garner? Probably not, since he ran away the moment you said 'Hullo' last Tuesday."
Harry groaned and banged his head against the lift wall. "You saw that?"
"Name a person who didn't see that, Potter. It was so pathetic. Saviour of the Wizarding World, and you can't even manage a fine piece of arse like that."
"Hey, I don't know what his deal was, but I guess it wouldn't have worked out regardless, so I'm not worked up about it. No one I ask out ever says yes, anyway. It always has to be the other way around, and even then it doesn't work out."
"Oh yeah? Try me out, then."
"You know what? Fine. Fancy a drink with me, Malfoy?"
"Hmm. Let me think about it…NO! AHAHAHAHA!"
"I hate you so much."
"I know. But it's the hatred that keeps your eyes on me, isn't it?"
"Actually, no, it isn't. It's the fact that you're not half bad-looking, and also the fact that it's hard to ignore your shrill voice."
"I do not have a shrill voice!"
"ARGH! My ears! I think you ruptured something!"
"Ughhh!"
Harry heard Malfoy turn away, probably jamming his face into a corner. He made his way over to the sound of his rustling robes, smiling before he wrapped his arms around Malfoy's waist, burying his nose into soft, sweet-smelling hair.
"Now, now, Malfoy. Just because your pointy face fits perfectly into that corner doesn't mean it belongs there."
"Potter, you're just awful at this flirting thing. Do you know that I could report you for sexual harassment, not to mention the molesting you're doing right now? Do you? The only thing stopping me is the fact that Garner's probably already done so, not to mention Johnson and Watkins before him, and I like to be original."
"Well, you know, it'd be original of you to—"
"Say yes to you? I know. But we never talk outside of this bloody lift, so I don't even know if that's a good idea. No sane relationship buds from over a decade of animosity and random snatches of snarky conversations in a lift, you know."
"Well…" Harry traced little circles on Malfoy's hips and nuzzled his neck, relishing the soft moan the blonde breathed out. "We don't need to have a relationship, you know. We could just—"
"Bollocks. You're the virtuous hero. Of course you're going to want a relationship eventually, complete with a storybook wedding, a house with a white picket fence, two and a half kids, and a bloody Crup. No matter what you say in the beginning about shagging and fun, you will always end up wanting all that crap, and that's exactly why none of your relationships have worked out.
"Those crazed idiots who ask you out always just want a shag, and you're sick of that, aren't you? Deep down, you want roses and candy hearts and commitment and promises of forever. You want someone that will literally sleep with you at night and then make you breakfast in the morning and then be there to say 'Welcome home, honey bunch/pumpkin pie/whatever!' every time you open the door and come home from work.
"And that's why, Potter, you go after people like Garner and Johnson and Watkins, because you think they're husband material, you think that there's actually a chance of that happening, but they don't want that with you, because they're scared that you're too famous and that you'll get bored of them and leave to fuck some new tart with your famous dick. So you're just going to stay single, forever and ever, and occasionally toy with the feelings of people like me who are neither solely interested in shags or solely interested in stale happiness, because you think it's a change of pace, or something."
Harry blinked in silence as Malfoy paused for breath, but he did not let go of him. Then, "Wow, Malfoy. That must be a record for you. That speech actually seemed to be three entire paragraphs' worth!"
Malfoy gave a haughty sniff. "That was child's play, Potter. I've given much longer speeches before for much worthier audiences than you."
"Mm, I can imagine. How long did you talk at Zabini once he sobered up?"
"Oh, him? He's a hopeless case. I didn't bother with him; I just sent him to a nice gay club and let him have at it."
"You're such a good friend, Malfoy."
"I am, you know. Don't you regret refusing my hand back when we were eleven?"
Harry tightened his grip around Malfoy's waist. "To be honest with you? Yes. I think I could have made you less of a meanie."
"Keep dreaming, Potter."
"I think I'd rather do something else when it comes to you."
Malfoy sighed and turned around to face Harry. "I patently refuse to shag you in a broken lift, Potter. Not only is that so very tacky, but when and if help does arrive, they'll just think that we broke the lift on purpose to do kinky things—"
He was cut off by a firm kiss, and for a few minutes, there was nothing but blissful silence. Harry allowed his hands to roam that lovely body, revelling in the feel of softness, especially when it came to that ample arse.
Then Harry felt Malfoy's claws against his chest, and he broke the kiss, hissing. "Ow! Is this your revenge for the scars I gave you in sixth year? Do you sharpen your nails or something?"
"Oh, Potter. I've already gotten my revenge for those scars, a million times over. Do you want to know how?"
He bit Malfoy's ear. "Yes."
Malfoy chuckled. "Hm…try ask me out again."
"Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no! I'm not falling for that again!"
"Fine. Then you'll never know. And I know how much it grates you when you don't know something about me."
They held a staring contest in the darkness for a few moments, with Malfoy radiating calm and Harry boiling with frustration. Finally, Harry snarled, gritted his teeth, and gave in.
"Will you go out on a stupid fucking date with me, you stupid fucking tosser?"
Malfoy giggled, and Harry knew that if the lights were on, he'd see the bastard flutter his eyelashes.
"Oh, Harry," he mock-squealed in a high-pitched voice, pulling away from Harry's embrace. "I thought you'd never ask—again!"
"Is that a yes or a no?"
The lights flickered on, and the lift started to move again.
"Weeeeelllll…." The lift doors opened, and Malfoy sauntered over to the doorway. "It's a yes."
Harry watched, mesmerised, as Malfoy attempted a triumphant smirk but failed, a smile taking over his lips instead. "Anyway, I'll owl you, Potter."
Then he turned away, and Harry, no longer distracted by that cute face, suddenly remembered something. "Wait! What the hell was the revenge?"
An evil laugh was the only answer he got to that question before the doors closed.
Malfoy's idea of a first date was apparently to watch a Quidditch game and mock the Chudley Cannons as they got pummelled by the Falmouth Falcons.
"Hah! I'll bet Weasley's getting tears all over those hideous freckles of his by now! Oh, this is so good!"
Harry kicked Malfoy's leg, but that only made him laugh harder.
"Lighten up, Potter! It's just a game."
"Why must you insist on insulting my friends all the time?"
"Because it's easy, Potter! Besides, I'm nice enough to their faces when I do have to see them around the Ministry. I'm sure you've mocked Zabini and Parkinson behind their backs, too."
Harry thought about it for a moment. "I guess."
"Here, have one of these awful corndog things they insist on vending to us now. I'll bet we have Granger to thank for this sudden omnipresence of Muggle items."
"That's actually a compliment, Malfoy," Harry said, while biting into the deliciously unhealthy snack. "I'll tell her that."
Malfoy rolled his eyes, then jumped up with the rest of the audience when he saw what happened next on the pitch. "OHHH! And look who catches the Snitch! Not the Cannons' seeker, that's for sure! WOOHOO! Go Falcons!"
Harry watched as Malfoy did the most adorable impromptu victory dance, wriggling his arse and everything.
He closed his eyes and imagined that same arse wriggling around in the backyard of their house with the white picket fence, with two and a half kids and a Crup for an audience.
It could work.
Over the course of the next two months, Malfoy teased and stretched out their courtship with the most platonic and inexplicable date ideas ever.
After the Quidditch match, there was a wine tasting, where they didn't even get drunk, since they had to spit out every sip of wine after tasting it.
Then there was a trip to an art museum, where Malfoy strutted about and acted like he knew everything about all the artwork, even though the tour guide had to correct him several times.
Then there was a fishing trip, of all things, and they didn't even catch a damn thing, especially since Malfoy spent more time whacking Harry with the fishing pole than anything.
Then there was a shopping trip, which barely counted as a date at all, since all Harry did was hold Malfoy's purchases, and all Malfoy did was try on a gazillion clothing items and force Harry to watch and come up with creative critiques that basically were variations of, "No, honey, you do not look fat in that shirt, because nothing could ever make you look fat, sweetness."
And through it all, Harry did not even get one kiss from the bastard, and they only held hands once. At some point, he wondered if they were even dating at all, or if Malfoy had decided to make him his torture victim and/or friend instead.
When Malfoy dragged him to a yacht sale, Harry finally snapped.
"What the hell are we even doing anymore, Malfoy?" he shouted in the midst of confused-looking rich people. "Are we dating or not?"
Malfoy threw his head back and laughed diabolically, startling the rich Muggles and giving Harry a good view of his tantalising throat.
"Oh, Potter. You really have been a good sport. Alright, how about this? You get to decide our next date idea, mkay?"
"Fine!"
Malfoy moaned and gripped the railing as Harry fucked him roughly on his balcony.
"S-So—oh!—this is the great H-Harry P-Potter's idea of a d-date, h-huh?"
"H-Hey, I took y-you to that d-damn movie a-and re-restaurant and everything—god!—so d-don't you complain."
"Harder, Harry!"
He gripped Draco's angular shoulders and thrust harder, punishing the blonde for everything he put him through. Harry had never waited that long to have sex with someone or even get to kiss someone for the second time, and now the bastard would pay.
Except…he was really enjoying it, wasn't he? Draco met every one of his thrusts eagerly, and even during the preparation process, he had asked Harry to speed it up. It wasn't really a punishment when the jerk liked it so much.
Harry reached over and gripped the base of Draco's cock as he pounded harder.
Draco immediately moved one of his hands from the railing to Harry's arm, clawing into him.
"Fuck!" Harry let go, nursing his arm and settling for speeding up.
With one final thrust backward, Draco came all over the balcony, screaming Harry's name. Harry followed immediately afterwards.
Spent, the two of them staggered over to the bed and collapsed next to each other.
They breathed heavily into the air for a few moments.
Finally, Harry said, "So. What was the revenge?"
"Huh? What the hell are you talking about?"
"The revenge, Draco. The revenge for the scars on your chest."
"Oh. That."
"Yes, that." Harry turned to glare expectantly at Draco, only to find him grinning from ear to ear.
"The revenge was getting you to want me. Getting you to date me. Getting you to go so crazy with desire for me that you'd fuck me shamelessly on a balcony, even though you hate risking the chance of the paparazzi turning something private of yours into a public spectacle. Getting you to fall in love with me."
"I don't love—"
"Please, Harry. Look at you. If that look in your eyes isn't love, what is it?"
"Indigestion?"
"Nah, I've already seen that look after you ate too many corndogs at the Quidditch game."
"Fine. I love you. But now I'm wondering if you orchestrated all this. How did we always end up on the lift together?"
"You're a predictable man, Potter. It's pretty easy to guess when you're about to arrive or go home or get lunch."
"The phone?"
"Not planned. That was just Pansy being a bint."
"Zabini?"
"I'm still paying for that one."
"The lift getting stuck?"
"My best spellwork yet."
"Was the long speech even true, then?"
"Of course, Potter. I don't spout lies."
Harry gave him a pointed look.
"Well, alright, I do lie sometimes, but I put all my heart into that damn speech. You do have relationship issues, Harry."
"And you think you're the solution? You think that driving me fucking bat-shit crazy is going to make me want that permanent, romantic life with you, where we live happily ever after?"
"Of course not. Look, Potter, let's pretend, for a moment, that a guy like Garner actually said yes to you. What do you predict would have happened?"
"We would have gotten married eventually. Obviously. He's a real family man."
"Uh huh. And would you have enjoyed it?"
Harry thought about it. Would he have enjoyed that kind of picture-perfect life, where initially passionate declarations of love eventually simmered into routine pecks on the cheek and then eventually distant nods from across the dinner table as several kids chattered on about their day?
Well, yeah. There was nothing wrong with that. That's what lots of people did, and those people lived just fine.
But then Harry looked at the infuriating prat lying next to him, the one who teased him and acted unpredictably and occasionally spluttered in indignation whenever Harry actually got one over on him.
He thought back on one particular line of Draco's speech about why men like Garner never said yes to him: "They don't want that with you, because they're scared that you're too famous and that you'll get bored of them and leave to fuck some new tart with your famous dick." Was that true? Would Harry have gotten bored?
He tried to imagine getting bored of Draco and leaving to "fuck some new tart." He grimaced. Draco would not have sat still or cried if that happened. Knowing him, he'd use his claws in the short term and some devious, drawn-out revenge plot in the long-term.
And…he could not imagine getting bored of Draco, anyway.
"Hello? Potter? It's been ten minutes already, and you keep making all these faces. Is this thinking thing too hard for you? Maybe you should stop now."
Harry lunged for him and kissed the sarcastic bastard until neither of them could form words anymore.
Harry and Draco now entered the lift together on purpose these days, bickering and joking and occasionally groping each other's arses. Their fellow Ministry workers had been disgusted and flabbergasted at first, but after a few months of this, they learned to get used to it.
Many people had had their own theories about the couple and how they managed to still stick together for so long, especially when all of Harry's previous relationships had barely lasted a month apiece, but they knew better to share any of those theories with them, for that Draco Malfoy was a vicious one, and Harry Potter could get very protective when the occasion called for it.
No, they did not end up having a storybook wedding and living in a house with a white picket fence, two and a half kids, and a Crup. What they ended up with was a small, chaotic bonding ceremony with too many damn Weasleys running afoot and two grumpy Malfoy elders looking on in silence; a comfortably-sized flat with a huge balcony that they gleefully put to nefarious use; a host of kids from various friends that they always ended up babysitting for some reason when they weren't shagging; and a million conversations where they bantered and teased and basically annoyed the piss out of each other before making up and going back to the shagging bit.
All in all, Harry had to admit that Draco was right. Over a decade of animosity and several snarky encounters in a lift did not lead to a sane relationship, but it did lead to a fun one, so there they were, living crazily ever after.
The end.