Notes: Yes, I know that the story might feel a bit rushed, since I'd written it for a prompt with limited time. I do hope you enjoy it and feel free to comment and please remember that these stories are written for fun, your hate comments only discourage writers that do this in their free time and not for profit. Thanks!
All my thanks to Gracerene, and JosephineStone for the beta. All the remaining mistakes are mine.
Draco stared at the misty glass, struggling to look at himself in the full length mirror, towel wrapped around his waist. He sighed with frustration and waited for the fog to clear. A set of green eyes stared back at him. At first he scowled, before he realised he was looking at an almost naked Potter. His heart started to beat as though its sole goal was to jump out of his chest.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" he asked the reflection. It just smiled back at him.
Potter smiled back at him and took a step closer. Instinctively, Draco took a step back. "I'm not Potter," he said, "I'm you, Draco."
His towel dropped. Potter wrapped his hand around Draco's shaft – and Draco woke up.
We're More Than Ordinary
"I'm sorry, gentlemen, there is no cure. You just have to wait it out."
"For how long?" Harry asked.
"What do you mean, wait it out?" Malfoy spat at the same time.
Luna shook her head, but kept her ground. "Two days. I should have my next shipment of the counter-curse potion in two days. You can come back then."
Malfoy scowled at her as if hoping she would budge if he continued staring. Harry, on the other hand, found his resolve melting. It technically was his fault. Even if he wouldn't admit it to Malfoy. Harry had hated this damned Polyjuice case from the beginning.
"What do you suggest we do?" Harry asked, adjusting his tie, and earning a scowl from Malfoy — who looked like Harry. Harry saw himself wearing Malfoy's robes and found it odd that they somehow fit. He could have sworn he and Malfoy were different sizes, but apparently not.
"Live your lives," she said.
"I can't exactly go to visit my parents looking like Potter!" Malfoy grudgingly adjusted his glasses. "You are absolutely bloody blind," he said to Harry.
"Well, Harry, why don't you go to the Manor, and Draco, why don't you go to the Burrow?"
"You have got to be joking!" they both said in unison.
"It's Friday," she said with a heavy sigh. "The potion won't be here until Monday morning, so come back then." She finally stood up from her chair, flicked her wand, and suddenly, their clothes switched. Harry, who now looked like Malfoy, was wearing Malfoy's clothes, and vice versa. He barely had time to process this when Luna squealed.
"Ooh, I'd never actually tried that spell before," she said, actually patting herself on the back. "Now, get out of here."
0-0-0880-0-0
Things would have been a lot simpler if Potter had let Draco inspect the potion. After all, the man had been after Draco, anyway.
Draco was robbed on an afternoon when he wasn't home. Someone had broken into his flat and stolen his robes and his grooming supplies. Not long after, there had been reports of a man, looking like Draco Malfoy, seen at various establishments, hexing and harming people. Whenever thereal Draco left his flat, he was mobbed by the wizarding community; they all thought it was him who'd robbed or hurt them.
Eventually, Draco had to seek out help from the DMLE and, thanks to Draco's luck, Harry Potter had been the Auror assigned to his case.
To make matters worse, the culprit who'd been after Draco, decided to go after Potter, as well.
First, his house was robbed. Draco found it comical that someone not only broke into an Auror's house to steal his robes and hair samples, but that said Auror was also the Saviour of the wizarding world. Next, somebody who looked like Harry Potter was seen taking celebrity photos with wizards, and then stealing their money pouches.
After a thorough investigation, Potter had found the home address of the perpetrator. Unfortunately for them, by the time the man had been caught, he'd already managed to attack both Potter and Draco with the mystery potion.
The phial for the potion was sealed. When Potter tried to open it, Draco had told him to wait. It was Polyjuice, and Potter claimed he was only going to sniff it. He couldn't open the phial, though. So he'd done what any thick-headed Gryffindor would do, he'd tried to hex it open.
Instead of cooperating, the phials around them burst and a thick smoke surrounded them. By the time things cleared out, Draco was looking at himself. What was worse, though, was Potter was looking at himself, too. The containers had a fail-safe. Evidently, the man who'd had it in for Draco — as business competitor — created a spell that not only damaged the evidence, but attacked the intruder.
They had no idea how long this potion was going to continue affecting them, so Draco had suggested they go see a Healer. Potter didn't want anyone to know what was happening to them, so they had to go to someone he could trust: Luna Lovegood.
A whole lot of good that did them.
**FRIDAY**
Harry opened the door to Malfoy's flat, wary of his surroundings. It was Malfoy's place, after all. Who knew how he'd have the place boobie-trapped for intruders. Except, Harry wasn't an intruder, he had a key, and Malfoy's clothes, his face. His body. Okay, he wasn't going to think about that.
A house-elf immediately appeared. "You are home, Master Draco," the house-elf said.
"Yes…" Harry said, cautious. "I have a dinner plans tonight," he added after a moment of silence.
"Yes! Pheeny knows all about Master Draco's dinner engagement at the Malfoy Manor!" the house-elf said excitedly. "Pheeny has all the clothes ready."
"All the clothes?" Harry said, following the house-elf into the walk-in wardrobe. Harry was immediately overwhelmed by the organisation of the wardrobe. Everything was colour-coded, even the shoes, under-shirts, and ties. Harry was glad he could find a clean one that he didn't have tospell clean, like he would have had to at his house.
If Pheeny was so aware of Malfoy's schedule, then where was he when Malfoy had been robbed?
"Pheeny," Harry said in the haughtiest voice he could muster up—given that he was to sound like Malfoy, "if you are always here, then how was it possible for Mal—I mean me to get robbed?"
The house-elf looked down at the floor in shame. "Pheeny wasn't careful," the house-elf said, and Harry saw her move just slightly. He knew what was coming next, and just like that, the house-elf started to bang her head against the side wall.
"Pheeny was just out of the house for thirty minutes. Pheeny didn't secure the wards because Pheeny didn't know—"
"Don't—"
"Master Draco is right to punish Pheeny. Master Draco should not have stopped Pheeny last time—"
"No. You need to stop, right now!" Harry roared, and the house-elf immediately ceased the self-flagellation. "It's okay. I'm sure I've told you before. It's not your fault. I just wanted to know, is all."
The house-elf nodded and snapped her fingers. A moment later, a small glass of Firewhisky appeared in her hand, and she offered it to Harry. "For Master Draco," she said and then disappeared.
Harry turned around and looked at the clothes that were all set up for him. He picked out something that looked expensive and threw it on the bed, and then headed towards the loo; he needed to take a shower. Feeling so lost, he wished he could tell his friends about this, but knew that protocol dictated that he could not. He'd have to write up his report, get Malfoy's testimony, and file it before he was allowed to discuss the case with anyone else. Wondering how good Malfoy was at keeping secrets, he only hoped that no one would find out.
Stepping into the stall, and missing his shower immediately, Harry groaned and rubbed the back of this neck. "This is going to be a long weekend."
0-0-0880-0-0
Draco arrived at Potter's via the Floo network. He'd expected Potter to still be living at Grimmauld Place, but it was a completely different flat. Draco remembered hearing something about how Potter had sold the house and donated the proceeds to charity.
His new flat was small. Smaller than Draco had expected. He had a sitting room with two sofas, and a Muggle television. The room was attached to a long hallway that lead to the bathroom on the left and bedroom and kitchen on the right. The kitchen had a huge calendar over the icebox and nearly every day was marked off with appointments and social events.
The hallway was full of pictures. Pictures of Potter's parents, of Black and Lupin, and of all of his friends from Hogwarts. There was barely any room on the wall for something new. Potter was laughing in nearly every picture. It was ridiculous.
"I get it, you're happy," Draco said, scowling at one of the pictures of him and the Weasley family. It was recent, Draco could tell, Potter's hair was actually looking…normal. It was also odd that in the picture, Potter was looking at Ginny Weasley almost the entire time it looped around. It was a tender look. Draco was sure he'd heard that Potter and the Weasley girl had broken up because he was a poof, but the picture told another story.
"Hm," Draco said. Maybe he'd investigate it further. What else would he have to do for the rest of the weekend?
It was as if the Gods had it in for him, because just as Draco was beginning to think his bad day couldn't get any worse, the Floo chimed.
"Harry, are you there?" Weasley's voice echoed through the flat, and Draco wished he could become invisible.
"I'm here," he said as he knelt down next to the fireplace. He did his best not to scowl at Weasley's grin.
"What time are you coming over tonight?" Weasley asked.
"What time do you need me there?" Draco said. He'd nearly forgotten that Lovegood had mentioned Draco going to the Burrow instead. So it wasn't going to just be a sit-at-Potter's-flat kind of a weekend. He'd actually have to act like Potter.
"The usual," Weasley said, shrugging.
Great. When the fuck is the usual? "So maybe in an hour? I just got in, and I'll have to take a shower—"
"All right. That sounds good. I'll tell Hermione that you'll be early," Weasley said and severed the Floo connection.
Of course, Potter would never be early...What had Draco been thinking?
0-0-0880-0-0
Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to arrive at Malfoy Manor. Would Malfoy just Apparate in? Would he take the Floo? He thought about fire-calling Malfoy, and as much as he didn't want to, he knew he had no other choice.
Malfoy, looking like Harry, stepped through the fireplace.
Harry took a long look at himself. "How did you get my hair to be like that..." he said, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair. Except, it was Malfoy's hair, and Malfoy's body; he only looked like Harry.
"Do you mind?" Malfoy sneered and backed away from Harry. "You had a sealed bottle of grapeseed oil in your bathroom cabinet—"
"Oh, right. Ginny had given me that a while ago, but I never got around to using it. I didn't realise it would get my hair to settle—"
"You just have to use two drops, rub them on your palms and then run your hands through wet hair."
Right. Harry took in a deep breath.
Wet hair. Of course Malfoy had showered before coming to see Harry. Which meant, he'd probably seen Harry's body in the mirror afterwards. Now, they'd both seen each other naked in the mirror.
Harry had been quite successful so far in his efforts to not think about the birthmark on Malfoy's right hip. After the shower, he'd only glanced in the mirror, because he thought it'd be rude to stare. Not to mention the Sectumsempra scars and the Dark Mark; if he dwelled on those, it would only open a can of worms Harry wasn't ready for.
Not again.
Still, he couldn't help but wonder about what Malfoy had thought of his body. He'd probably insulted Harry. Malfoy was cut in ways Harry didn't even know were possible, and Harry was an Auror.
Okay, stop thinking about his body, Harry.
As Harry was lost in his thoughts, he didn't realise that Malfoy had approached him and started fixing his collar.
"What are you doing?"
"The collar is crooked."
"It isn't. That's how you always wear it."
Malfoy looked insulted. "I do not."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle. At first, at his own face—he had no idea that's what he looked like when he was shocked—and then at the thought that Malfoy had no idea how he folded his own collar.
"Yeah, I thought that was your style," Harry said.
"There is no style in wearing your shirt collar wrong, Potter," Malfoy said.
"I thought you were trying to be rebellious. Everything else about you is perfect, I mean, on the outside, in a superficial sort of way..." Malfoy made a face at that. "So I thought you purposely had a crooked collar because you were trying to make a point."
Malfoy scowled at him for a moment before he said anything. "Is that what everyone thinks of me?"
"I don't know. I don't talk to other people about you," Harry said, hurriedly.
"I'm hardly perfect," Malfoy said.
"I did say superficially speaking, didn't I?" Harry said and turned to look at his reflection in the mirror. Still seeing Malfoy, of course. "Maybe you can come with me to the Manor."
"What?"
Harry took in a deep breath. "If I can't cancel the dinner with your parents, then maybe you could just come with me. I could tell them that I'm helping you—Harry—on a case and that I asked to you accompany me to be polite." Harry wondered if Malfoy's parents would buy that.
"But I already told your friends that you'd be at the Burrow in..." Malfoy checked his wristwatch, "in twenty minutes."
"Twenty minutes? That's super early. I don't get there until—"
Malfoy groaned, evidently annoyed.
"This isn't a picnic for me, either. I have to sit there across from your father."
Malfoy frowned, but when he didn't retort, Harry thought that he may be genuinely worried about it. This didn't make Harry feel reassured.
"Maybe I should just cancel. Since you are here, you can owl them a letter in your handwriting, and I won't have to put up with the dinner."
"You can't get out of it. My mother will know something is wrong," Malfoy said.
"Something is wrong."
"Perhaps we can tell them that I was hit by a curse while we were investigating, and that you're helping me."
"We were hit by a curse while we were investigating."
"I know that, but we can't tell them what it was. We'll just say that it pains me to talk. I'll owl them now, so they'll know not to bother you too much when you arrive. Just nod whenever my father tells you a story, and smile whenever my mother is speaking."
"This won't work," Harry said.
"I know. My mother will see right through you, but we have to try. You said that we can't tell anyone. If and when she catches you, you'll be the one that will have to deal with her anger."
Harry was almost insulted at that. "I'm an Auror, Malfoy," he said with disdain. "I go on undercover investigations all the time. I will not have a problem, pretending to be you. I'll just walk around like I have a stick up my arse and everyone will think it's business as usual. You're the one who has it easy. You're spending an evening with the Weasleys—"
"And that's easy?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Everyone talks over each other and you could stay quiet for an hour before they'd even notice it. And by that time, supper will be served and you'll be stuffing your face."
"How much do you eat?" Malfoy asked.
"What?" Harry snapped. What sort of insult was this? Did he just imply Harry was fat?
"If I'll be stuffing my face, then I need to know how much you eat."
Oh. Okay, that made sense. Sort of.
"Just take cues from Ron and Hermione. More than Hermione, not as much as Ron, and if Molly puts more on your plate, don't complain. Just give it to Ron. If you don't, he'll know something is wrong."
Malfoy scowled at him. "How can he remain like that if he eats his share and yours?"
Was that a compliment towards Ron? "He works out extra at the Auror gym and runs an hour in the morning and the evening. He's the fittest of them all."
Malfoy nodded once. He scowled again and Harry wondered what he'd done now?
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"I have to go see...someone tomorrow. I mean, Draco Malfoy has an appointment, and I can't cancel."
"Why not?"
"I've cancelled too many times already."
"Who is the appointment with?"
"Never mind that. Just get through tonight."
"Fine," Harry said, annoyed. "You, too."
0-0-0880-0-0
Draco arrived at the Burrow via the Floo. He had no idea if he was supposed to Apparate there, but he didn't want to risk it. Maybe he could just feign fatigue. When he arrived, no one was there to greet him, except for Mrs Weasley, who seemed to come out of nowhere.
"Harry! You're here!" She rushed towards Draco and wrapped her arms around him. She held him. Tight. Draco hadn't been hugged like that since he was twelve. It was oddly soothing. He tried not to dwell on it.
"I love your hair," she said, and dragged Draco to the kitchen. "Here. Sit." She pointed at a stool in her kitchen and turned to whisk something in a giant pot. "Try this." She shoved a small spoon in front of him, and Draco instinctively opened his mouth to taste the orangy sauce.
"It's good," he managed before she handed him a Muggle fizzy drink and returned to her work.
"I've been trying recipes from that book you gave me last Christmas. I still appreciate it, you know. You're just always so thoughtful—"
"Mum, have you seen the baby—Harry! You're early." George Weasley walked into the kitchen and patted Draco's shoulder. "I didn't believe it when Ron said you were coming by early today. Must have had a rough day with Malfoy."
Mrs Weasley slammed the cover on the pot as if she were trying to shut him up. "George. Where's Fred?"
Draco's heart sank into his stomach. Had the old woman lost it?
"He's sleeping upstairs, Mum. With Angelina. That's why I'm here. I'm looking for the baby bottle."
She handed him something and he kissed her cheek before rushing out of the chair. Baby Fred. Okay, that made so much more sense.
"So Harry, I wanted to talk to you about Ginny—" Ah, here it comes, Draco thought.
"Hey, mate." Weasley, Ron Weasley, walked into the kitchen next and grabbed the fizzy drink out of Draco's hand. "Nice hair," he said and then stayed quiet.
Draco figured that it was his cue to speak. "Yeah. It's that stuff Ginny gave—"
"Hi, Harry," Granger came in next and went straight to the pot that Mrs Weasley had been stirring. "Can I try?" she asked Mrs Weasley who nodded. "Oh, it's delicious."
"By the way, that recipe book was a wonderful gift," Ron told Draco. "Even Hermione's trying out recipes lately."
"Good," Draco said, hesitantly.
"So how was Malfoy?" Ron asked.
"I—uh—fine," Draco managed, hoping he sounded like Potter.
"Still haven't told him then?" Ron asked but didn't wait for an answer. "I still can't believe it. You should just come out and say it. Maybe getting it out will make you finally realise that you're crazy."
"Who's crazy?" Ginny Weasley came into the kitchen next. Draco just couldn't believe how huge the Weasley kitchen was, and how everyone seemed to hang out there.
"Harry," Ron said and caught an apple that Ginny threw at him.
"Oh, still didn't tell Malfoy, then?" She laughed and made her way out of the kitchen and Granger followed.
What was it? What did Potter want to tell Draco that everyone else in the world knew about? Maybe he could get someone to actually say the words, given they didn't seem to have any trouble keeping them in. In the twenty-five minutes Draco had been there, he'd managed to get away with saying the bare minimum.
"Shall I help you with something?" Draco asked. It was the most Potter-like thing he could think of. He still couldn't believe that, of all the pointers he could have asked about spending an evening with the Weasleys, all he'd asked was about his intake of food.
Mrs Weasley took him up on his offer, and Ron and Draco helped his mother set up the table for the whole family. Draco didn't know where anything went so he followed Weasley's actions, and allowed him to talk about their work. Still, he had no idea what everyone had been on about. He couldn't figure out what Potter needed to say to him.
At dinner, Ginny Weasley insisted that he sit next to her, and he couldn't think of an excuse otherwise.
He hadn't expected wine to pour so freely at the table. He'd thought that it was just at his house that they did that. He'd never eaten at someone else's home before, unless you counted Pansy's while he was growing up, but her parents, just like his, had a bit of a drinking problem. Catering to the Dark Lord did that to a wizard.
Draco sipped his wine slowly. It wasn't the best he'd had, but he figured that the Weasley family business must have been doing well for them to have such a fine wine served at dinner. Still, he couldn't help but wonder there was a celebration of sorts going on, though he had no idea what it could be for.
Eventually, Ginny kicked him under the table and he glared at her — almost forgetting who he was.
"What?" he snapped.
She glowered right back at him and gestured towards his wine. He had no idea what she was on about. He noticed that her own glass had barely been touched. He quickly finished off his wine and, when no one at the table seemed to be paying any attention to them, she switched her glass with his.
Draco took a moment to think about this. The only reason he could think of for a woman not to touch her drink, would be if she were pregnant. And the fact that the rest of the people at the table continued to pour wine in her glass was because they didn't know.
Only Potter knew that Ginny Weasley was pregnant. It wasn't his child, was it?
The rest of the dinner, and the drinking of his and Ginny's wine, had left Draco in a daze. Eventually, they moved over to the sitting room to play Muggle board games while Granger helped Mrs Weasley clean up. Draco would have offered to do that, too, but he was too inebriated by that point. He needed to make sure he didn't expose his cover.
In the sitting room, Draco saw the baby, Fred, staring at him very oddly. Oddly for a baby, he supposed. Draco didn't have much experience around babies but something about this little one, the way he was crawling around making everyone smile was too special.
Or maybe he'd just had a bit too much wine, and he was starting to find the baby adorable. If his mother were here, she'd hint at how it was time to settle down and get one of those for himself. As if babies just grew on trees for gay men.
"Hi," Draco whispered to the baby and waved as Fred squealed and made a straight line for him. Draco picked him up, and the baby hugged him immediately. "Oh, you're friendly, aren't you?" Draco said and looked up to see everyone in the room staring at him.
"What?"
"The baby. Usually, you're so afraid of him, and he's afraid of you," Angelina said. It was the first time that evening she'd spoke to him. To Potter, at least. The entire evening she'd been fussing over the tiny little human.
Fred grabbed Draco's nose and squealed again.
Everyone eventually stopped giving him so much attention and the baby rested in Draco's lap as the evening went on. Finally, Angelina came to pick him for his bedtime, and Fred fussed about parting from Draco. He had no idea why Potter had so much trouble with the little thing.
"Thanks for doing that, Harry," Ginny said as she came and sat next to him. She took his hand in her own and squeezed it gently.
"For playing with the baby?" Draco asked, distracted.
"No. You know what I mean," she said, glowering at him.
"When will you tell the family?" Draco asked, struggling to sound concerned, instead of just very interested in satisfying his own curiosity.
"After he tells his friends about us," she said. Draco sighed with relief.
Wait, why did he care if it was or wasn't Potter's child? Draco decided not to dwell on that. He could talk about it with—shite, he couldn't talk about it with Haikah. Not until next Saturday, anyway.
Haikah. Draco completely forgot to find an excuse for him to cancel his appointment tomorrow. Now Potter was going to be there instead of him.
No! This was not happening!
"What's the matter?" Ginny asked, squeezing Draco's hand again. Draco slammed his forehead with the palm of his hand and hit the glasses he was wearing instead. Stupid Potter's glasses. Stupid Potter.
"I just remembered something. I have something to do tomorrow, and I forgot to cancel..."
"But you said you were going to come see me and Blaise tomorrow."
"Blaise?" Draco said with a surprise, and Ginny immediately told him to shush.
Blaise? Are you fucking joking?
Draco had no idea that Blaise Zabini — one of his best friends — had got Weasley pregnant. He didn't even know they were dating, or shagging, or talking, even. Is that what Potter was supposed to tell him? No, that didn't make sense, because Granger and Ron were in on that fact. This was totally new information.
Draco's head spun with confusion.
"Maybe I should go home," Draco said. "I'm tired..." and a little buzzed.
After saying his goodbyes — which took an additional half an hour — Draco finally made his way to the Floo, barely remembering to ask for Potter's place instead of his own flat.
When he arrived, he found himself sitting on the sofa.
"Oh, it's you," Draco said, realising it was Potter. Merlin, this was too much confusion after wine.
"Sorry. I was uh—worried," Potter said.
"Why?" Draco asked, annoyed. All he wanted to do was get "home" and sleep. He needed to figure out the Haikah situation.
"So, um...did you have any trouble?" Potter asked.
"Why, did you?"
Potter shook his head. Merlin, Draco looked at himself and couldn't understand what anyone would see in him. Did he really look that stupid when he shook his head? That was something he was going to stop immediately. Once he got his body back.
"Surprisingly, the night was relatively uneventful. The house-elves greeted me kindly, and then mostly it was your father drinking, insulting them, insulting me—as in Harry Potter— and your mother sending him off to bed. A few times I thought she might have noticed something, but she didn't say anything." Potter shrugged and made his way to the corner of the room where he kept his liquor. "Do you want one?"
Draco shook his head. "I drank enough for two tonight," Draco said.
"Oh, so you know," Potter said, looking alarmed.
"Well, it would have helped if you'd told me my best friend's got your ex-girlfriend pregnant," Draco said. The room was getting dizzy so he all but crashed on the sofa. He figured it was a very Potteresque thing to do; given that he looked like him.
"It wasn't my secret to tell," Potter said.
"And what is your secret to tell?" Draco asked.
"What do you mean?" Potter asked right after he finished his shot of Firewhisky. Draco watched Potter's throat (his throat) as it gulped the drink, his Adam's apple (Draco's Adam's apple) bobbing, and then he licked his lips (Draco's lips). Was it weird to get turned on by watching yourself?
"The entire night, the Weasley clan kept asking me if I told Malfoy...something. I had no idea what you're supposed to tell me, but honestly, I think the Weasleys won't rest until you do."
"Oh. That. Shit." Famous last words before Potter took his leave and left his flat without so much as a goodbye.
Draco would have cared more if he weren't completely knackered. He closed his eyes just for a moment, and before he knew it, he was asleep on the sofa.
**SATURDAY**
Harry received a summons for Malfoy the next morning when he awoke. It was from a Healer named Haikah.
Mr Malfoy, just a quick reminder that you are to meet with me today at one o'clock in my offices at Pollar Alley. Please do not be late and, as always, check in at the receptionist desk. Thank you, and looking forward to our appointment. Healer Day Haikah.
Harry wondered if this were the thing that Malfoy had been freaking out about. He had an appointment with a Healer; what was the big deal? Sure, Harry had never heard of a Healer Haikah before, but he still didn't understand Malfoy's hesitation.
Fifteen minutes before the scheduled time, Harry arrived at Pollar Alley and looked for the offices of Day Haikah. He finally understood why Malfoy had been reluctant, as he read the sign: Day Haikah, Healer — Behavioural Health and Mental Healing Sciences for the Wizarding Mind.
Draco Malfoy met with a psychiatrist on a weekly basis. He'd clearly missed so many of his appointments that the Mind Healer had to personally send him reminders. Harry thought it peculiar that Malfoy's mother didn't mention it at all. He wondered if she knew.
Oh, this will be interesting.
Harry walked in through the door and was immediately hit by a set of nerves. What if the Healer immediately recognised that it wasn't Malfoy? What if she blew his cover and went to the papers? Surely, if something were to happen, Harry would just tell her who he was and he could make her sign a confidentiality bond.
"Mr Malfoy, so good to see you again," the receptionist at the desk smiled awkwardly at Harry and had him sign in. The office was, oddly, smaller on the inside. He'd expected something grand—he had no idea what to expect since the Mind Healer that the Ministry provided worked out of a cubicle with Silencing Charms. Still, he expected something a lot bigger. The rooms were carpeted in deep burgundy and abstract art filled the bright yellow walls. It looked like the decorator couldn't decide if it was going for comfort and cosiness or bright happy sunshineness.
It just all looked conflicted. Instead of the traditional aquarium that Harry had associated with Muggle psychiatrist offices, this one had a giant glass box with rocks and two turtles. Or were they tortoises? Harry could never tell.
He looked over at the assistant who was staring at him. She immediately diverted her gaze and picked up the coffee cup that was tilted over and busied herself fixing the rustled papers on her desk. Everything seemed to be in order, except for her and her desk. Something was very odd, he thought.
"Are you ready, Mr Malfoy?" An older woman with dark red hair with greying roots called out to him. She wore deep green robes with the initials DH on them. Day Haikah, Harry presumed.
Immediately, Harry felt very hesitant. This wasn't a game, this was a huge invasion of Malfoy's privacy. If he did something to betray Malfoy's trust, he wouldn't know what he'd do. His feelings towards Malfoy were a bit unresolved, and Harry realised that he was walking into very dangerous territory.
"Yes, of course," he said. He needed to figure out how to get out of there and fast. Malfoy had indicated that he'd cancelled his appointments too many times, so there was no way that he could walk out of Haikah's office without causing a scene.
"So what would you like to talk about today?" Haikah said, taking a seat across from Harry on a small leather chair. He himself was seated on a deep burgundy loveseat.
Harry shrugged. "Why don't you pick the topic," he said. He'd seen the Ministry Healer from time to time so he'd had some experiences. Of course, he had no idea how he was supposed to act as a Malfoy. He wondered how long Malfoy had been going to Haikah.
"All right," she said, sounding annoyed. Harry smiled to himself. A classic Malfoy move, indeed. So far she hadn't suspected anything. "Did you bring your dream journal?" she asked.
Harry shook his head. "I—No. Sorry, I was in a bit of a hurry—"
She raised an eyebrow at him. Was he not supposed to apologise? "And how are your dreams of late?"
"Same," Harry said, shrugging again. Did Malfoy shrug a lot? Harry had no idea. He hadn't seen very much of Malfoy before Harry had been put on the case. And of course, after he'd been put on the case, Harry's own dreams had been something that would've sent a psychiatrist to analytical heaven.
"Interesting," she said and quilled something on the parchment.
She looked at him up and down before speaking again. "Let's talk about Harry Potter."
Harry nearly jumped out of the seat at hearing his own name. "I'm sorry, what?" he snapped without realising what he was doing. Okay, that came out of nowhere.
"Why must you always get so agitated at his name?" she asked with a calmness Harry couldn't decipher.
"I don't—I don't—get agitated. I mean, he's a wanker. You know?" Harry stumbled out, trying to think of what Malfoy would say about him. Why did they talk about Harry at their sessions? Did Malfoy have dreams about him too?
"Mr Malfoy—"
"Okay, listen," Harry said, hurriedly. "Why don't you refresh my memory about what the last thing I'd said about him." Harry couldn't help himself. Part of him wanted to run away from this place, because of the guilt that was building inside him. The other part, the sure and sneaky, the awfully curious part—the part that almost put him in Slytherin—really wanted him to know. "I'm just all over the place today, you know. Just a rough work week and all—"
"Because you've been working with Mr Potter."
"Right," Harry said and smiled at her, hoping that it was some sort of Malfoy charm that might work.
"If you'd brought in your journal—"
Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. How long was this session supposed to be? Maybe he could just feign illness and excuse himself. Or what if he started sneezing? Claim that he was coming down with the wizard flu, then she'd surely let him go.
"Fine," she said and started to look through her notes. "The last time we discussed your fantasy. The same sexual dream you've had since you were sixteen. Except you said that you were starting to recognise the face of the man— Do you want to talk about that?"
The idea of discussing Malfoy's personal, sexual dream seemed wrong. Very very wrong. The last thing he needed was to find out how Malfoy liked it. God, he wouldn't be able to sleep for days. And he honestly didn't want to know who it was that Malfoy saw in his sex dreams. It would crushhim. He was sure of it, even if he didn't want to think about why.
"Can I discuss a different dream?" Harry asked. He had no idea what he was doing. He figured that if he told Haikah one of his dreams and asked her to never repeat it to anyone ever again, she'd have to respect that wish; she wouldn't even discuss it with the real Malfoy.
"Sure," she said, looking interested. She turned the parchment over to the blank side and prepared to take notes.
"Before we begin, I'd like to request that you refrain from taking notes, and that we never discuss this ever again."
She looked hesitant, but nodded. She waved her wand so the parchment and quill went flying to her desk and settled there. "Please, begin."
"I've been having feelings for a someone...new...in my life. A new co-worker," he said.
"What new co-worker?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Now Harry wished he hadn't asked her to not take notes, because she was giving him her undivided attention. Reading his reluctance, she continued, "Never mind that. And these feelings are showing themselves in your dreams?"
Harry nodded. "At first I didn't like that we were working together. But, I think it was mainly because I sort of found him...intriguing. You know?"
Her face was impossible to read. "This 'new co-worker'," she said with air quotes on the words: new co-worker.
Harry rolled his eyes and continued. "I've talked to everyone about it. My best friends, Gin—I mean, other people. I thought that if I just talked about how much I liked him, the dreams would stop. But they're only more frequent, more vivid, and I wake up with—"
He stopped when there was a knock at the door.
Haikah looked annoyed. Surely, she had instructed her staff to not disturb any sessions. She quickly got up and walked to the door and opened it slightly. "I'm bus—"
"I know, Day, but Harry Potter is here."
Harry's eyes widened and his stomach dropped when he heard Haikah's assistant's voice. This only meant that Malfoy was there and he was there to—what? Interrupt the session?
"Why is Mr Potter here? He'll have to wait. I'm in sess—"
"I know, but he's quite insistent. He said it's an emergency."
"Tell him to go to St Mungo's if—"
"He said it's the matter of life and death and that he must speak to Mr Malfoy."
"Mr Malfoy?" Haikah's tone of surprise wasn't hard to miss. "How does he even know—"
Harry couldn't see the other woman behind the door, but he was sure she'd shrugged when he said, "He's an Auror and if your notes are anything to go by—"
"Shh!" Haikah said immediately and opened the door all the way.
Harry couldn't help but wonder what her notes with Malfoy's session said about him and why would she share them with her assistant? When she turned to look at Harry still seated on the sofa, her cheeks had slightly pinked.
The assistant turned to look at Harry and was nervously biting her lower lip.
Harry shook his head. "That is rather unprofessional, don't you think?" Harry said, and stood up off the sofa. "I'll be leaving now."
"Mr Malfoy—" Haikah said as Harry left her office and walked down the hallway where he saw himself in loose jeans and a grey jumper. He looked good. Malfoy definitely had better taste than him in pairing his own clothes together. Usually, Harry wore that jumper under his Auror robes and never thought of giving it a casual look.
As Harry approached a nervous looking, yet slightly better dressed, Harry Potter, he gave Malfoy a soft smile. "I think you need to change Healers," he said under his breath so only Malfoy could hear him.
"Mr Potter, you cannot just interrupt a private session, even if you are aware of whom I was meeting with." Haikah's stern tone was back and she looked from Harry to Draco, and back to Harry. "Mr Malfoy, if there is something you need to tell me—"
"How long have you two been shagging?" Harry asked Haikah, calmly.
"Ex-excuse me?" Haikah said, stumbling.
"I didn't notice it right away, of course. When I first walked in here, I saw the coffee cup was tipped over and the papers were rustled. Surely a snog session before I got here. When I opened the door, the wards chime, don't they? You must have realised that I was coming in and rushed into your office. Your hair is loose from the back, undoubtedly not how you'd pinned it this morning. I've been surrounded by women for a while and they often get ready around me. I know the difference between when you're trying to make it look messy, and when it actually is. Additionally, when I'd first walked in here, your assistant's skirt was off balance, and now she looks more put together. I wouldn't have picked it up in all of this until I overheard her discuss your session notes. Meaning, you share confidential information when you should not."
"She's wearing a wedding ring," Malfoy said in a hushed tone.
"Ah, does the husband know you're a lesbian?" Harry asked.
"Or at least bi," Malfoy added. Of course Malfoy would know all about being bisexual, having dated Pansy Parkinson for two years after the war.
"Wait!" Haikah looked at Harry first, then at Malfoy, and then back at Harry again. "You are not Draco Malfoy." She pointed at Malfoy next and said, "Then, you can't be Harry Potter."
The assistant looked in between the two men and seemed confused. "Day—"
"Is this a joke?" Haikah asked. She didn't sound angry, only intrigued. Harry had to hand it to her. The woman was something else.
"Are you denying my allegations?" Harry asked.
"Are you denying mine?" she countered.
"If I must be honest," Malfoy said to Harry in a hushed tone. "She's quite strong-willed."
Harry smirked and turned to look at Malfoy. "She hasn't dealt with me, yet."
Malfoy looked as though he were considering Harry's words and nodded. It was still so odd to look at himself and see how he was seen by others. Is this how Malfoy saw him? His smile, his frown, his scowl, and that weird face he made when he shrugged.
"What?" Malfoy asked. "What are you contemplating?"
Understandably, Malfoy knew his own expressions well.
"Nothing," Harry said and straightened his robes. Malfoy's robes. "I'm ready to leave."
"Wait..." Haikah said, sounding alarmed.
"Healer Haikah," Malfoy said before Harry could say anything. "If you do not wish for us to pursue an Auror investigation of the accusation Mr Malfoy has just made, I suggest you back off."
"I have not shared my psychotherapy notes with anyone outside this office," she said, obviously admitting her wrongdoing and still struggling to maintain a professional standing.
"This is something we'll have to discuss on a later date," Harry said, and walked out of the office. Malfoy wasn't far behind.
0-0-0880-0-0
"That was bizarre," Malfoy said as soon as they'd got out of the office building and walked deeper into Pollar Alley.
"You know, Malfoy, if you'd just told me that you were seeing a psychotherapist, things could have been—"
"I know," Malfoy said. "It's been strange, okay? The dinner at the Weasleys really threw me off, and I didn't realise my name would come in conversation so much and the thing with Blaise—"
"I hadn't realised that I was so convolutedly mixed into your affairs—"
"What do you mean?" Malfoy immediately snapped, and Harry saw the hint of fear in his eyes.
"Your mother mentioned me a few times, but every time she'd say my name, your father grumbled so she dropped the matter. Then with Haikah—I came under the impression that you have..." Harry lowered his tone slightly, "...dreams about me."
Malfoy scoffed and then rolled his eyes. "It's not exactly a party, Potter."
"Hm," Harry said and decided to back off. Maybe this wasn't the right time and place to discuss their deep dark secrets. Maybe he'd hold off on telling Malfoy just for a little while longer. Maybe Malfoy's dreams about him weren't the same as Harry's dreams. Maybe he still dreamt of the war and Harry, well, Harry dreamt of something else, entirely.
"What?" Malfoy snapped again. Harry had no idea he sounded — and looked — like such a drama queen when he was agitated.
"Nothing. Do you want to go get some coffee?" Harry asked.
Malfoy looked a bit taken back. "I—um—"
"It's just coffee. Come on, Malfoy. I want to know how it went with Blaise and Ginny."
"Very well then," Malfoy said. "And will you update me on the details of your dinner with my family?"
Harry smiled and nodded. "Sure."
They walked for a few minutes until they found a coffee shop, The Crossing, that was decent enough for Malfoy. They were seated by the window and instead of a regular table with two chairs, the cafe had comfortable sofas and the tables were made of metal with designs that changed constantly. At one moment it was spiralling circles, to moving polka dots, and then to various clocks flying about.
Harry got caught staring into the designs, and he didn't even realise when the waitress had stopped by to take their order. It was utterly bizarre.
Malfoy ordered a black coffee, and Harry did the same, along with a serving of their coffee cake. After the waitress had walked away, Harry saw Malfoy looking uncomfortably at him.
"It's not your body," Harry said, "even if it looks like it. It's still me. I'm harming myself with the sugar and the butter—"
"How did you know that's what I was thinking?" Malfoy asking, sounding sincerely surprised.
"I've seen what you keep in your kitchen pantry. There's nothing good."
"I suppose as opposed to the high-fat, high-cholesterol, send-me-early-to-my-grave foods that are served at the Burrow," Malfoy said.
"Oh, that's the stuff," Harry said, his mouth watering. When Malfoy looked repulsed, Harry laughed. "It's not like that every night. It was just our monthly family get-together. We're all so busy that the entire family doesn't have time to come over for dinner every week, so we make sure that we spend at least once a month—celebrating."
"Celebrating what?"
Harry shrugged. "Life. Each other. Everything." He beamed at Malfoy, who only scowled. Harry figured that Malfoy just wasn't used to seeing his face actually happy. "I think next month is going to be grand. Especially if Ginny announces her pregnancy. I'm sure the Weasleys will invite Blaise and his mum over to dinner, too. You should come."
"Why would I come?" Malfoy said with a hint of disdain, as if he were truly disgusted with the idea.
"Or don't," Harry retorted. "You're Blaise's best friend. I'd just figured you'd want to celebrate with him and—"
"Right. Sorry," Malfoy said and as if right on cue, the waitress stopped by and brought their drinks and cake.
"So how did it go with Blaise and Ginny?" Harry asked, changing the topic. He didn't want to dwell on how much Malfoy's response had bothered him.
Malfoy sipped his coffee slowly as though he were looking for the words. "I stayed mostly quiet, which Ginny commented as odd. So I didn't know what to say to that and I just chalked it off to being supportive. It was mostly Blaise talking about how his friends would take the news. He said that he was especially worried about me—Draco—and I didn't understand. I mean, he's my friend, if he wants to shack up with—"
"Watch yourself," Harry warned Malfoy.
Malfoy gave him an annoyed look. "It was strange. I've never seen him like this. I didn't even know that he could love someone like that. He's positively crazy about that girl. I can't believe he thought I'd disapprove. Pansy, sure, she can be a bit of a bitch sometimes... But he should know that we'd be there for him. No matter what."
"It's probably because he thinks you still hold some sort of a grudge against the Weasleys... and me. I mean, have you ever told him otherwise?" Harry asked and was again met with a scowl. Needless to say, Malfoy still harboured various sorts of animosity. Maybe that's why he had those dreams, and maybe that's why he was seeing Haikah.
"Are you going to continue seeing Haikah?" Harry asked, changing the topic again.
Malfoy shrugged. "She claims she's only talked about me to Silvia. I don't know. We all need someone to talk to. Right? Of course if she were sharing her notes with more than just Silvia, and if the press found out about it, or if my father were to find out about this—"
"Let me guess, he wouldn't approve."
Malfoy laughed. "Real men don't waste their money just to talk about their feelings," he said.
"That's a whole lot of nonsense," Harry said. "We've all been through a lot. We've lost friends and family. No matter what side we were on." He cleared his throat and looked away at Malfoy's obvious discomfort at Harry's words. "At what point during your meeting with Ginny and Blaise did you decide to show up at Haikah's?"
"Oh," Malfoy said. "I was getting a bit worried. Of what she might share—sometimes she likes to talk. A lot."
"Today wasn't one of those days."
Malfoy nodded. "Yeah, I overreacted..."
"I'm glad you showed up when you did," Harry said. "I had no idea what to say. I started talking about one of my own dreams, you know, trying to be as vague as I could be. Initially, I wanted to leave. But I remembered how you'd said you had cancelled too many times already. I just didn't—want to risk your chance of going back."
"And how did that go?" Malfoy asked, clearing his throat, "I mean, when you were in there—"
Harry smiled. "Well, some crazy person showed up and started harassing the assistant. So—"
"Hm," Malfoy said, looking like a load had been taken off his shoulder.
"What are you hiding, Malfoy?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're undoubtedly hiding something. From your parents, from your friends, from me—"
"My psychotherapy sessions are private for a reason, Potter. Because they are supposed to be private." Malfoy slammed his coffee cup on the circling spirals of the coffee table and stood up.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, standing up also. He knew he had no place asking Malfoy what he was hiding from him, but at the same time, he desperately wanted to know.
"Leaving."
"Malfoy—" Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm and pulled him close. It was odd, to feel the muscles of his own arm underneath his fingers like that. He felthis heart beating, saw his jaw clenching, and felt the heat radiating off his body where his hand touched Malfoy.
"I didn't mean to offend you..." Harry rasped out the words and couldn't understand why he was feeling so strange. He was only looking at himself. Still, he knew that it was Malfoy, and he felt oddly...turned on?
"This is ridiculously weird, Potter," Malfoy said, and he slowly backed away from Harry's grasp. Clearly, he'd felt something too.
"A bit curious, yeah," Harry said, placing his hand in his pocket.
"I should go."
"Malfoy..."
"I think we should probably just not see each other until Monday morning. I'm not sure what's going on—right now, and I'm not feeling very comfortable."
"Oh," Harry said, taking a step back himself. The last thing he wanted was to make Malfoy uncomfortable. He didn't mean to come onto him like that. Now, he'd probably just gone and mucked everything up. "Very well, then. I'll just settle up here, and I'll see you later." Probably on Monday, and then never again after that. They'd solved the case, caught the culprit, and now it was just the matter of the paperwork.
"Pott—"
"It's fine, Malfoy. I honestly didn't mean to offend you." Harry pulled out a few coins from his pocket and left them at the table. It was more than enough to cover their coffees, and he ended up walking out of The Crossing before Malfoy.
"I just want a little peace and quiet," Malfoy said when they were outside the cafe. "I didn't mean—"
"You don't have to explain anything to me, Malfoy," Harry said and ran a hand through his hair. That day had been one of his most exhausting ever and it was just a Saturday. He gave a curt nod to Malfoy and walked away in the opposite direction.
0-0-0880-0-0
Draco arrived at Potter's place via the Floo and headed directly towards the showers. It had been one hell of a day. He wanted to get cleaned and sleep through Sunday. He hoped that there weren't any other social obligations that Potter was scheduled for, because he surely didn't have it in him.
He thought about brewing a dreamless sleeping potion, so he wouldn't have to deal with the ridiculousness of his life. In the end, he opted for chamomile tea instead. Potter probably wouldn't have all the ingredients he needed, anyway.
He entered Potter's wardrobe and looked for something soft to sleep in. Much to his dismay, Potter only slept in Gryffindor garb, or Draco thought, naked. That's a train of thought you're not going to get on, Draco. He grabbed the first dark red shirt he found with matching pyjama trousers and put them on. He was still weird about wearing Potter's pants. At least he didn't need pants to sleep in.
Naturally, now Draco started thinking about Potter wearing his pants to sleep, or was he sleeping naked on Draco's sheets? He'd have to ask Pheeny about that later.
Before heading to bed, Draco perused in Potter's small library next to the bedroom. The only book of interest he found was The Mental Game of Quidditch, a memoir by a former Puddlemere United Captain.
He settled into bed with his tea and the book. Ten pages in, he fell asleep.
0-0-0880-0-0
The mist in the shower was too thick for Draco to see his face properly. Still, the man was on his knees and Draco wasn't complaining. He swirled his tongue around Draco's cock, and Draco gasped before he cried out his orgasm and spilled himself in the man's mouth.
It took him a minute to recover, and by the time he did, the man was gone. Draco finished showering and left the stall without a towel. He couldn't find a towel anywhere. Eventually, Draco walked up to the full-length mirror and ran a hand through his hair. It was either that the mirror was still too foggy, or he needed his glasses.
His glasses.
Draco reached closer to really look at himself. It was Potter. He saw Potter's dragon tattoo on his right shoulder and the faint scar just under his heart. This is how Draco knew that he'd been dreaming. Before the Polyjuice accident, he had no idea about Potter's tattoos or other scars. Now they were here. In his dream with the mystery man.
"No more hiding, Draco," the figure said to Draco, even though he didn't feel his face move. The mirror obscured again and he saw himself.
Potter was gone.
**SUNDAY**
Draco woke up on Sunday morning feeling unsatisfied. He'd tossed and turned all night, and thanks to a multitude of sexual dreams, he'd also ruined Potter's trousers. Good thing he hadn't slept naked. He showered quickly, called on Kreacher to clean his clothes, and headed out for breakfast.
Going to his favourite cafe didn't do him any good, however. Even though he loved Queen of the Nile and their Egyptian coffee was the best Draco had ever had, he ate the food without really tasting it.
His dreams were driving him mad. He hated having Potter back in his life, even though he'd been a good Auror and solved the case quickly; he justhated how vulnerable he felt around the man. He had started to have the same dream that he'd had when he was at Hogwarts. What was worse, these dreams were lasting longer and now when Draco woke up, he'd be filled with sadness that Potter wasn't there.
Of course, looking like Potter wasn't helping at all! He was constantly finding random excuses to run his fingers through his—Potter's—hair, feel his skin, or just stare into his eyes. If he'd told Haikah all of this, what would she have said? Probably what any psychotherapist would have: Tell him how you feel. Except, Draco had no idea how he felt. He just had these dreams. Did he want them to be a reality?
Merlin, and what was worse was the fact that evidently Potter had something to tell him, too. The Weasleys hadn't shut up about it and when he'd confronted Potter, the man had run out of the house.
He knew there was only one thing he could do. Only one way to solve this problem. Draco paid the waitress at the cafe, and Apparated to his flat.
0-0-0880-0-0
It was weird to knock on the door of his own flat but Draco didn't want to show up if Potter was busy. Busy, as in naked, or wanking, or Merlin-knows-what. He gave the oak wood two firm knocks and the door immediately opened. Potter was wearing Draco's grey pyjama trousers, and no shirt. Draco scowled at seeing his own faint scars, when Potter said, "Oh."
"May I come in, Potter," Draco asked politely.
"Sure, I was just getting ready to take a shower and that's why—I mean—I'll put a shirt on." Potter hurried out of the room, and Draco inhaled the smell of breakfast, crisp bacon, and toast from the kitchen. Pheeny was at it again.
"I thought you didn't want to see me today," Potter said, returning to the room in a mismatched shirt. Draco scowled again. They were pyjama sets for a reason.
"Yes, well. I think we should talk and I just couldn't wait any longer," Draco said and looked over at the breakfast table again. "It's past noon, Potter."
Potter ran a hand through his hair, and he looked like he enjoyed it. Perhaps, Draco wasn't the only strange one who like feeling the other man's hair. He dismissed the thought immediately.
"I—uh—had a bit too much to drink last night," Potter said. When Draco opened his mouth to retort, Potter raised his hand, gesturing for him to stop. "I bought my own bottles of Firewhisky, don't worry. I didn't touch any of your good stuff."
"Oh. You know where my good stuff is?"
"Yeah. I found it because I thought the cabinet was a bookshelf of sorts; well, that's what it looked like from the outside. Then I saw the liquor and then I saw the— so I just closed it all and went out to purchase my own."
"You found my dream journal," Draco said, forcing himself to sound casual.
"Yeah. I just looked at it and knew exactly what it was. I didn't want to shatter your trust so I didn't even touch it."
"My trust?" Draco asked, confused. Maybe Potter felt guilty for finding so much about Draco from Haikah that he was trying to be nice.
"Yeah. I trusted you, and let you in my home. And you trusted me, and let me stay at yours. I mean, the easier option could have been one of us staying at the other's with the other, but—"
"You're rambling, Potter."
"Yeah. I do that when I'm nervous. And hungry."
Draco moved out of the way and gestured for Potter to go to the kitchen table. Potter grinned at him and hurried as he sat down. He offered some to Draco who politely declined.
As Potter ate, Draco started to walk through his flat. He'd missed it so much. He missed his bed, his shower, his reading chair. It was all so different from Potter's. Still, there was a sort of warmth at Potter's place that Draco knew was missing from his own.
"So what did you want to talk about?" Potter said, coming up behind Draco and nearly giving him a start. He was holding two cups of coffee and offered one to Draco.
"What were the Weasleys talking about when they said that you haven't told me something?" Draco asked. There was no reason to beat around the bush any longer. He was here for a reason and as weird as it was to be around Potter in Draco's skin, he needed to get this over with.
"Oh. Maybe we should wait—"
"No, Potter. I want to understand. What are you afraid of?" Draco said, in almost a challenge. Where was the Gryffindor courage that Potter was so famous for?
Potter took a long sip of his coffee — nearly finishing the thing in one go — and set it down on the side table.
"Ever since we started working together, when I got your case and I'd come by to see you and we started spending so much time with each other, I realised something. I didn't know how to explain it at first, and I had all these emotions that were starting to surface and it didn't help that—"
"What are you saying, Potter?" Draco demanded. Merlin, the man could ramble on.
"I like you, Draco," Potter said. "I have feelings for you. They re-surfaced recently, and the more time we spent together—which was my fault, honestly—"
"You said that we needed to work on the case together. That I was the target and that I could identify markers regarding—"
"I know. That was a lie."
"What?"
"I wanted to spend more time with you. I liked being around you, and I didn't know how to just ask you out for coffee; not when the case was still active. I thought about approaching you after we caught the criminals, but then this happened."
Potter turned around and left the room. Draco followed.
"So you told all of the Weasleys that you liked me and didn't say anything to me?" Draco asked, feeling like there was more to this story.
"Well, I also had dreams about you. Which I kind of told Ginny, Ron, and Hermione about. No details, of course, I'd spare them the shock, but—"
"What kind of dreams?" Draco immediately asked.
"Nothing major. Just my unconscious mind playing tricks on me and not letting me forget."
"Wait...did you say re-surfaced feelings?"
Potter laughed and rubbed his face. "Catch that did you?"
"Potter, I—"
"So I like you, Malfoy, what's the big fucking deal? So you don't like me back. Also, not surprising. Now we're stuck under a Polyjuice curse from hell and tomorrow things can go back to normal again. You'll never have to see me. You can reinforce new spells on your wards and you won't be bothered." Potter looked down on the floor and was making that face that told Draco that he was hurting. Draco knew that face. It was his.
"What if I don't want to go back to normal?" Draco asked softly.
"What?" Potter looked up immediately.
"What if I said that I like you too, and that I have dreams about you—"
"Haikah said—"
Draco groaned. "I knew it was weird that she liked hearing about my sex dreams too much. She was probably living vicariously through me, given she's married and was shagging her assistant."
"You had sexual dreams about me?" Potter asked, ignoring everything else Draco had just said.
"I have sexual dreams about you," Draco replied.
"Draco..."
Draco smiled and took one step towards Potter. "It's weird, but I—"
Potter grabbed Draco by the back of his neck, closed his eyes, and pulled him into a kiss. Draco tried to not think about the fact that the soft lips he was kissing were his, and instead, just deepened the kiss, knowing that he was kissing Potter.
Potter sucked on Draco's upper lip, nibbling and biting as Draco did the same to Potter's lower one. They kept their eyes closed for a long while, simply enjoying their hands on each other, the small whimpers and moans that each of them made, and Draco not knowing which one belonged to whom.
Eventually, when they parted in need of air, Draco opened his eyes. He looked right into Potter's—which were Draco's eyes—and saw Potter's reflection. It was the most unusual and the most brilliant thing he'd ever experienced.
"So you like me, too?" Potter said in a whisper, resting his forehead against Draco's.
Draco closed his eyes and smiled again. "How are you able to kiss anyone with these glasses on? Isn't it a bit inconvenient?"
"I haven't really been doing a lot of kissing these days," Potter said.
"Hm. We can always change that," Draco said and pulled Potter towards the sitting room sofa.
0-0-0880-0-0
They spent most of the afternoon and evening on the sofa. Potter laid his head on Draco's shoulder, and their feet touched as their legs rested on the coffee table.
Talking, and occasionally kissing, albeit with their eyes closed which became sort of an unspoken rule between them; Draco thought that it was one of the most easy going dates he'd ever had, and they weren't even on a date yet. Not technically.
From time to time, Draco got up and made snacks for them in the kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of wine from his liquor cabinet.
Potter, Harry, told him about his most bizarre cases and funny family stories from the Weasleys. Draco realised that he didn't really hate the Weasleys, his negative feelings had more to do with jealousy, because they had Harry and he didn't.
Draco, in turn, told Harry about his last family holiday with his parents and what a disaster that'd been. Since then, he vowed to just visit his mother for dinner on Friday nights, and never ever go on a trip with them again.
"I don't blame you," Harry said, laughing as he finished his fourth glass of wine. "I spent one evening alone with them and it was enough for me to know that I never wanted to do that again."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Draco said, brushing Harry's hair off his forehead. "I'll still have to return on Friday, in my full glory."
"Maybe I can go with you sometime?" Harry said.
"You don't have to—"
"I know. But I mean sometime in the future, you know, not this Friday."
Draco laughed and kissed Harry again. "We're all out of good wine and it's getting late. I should go."
"Oh, okay," Harry said, standing up and looking a bit hesitant.
"What is it?"
"You could stay," he said. "I mean, it is your flat after all." He paused before speaking again, "It feels weird to be here, and I—"
"Do you wish to return to your own flat, then?" Draco asked, a bit disappointed. Did Harry only want him to stay so he could go back to his own place?
"No. I don't. I love it there, I really do, but I've just missed you. Is that mental? How could I miss someone I never even had in the first place..."
"I know what you mean. That's how I felt after I'd wake up from those dreams. It was like I had you, and then you weren't mine anymore."
Harry smiled and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist. "I'm here now. We're both here, together."
"Yeah..." Draco said, still feeling it all to be a bit unreal.
"So, you'll stay?"
"Certainly," Draco answered.
**MONDAY**
Harry woke up feeling unusually warm and realised why. His arms and legs were tangled around another body, and even though it was weird to be hugging himself, sort of, it was good to know that it was Draco.
The night before, when Draco had agreed to stay, they'd cooked together, and then taken turns showering before heading off to bed.
In bed, it'd been awkward at first. With the lights out, kissing wasn't a problem, but Harry knew that they wouldn't be doing anything more than that. It was sort of a weird line that neither one of them wanted to cross. They didn't talk about it, but it was obvious that they weren't going to have sex, either.
Snogging for half the night, and exploring each other as safely as they could, had been sufficient. Harry knew that he couldn't wait to get back to his old self and have Draco the way he wanted him. Show him how good he could make it for him. Feel Draco, everywhere.
Draco stirred next to him and Harry turned. "Sleep okay?" Harry asked softly and Draco nodded.
"Yes. And you?"
"Never better," Harry said with a grin. "We should get ready and go see Luna. Hopefully we can get it all sorted out, and I can go back to work!"
"Good plan," Draco said and they hopped out of bed to get dressed.
0-0-0880-0-0
At six o'clock on Monday evening when Draco returned home, to his real home, he couldn't help but feel disheartened. What if the night he'd spent with Harry would have been his only chance?
All day he'd thought he might hear from Harry, or that he might stop by at his shop, but Draco had had no such luck. It'd been almost ten hours and there wasn't even a peep from him. Sure, Draco could have sent word as well, but when they'd parted in the morning from Luna's lab, Harry had promised that he'd owl Draco. Maybe he just didn't mean today.
As he started to undress and prepare himself for his evening ritual, there was a knock on the door. Startled, he dropped his shirt on the floor and headed towards the entrance to his flat. Surprised, and not so surprised, to see Harry there, Draco smiled. It was good to see Harry — not himself — when opened the door.
"Hi," Harry said quietly. "Can I come in?" Draco nodded and got out of the way to let him enter. "I know I said I'd owl you, but my day has been crazy," Harry said immediately, as if he knew what had been worrying Draco. "Every time I sat down to write something to you, we got called out for an emergency! On top of everything else, there was a press conference today about the damned Polyjuice case and—"
"It's okay, Harry. You don't have to explain anything to me," Draco said. Harry really did have a bit of rambling problem.
"I know. I just don't want you to think that I don't care...I really should have just requested the day off. After a case is closed, Aurors are allowed to take a personal day."
"And you would have taken a personal day for me?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course. Why else?"
Draco shrugged. "I don't know. For yourself? You really overwork yourself, you know? I saw the calendar in your kitchen. You've got plans nearly every other night with a friend, or charity, or drinks—"
"Do you have a problem with that?" Harry asked, he didn't sound annoyed, and his tone wasn't defensive. He almost sounded worried.
"That you have a life? No, I don't have a problem with that." He smiled at Harry and made his way to the bedroom to put on a shirt.
When he turned around, Harry looked hesitant. Was he there to tell Draco that his calendar was already too full? Or maybe, just maybe, he'd want Draco to accompany him at his various social gatherings. A man can hope.
Harry ran a hand through his hair and looked up at Draco expectantly. He bit his lower lip and Draco figured he was struggling for words.
"Oh, what is it?" Draco was growing impatient. "What do you want, Potter?"
Harry smiled at him with surprise. "What makes you think I want something?"
"Then why are you here?"
"Maybe I miss being here," Harry said, taking a step closer to Draco. "Maybe I miss being with you."
"That's actually the definition of wanting something," Draco said, clenching his fists as he put his hands in his pockets. All he wanted to do was reach over, pull Harry into a kiss and lock themselves in Draco's flat.
"Do you want to go on a date with me?"
"What?" Draco spat the words before he could stop himself. That was what he wanted, but at the same time it wasn't what he needed. When Harry looked slightly hurt, Draco added, "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound repulsed. I was just surprised, is all."
"You're surprised that after last night, I'd ask you out on a date?"
"Yes and no?" Draco said and bit his lip.
"So are you free on Friday? Or you know, any other night? I mean, you've seen my schedule, I can cancel any of my plans for—"
"Harry," Draco said, dismissing the distance between them and pulled Harry in for a kiss. Harry tilted his head back, parting his mouth, and Draco slid his tongue in. It was such a different kiss from the night before, yet the same. Harry's mouth tasted different, but his lips still felt as soft, and the moaning noises they made were exactly as the last night's. Draco still didn't know who whimpered and who groaned but he knew they both enjoyed it.
When they pulled apart, Harry's glasses were slightly foggy. "Hm," Draco said, slightly amused, "I could get used to kissing a man who wears glasses."
"I'm glad to know that," Harry said, smiling. "So is that a yes on the date?"
"Are you free tonight?" Draco asked.
"Of course, but I just figured..." Harry paused, shrugging.
"Figured what?"
"That you'd want your space. You know, back in your body, in your flat—"
"Harry," Draco said, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist. "In case you've forgotten, I've been having sex dreams about you since the damned Polyjuice case was dropped in your lap. I've wanted nothing more than to feel your skin under my fingers..." Draco rubbed his thumb on Harry's lips and then dragged it down his chin, then his throat until he felt Harry gulp against his touch. He opened the top button of Harry's robes. "I have wanted to watch you writhe under me, whimper at my touch, release yourself on me, me inside you—"
"Draco..." Harry whispered as his hips bucked and he pressed his erection against Draco's thigh.
"A date...can wait. I need to have you now."
"I—yeah—okay," Harry said and started to push Draco towards his bed.
A few weeks later, Harry took Draco to the Burrow for the monthly family dinner. Blaise and his mother were also attending. The entire family was head over heels for the fact that Ginny was having a baby, and the mums started planning a wedding — even if they hadn't officially been engaged yet.
"Harry!" Angelina said excitedly as she came down the stairs and handed baby Fred to Harry. Harry was surprised because the baby always cried when Harry held him. He was about to panic when Draco took the baby from his arms and started playing with him.
"It's just a baby, Potter, what's the matter with you?"
Everyone gaped.
The baby, was perfectly happy in Draco's arms and started to giggle. Harry figured it was another one of those things that happened because of the damned Polyjuice case. No one had any idea why the baby was so happy to be with Draco, since no one knew that the night Harry had played with the baby, it had actually been Draco.
Eventually, Harry had to tell Draco to stop when Draco started helping Molly set up the table, knowing fully well where everything went. People would start suspecting something.
When Draco had taken Harry to the Manor a few days before, Lucius was surprised but Narcissa looked as though she were expecting it. Harry reckoned she probably knew, but most likely wouldn't say anything because that's just how the Malfoys were.
It was their secret, their damned Polyjuice case that brought them together, and no one was going to find out.
THE END
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