Title: No Such Thing as Normal (Except in Math, But the Author Will Not Bore You with Those Details)
Disclaimer: I do not claim any of these characters as my own, but come on, you're on a site called FanFiction. If you expected any of these characters to be mine in the first place, then you are clearly lost.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, background Ron/Hermione.
Rating: M. FINALLY M. AHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, Draco's ridiculously long trains of thought, some sexy times, and probably an ending that'll make you bug me for more. Maybe I should scroll down right now and add, "AND THEN THEY GOT MARRIED."
Nah, I'm not that far gone yet.
Summary: In which Draco is really annoyed. About something. Maybe Potter? And oh yeah, Weasel is his Auror partner, but no one really cares about that. I know you're all here for Draco, right? (Just say yes so you don't hurt his feelings.)
Author's Note: I call this My Giant Fanfic of Procrastination. Basically, I have been scratching away at this thing whenever I felt stressed out about summer school or the Quidditch Fanfiction Competition. This has literally gone through dozens of revisions, and it even got really wild at some point, with Astoria playing a much bigger part, and there was even a mini parody of Atlas Shrugged, where Astoria was Dagny, Blaise was Francisco, Draco was Rearden, and Potter was Galt, but in the end I deleted all of that because 1) Who reads Atlas Shrugged? and 2) Draco would make a terrible Rearden.
So what is actually in this story? Ha. Hahaha. You'll find out. I'm just overjoyed to FINALLY be able to type "HPDM slash" in a story summary.
Draco blinked as Weasel effortlessly downed yet another pint of beer. He sure could hold his liquor. Draco had yet to ever see him throw up, and with any luck, he never would.
Next to Weasel was Potter, who was rubbing Weasel's back soothingly, much to Draco's disgust. "There, there, Ron. You'll catch him next time. If criminals were really easy to catch, then any old citizen could do the job, and they wouldn't need us."
Draco rolled his eyes, and Potter nudged his foot impatiently. Don't be a negative presence, said the foot. You know Ron always takes these setbacks harder than you do.
He placed the toe of his boot on top of Potter's shoe and pressed down. Do you think he's the only one that wants comfort?
It was Potter who rolled his eyes this time, and he moved his foot away.
Today had been a disaster, which was not uncommon in their line of work, but it was disheartening nonetheless. They had been close, so close to catching the suspect, but he had caught sight of their Auror robes and Disapparated without a trace in the middle of a large crowd, which only added to the humiliation factor. Some Aurors they were!
Draco sighed into his own mug. It had never been in his life planning to ever become an Auror, much less one that was partnered with Weasel, yet that was what happened. Everyone had been shocked, including the Head Auror who had made the pairing in the first place. People were either expecting Potter to be with Weasel or maybe Draco to be with Potter, since at least the latter pairing had some sense of intriguing irony. But Weasel and Draco? What was the connection? What logic or illogic could there be?
Yet the Head Auror, who always answered all his ambivalent questions based on the advice of some device called a "magic eight ball," refused to back down once this decision was made. At that point, some of the bolder Unspeakables had tried to seize the ball to examine for traces of Dark influence, but he struck them down with his mighty staff, which led to a new scuffle and a protest about him being allowed to have a staff in the first place.
In the end it was decided that Draco was to forever hold joint custody of Weasel alongside bloody Potter, who, despite having his own Auror partner, refused to ever leave Weasel's side whenever he had the chance.
Draco sometimes had the sinking feeling that he and Potter were Weasel's surrogate parents in the work environment, a thought which was abhorrent enough without him also wondering which one of them was the father and which was the mother.
He tried to imagine Potter in an apron and found the thought oddly pleasing.
"Merlin, I must be thoughter than I drunked," he declared, which in retrospect must have sounded quite odd to an audience who did not have the privilege of knowing his thought process.
Potter turned to look at him sharply, his mouth probably open to ask a stupid question, but Draco dropped his head onto the table and slept, spared from Potter's inanity.
Draco woke up to the sound of a woman screaming, and for a split second, he thought he had been transported back to his childhood during one of his mother's rare shortages of patience.
Then his ears tuned in, and he realised the screaming wasn't directed at him.
"Harry James Potter! What is the meaning of this? Why did you let my husband drink himself half to death? Do you have any idea how hard it was to explain that to Hugo? Why can't you boys ever talk out your feelings like normal people?"
"Hermione," groaned Potter, apparently towards a fireplace, though Draco didn't feel arsed to open his eyes and confirm the knowledge. "You know Ron doesn't like to talk about feelings. He has his own way of dealing with things, and it's not wrong just because it's different. Besides, how else were we to cheer him up? Now stop yelling. It's five in the morning."
"I'll yell whenever I want when I have to wake up to a hungover husband with more vomit than explanations!"
"Too much info!"
"Then you shouldn't have caused me this trouble in the first place! Shall I describe the exact quality and appearance of said vo—"
The voice was cut off as Potter presumably shut the Floo connection. Finally. Potter and Weasel really were pushovers when it came to Granger.
There was a long exhalation, and then Draco felt a weight settle on the bed next to him, and it was only at that moment that he realised he was in Potter's bed.
Should he be alarmed?
Potter wrapped an arm around him and snuggled closer, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like "Warm," and Draco failed to be alarmed. All he could think about was the sharp ache in his head and how he would really like to go back to being unconscious.
Eventually, he forced himself back to sleep, lulled by Potter's even breathing.
When Draco showed up to work a few hours later, Weasel was already scribbling the report of yesterday's failed suspect chase, his head resting on one of his hands.
He prodded Weasel's shoulder, knowing he hated it when Draco touched him. "So…how did the missus take it?"
Weasel groaned like a dying bear, and Draco nodded in grim satisfaction. Good. So all that screaming was not put to waste. Maybe Granger served as both of Weasel's parents at home.
He sat down at his desk and pulled out his own parchment, since each Auror had to make his or her own report and give his or her own account of the events that occurred. It was very bothersome, but Draco supposed it made sense. Each person sees events unfolding in his or her own unique way, owing to different past experiences.
He was especially glad for this tediously important task today because it meant that he would not be tempted to blurt out to Weasel that he had spent the night in Potter's bed. Although it would have been very entertaining to watch his partner explode from the impossibility of it all, he knew that it would be too much trouble to be worth it. Granger's love of psychoanalysis had rubbed off on Weasel, and nothing was more horrifying than watching him try to pick apart Draco's brain.
Besides, Potter had never given him the chance to figure out a feeling about the situation. He had not been in his flat when Draco woke up, instead leaving behind a note that said, "Help yourself to anything in the fridge, and don't forget to key the wards shut when you leave."
He wished the prat had still been in bed with him. Then Draco could have gotten a good look at his sleepy morning face and decided if sharing a bed with him was a good thing or not. And if not, then he would have at least had blackmail material, since surely such a memory would sell for thousands of Galleons on the black Pensieve market.
Nonetheless, he had felt nice last night. So warm and possessive and—
Draco ground his teeth and stabbed the parchment before beginning his report, for once not caring about the blot he left on the paper. Well, Potter had frustrated him since he was eleven years old. Why would that change now?
The next day, they were on the trail again, thanks to a new tip from a witness in Knockturn Alley. The suspect was rumoured to frequent one of the seedier pubs here, something called The Bloody Axe.
Draco failed to see the appeal of the name (it really had no pizzazz), but perhaps everyone here wanted to sound tough in order to blend in with the environment. After all, who in Knockturn Alley would dare step into a place called The Frolicking Unicorn, for example?
He looked over at Weasel, who had disguised himself as a pudgy, middle-aged man with very little hair and a huge black beard. It was admirable, the way he limped along and muttered obscenities to himself, making sure to show off his yellowed, partially missing teeth. Weasel was actually very talented at acting when he tried hard enough, and he always tried even harder after each failure, as long as he got to indulge in a little drunken rant-fest beforehand.
Draco did not remember him ever being so resilient back in Hogwarts, but he wasn't inclined to complain about this change. This new Weasel was an improvement, and it was he who always came up with the stakeout plans. Draco doubted the Hogwarts version of Weasel could do anything except make crude jokes and consume enough food for a full-fledged giant.
He wondered what Potter thought of Weasel now. Did he like him better, or did he sometimes miss the more carefree Weasel who was only interested in girls and food? Was it tiring, having to watch over him all the time, especially when the job brought Weasel's spirits down? What was up with that, anyway? Surely Weasel didn't need so much coddling? So he drank a bit, so what? Honestly, it was only because Potter kept egging him on and encouraging it in the first place. Maybe he should talk with Potter about that. It was a destructive cycle.
They were getting nearer to the pub, however, so Draco shook his thoughts away and became the hollow-faced potions addict he was supposed to be.
They stepped into the pub and sat on the nearest available barstools, with Weasel gruffly ordering a pint while gesturing at Draco and growling, "None fer th' rat here. Good fer nuthin' vermin, done ate up all my Galleons, he did." Draco scowled but faced his lap, playing Weasel's chastened scoundrel of a nephew.
The bartender shook his head in understanding, perhaps thinking of his own worthless relatives. Then he turned away and got Weasel his pint.
Meanwhile, Draco pretended to fidget, turning around and looking for the suspect. He immediately found him in a corner, drinking straight out of a bottle. Good. The drunker, the better. They could afford to play this out a bit. He nudged Weasel under the table with his leg, and Weasel nudged back twice, acknowledging that he had seen the man, too.
Weasel then sipped and went on meaningless rambles about all the things that were wrong with "society today," and the bartender pretended to listen. Draco munched on some trail mix he had brought in his own little baggie and occasionally twitched his eyes, acting like he was going to jump off his stool any minute. The suspect kept drinking, apparently emotionally distraught about something today. Maybe he had a guilty conscience. Draco licked his lips but continued the eye twitching.
After what felt like an eternity, the suspect got up and swayed, heading towards the loo. This was the moment.
Draco jumped up and shook Weasel's shoulder, whining, "Loo, loo, loo."
"Git outta here, brat," snarled Weasel, shoving him away. "No needa ask permission every time."
Draco scampered off to the loo, shaking uncontrollably, both as part of the act and as expression of the excitement he felt. Finally, they were going to get the damn suspect. Then Weasel would be happy, and Potter's comforting services would no longer be needed for a while. No more Potter!
He kicked open the swinging door, ready to make his arrest.
"Stupefy!"
Draco yelped and dodged the red light, throwing the trail mix at the suspect in a panic, hitting him in the head.
"Ow!" The clearly sober suspect clutched his head wonderingly, and that moment of distraction was just barely enough.
"Incarcerous!" Ropes wrapped themselves around the suspect, effectively binding him, but then Draco realised with horror that the suspect still had his wand.
Just as the suspect was about to raise it, however, Weasel rushed up behind them, shouting, "Expelliarmus!" The wand flew safely into Weasel's outstretched hand, and then he Stunned the suspect.
The suspect crumpled, rendered harmless.
Draco and Weasel locked gazes, and Draco fought not to look away in shame. What a rookie mistake. One was supposed to Disarm the suspect before typing him up. That could have gone badly. What was wrong with him today?
"Let's take him back to headquarters," said Weasel, his voice flat.
They grabbed the suspect and Disapparated.
After they had safely locked the suspect up pending trial, Weasel cornered Draco in their office.
"What the hell was that, Malfoy? We've been working together for twenty years, and I have never seen you fumble like that. Usually I'm the one that gets overly excited over catching someone."
Draco shook his head. "I don't know what came over me, to be honest. I really thought he was drunk."
"Even if he were drunk, you should have Disarmed him first! Disarm, Disable, Disapparate! How could you forget? That was lesson one!"
Draco clutched his head. "I don't know."
Weasel sighed explosively, throwing his arms up into the air. "Take a holiday. Something's clearly wrong with you when you're not protesting prissily at everything I say. Don't come back until you can insult me properly again."
With that, he shoved Draco out of the office and slammed the door shut.
Draco sat on his porch, staring blankly at the tree in his front yard. What had possessed him to go suburban, anyway? Probably the fact that he couldn't stand the Manor after the war and had wanted a separate home with Astoria. Well, she was gone now, and Scorpius, the only good result of their union, was currently in Hogwarts and wouldn't appreciate this house at the moment anyway.
He wondered again if he should have given Astoria the house and Scorpius and just lived by himself in an apartment downtown, but then he remembered his son's sweet, beaming face and knew that he regretted nothing, not even this stupid Muggle-infested neighbourhood. Scorpius deserved tranquillity and stability, and this place, far from the prying eyes of the media, would definitely provide it. Scorpius had made many Muggle friends here throughout his childhood, and even Draco had to admit that those kids had been very nice, constantly inviting their family to pool parties and football games.
In fact, it had been Astoria who couldn't stand those kids and couldn't stand this neighbourhood in general, so what the hell was he blubbering about? Astoria was happy in her own manor with her booming business! Scorpius was happy in Hogwarts with his potential friends there and definite friends here!
It was only Draco who was unhappy at the moment.
Circe, why was that? Nothing particularly bad had happened lately. The divorce he'd been wanting for a long time was finalised just last month, and sure, it was a shame that there was no Scorpius running around in the yard, squealing and babbling nonsense, but that didn't have to make him unhappy. His son was in good hands now. Maybe he would get picked on at first at Hogwarts, but Draco was confident in his son's natural charisma. He'd make friends.
Maybe it was the suspect? But no, they'd caught him! And yes, Draco had fumbled the catch, but that only proved that there was something before that, something that had made him restless and antsy and terribly annoyed at himself.
He leaned back on his chaise and thought of green eyes and messy black hair.
Potter.
Yes, that was it. Fucking Potter. Everything was Potter's fault! Now that Draco no longer had his family at the forefront of his mind, all he had left was his job, and Potter kept intruding! Draco was Weasel's partner, damn it! Why did Potter still hover over Weasel after twenty years of them all being Aurors? Potter was probably talking to Weasel right now, wasn't he? Maybe Weasel was venting to him right now about how Draco fucked up today.
He leapt out of his seat and stormed into the house, activating the Floo network.
Potter was not at his office, and Potter was not at home. This only served to confirm Draco's worst fears. Potter was probably at the bar they always went to, listening to Weasel gossip about Draco's ineptitude. His blood boiled just thinking about it. He Apparated.
When he reached the bar, he froze.
Weasel and Granger were making out in one of the booths.
Oh, Merlin. That was a sight he could have lived without. He closed his eyes and opened them again, hoping the vision would go away. It didn't. They seemed to get even more enthusiastic during the few seconds he had had his eyes closed.
Forcing himself to avert his eyes, he stormed over to them. This was important, more important than his inability to stomach the sight of Weasels mating and possibly breeding.
Yet despite the horror of it all, he was oddly relieved to find that Weasel was in Granger's arms instead of Potter's.
He slammed his hand on the table in front of them in order to get their attention and scatter away such thoughts, and they broke apart, gasping.
"Malfoy? You're supposed to be on holiday!" Weasel was flushed, and Draco hoped it was purely anger, because there were certain emotions he never wanted to witness on Weasel faces. Besides, just because he was on holiday didn't mean he wasn't allowed to go to the bar. It was not like he was on a holiday from Weasel's life! Was he?
He swallowed all those indignities and asked the most pertinent question. "Where's Potter? I can't find him."
"Harry?" inquired Granger, patting her hair, which had been mussed from things Draco did not want to contemplate for even one second. "What do you need him for?"
"We have unfinished business to settle," he said evasively, and Granger's eyes narrowed.
"He's babysitting Hugo at the moment, so leave him alone. I don't want you starting a fight in my house—"
Draco had already Disapparated.
He arrived at the Weasel residence and pounded on the door.
It flew open, but Draco was taken aback when there was nothing in front of him.
Then he looked down, and he found himself confronted with a little redheaded boy.
"Hello, Mister. Why are you so angry?"
Draco swallowed at the simple question. Yeah, why was he so angry? This was ridiculous. Here he was, pounding on the door of some little boy's home, demanding to—what? Talk to Potter? Punch him in the face? Shake him until he knew why the hell Potter had slept with him and never called him back?
He flushed. Well, they didn't sleep together in that way, but still! Why had Draco been in his bed in the first place? That was something for which he had never been given an explanation, and he deserved one!
"Mister? You're making the same face Mommy makes when Daddy has been bad. Did someone steal your cookies?"
He shook his head, remembering that the poor Weasel brat was still here. It was not his fault Potter was such a confusing jerk or that his father had dragged that jerk back into his life by being his partner all those years ago.
Wow, had Draco been angry all this time? It had been twenty years. Maybe he just never had time to confront this anger due to having a wife and kid?
"I'm going to get you some cookies, Mister. You're starting to scare me. Please come in. Mommy says it's not good to stand outside so long, and now I can see why."
Draco nodded woodenly and stepped inside. He had a lot of thinking to do, and maybe it wouldn't hurt to have some cookies in the process.
Several cookies and a glass of milk later, Draco was feeling drowsy, and all the anger he had felt earlier had been expended as he fumed and ranted to the little boy, who had nodded sagely at all the right places and even agreed that his father was an imbecile (although, to be fair, the boy probably didn't understand what that meant).
Finally, he paused, looked around, and said, "Wait a minute. Isn't Mr Potter supposed to be watching over you or something?"
The boy giggled. "He's asleep. This special milk of mine works really well. I made it myself using Mommy's books. You'll be sleeping soon, too."
"Wait, what—?"
Draco collapsed on the plaid couch, dropping the recently emptied glass of milk.
Yet again, Draco woke up to the sound of Granger's voice, but she wasn't screaming this time, instead choosing to speak in a hushed-yet-still-reproving tone.
"Hugo, how many times do I have to tell you that you cannot offer that milk to our guests without at least letting them know what it is first?"
Weasel chimed in. "He shouldn't be offering it at all! Or even making it!"
"Ron, we can't stop him from exploring his intellectual capabilities—"
"Look at Malfoy! Look at him! Not to mention Harry in the other room! It's been several hours, and neither of them has woken up! What if they stay like that forever?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ron; it'll wear off soon—"
"You are such a hypocrite, always disapproving of the Wheezes, but when it's Hugo, you think everything's all great in the name of discovery—"
"They are making money off of their creations, and besides, George and all his employees are adults and should know better—"
"You guys!" interrupted Potter's sleepy voice, and Draco really had to fight to keep his eyes closed. "Stop this. It's your anniversary, and besides, you're scaring Hugo."
"Harry! You're alright!" exclaimed Weasel and Granger simultaneously, and Draco could hear one of them hugging Potter, although he wasn't sure which one.
"Yes, I'm fine. I will never fall for that again, though, so at least I learned a valuable lesson today. Anyway, I'm going to take Malfoy home now, and then you guys can settle this in private."
Before Draco could even open his eyes or mouth to protest, Potter wrapped his arms around him and Disapparated.
When they landed. Draco was still feeling pretty petulant, so he continued to feign sleep, deliberately making himself heavy in Potter's arms.
"Christ, you're much heavier than you look," Potter whined. "Alright, I've done this before, and I can do this again."
With that declaration, Potter somehow managed to manhandle Draco through what he assumed was probably a living room and a hallway, although of course he kept his eyes firmly closed throughout it all, focusing on the way Potter smelled like…lemongrass? Now that was interesting.
Finally, he pushed Draco into his bed, not even bothering to rearrange his limbs into a more comfortable position. How thoughtless of Potter. He lay still, waiting for Potter to join him, which he thankfully did after only a few moments of hesitation and some undressing.
He bided his time, waiting for Potter to snuggle up to him again. Then he attacked.
"Got you, Potter!"
"AARRRGHHH!"
There was a scuffle and what felt like five pairs of sharp elbows and knees as the two of them wrestled on the bed, Draco filled with frustration about Potter and Potter filled with—well, who the fuck cared what Potter was filled with, if it wasn't Draco?
With that lewd thought in mind, he dodged Potter's knees and yanked off his pants, smirking as Potter's nether regions were revealed.
He leaned down, ready to start licking his cock, but then Potter jerked away and forced Draco onto his back with an upward surge.
"No. No, no, no, no, no! You may have stolen my best friend away from me, but there is no way in hell you're going to steal this moment, too!"
"What? I stole nothing, Potter! You are the one constantly stealing my partner away from me all these years, the partner that the Head Auror assigned to me!" He flipped them over so that he would be on top again.
"That Head Auror is two Knuts short of a Galleon and you know it! Anyone with any sense would have given Ron to me!" He leaned up and bit Draco's throat.
Draco's eyes fluttered shut and he moaned, but he refused to give in, grinding down on Potter's bare cock with his own clothed one. "Do you know how unhealthy it is, still trying to be Weasel's hero after all these years?" he hissed into Potter's ear. "News flash! He is married to Granger and is partnered to me, which means you should concentrate on your partner!"
Potter dug his fingers into Draco's arse and flipped them over. "You don't get to tell me what's healthy or not, Malfoy! Not when you—"
Draco grabbed Potter's head with both his hands and brought their lips together in a brutal kiss, tired of this ridiculous argument.
Potter gasped and squeezed Draco's arse before thrusting his tongue inside, thoroughly licking Draco's mouth as if determined to taste the cookies again.
Draco closed his eyes and enjoyed the assault, letting his muscles uncoil and relishing the surprisingly soft feel of Potter's body on top of him. Potter was here. He was finally here, and he was not disappearing off and leaving behind notes. That was enough for Draco.
It was not enough for Potter, however, which soon became apparent as he reached down and yanked at Draco's pants and trousers—which Potter had not been kind enough to remove for him earlier—and pulled them completely off without so much as a by-your-leave. Draco spluttered at him, unhappy with this display of barbarism, but then Potter moved on top of him again, and it was pretty hard to complain when Potter's cock felt so nice against his.
Draco bucked his hips upwards, wanting more and more contact. It was strange, rubbing up against each other while they both still had their shirts on, but he could live with it, especially when it simply meant he had something to hold onto as Potter sped up.
"Oh, Malfoy," gasped Potter when Draco clutched the sides of his shirt. "Can I—inside—?"
Draco froze for a fraction of a second before shaking his head and speeding up his own movements. "No. Not ready. You haven't even bought me dinner yet, you git."
Potter laughed and kissed him before reaching down to stroke them both. "Fair enough," he groaned, as Draco tilted his head back. "Probably wouldn't last, anyway."
Then they both stopped talking as Potter's hand motions got even more frantic, to the point where Draco thought if they didn't come soon, they would just—
The thought was abandoned as Draco shuddered beneath Potter, gasping and whimpering and hoping he was coming, too.
Once it was over, Draco found himself weighed down by a horribly heavy Potter. Surely he must have gained weight over the years. Draco reached down to pat the side of his belly.
"Stop that, you wanker." Potter shoved his hand away.
"Oh, I think you were the one who did enough wanking for the both of us." Draco moved his recently rebuffed hand towards Potter's forehead, brushing away his damp bangs. He really regretted not being able to focus on Potter's orgasm. Fortunately, it seemed like there would probably be a next time.
"So what do you want to do now, Malfoy?"
"Shower, maybe. Then some tea."
"Do you mind teabags?"
Draco sighed. "I'll endure it."
The next day, Potter and Draco arrived at work together, bickering in the lift about where to eat for their first date. Draco didn't mind eating at a Muggle establishment, but really, a family restaurant? Where people were likely to bring their bratty spawn?
"I think you're brattier than any little kid, Malfoy."
"Nuh-uh!"
"Yah-huh! You're just proving my point right now!"
"Why can't we just go to a nice, quiet place with older, more responsible adults—"
"Well, well, well, look what we have here," said an amused voice in front of them. Draco blinked at Weasel's face in front of the lift's doorway. He hadn't even noticed the lift opening.
"Hello, Ron," beamed Potter, looking way too smug for Draco's liking. Draco pinched his arse, and the smugness effectively evaporated as Potter squeaked, stamping on Draco's foot in a panic.
"Nice to see you two have finally decided to stop fighting over me. I was getting rather tired of that," remarked Weasel, before heading off to their office.
"Fighting over you? Who would fight over you, you freckled freak!" Draco jumped out of the lift and ran after him, unwilling to let him spread such a horrid notion.
Behind him, he could hear Potter chuckling, and he knew their argument had yet to end.
He looked forward to its continuation.