Summary: Five years have passed since the war and Harry decides to indulge his secret passion—house-elf metal. His favourite band is playing in Edinburgh and he plans to have a nice weekend. But who should break the peace if not Draco Malfoy?

Rating: NC-17

Pairing(s): HP/DM, LL/PP

Warning(s): Malexmale, femalexfemale, AU, EWE

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all the characters belong to J.K. Rowling; I do not own any of it.

A/N: Hi everyone! =D For the longest time now, I have wanted to start a collection of Drarry one-shots where I can use various ideas that don't fit into any of my series, and I have finally found the time to do so! X3 I hope that this is just the first of many, and that you'll all enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoy writing these stories. :3

I would also like to apologise to the regular readers of my various series here on FF for being inactive and not updating them for such a long time. Life has been really busy and stressful for a long time, but I am doing my best to continue writing on them! Sorry for the wait, and thank you for your patience! /Pipe.

For the Love of Metal

The Glen Hotel was hidden away from Muggle eyes, just like The Leaky Cauldron in London, and the moment Harry Potter set foot in its lobby he liked it. The atmosphere was at once mysterious and cosy—homey. Just like all the other wizarding establishments he had visited since embarking on this unbelievable journey at 11, The Glen had an air of multi-layered secrets about it. There was a distinct vibration of magic all around him, a crackle of power that made his skin sing and his heart feel right at home.

With a widening smile on his lips, he crossed the ancient oriental carpet, passing groups of comfy-looking armchairs, and went up to the front desk, where a wizened grandmotherly woman was refilling a stand of Daily Prophets and pamphlets about various magical tourist attractions in the Edinburgh area.

"Good afternoon," he greeted her, and let his trunk rest against the desk. "I have a reservation."

"Guid efternuin," the old witch replied, and Harry instantly loved her heavy Scottish accent. "Name?"

As always feeling slightly uncomfortable about announcing himself as The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry quickly looked away from her and whispered, "Harry Potter."

Even in his periphery he could see her start of realisation and steeled himself for the coming onslaught. It therefore baffled him when all the old lady did was conjure up his room key and hand it to him over the desk. Staring at her with his mouth hanging open, he could not quite remember how to reach out his hand to pick something up.

With an amused and somewhat knowing expression, she jingled the key in front of him. "Go on, off tae yer room, Mr. Potter," she said kindly. And when he took the key from her, she added, "Thaur's ae guid lad."

Still nonplussed, but at the same time immensely relieved, Harry took his trunk and made his way up a carpeted, narrow staircase to the second floor where his room was located at the end of a long hallway. The room beyond the door turned out to be just as cosy as the lobby. There was a queen-size bed with a sufficiently firm mattress, crisp, clean sheets, and a handstitched quilt, a small en-suite bathroom, and a desk with a straight-backed wooden chair under the single window.

Taking in his current surroundings in peace, Harry slowly unpacked, enjoying the fact that he could take his time without anyone shouting at him to work faster.

Somehow, when he had accepted Kingsley Shacklebolt's offer of an Auror position, he had imagined that he would be going on daily raids and hunt down rogue Death Eaters, not that he would be spending his life as a paper pusher. But that was the lot of someone who had not gone through Auror training and had not even finished school, he supposed …

But he must not think about that now; he was here to enjoy himself.

With a few hours left until the concert that had brought him to Edinburgh would start, he decided to take a long, hot shower. It felt wonderfully and mischievously decadent to stand there under the running water until the last warm drop had fallen—not to mention childishly satisfying. He languidly dried himself off with the soft, fluffy towel that had been provided and threw himself down on his back, naked, on the bed.

"Oh, if only Ron could see me now," he mused, and chuckled loudly to himself, imagining his roommate's face if he found him lying around naked in the flat.

Ron became hysterical over the silliest little things, like spiders in the pantry or seeing Hermione talking to her fiancé in the Ministry corridors.

Well, he guessed that last one was understandable.

The ginger was still aggrieved over their failed relationship, even though it had been three years since they broke up. No matter how much they loved and cared about each other, they had ultimately been forced to admit that it was not working out for them. They simply wanted different things out of life.

After spending thirty minutes snuggling the comfy bedsheets, Harry dressed and went downstairs to have dinner. The old lady brought him a delicious shepherd's pie that coupled with a few pints made him feel pleasantly warm inside.

Thanking her for the lovely meal, he left The Glen and started walking towards the concert site. He passed through both picturesque streets lined with old houses and urban areas with Edinburgh Castle in the backdrop until he reached the park where The SPEWs were playing. As soon as he entered the park, he felt the cold tingling of passing through the Muggle Repellent Spell.

A corresponding shiver of anticipation passed down his spine.

It was soon time!

Further in, a big stage had been set up, and people were gathering in front of it, excitedly cheering and talking amongst each other. The atmosphere was inviting and inclusive; they were all there for the same love of the best metal ever, and that meant they all shared something profound. Even though there were hundreds of people there, they were a group, a community.

Harry had had his reservations about going to the concert, but now he did not regret it one bit. He felt at home there—like he was with his people. He could talk to strangers without feeling uneasy because they had something in common to talk about, and he could raise his disposable jug of beer in a toast without feeling awkward.

That was one of the reasons why he was quite pissed before the band had even started playing. But the main reason appeared in the form of a pale, white-blond figure that was elbowing his way through the crowd a couple yards ahead of Harry. He was urging people to make way for him while carefully holding his drink in a protective embrace and—impossibly, unbelievably, inconceivably—wearing a black T-shirt that proclaimed, THE SPEWS FREE ELVES TOUR 2003.

Harry could not believe his eyes. "Malfoy?!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking a little on the first syllable.

The apparition stopped dead in its tracks. Its oval, aristocratic face snapped around towards him. The incredulous and taken aback expression in it seemed to mirror what Harry felt perfectly, and it annoyed him immensely.

"Potter?" Malfoy wondered disbelievingly.

So it wasn't a hallucination, then.

Walking up to him, Harry asked, "What the bloody Hell are you doing here?"

Flinching as if Harry had just slapped him, the blonde ex-Slytherin adopted a haughty air and stuck his chin out. "I might ask you the same question."

That statement made Harry laugh out loud. "Oh, you might, eh? Have you forgotten where we are?"

"What? No, of course I haven't forgotten where we are," Malfoy claimed, affronted.

"Then how come you're at a SPEWs concert?" Harry pressed, and he could see the other man visibly pale as he realised what he had been caught doing.

Fidgeting and looking left and right—probably searching for an escape route—he did everything to avoid eye contact with Harry. "I … I came for the music," he muttered in such a low voice that it was hardly audible over the cheers and chants of Bring us SPEWs! Bring us SPEWs!

Nothing could have puzzled Harry more. "What? You're taking the piss!"

The blonde once more turned to him in indignation. "I am not! You would do well not to take that tone with me, Potter! Still think you're above everyone else, do you? Well, for your information I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of enjoying music."

If there had not been so many people around, Harry would have seriously wondered if he had just fallen down a certain rabbit hole. Staring at his former nemesis, he frowned in confusion. "You're actually here for the band? You of all people listen to house-elf metal?!"

Malfoy squirmed under his intense glare and averted his eyes anew. "Dobby got me into it, all right?"

Something twisted its tiny, ice-cold paws around Harry's heart in that moment. The loss of a friend was something one never got over, and hearing the beloved name mentioned brought back the old pain sevenfold. A heavy pressure settled over his chest, making it difficult to breathe, and tears were suddenly burning in his eyes, threatening a downpour that he could not indulge in now—not in front of him.

Immediately after uttering those seven words, Malfoy looked down and got something dark, sad in his silver eyes. His milky countenance became sombre, and he seemed to be fighting off emotions that he did not want to succumb to.

The display startled Harry, but soon his brain made the connection. Dobby had been a part of Malfoy's life, too, and even though he had not appeared to be any better than his father where house elves were concerned, it was possible that the blonde had treated them differently in private. After all, he had once treated Harry very differently in private, their open rivalry notwithstanding.

Feeling a degree of solidarity for the blonde, he took a step closer to him so he could put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Dobby got me into it, too," he then told him, his voice thick with a mix of grief, nostalgia, and pride over having known that brave, selfless elf.

Malfoy initially flinched at the touch, but he did not shrug Harry's hand off and actually seemed to relax thanks to the contact. An uncharacteristic but endearing lopsided, bittersweet smile fleetingly passed on his pale-pink lips. "Dobby could be quite a persistent presence, despite his insignificant physique," he stated, letting out a short chuckle while shaking his head.

Maybe Harry had to re-evaluate his earlier feeling of falling down the rabbit hole, because this evening just became stranger and stranger. Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him, lost in fond memories of a house-elf! What screwed-up parallel universe had he just been sucked into?!

"I need a drink," he proclaimed drily.

Malfoy glared down at the beer in his hand. "You already have a drink, Potter."

Harry raised the jug to his lips and tilted his head back, downing the pint in one fell swoop. Crumpling up the empty container, he said, "No, I don't," then made his way to the nearest drink vendor. He was not surprised when the blonde followed, and oddly enough he didn't feel uncomfortable about his presence, either. In a way, it was like easing into an old habit; returning to a familiar place.

That familiar place did not just come with worn, loved furniture, though, but also with old, long buried feelings that threatened to open up an abyss of hatred, hurt, and humiliation that was best left alone. Been there, done that. Therefore it was safer to keep a steady stream of dampening alcohol running through his veins, and one drink soon became five.

Malfoy seemed to be on the same page, for he made sure to always have a drink at hand, too. Insecure, flickering gazes, stiffness and acid jibes eventually turned into fearless stares, loosened-up muscles and familial (if slightly slurred) inside jokes about their complicated adolescence.

In any other situation—any other place—their first impulse would most likely have been to go their separate ways and avoid each other for the rest of the evening, but for some reason neither of them seemed to even think of that possibility. They shared something now, something more important than a mutual past, namely someone that had made an imprint on them both. After realising that, it seemed only natural that they should see this experience through together.

The opening act began playing, and they turned their attention to the stage. In their drunken state, they bounced, waved their arms about in the air, cheered, clapped their hands, raised their beers to the band, and enthusiastically headbanged to the raw, earsplittingly loud music. It was an incredible rush to stand in an excited crowd like that, feeling the bass, the harsh guitar riffs and every single violent beat of the drums go straight through you, making his entire body vibrate with energy, and he wondered why the Hell he'd never done this before. It was fucking awesome!

Without a care for the world around him, Harry grabbed Malfoy around the small of his back and pulled him in for a spontaneous kiss. Because of intoxication, he was a bit off and landed more on Malfoy's chin than on his lips, as intended, resulting in the blonde laughing out loud at him.

"Is'at the best you can do, Pottah?" he taunted with a superior look on his decidedly rosy face.

He looked so cute with his cheeks burning reddish-pink from drink, and his eyes glittering with mirth, and his almost-white hair defiantly falling into his face that Harry just had to kiss him again. In all the years since their school days, he had never seen anyone look so sexy or felt this drawn to anyone. He just had to feel those soft, perfect lips on his again.

But as before, he missed and got the left corner of Malfoy's mouth and some of his smooth cheek, which only made the blonde laugh harder. His silvery eyes filled with tears and he almost doubled over, stumbling a few steps to the side. "You are bloody worthless, Pottah!" he exclaimed between bursts of laughter.

Starting to get mad, Harry clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes to see the blonde more clearly, then made a third attempt. This time he chucked his drink in favour of grabbing hold of his target with both hands. Determined to shut the git up, he went up on his toes and shoved their faces together, this time—finally!—smashing their lips together in a hard kiss.

Shocked at first, the blonde made a muffled 'Mpf!' sound, but soon he had his arms around Harry's back and was urging Harry to open his mouth for him. Caught in a whirlpool of dizzying feelings of excitement, happiness, and arousal, he immediately complied and moaned encouragingly when Malfoy shoved his tongue inside his mouth.

One song ended and another began while they were snogging, but their bodies were moving to a different song altogether. The rhythm of hastened heartbeats and bold hands exploring skin hidden by annoying layers of clothing had them writhing and grinding against each other, and Harry revelled in the sensation of Malfoy's growing, quivering erection against his lower abdomen.

Another concert-goer bumping into the blonde's back jolted them both out of their reverie. That was probably just as well, because Harry felt sure they would have been ripping each other's clothes off any minute, and even in his drunken state he was reluctant to get naked in public.

Slowly, he became aware that Malfoy was staring at him with those intense, sexy silver eyes and felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine.

"I've missed this," the blonde said, his voice thick with arousal. A slight frown settled on his pale brow. "How could I not know that I've missed this?" he wondered in confusion.

For some reason, that was the funniest thing Harry had heard, and he began to giggle very unmanfully without being able to stop for the longest time. All the while, Malfoy was asking, "What? What? What is so bloody funny?"

Shaking his head in a mix of disbelief and humour, Harry said, "It's been five years—what'd you expect? Not even you have that good of a memory."

Sticking out his chin in affront, the blonde snorted with hurt dignity. "Allow me to inform you that there is no wizard or witch of any consequence that can match me when it comes to remembering stuff. I even remember what colour underwear you were wearing our first night together."

Now it was Harry's turn to snort. "Yeah, that one is difficult to remember—I only wear black pants!"

Blushing a furious, shamed red, Malfoy defiantly turned away from him. "Yes, well, I still remember and that is the whole point here," he declared superciliously.

He was still the cutest thing when he was embarrassed, and Harry pulled him in for an apologetic hug. "I never expected I'd run into my ex at a metal concert, but I'm really glad I did," he spoke into the blonde's ear and savoured the tremor that it elicited in him.

Letting out a trembling breath, the blonde replied: "I would hardly classify myself as your ex; we just shagged a few times and it wasn't e—wasn't even—haaaa!"

Harry had begun to kiss the sensitive skin below his earlobe, recalling how much Malfoy had always loved that, and was very pleased when he was rewarded with the same reaction as back when they were teenagers, trapped in a stifling castle and looking to kill their boredom.

"Okay, yeah, I'm glad, too," he now croaked in a shrill voice that was totally unlike his usual timbre, melting under Harry's sensual attention.

The opening act was finishing off their set to roars and applause from the audience, and they decided to find themselves a more secluded spot for the half-hour it would take for the roadies to set up the stage for SPEWs. Harry's loins were aching and he could feel his manhood pulsating and struggling against his tight jeans, longing to be let out and have a hot encounter with the blonde's equally hot arse.

In their eagerness to get out of the crowd, they collided with a couple of young women that were snogging so deeply and violently it looked like their tongues were wrestling for world domination.

"Hey!" one of them, a hot-tempered, snub-nosed witch with a short, black bob, yelled. "Watch where you're—Draco?!"

The blonde started next to him and looked as if he had seen a ghost. "Pansy!" he exclaimed, making it sound more like an accusation than a question. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

The petite woman that had once been one of the worst bullies at Hogwarts appeared to have grown into a fairly decent person. She was properly dressed, as always, in silky and intricately embroidered burgundy robes and sported neatly applied, not too flashy makeup—with the exception of the slightly smeared lipstick that matched her clothes. With a stature that witnessed of both great confidence and social prominence, she stared up at Malfoy unblinkingly, demanding explanations rather than feeling obliged to giving them.

"The question is what you are doing here," she declared, and then looked over at Harry, "and what you're doing here with him."

As if she had just pushed a 'provocation button' on Malfoy, he bristled and took an intimidating step towards her. "I'm not 'here with him'!" he informed her furiously. "I merely happened to run into him!"

She snorted. "Oh, please. As if you would just 'happen to run into' your ex at one of your favourite bands' concert …"

"He is not my ex! We just—Never mind, I am not getting into this discussion with you again."

In that moment, Parkinson's partner turned a dreamy, quirky smile on Harry. "Hi, Harry," she said pleasantly, as if there was not a row going on right next to them.

Taken aback, Harry had to work his mouth a few times to find his voice. "Er—hi, Luna," he finally managed. His eyes flickering to Parkinson, he recalled the intimate position they had been in when Malfoy and he tumbled into them. He could not for his life understand how someone as sensible and kind and good as Luna could end up with someone like Pansy Parkinson; his mind simply could not compute it. "So, you … you enjoying the concert?"

The dirty-blond ex-Ravenclaw lit up. "Oh, yes! I've never been to a concert before so I was a bit nervous at first, but Pans has made me feel right at home. She's always so intent on making sure that I'm comfortable," she said with a loving look at the black-haired vixen.

Staring from Luna to Parkinson and back again, Harry could not help but express his incredulity. "Intent on making sure you're comfortable? Parkinson?"

Were they even talking about the same person here?!

Seeing his disbelief, Luna laughed and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Five years is ample time for people to change, Harry." She nodded over at the arguing pair and gave him a knowing wink. "I think you know exactly what I mean."

Harry jerked and felt an incriminating blush conquer his face.

"Is it so inconceivable that he could like the same music as me?" Malfoy's voice cut into his thoughts, causing his attention to shift to the blonde.

"Yes!" Parkinson countered fiercely. "Who could possibly share your awful taste in music?"

"You're here, aren't you?!"

"And whose fault is that? If you hadn't persisted in playing those bloody records over and over for all of Slytherin to hear I wouldn't have been brainwashed, now would I?!"

"Okay, I think that's quite enough," Harry broke in, stepping in between the old friends before this turned into a fist fight. Putting his arm around Malfoy's, he began to steer the incensed blonde away from the ladies. "It was great seeing you again, Luna. We have to catch up sometime—yeah? And nice to meet you," he added in Parkinson's direction. "We need to get some drinks before SPEWs start playing, so you have a nice concert and we'll see you around, bye!"

Malfoy tried to wriggle free of him, but he held firm.

"Leggo of me!"

"So you can go beat up a girl and miss the best band in the world? I don't think so. Come on, let's get closer to the stage."

Once SPEWs took the stage, Malfoy forgot all about his dispute with Parkinson and that adorable, intoxicated, flushed expression returned to his face, and Harry found himself watching him as much as the band. He had never imagined Malfoy as able to loosen up and simply having fun—and here he was, dancing and headbanging and shouting along with the songs, apparently knowing all the lyrics by heart.

The more he watched the blonde's fluid movements, the more he wanted to feel him moving under him, on top of him, skin-to-skin with him—inside him. He wanted to feel those pale, elegant hands all over his body, caressing his face, pulling his hair, following the curve of his back, cupping his arse, massaging his crotch …

Just as he was thinking that, Malfoy turned his head around and met his gaze. His eyes were smouldering in the many-coloured lights from the stage and there was a deep, almost desperate desire in them. When he noticed that Harry was watching him, he gave him a self-righteous, naughty grin and licked his lips suggestively, making his intentions very plain. He seemed to be telling Harry that he could make all his dreams come true, and that instantly made all the blood rush down into Harry's nether regions. Hell, he was prepared to leave the concert right this second just to get in the sack with Malfoy!

Somehow, he managed to restrain himself enough to let Malfoy enjoy the rest of the concert—and he loved every hot gaze and every sensual touch the blonde bestowed on him. But for the sake of the game they were playing, he did not allow Harry to kiss him until they were back at the hotel, resulting in such a pressing need that he all but devoured Malfoy as soon as the door had closed behind them.

He had no memory of how they got there or even of them leaving the concert site, but he could care less. All that mattered to him at that moment was Malfoy's soft, full lips on his, their bodies entangled and pressed together, and the eager hands that were presently unbuttoning his jeans.

Once more he felt a rush that night, but this high differed slightly from the one he had felt at the concert. It was a combination of intoxication, arousal, and the familiarity of Malfoy's body, as if they were performing a dance that they had practiced a long, long time ago and were now rediscovering.

A moan escaped him when the blonde's hand finally found its way inside his trousers and grabbed hold of his hard, pounding erection, squeezing it promisingly.

He let go of Malfoy long enough to shrug out of his jeans and pull down his pants, firmly placing the blonde's hand around his cock and setting it in motion so he could enjoy a nice handjob while he tore off the blonde's band T-shirt and forcefully pulled off his trousers.

When they were both naked, the ex-Slytherin—used to getting what he wanted—violently grabbed Harry by his arse cheeks and pulled him down with him as he fell back onto the bed. With the same shameless assertion of his needs that had always attracted Harry in the past, Malfoy proceeded to direct him down to his crotch, indicating that he wanted him to blow him.

More than happy to comply, Harry opened his mouth and slowly, teasingly allowed the big, excitedly quivering cock inside, sliding it all the way down into his throat and holding it prisoner there for so long that Malfoy's breathing became strained and he practically begged for Harry to suck him off already!

Knowing exactly what got the blonde going, he moved his mouth up and down the delicious, precum-leaking limb so slowly that the movement could hardly be felt. At the same time, he made sure to let the tip of his tongue slide along the underside of the shaft, eliciting wonderful pleading noises from Malfoy.

Ignoring him, Harry closed his mouth around the tip of his cock and sucked hard, rotating his head to cause as much excruciatingly pleasurable friction as possible. Malfoy responded by grabbing hold of Harry's hair and trying to pull him off, but Harry mischievously held firm and kept sucking on the sensitive glans.

A desperate growl rose from deep within the blonde, and he forcefully seized hold of Harry's upper body and pulled him upwards, whereupon he swung them around, throwing the raven-haired man down on his back. With his prey finally pinned down under him, he stared at him with burning silver eyes and positioned himself.

Without preamble, he muttered a Lubricating Spell and pushed inside.

Harry let out a small cry of surprise but soon found his rhythm. He could find no words to describe the titillating sensation of once more being joined with the blonde, of once more moving in sync with him—two bodies becoming one being.

He happily rose to meet every hard thrust the blonde dealt, loving how he made him perspire, how he made his skin vibrate and every single nerve ending fire with pleasurable electricity. He loved feeling Malfoy's strong, masculine body pressing down on him, loved feeling his bollocks smacking against his exposed buttocks. And he definitely loved how Malfoy's hard, flat stomach repeatedly grinded against his dick, crushing it between their bodies and making it drool in ecstatic anticipation of shooting out its load.

As Malfoy closed in on his climax, he bent down and captured Harry's mouth with his own, hungrily snogging him as if his life depended on it. Harry responded by grabbing him by the arse and forcefully pushing him deeper inside him with every thrust.

The blonde broke the kiss to expel a cry of pleasure. "Fuck, Harry, you're gonna make me come!" he half panted, half growled into his mouth.

Harry gave him a mischievous grin. "So come, then," he taunted, lifting his head up to whisper directly into the blonde's ear. "Come with me."

He teasingly bit down on Malfoy's earlobe, effectively finishing him. Letting out cry after cry of ecstasy, the blonde arched his back and shook as the violent orgasm made him lose control of his body. Seeing his beautifully satisfied face and feeling him filling him up, Harry lost all control, as well, and came in a series of sensuous paroxysms that made him clench around the blonde's cock, making the experience even more erotic for them.

Falling down on top of him, Malfoy panted exhaustedly. Spontaneously, Harry put his arms around him and held him tight. "That was …" He could not find the words.

Malfoy slid down next to him and rested his head on his shoulder, looking like he was about to fall asleep any second.

Before Harry's eyelids fell shut, he had time to think that he was a lucky sonofabitch.

Harsh morning light and a pounding headache put everything in a different perspective. Lank, tousled hair, coarse beard stubble that painfully pressed into his shoulder and a rank breath that nauseated him made Harry feel as though he had woken up next to a stranger. And, in a way, that was exactly what he had done.

Although they had basically grown up together, they had never truly known each other, never truly cared much for each other. What they had known then had been their worst sides, and now—five years later—they did not even have that, for they had both changed.

Harry could look at him and recognise his distinguishing features and he could see the familiar marks left on his body, the faded Dark Mark and the Sectumsempra scars; ancient remains of a time they both probably wanted to forget ever existed.

But he had no idea who the man behind all that was.

Had he just made a mistake? He had allowed alcohol and old, adolescent habits take the wheel and went for a ride that, despite its amazingness, he never would have taken under normal circumstances.

Now the concert and his mini-vacation was over and he was expected to return to London to resume his Auror duties. His normal life. Where would Malfoy fit into that? Could he fit into that?

Next to him, the blonde stirred. A groan escaped his apparently dry throat, and he slowly, laboriously began to pull himself up into a sitting position.

"How much did we drink last night?" he croaked with a morning-hoarse voice. Tenderly rubbed at his left temple and grimaced in pain.

"Too much," Harry replied, feeling self-conscious next to the stunning blonde.

He did not quite know where to focus his gaze, feeling like he should not look at Malfoy's naked body, so he let his eyes roam the hotel room instead.

"What is this place?" Malfoy inquired in a disgusted, haughty tone, obviously having noticed his surroundings for the first time. Shooting up from the bed as if he expected it to be infested with all sorts of parasites, he proceeded to vigorously brush off his skin. Throwing Harry an accusatory and indignant look, he asked: "Where have you brought me?"

That reaction told Harry everything he needed to know. Stone-faced, he got up from the bed and began to dress. "Don't worry; I won't bring you to any place ever again," he promised, angry with himself for having mindlessly given in to a stupid erotic impulse. "This needn't ever leave this room; you can go back to your privileged pure-blood life and forget this ever happened."

With those words, he straightened up and uttered a simple spell that packed up all his belongings.

On the opposite side of the bed, Malfoy was glaring at him with the same furious gaze that he had used on Parkinson the night before. Clenching his jaw and flaring his nostrils, he said, "Fine. Have a nice life, Potter."

He had Disapparated before Harry could get another word out.

Life returned to normal faster than Harry would have liked. Being stuck behind a desk doing paperwork for the senior Aurors that got to go on raids and investigate suspected Death Eaters soon had him feeling depressed and unappreciated again.

Even though he tried everything he could not to, his mind kept wandering back to that night in Scotland. To the concert, the exhilaration of being free of his mindless responsibilities at the Ministry—to Malfoy.

The more he tried to focus all his attention on the tasks given to him, the more he thought about that electrifying, erotic feeling of being close to Malfoy, of feeling his hands on his skin and his lips pressed to his mouth. Wherever he looked, he thought he saw the familiar silver-blond head appear in a crowd or thought he heard that sexy drawl every time someone opened their mouth to speak. It was starting to drive him mad.

He could not understand what was happening to him. Why couldn't he get that bloody git out of his mind?!

One afternoon when he was asking himself that very question for the umpteenth time, he imagined that he saw the tall, slim frame and white-blond, pale countenance of Malfoy as usual as he walked down the corridor to a senior associate's office and made nothing of it. It was simply a part of his everyday life by this point.

"Hey, Linden," he said to the balding senior Auror, "where's that report you were going to send me three days ago for me to cross check?"

The Auror began to search through the unorganised stacks of paper on his desk. "Oh, sorry, Potter; I thought I had sent it along already … It's got to be here somewhere …"

Harry shifted his feet impatiently.

"Ah, here we have her!" Linden exclaimed, and handed the report over to Harry with a pleased smile on his thin lips. Then his attention was caught by something outside the office, and a puzzled frown made him look like he had a unibrow. "What's that sod Malfoy doing here?" he wondered aloud.

Harry stiffened at the mention of Malfoy's name. "Excuse me?"

"That bastard Draco Malfoy just went in Head Auror Sterling's office. 'Not a Death Eater,' my arse … If you ask me, he should've been put away in Azkaban, he should've! He's about as innocent as a—"

But Harry did not stay to find out what he was as innocent as; acting on a sudden need to see Malfoy, he rushed off across the hall to the Head Auror's office and darted in just as the blonde was taking a seat.

Surprised to see him running in like that, Harry's superior raised a questioning eyebrow. "Potter, is anything the matter?"

Without knowing himself what he was about to do, Harry ignored his boss and went straight up to the baffled blonde and pulled him up on his feet. With no thought in his head for decorum, he leant up and pressed his lips to Malfoy's.

When he pulled away, the blonde was staring at him in utter shock. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Finally feeling the puzzle pieces falling into place now that he had the object of his recent obsession in front of him, Harry shot off a sheepish smile. "What I should have done weeks ago, in that hotel room," he declared boldly.

Malfoy frowned. "I don't—Potter, what are you on about?"

He glanced to the side, at Head Auror Sterling, apparently worried what he might think of this. Harry, on the other hand, did not care what anyone else thought; there was only one person whose opinion of him truly mattered.

"I'm sorry about what I said that morning, Draco," he told the blonde now. "I was too thick to realise what I wanted. But now I do: I want you."

The blonde blinked at him incredulously. "You called me 'Draco,'" he all but accused, fixing Harry with a stare that made him squirm and expect to be cursed at any moment. But then his mouth curled into a lopsided, mischievous grin. "It's about bloody time."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! =D Please let me know what you thought of it, and feel free to give me any requests/suggestions for future one-shots. ;)

Have an amazing day! =)
Lots of Love,
Pipe.