Word Count: approx. 1500 words

Pairing: Draco/Harry

Author's Note: This is for Nexie. Just because.

Draco hated going to the Auror Department Christmas parties. The war had ended years ago, but most people chose to forget that whenever they looked at him. It was difficult enough at work when people had to talk to him about cases and paperwork. No one ever looked him in the eye, their sentences were always clipped and cold and no one had ever invited Draco to sit with them in the cafeteria at lunch. Not that he cared about things like that.

The Auror Department Christmas parties were always ten times worse than work. Technically, attendance wasn't mandatory, but everyone had been even more standoffish and cold after he'd skipped the first one. One Auror had made it a point to wander by talking loudly with his friend about how some people thought they were 'too good' to attend like the rest of them. So Draco came to the miserable things even though everyone made it a point to ignore him the entire time.

"Having a good time, Malfoy?" Potter asked politely.

Draco fought against rolling his eyes. Perhaps 'everyone' was hyperbole, but Potter didn't count. When Potter and Draco had both been trainees there had been an accident and Draco had flung himself in front of Potter deflecting a rigged trap-spell. Draco still had the scar on his hip, and he'd gained one personal champion in the form of Harry Potter.

While others might complain about Malfoy's presence as an Auror in the DMLE Potter had always spoken up for him. Draco was conflicted about Potter's continued championing of him. On the one hand, a Malfoy didn't need anyone to hold his hand. On the other hand, it was nice to have at least one person talk to him. Still, he didn't need Potter gracing him with his presence because he felt sorry for Draco. He would much rather not speak to anyone if the only reason Potter talked to him was because he thought Draco was a pathetic git who needed Potter to befriend him. The very thought made Draco's belly roil.

"Passable," Draco replied.

"Try the punch," Potter suggested cheerfully. "Boot's outdone himself this time."

"Thank you," Draco said with polite coolness.

Potter seemed to falter for a moment. The irrepressible brightness of his green eyes seemed to dim for a moment and Draco couldn't help but feel as though he'd just kicked a baby kneazle.

"Well, er, have a good time," Potter mumbled and hurried off.

The punch tasted like acid, but Draco suspected that was more because he'd just blown Potter off rather than the actual punch. He really hated these stupid office parties, but the Christmas party seemed to be even more wretched than any of the others. At least this year Draco wasn't forced to watch Potter with his boyfriend of the month, not that Draco cared about whom Potter was dating at the moment.

With a sigh, Draco set down his cup of punch and went to the loo. He passed by several Aurors who ignored him, but Draco was used to that sort of treatment. When he was done he washed his hands and slipped back out into the hall. He was passing by the supply room when he heard his name. He stiffened in surprise and glanced about quickly. He slipped easily into the darkened supply room and pushed the door so that it looked as though it was closed, but he could still hear everything said in the hallway.

"That arrogant git Malfoy just makes my blood boil," growled an older Auror named Hastings.

"Where did the berk go?" Boot asked curiously.

"I honestly don't care," Hastings snapped. "Let's go see if there are any of those little cheese things left."

Draco shut the door silently and turned to lean against it; the shadows of the dim room gave him a semblance of privacy. If he weren't so damned determined to do all of this on his own—to prove himself—he'd chuck it all and never come out of the Manor again. The thought of living with his Father again made him shudder slightly and he bumped a stack of parchment. He cursed under his breath and steadied the parchment. He heard someone clear their throat.

"Who's there?" A husky voice asked.

"Malfoy," Draco snapped irritably. "Just give me a minute and you can get back to shagging one another in the supply room."

A low, familiar chuckle drifted over to Draco and made heat pool low in his belly. "Did you just tell me to go fuck myself, Malfoy?" Potter asked in a curiously thick voice.

"No," Draco said in surprise. "I didn't realize it was you, Potter. I thought… never mind."

"You thought I was them?" Potter asked nodding his head to indicate their fellow Aurors.

Draco shrugged. "It's the logical assumption. It is an Auror party."

Potter shook his head in the dim light. "No. I mean them. They do nothing but flick you shite day after day. Why do you put up with it?"

Draco snorted. "I haven't got much choice, have I?"

"Sure you do," Potter contradicted him. "You could leave wizarding Britain. I've heard that some purebloods have gone where they're a little less well known. Canada, Australia, the States, have all reported the immigration of old pureblood families. You could live with your mother and father. You could go work for some private company. You could go work in a different department where they would be quite so blatant about their prejudice. But you don't do any of that. You stay here. Why?"

Draco shrugged. None of this was Potter's business.

"C'mon Malfoy. I'm curious. Why the hell would you stay here where your co-workers tell you repeatedly how much you don't belong here?" Potter's voice sounded strange. He sounded curious, but there was some other emotion under everything else.

"You don't," Draco muttered.

"I don't what?" Potter asked.

"You don't tell me I don't belong. You're… you're nice to me," Draco muttered almost against his will.

"You saved my life," Potter pointed out.

Draco rolled his eyes, but in the darkness Potter probably couldn't see it. "I've saved Boot's life, too, but he certainly isn't trying to be my best friend and personal champion."

"I'm not trying to be your friend," Potter growled.

That actually hurt because Draco had assumed that Potter was attempting to be friendly in a weird, over-the-top Gryffindorish way. His stomach flip-flopped in an unpleasant way.

"Oh," Draco said and he hated the way his voice sounded small and hurt.

"Bloody hell," Potter growled under his breath. Then he grabbed Draco by the arms and shook him. "Look… I don't want to be your friend. I want… oh, shite."

Potter slammed him up against a wall of shelving that held supplies and inventory. Draco gasped in surprise as a silver shower of paper clips rained down on them. He gasped for an entirely different reason when Potter pressed him against the shelving and kissed him.

It wasn't that Draco hadn't thought about kissing Potter; perhaps once or twice in his more outlandish fantasies. It was more that the reality of the thing had almost no resemblance to his fantasies. The stubble on Potter's cheeks and chin scraped his skin, the contrasting softness of Potter's lips as they moved against his, the sharp nip of Potter's teeth were all things that Draco hadn't properly considered. Then there was the heavy warm weight of two meters worth of muscle pressing against him in ways that made him feel rather light-headed. Suddenly the pressure was gone and Potter was backing away from him.

"Shite. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. Merlin, Malfoy, can you forgive me?" Potter was babbling at him.

Draco tried to peer through the dim light at Potter. Was he mad? He was sorry? For what?

"Dra-Malfoy, please," Potter was begging him. "I'm sorry. I lost my head there for a minute. I promise it'll never happen again. Just say something."

Never happen again? Sod that. Draco threw himself on Potter and Draco plastered his lips to Potter's. An urgency burned through him—as though this might be his only opportunity to ever do this—and he clung to Potter as he attempted to give him the snog of his life. He could feel Potter's fingers clutching at his robes. His fingers slid easily into wild, spiky hair to hold Potter in place. Potter's lips parted and Draco took advantage eagerly.

When Draco pulled back he was panting, but so was Potter.

"So… you don't want to be my friend," Draco panted at him.

Potter's hands tightened on his robes and Draco was pulled against him tightly.

"No," Potter mumbled against Draco's lips. "I do not want to be your friend."

Draco grinned against Potter's lips. "All right," he whispered. Then he paused and his grin grew wider. "Harry."

"Does that mean I can call you Draco now?" Potter whispered back.

Draco smirked to himself. "Maybe."

Harry kissed him until he panted a 'yes' out against Harry's ear.