Title: You Had Me.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny
Summary: "Tell me, Potter… Is it still me that makes you sweat?" Harry had told himself that his life had started to go wrong when Draco Malfoy joined the Auror office. Truthfully, it had gone wrong long before that. Oneshot.
Rating: M for significant swearing and sex. Slash, of course.
Authors note: This oneshot is based around the lyrics to a Panic! at the Disco song (thanks for the pointer DarkAthene;]) that I love, from which the title and two of Draco's lines have been adapted from… Points to anyone who can work out which one! But I can't really give out much more than the warm satisfaction of knowing you worked it out, sorry! [Note, obviously I don't own the song, it's all the fantastic lyrical work of Panic!, I take no credit for their words!]
You Had Me
Harry had told himself that his life had started to go wrong when Draco Malfoy joined the Auror office.
Truthfully, it had gone wrong long before that.
When Malfoy joined the office, Harry's objections hadn't been considered out of the ordinary. Of course, many of the witches and wizards who worked in the department had rather loudly raised concerns. And, of course, 'raised concerns' was a rather mild euphemism for what had occurred. From open sneers to downright refusal to accept Malfoy as an Auror partner. Harry remembered with burning ears the morning that Kingsley – or rather, Minister Shacklebolt, as Harry now had to address him – had called him into his office.
"I'm appalled, Harry." He had said, gazing down at Harry with a long, hard look. The use of Harry's first name had made the disappointment more personal, more raw than the usual telling off he received after he… twisted a Ministry rule in order to catch a criminal. "You were the one to speak for Malfoy at his trial. You were the one to tell us all to pardon him and, from all accounts, you were civil to him during your year back at Hogwarts. I was counting on you to guide the department, set an example."
Harry had hung his head, his cheeks burning in shame. He supposed the expression would be taken as embarrassment in the way he had directed himself upon news of Malfoy's imminent arrival in their ranks, not the embarrassment of an event long before that.
"Therefore I'm assigning you as Auror Malfoy's partner." Harry would never forget the way Kingsley had stressed Malfoy's title and the look in his eyes which had dared Harry to defy him. Of course, he hadn't. "You will set an example to the Auror office and you will work with Malfoy." The look that had then crossed the older wizards face had told Harry their conversation was over and Harry had left his office without a word.
That had been a month ago.
Since then the month, the four weeks, the thirty days (although, Harry debated if he should count the full thirty – he was only in the office Monday to Friday, but his weekends were plagued by thoughts of Malfoy, so he argued with himself that he could) had been hell.
Not hell in the way that many would assume. Malfoy was an excellent Auror. He was sharp, observant and had a cool head. If Harry were a strategist overseeing the Auror department he would have thought them a perfect match; Malfoy's cool, calm demeanour was the perfect balance to Harry's hot headed, impulsive reactions.
Harry shivered involuntary as he thought of himself and Malfoy as a 'perfect match'.
The month had been torture for Harry. A torture that he had to keep to himself, a torture which he spoke of to no one else. Because to tell them of his torture would mean he would have to tell them of how he acquired it.
The smirk, the arrogance, the downright egotism never left Malfoy. He didn't sneer, he didn't make jibes. He didn't say anything at all. Instead he stared at Harry across their office with eyes that said;
I know.
I've not forgotten.
Every time Harry caught that particular gaze, he hurried home to his wife, to Ginny and tried to loose himself in her.
It never worked.
It never had.
The morning 18th July dawned like any other for most of the wizarding world. For many witches and wizards, perhaps, it marked a rush in preparations for the following day when their sons and daughters would return home from a full year of Hogwarts.
It was not, however, a day like any other for Harry.
It was a date he would never forget.
When Harry arrived at work, he saw Malfoy already at his desk. He lifted his gaze as Harry entered the office, smirked, and notably pointed his gaze toward the calendar.
Apparently, it had become a date he would never forget, too.
Harry determinedly tore his gaze away and set himself down at his desk and pulling a mountain of paperwork towards him. He would not allow himself to remember, he would not allow himself to think. He would work, he would forget.
At least that was the plan.
"I know you know what today is, Potter." Malfoy drawled from across the room. It was the first time he had spoken to him which didn't concern a case they were working on. Harry flinched, both in surprise that he had spoken and in horror at his words. His reaction seemed to amuse Malfoy, mirth danced in his gaze and the smirk he wore widened across his angular features.
Trembling – unsure if the motion came from fear or anger – Harry rose from his desk. He would feign illness, return home to bed. Perhaps open a bottle of Firewhiskey – Ginny would be at work all day, after all – and drink until he passed out and forget this day existed.
As he reached the door an arm flew across it, blocking his path to freedom. He blinked, finding himself face-to-face with Malfoy. He had no idea how the wizard got there so fast; if Harry hadn't known it was impossible within the Ministry he would have sworn the blonde apparated.
Steel grey eyes bore into his, glimmering with challenge. The look was hard, determined and defiant. He looked, Harry thought, like a predator that had finally cornered its prey.
Indeed, Harry knew, that was exactly what Malfoy was.
"Tell me, Potter…" He drawled, his voice no more than a breathy whisper which carried across the silent room. "Is it still me who makes you sweat? Am I who you think about in bed? When the lights are dim and you're sliding off her dress?"
Harry paled instantly. His throat dried and his heart beat wildly against his rib cage. He felt like a Pygmy Puff facing a Hungarian Horntail. Malfoy's eyes positively glittered and Harry found it hard to breathe.
Unwillingly, he remembered.
The end of term feast had been emotional for many reasons. Firstly, it was the last feast Harry would ever spend at Hogwarts, a place which had been home to him for longer than he felt possible. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, it was the only year Harry had managed at Hogwarts which was entirely normal. The "eighth" years as they had called themselves had smuggled in a crate of Firewhiskey and taken it down to the lake to celebrate their freedom, their future. Even Hermione, considerably relaxed by her relationship with Ron, didn't voice her disapproval.
Even Malfoy had attended.
The year, Harry knew, had been hard for him. He had returned to Hogwarts as part of his contractual probation; that in return to freedom he would finish his education then, for three years afterward, be placed under the magical trace once more as well as reporting to an designated Magical Law Enforcement Employee once a month. If, the Wizengamot had said, he could spend those three years free from any magical activity considered dark or dangerous; he would be a free man.
Of course, Harry had shown him more than enough solidarity when he defended him at his trial, but he had continued throughout this year, extending a civil, welcoming hand of friendship to Malfoy and, in turn, encouraging others to do the same.
It had been by no means a miracle cure, but as the year had worn on – especially as N.E.W.T's crept upon them and people realised how magically gifted Malfoy actually was – people had begun to accept him.
Harry enjoyed the celebration with his friends, keeping one eye on Malfoy and consuming far more Firewhiskey than necessary. At some point, Ron and Hermione had slipped away. Harry no longer found this a strange occurrence – he'd stopped questioning their disappearances when he went searching for them and found them in a very questionable position in a disused broom cupboard. They, of course, assumed he was spending time with Ginny. The truth was their relationship hadn't rekindled in the way either may have hoped and, for now, friendship was all they shared.
That had been enough to put him off looking for them for life.
Soon enough, wizard by wizard and witch by witch, Harry's classmates slipped away. Soon only he and Malfoy remained, the last bottle of Firewhiskey between them.
Malfoy had been the first to speak.
"So, Auror training, I presume?" He'd asked, not looking at Harry. He was gazing out at the lake, wearing an expression Harry couldn't read.
"Me and Ron have applied." Harry said in response – what he didn't say, of course, was that he and Ron had been accepted already, before their N.E.W.T's had even been revealed. Defeating one of the Darkest wizards in recent history apparently had some perks which Harry wasn't completely against.
Malfoy nodded, picking up a stone and skimming it across the water. Harry sat beside him, picking up the bottle and downing a burning gulp of the rich amber liquid. He'd already had more than enough; his mind was a fuzzy haze and every bone in his body seemed to tingle. Yet for some reason, here alone with Malfoy, he felt he needed more.
"What will you do?" He asked. It was a breath, a whisper, and as Malfoy sat in silence Harry was sure he hadn't heard. Part of Harry was glad he hadn't, it was a question he'd been wondering about for some time, but one he hadn't dared to ask.
"The Ministry have already given me a low ranking admin position. To prove my commitment to the new found wizarding world, they said." The distaste in Malfoy's tone was clear although Harry had a feeling he wouldn't display it to anyone but him. Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably; the Malfoy he had seen during and after the war, the pain and bravery he had survived, deserved much more than a low ranking admin position. It was as if they wanted to humiliate him.
Which, Harry supposed, they did.
"You're worth more." Harry said.
He knew it was true.
Malfoy looked over to him and caught his gaze. Suddenly, Harry couldn't breathe. He was startled by the way Malfoy's hair shone in the moonlight, the way the reflection of the lake made his grey eyes gleam, the way the darkness cast shadows across his features, accentuating his already angular features.
He was breath-taking.
"Don't say things you don't mean, Potter." Malfoy had whispered in reply. His voice wavered, unsure. Almost as if he was asking for Harry to prove that he did mean it.
Harry did.
He kissed him.
He leaned forward, crushing his lips against Malfoy's. His gesture – more of a lunge than anything – was clumsy and uncoordinated and he bumped against Malfoy with a jolt. Yet it only took each boy a moment to find themselves and soon enough lips were moving together with feverent speed. Malfoy's tongue slid out, sliding across Harry's lips and Harry eagerly allowed the entrance it requested. Their tongues were soon locked in a battle, fighting ferociously against each other for dominance, neither willing to give up the moment.
As the kiss raged hands roamed; Harry's found their way around Malfoy's shoulders, grasping the hard lines of his body as the blonde's found their way into his partner's dark, tangled hair. A moan escaped Harry's lips as Malfoy's fingers raked his scalp and Harry felt the smirk which the blonde gave into the kiss in response.
Determined to regain control, Harry used his grasp on Malfoy's shoulders to push him down against the grass, straddling himself over his body and pinning him to the ground without breaking the kiss at all. The whimper of surprise which left Malfoy's lips allowed Harry to smirk in return.
Their passion continued that way, each fighting for dominance, before hands roamed further.
Although Harry remembered every detail of that night clearly, he couldn't remember who reached for whose robes first. All he knew was that soon enough the Gryffindor and Slytherin crested uniforms had been thrown away, leaving both boys in their shirts and trousers although that was still too much. Harry tugged eagerly at the buttons on Malfoy's shirt as his partner began to unfasten the belt which held Harry's trousers up. Moans were now flowing openly into the kiss without a care to who made them as they stripped each other of their clothes. The heated passion between their bodies was ablaze, protecting them from the cool night air which surrounded them.
Eventually, both were naked, lying in the grass by the lake, panting.
Harry looked at Malfoy with half-lidded eyes, his gaze hungrily devouring the body he had never realised he wanted. Merlin, he had never known he liked blokes. He still wasn't sure if he did, all he knew was that Malfoy was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
When he returned his gaze to Malfoy he saw the same lust reflected there and, without a second thought, he pounced.
His lips once again claimed Malfoys and his hands roamed, tracing the lines of his naked chest, down his rips, over his hips to claim what he desired. Malfoy groaned, a long, throaty sound as Harry's hand clasped around his hard cock. Truthfully, Harry had no idea what he was doing. He reacted to the sounds Malfoy made and what his body told him he wanted. Soon enough Malfoy's hand grasped Harry took and they rocked together, gasping and panting in their pleasure.
"Wait.." Malfoy had breathed, pulling himself from the heated kiss they were sharing "You need to fuck me."
Harry shivered; not from the cold, but from the desire which vibrated in Malfoy's words. Harry knew that what Malfoy said was true – he needed to claim him, to be inside him. He had never known he could feel like this before. Before Harry could even consider what he would need to do or how their encounter would work Malfoy had reached for his wand, waving a lazy circle and murmuring some Latin Harry did not understand. Suddenly, he felt his cock slick with wetness. For a moment, he was surprised. Then, he was jealous. How did Malfoy know the spell? Had he done this before? With who? Then, he realised, he had no right to be jealous as he had only himself realised he wanted this a few moments ago.
Locking his eyes with Malfoy's he positioned himself between the blonde's legs and pushed himself inside. He wasn't aware of the way his fingers grasped Malfoy's hips so strongly that his fingernails broke the skin. He wasn't even aware of the primal, strangled moan which flew from his lips. He was only aware of the tightness, how right it felt, and how he needed to move.
And move he did. He rocked into Malfoy, thrusting forward repeatedly. Before he managed to find a steady rhythm, he found himself close to the edge, pleasure building. He balanced himself on one arm in order to wrap his hand around the hard length of Malfoy's cock which pulsed between them and attempted, with little success, to match the rhythm of his hips and hand. His failure, however, seemed to be of little concern to the partner below him.
Malfoy's head was thrown back, exposing a long, pale neck which Harry suddenly had the urge to bite. He leant forward, not stilling his hand or hips, and sank his teeth into the skin. Malfoy gasped and arched his back in return. Breathlessly, he whispered "call me Draco."
That was all Harry needed to hear. He came undone, pulsing into his partner with the strangled cry he requested.
"Draco…"
"Harry…" His partner moaned in return as he reached his climax.
Harry collapsed, pulling himself out of Malfoy and rolling to the side, spent.
When he regained his breath, he also regained his sense of reality.
The shock of what happened set in.
He had just had sex with Draco Malfoy.
He pushed himself to his feet and, before he could stop himself, found the bile rising, burning in his throat. He threw his head over the side of the lake and vomited. The Firewhiskey burned coming back up as much as it had going down.
Then, without a second glance, he wandlessly called his robes and fled.
Harry blinked, returning to the reality of the office. Malfoy was still standing, trapping him in, staring him down. Harry battled against his dry throat, although even if he had the ability to speak, he knew words would have failed him.
"No?" Malfoy prompted, his eyes still glittering, although the smirk had dropped. His expression was now as hard as his eyes. Cool. Cold. "Well, I'll tell you something then, Potter." He leaned close, so close Harry could feel his breath on his lips. "The next morning as we left for the carriages, I was sure I would find you. Waiting for me with some Gryffindor excuse, naturally. It was clear you were a virgin, even clearer that you hadn't even considered your sexuality before that moment. I decided I was willing to allow you that… Moment." Malfoy's lips curled as he spoke, his gaze now practically Arctic. "Then, I saw you with her. The She Weasel. Holding hands." His last two words were spat with distaste, Harry felt the flecks of moisture hit his lips. "I only allowed myself that one night. Malfoy's do not mope. Malfoy's certainly do not pine after others. So I began my work, I realised that what you said that night, whether you meant it or not, was true. I was worth more. I worked hard, showed my talents to the right people. Now I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here, every day, reminding you. I'm no longer weakened by you, Potter. I realised something very powerful when I saw the look on your face the first day I entered the office. It's the same look on your face now."
Malfoy paused, and the smirk broke back through his cold expression. Harry still stood, pale and frozen in shock, his entire body trembling under Malfoy's gaze.
"I realised that I'm better. I've got a better wit, a better touch, a hotter fuck than anyone. You might be happily married, Potter, but you already had the best you were ever going to have. You had me."
Malfoy dropped his arm and swept from the room, leaving Harry to drop to his knees.
The breath returned to his body all at once, emotions hitting him from every direction. He lunged for the waste bin and with a heave not unlike the one on that fateful night, emptied the contents of his stomach.
The realisation that hit him was worse than anything he'd ever experienced.
Malfoy was right.