What had started as another boring Wednesday at the Ministry - one of a long line of boring Wednesdays, sandwiched between an equally long line of boring Tuesdays and mind-numbingly boring Thursdays - took a turn for the interesting when Harry's flustered secretary stormed into his office to curtly inform him that a Mister Malfoy was there to see him and that she didn't get paid nearly enough to deal with the man another minute.
Harry, startled, watched unseeing as the elaborate card tower crumbled in front of him and the secretary marched out, returned with Malfoy in tow, and then stalked off.
Harry hadn't seen Malfoy since the trials. He'd kept tabs on him, of course. Quietly, after Hermione sighed "Oh, Harry," one too many times and even Ron's agreement that the git was probably up to something became tight-lipped and forced. Harry didn't really think he was up to something either - Malfoy had been a model citizen, after the war. Had been an integral part of the cleanup and rebuilding, even. Harry just couldn't seem to let it go.
And, now, five years later, here he was. In the flesh. In Harry's bloody office. And he. Was. Gorgeous.
With a sinking feeling, and the clarity gained from confessing his sexuality to Ginny, Harry finally admitted it to himself. He didn't want to know what Malfoy was up to. He never had. He wanted him. Full stop.
"Potter," Malfoy snapped, waving a pale hand in front of Harry's face. "Potter! Have you finally lost what little wits you possessed?"
Harry jerked his gaze from Malfoy's elegantly manicured fingernails to his familiar sneer, and groaned. Of course Malfoy only looked like an angel. To his horror, seeing that familiar expression on Malfoy's chiseled - no longer the least bit pointy - features only fueled the fire eating at his insides. It just wasn't fair! With an effort, he firmed his jaw and forced his face into the indifferent mask he employed at Ministry functions.
"Malfoy. Why are you here?"
Malfoy's sneer twisted his beautiful face into ugly lines, and Harry's insides twisted with it. He squirmed a little in his seat, only half-listening as Malfoy launched into a complicated tale involving, as far as Harry could tell, muggles, breadsticks, and counterfeit umbrellas. He watched Malfoy's lips move, letting the words roll over him without really sinking in, licking his own lips absently.
Malfoy broke off suddenly and stared at him suspiciously. "Potter. Are you even listening?"
"No," Harry said without thinking, because he hadn't been, and Umbridge's spell still held him when he didn't have the presence of mind to beat it into submission.
Malfoy stared. "Why not?" he asked, indignant, and it was clear he didn't expect an answer, and equally clear that Harry wasn't going to win this one either.
He waved the door shut, and suddenly the room felt too small, stifling. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he said, defiantly, "Because you're too bloody gorgeous for your own good and I can't stand another minute, so either get over here and snog me or get the fuck out of my office!'
Malfoy stared for a long minute, utterly gobsmacked. Then a lazy smirk started playing along the edges of his too-red lips, and Harry was done for. He was out of his chair and standing in front of Malfoy before the thought had fully formed in his head, and he crowded into Malfoy's space, catching hold of his smart muggle tie and tugging on it lightly.
"It can't be legal to look that good," he breathed, and Malfoy huffed out a laugh that turned into a moan as Harry applied more pressure.
"What are you going to do, Potter?" he smirked, "bring me in for questioning?"
Harry didn't bother replying, just tugged again, pulling Malfoy's face down to his own and kissing him harshly.
"Merlin, Potter," Draco gasped, when they broke apart, panting, some time later. "If I'd known you wanted me like that —" He paused, eyes suddenly calculating. "How long have you wanted me like that, Potter? Assuming this isn't some sadistic Gryffindor plot to find out if I'm up to something."
"It's not," Harry said, not even bothering to fight the compulsion. "And—" he hesitated, but the spell nudged at him, and he sighed. "And for as long as I've known you, I think. I just didn't realize it until recently."
Malfoy stared, scandalized. "Potter. You don't just admit something like that! Why would you…"
He trailed off as Harry rolled his eyes and thrust his hand under Malfoy's nose.
"That's why," he said shortly.
Malfoy's eyes widened, and he whistled softly as he took Harry's hand between his own, turning it over and then tracing the letters carved into his skin with a delicate finger - I must not tell lies. His hands were warm. Harry had always thought they'd be cold, but, this close, Malfoy's body radiated a surprising amount of heat. It was… nice.
He looked up, startled, when Malfoy raised his hand to his lips and kissed it gently, face flushing and grey eyes unreadable.
"Who did this to you?" he asked, and Harry stared at him, thrown off-balance by the steel in his voice.
"Er, Umbridge," he said, frowning. Malfoy was skating the tips of his fingers lightly over Harry's palm, and it was damn distracting. "I thought you knew."
Malfoy breathed in sharply at that, and his fingers stilled. "I didn't. Right. Come on, then."
"Er, what? Where?"
"That slimy toad's office," Draco said grimly. "Where you are going to look disapproving and I am going to make her life hell until she removes that curse."
Harry stared at him, feeling the blood drain out of his face. "It can't be removed."
Draco snorted, but his gaze was like ice. "Oh, it bloody well can. Now. Come on." He turned and swept from the room.
Harry fell obediently into step behind Malfoy, taking a moment to appreciate the way the clean lines of his charcoal suit hugged his lithe body.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, pulling it into a wide - and likely a bit manic - grin. Harry's feet felt lighter than they had in years as he realized that his life would very likely never be boring again.