Disclaimer: Does not belong to me! I am only writing for personal amusement and not monetary gain of any kind. All rights, characters, etc. belong to J. K. Rowling and associates.
Pairing: Harry / Draco (preslash)
Warnings: SLASH – This story has boy/boy themes. If this is not your cup of tea, please do not proceed.
Summary: According to Draco, Harry can't even execute a simple rescue mission properly.
"Some Savior you are, Potter. You can't even execute a simple rescue mission properly."
"This wasn't supposed to be a rescue mission, Malfoy. We were to follow the coordinates Kingsley gave us, not go pratting about the countryside." Harry replied angrily. They'd been sniping at each other with increasing ire for the last forty-five minutes. Ever since Malfoy read a longitude wrong and Apparated them to the middle of nowhere instead of to the Auror base camp. For their exercise, a spell had been placed on them to only allow a certain number of Apparition jumps. They had used their last one to get here... wherever here was.
Draco crossed his arms and glared at his partner. "It's not my fault Kingsley has atrocious handwriting. It's a wonder your side managed to win the War, who could possibly read intelligence reports written by that man?"
Harry rolled his eyes and latched a hand onto the back of his aching neck. "Are you ever going to get tired of that line?"
"I beg your pardon?"
The green-eyed Auror gestured vaguely with his free hand. "You know, the whole 'how you managed to win the war' bit. 'It's a wonder your side managed to win the war, you're such a klutz, Potter. Potter, I still don't see how someone as clueless as you managed to win the war. Your side consisted of a bunch of bumbling idiots, I don't see how you managed to win the war.' Especially when you're tired. You start drawing it like a wand." Harry made it a good twenty paces through the ankle deep snow before he realized Malfoy was no longer beside him. Turning, he saw the blond standing stock still, hands on his hips, his face the very definition of shocked and appalled. Harry sighed and trudged back. As soon as he was within hearing distance, the blustering began.
"I cannot believe you have the gall to accuse me of being unoriginal in my insults. I'll have you know I do not draw that particular line like a wand."
"You pulled it four times last week." Harry pointed out.
Draco looked smug. "See, I only use it in moderation."
"Eight times the week before that."
The blond sniffed. "Well if the cloak fits, Potter."
"And a whopping six times during that last twenty-four hour stakeout." Harry was on a roll now.
"What, are you keeping count or something? How pathetic." Draco sneered, obviously trying to cover up the fact that he really had no idea he said it so frequently.
The dark-haired Auror grinned. "Actually I am keeping count. Most of them are pretty run of the mill, but every now and then you come up with a good one. Like the time you said you couldn't believe I won the war since my cock is thicker than a block of wood."
xxXxx
Draco felt himself blushing and hoped his cheeks were already pink enough from cold to hide it. "I meant your head, your head is thicker than a block of wood."
Harry leered at him and leaned in close. "Technically that's not much better than the original."
They remained like that for a heartbeat, heads close together, breath mingling in the cold air, eyes locked. Then Draco shivered, unable to hold the intense green gaze. Instead he stepped around Potter and stormed down the path. "This is ridiculous. Here we are, stuck outside in a blizzard--"
"It's barely snowing," Harry put in, his voice far too close for Draco's liking.
The blond continued as if he hadn't heard him. "All because you can't execute a rescue mission--"
"Actually, it's because you apparently can't read map coordinates to save your pureblooded arse."
Draco whirled on his partner. "Are you always this fractious? Or am I just special?"
Harry, obviously not expecting Draco's sudden stop, plowed into him. Normally, Draco would have caught the man, held on to his arms a moment too long and then made some snide comment about Potter's utter lack of grace. He cringed when the first thing that came to mind started with the words "I don't see how you won the war…". Perhaps he really did say that too often. However, in this instance, when Draco grabbed Harry's arms and then stepped back to cushion the impact of the body colliding with his, Draco's heel caught on something hidden in the snow. Suddenly he was careening backward and, tightening his grip on Potter by instinct, dragging the other man down with him.
Mercifully, they landed in a snow bank but the fall still knocked the wind out of them both. When Draco finally felt like he could breathe properly again, he glanced up to see Potter staring down at him with wide green eyes. Draco unconsciously licked his lips and watched with fascination as Potter tracked the move almost greedily with his gaze.
"You are special," Potter whispered, leaning close to the blond's ear.
Draco's breath caught. Finally! After weeks of dancing around one another, they were going to do something about this, this thing that had been growing between them. He felt Harry's breath ghost over the shell of his ear and he suppressed a shiver.
"I'm never this fractious with the other Aurors."
Draco blinked and then blinked again. His brain was having trouble processing Harry's words. He'd been expecting adoration or lust or something to that effect, not... Reality finally caught up with him and Draco realized Potter was having him on. With a supreme effort, he threw the other Auror off of his chest and struggled to his feet.
"You are colossal, Potter, absolutely colossal!" he shouted, towering over the other man.
Harry had the audacity to grin. "Why thank you, Malfoy."
The blond threw up his hands in disgust and stormed away, muttering about idiot partners and ridiculous libidos and winning wars. He heard Potter grunt as he presumably pulled himself out of the snow bank. Draco was possessed with an overwhelming urge to shove the prat right back into it again. And then hex him. Or perhaps snog him. He wasn't sure which. He turned to act on one of the two and promptly tripped.
"What the bloody buggering hell do I keep stumbling over?!"
He thought he heard Potter say something about "your own two feet" but Draco was too busy unearthing a large, shriveled, rock-like item that may or may not have been a vegetable at one point in time.
"What. Is this?" He was breathing heavily after his shouting and stomping fit.
"If I were to guess, I'd say a rutabaga."
Grey eyes lifted to pierce Potter with a steely gaze. "And just why, exactly, would that be your guess, Potter?"
Harry pointed to something over Draco's left shoulder. He glanced around and immediately saw what Potter was motioning toward. "Welcome to Bob and Ethel's Rootin' Tootin' Rutabaga Farm" a weathered sign read. Beneath the hand lettered words were several crude drawings of what were presumably rutabagas; happy, smiling rutabagas.
"That is disturbing."
"Tell me about it," Potter replied.
Draco realized that they were having a civil conversation which, in light of Potter's earlier antics, would not do. Draco was still angry with him.
"I'm going to go see if they have any Floo powder," he announced dismissively, making it perfectly clear that Potter could stand out in the cold and freeze for all he cared. He was almost to the squat farmhouse that huddled just beyond the sign when a hand caught his elbow. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, preventing him from turning, and a chin suddenly rested on his shoulder.
"Did it ever occur to you," Harry asked softly, "that maybe I wanted our first kiss to be someplace a little more special than the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold?"
"Hufflepuff," he muttered without much rancor, relaxing back into Harry's embrace. They stood like that for several minutes and Draco realized that he could feel the other man's heartbeat against this back. For some reason that put him even more at ease.
"Come on," Potter said finally, "let's get out of here."