***
Harry glanced to his right, watching the boy sleeping next to him, an amused grin spreading itself across his face.
Who could have guessed that Draco Malfoy would ever be caught sprawled on his back across the seats in a corner nook while waiting for the Japanese Minister of Magic? Not Harry Potter, that's for certain.
Dressed in muggle jeans and a dark purple button up shirt, he blended in perfectly with the other people crowded in the room who were also dozing comfortably while they waited, with the exception of his fair skin and white-blond hair. As people entered the room, their eyes would automatically be drawn to the pair in the corner, curious as to why there were two young men of foreign origin waiting amongst the shorter, darker-skinned Japanese wizards.
As gazes lingered on the pair, they were drawn from the one with the palest skin most had ever seen to his companion, who, while significantly more tanned, was still an oddity to be seen in such a place. As soon as eye contact was made with the companion, however, gazes were quickly averted to avoid the piecing green eyes that glared from behind a pair of thick glasses.
After scaring away yet another young man who was watching Draco, Harry sighed. It was Draco's fault they were drawing so much attention. His normally-immaculate hair was tousled ever so slightly from sleep and his sharp features were relaxed, accentuating his beauty. Not to mention his legs were spread and his back arched in a way that was both enticing and inviting. It was no wonder people in the room couldn't keep their eyes off him.
Harry shook his head in annoyance. Where did that thought come from? He didn't find Malfoy attractive, not in the slightest. Not even when he mumbled and shifted in his sleeping, rolling his hips and spreading his legs wider, as if to give Harry a better view.
No, Harry was not attracted to fucking Draco Malfoy. He glared at another woman who had been staring at the sleeping boy until she backed away and looked elsewhere.
Leave it to Malfoy to draw so much attention when they were here on a mission.
In the eleven years he'd known Malfoy, Harry had never seen him so relaxed. His dark eyelashes rested lightly against his cheeks, causing Harry to squint slightly in confusion as he contemplated why Draco had thin, dark eyelashes when he had such light hair. He always expected Malfoy would have blond, almost invisible lashes like Ron. Not that he thought about Malfoy's eyes, of course. Though dark lashes would explain why Malfoy's eyes were always so bright and intense, he reasoned.
Harry forced his eyes away from his travel companion and tried to focus on something, anything, else in the room. He was successful for a few minutes, but eventually his gaze reverted back to the sleeping body.
As he once again studied Malfoy, he was drawn to the silver bracelet and the way it fit snuggly around his right wrist. The bracelet, at first glance, appeared a solid strip of metal, but on closer examination Harry could see the silver was woven into tight, intricate knots. Harry could feel the magical traces on it and expected it was one of a kind, knowing Malfoy's tastes. Off-handedly he wondered if he could wrap his hand all the way around the slender wrist, but he caught himself when his fingers were mere centimeters from the warm skin and jerked back as if he'd been burned.
Harry clasped his hands tightly in his lap and closed his eyes to distract himself. It had been four years since the war ended, and in that time Harry and Draco had been forced to rebuild their relationship from the ground up. Not that they had a relationship, that is, but they couldn't keep going through life as proclaimed enemies, especially as they were working closely together at the Ministry.
Harry had actually assisted Draco in getting accepted to the Auror program after the war, not that Draco knew that fact. Even Harry knew Draco's pride wouldn't have let him accept the position if he had known the truth.
Malfoy's pride was something else that had changed significantly in the past four years. After his father's imprisonment and his family's fall from grace, Draco did not have the Malfoy name to back him up. He was still proud, as it was an integral part of his personality, but that pride now stemmed from his own accomplishments, rather than his family's name and history.
"Potter!" a voice snapped over the loudspeaker, drawing Harry's attention from his musings.
Harry smacked Malfoy in the leg, drawing a glare from silver, sleep-filled eyes when they opened.
"It's our turn," Harry informed him, standing and dusting the wrinkles out of shirt from sitting so long in a humid room.
It never ceased to amaze Harry how quickly Draco's appearance could go from rumpled and dirty to pristine and composed. After four years working together, he had seen Draco covered in bog muck, splattered with blood (both his own and others'), and tangled in spider webs, and yet with a few seconds and a wave of his hand, his clothes would be clean and every hair would be perfectly in place.
"What are you waiting for, Potter?" Draco whispered loudly, drawing Harry's attention back from his reverie. "A written invitation?"
"Sorry," Harry mumbled, stepping forward and moving towards the counter on the opposite wall. "Remember, this is our only chance to get this right, so don't mess it up by running your mouth."
"You're the one who should be worried about that," Draco sneered, the lack of malice behind his words clearly showing the change that had occurred in recent years.
Harry rolled his eyes at Draco then quickly put on a serious face when they reached the counter. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, here to see Minister Yamamoto, on behalf of the English Ministry of Magic," he announced.
"Right this way," the young woman nodded, her face expressionless.
The pair followed her down a hall to the last door on the left, their hands brushing occasionally as they walked, sending a jolt of electricity through Harry's body at every moment of contact. That was normal, he told himself, it didn't mean he was attracted to Malfoy. Not at all.