Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing except the plot bunnies that hop about in my head.

Warnings: Implied M/M sex, and use of the word "Bloody".

A/N: I got sick and have been away for a long time, but I'm doing better, and although I'm now in the process of moving, I fulfilled one of the prompts I was given. The prompt that came before this, "Dear Pesky Plumbers", is nearly finished, but it is currently residing on my computer, which is boxed away in storage.

Prompt: Blissfulness

Harry woke slowly from what had been a lovely dream. He tried to fight the wakefulness and recapture it, fantasies of a certain blond fulfilled. Memories flooded him as he thought of his obsession, and how it had all begun.

Harry had hated Auror training. Because he was the Chosen One, because he had defeated Voldemort at seventeen, they expected him to be bloody perfect at everything. They drove him harder than anyone else, tested him more harshly. He frequently ended up injured and forced to go to St. Mungo's for treatment of injuries which, while fairly minor, could not be left alone or treated at home. You'd think that the Aurors in charge of training would have learned by then, but no.

Healer Jaimeson, the healer who handled the trainee Aurors, reminded him of Severus Snape. Not in appearance; where Snape had been gaunt, Jaimeson had a slight paunch, and where Snape had had long, greasy black hair, Jaimeson hardly had any. But his attitude – and his opinion of Harry – were so reminiscent of Snape that had Harry not seen him die, he would have suspected Jaimeson to be the Potions professor under polyjuice.

Of course, Jaimeson's hatred extended beyond Harry. He hated everyone. The people who generally got the brunt of his unpleasantness were the healers-in-training under his care. And few people attracted his ire like healer trainee Draco Malfoy. One notable exception was Harry Potter. Having heard about the animosity between the two, it was with absolute glee that he made Malfoy solely responsible for Harry Potter's care whenever Harry required the services of St. Mungo's.

The combination of inflated expectations from his instructors and Malfoy in the hospital was almost enough to make Harry quit Auror training. Almost. He had no idea what else he could do with his life, and he was determined to help hunt down and stop dark wizards. So he grit his teeth and bore Malfoy, hoping desperately that the git would quit.

But Malfoy surprised him. Rather than sniping and quarreling with Harry, he remained subdued and professional throughout their interactions. He was unexpectedly good at what he did, and his hands were gentle. He wore a mask of indifference that Harry couldn't break through. Harry caught himself baiting the other man, and while Malfoy would occasionally have a flash of the old fire in his eyes that made Harry's breath catch and his heart stutter in his chest for reasons he did not want to examine, Malfoy refused to return to their old ways. Harry grudgingly admitted Malfoy had changed. The problem was, he wasn't sure he liked it.

It took a long time for him to identify the problem, and when he did it staggered him. He missed the old Malfoy. He missed their fights, the way they sparred verbally and tossed barbs back and forth. He missed his adversary. He missed the way that he used to be able to break through that cold façade and produce genuine emotion from the blond.

He finally asked Malfoy to have a drink with him after the thirtieth time he sat on a St. Mungo's bed while Malfoy treated him. Malfoy almost dropped his wand.

"What?" he asked, eyes wide. "What did you just say?" His voice was a register or two above normal.

"I want you to come have a drink with me after your shift is done, Malfoy," Harry repeated, feeling foolish. "I… have something to give you."

"Is that a come on, Potter?" asked Malfoy, eyeing him as Ron would a tarantula, his voice almost squeaking.

"No!" Harry flushed. "I still have your wand. The hawthorn. If you want it back, that is."

Malfoy's eyes widened further. "You'd… give it back?" His voice was soft and incredulous. His face smoothed into his mask of indifference, but for a moment there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, and something else – desire. He wanted that wand. He would come out with Harry. Harry released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Alright, Potter," Malfoy's voice was even. "I'll have a drink with you."

"Thank you, Potter," he added, sounding both sincere and a little uncertain. "I have my new wand, of course, but… there's nothing like your first wand. It's special."

Harry nodded.

Things were awkward the first time they had drinks together, at least at first. He handed Malfoy back his wand, and the blond looked at it as if it was something precious. Harry felt almost as if he was intruding on something private while the blond held it, staring at it for a long moment. Then he raised it and shot off a shower of sparks. He laughed out loud in delight before he could stop himself, and his cheeks pinked when he looked up and saw Harry smiling at him.

He looked utterly unguarded and pure and lovely, and Harry realised with a surge of unexpected feeling that he wanted him. He wanted Malfoy. He realised, belatedly, that he had for a long time. The non-relationship he and Ginny had would never be resurrected as everyone expected it to be. She wasn't what he wanted, needed. He wanted a tall, pointy blond with a firey temper, and surprisingly gentle hands.

After he returned Malfoy's wand, things eased between them. Over a couple of glasses of firewhiskey they began to loosen up and talk freely with one another. They even sniped a little, some of the fire Harry missed so much returning to Malfoy throughout the evening. He struggled to maintain a semblance of normalcy following his revelation about the Slytherin.

By the end of the night, both Malfoy had become Draco and Potter had become Harry. They parted amicably, agreeing to repeat the evening sometime. After that, whenever Harry ended up in Draco's care, they would decide to meet for drinks after his shift. Harry found himself deliberately making mistakes and getting himself injured on purpose to meet with Draco more often.

"You know, Potter," the blond drawled with a smirk one day, deliberately reverting to Harry's last name. "You really don't have to get yourself hurt so much just to see me. I'd be happy to meet with you anytime."

Harry flushed; glad Draco didn't know how accurate his joking taunt actually was. "They drive me extra hard and make my training extra difficult because I defeated Voldemort," he explained. "They seem to think that something accomplished through luck and a lot of help from my friends makes me some kind of super-wizard." He rolled his eyes and Draco threw his head back and laughed out loud. Harry watched him with an ache in his chest that was tangibly painful. The sheer want, want, want that flooded him was almost unbearable.

His mouth went dry and he tore his gaze away from the Slytherin before he said something he couldn't take back. Something that would ruin things between them. He tried to be content with their friendship. Deep inside, he knew it would never be enough for him.

That evening, while he sat in their usual pub, waiting for Draco, he began drinking alone. By the time Draco arrived, an hour and thirty minutes late, looking haggard and slightly disheveled and utterly shaggable, the brunet was already well into his cups. Draco was still in his healer robes.

"Sorry I'm late, Harry," Draco said, sounding a little out of breath and running a hand through his hair – a gesture he'd picked up from Harry. "Things got really busy and I just couldn't get away any sooner. I got here as soon as I could – I didn't even go home to change." He grinned at Harry, "I just missed you so much," he teased.

"I missed you, too," said Harry earnestly, drunkenly seizing Draco's hand. "I thought you weren't coming." He turned mournful eyes on the blond, who chuckled.

"Drinking without me, Potter? I'm hurt."

Harry stuck his tongue out at Draco, but he grinned, feeling buoyed by the blond's presence. He stood up and put his arms around Draco. "Don't be hurt," he whispered breathily into the Slytherin's ear. "I couldn't bear it if you were hurt."

Draco pulled back, startled. "How much have you had to drink, Harry?" he asked, a touch of concern lacing his voice.

"Enough," answered Harry, and then he molded his lips over Draco's.

Draco froze.

He froze, then he tried to pull away, but Harry was having none of it, he kissed fiercely, nipping and teasing with his tongue until Draco's lips parted involuntarily and he plunged in. He plundered Draco's mouth, running his tongue along the roof of the blond's mouth and the inside of his gums, until Draco relaxed, moaning into the kiss, and their tongues tangled in a hot, wet frenzy of passion.

Harry poured every bit of longing and frustration he'd felt for his friend into that kiss. When they finally broke for air, he smiled at the way Draco panted and stared dazedly at him, with kiss-flushed lips and spots of colour on his cheeks.

"Want you so much," Harry whispered. "Loved you for so long now."

Draco gaped at him.

"Come home with me," Harry growled, seizing the blond around the waist and apparating them both without waiting for a reply. They stumbled as they landed in Harry's apartment, and he claimed the Draco's lips once again in another bruising kiss. Draco pulled away, panting and raising his arms to hold Harry off.

"Harry, wait – stop!" Harry didn't want to, but he hesitated.

"You need to sober up," Draco said sternly. He raised his wand and pointed it at Harry, murmuring a sobriety spell.

Harry felt the spell wash over him, freezing his blood and giving him a brief migraine. It tingled unpleasantly before fading away. He stared at the floor, mortified by what he'd done.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Are you?" Draco's voice was soft. "Did you mean it – what you said?"

Harry winced. Not only had he told the blond he wanted him, he'd said he loved him. He entertained the idea of lying, then dismissed it. He was a Gryffindor.

"Yes," he raised his eyes to meet Draco's. "Yes, I meant it all."

Draco's face lit up like the sun. "Oh, thank Merlin," he whispered. "I thought it was just me."

Then Draco was kissing him, and moaning into his mouth as he responded and the two of them stumbled and Harry trembled a little as he led the way to his bedroom.

Harry's eyes widened. It hadn't been a dream. This notion was confirmed by the warm body snuggling next to him. He looked over, and there was Draco, cuddling close, looking for all the world like an angel fallen into his bed. Harry swallowed, struggling against the enormity of feeling that threatened to overwhelm him.

He snuggled back down next to the blond, sighing in contentment. This, he decided, was bliss.