NOTES: anansay wanted frottage, wanking, urgent sex, and first times. I hope a second first-time will do!
Summary: Harry had given up on second chances, but that was before Draco reappeared.
A soft knock jolted Harry out of a near-doze. "Er, Mr. Potter? Sorry to interrupt, sir." One of the summer work-experience cadets stood in his doorway, her fist half-raised to knock again. "You're wanted downstairs, sir. Auror Weasley's asked for you."
"Right." Harry swung his feet off his desk and got up, hunting for his robes. "Something official, or just updated odds on the Quidditch office pool?"
The cadet smiled nervously. "Official, of course, sir. Gambling's against the Ministry code of conduct, isn't it?" She fiddled with her shiny nameplate as she waited for him.
"Which House, Cadet Martin? Hufflepuff?" Harry brushed past her as he fastened his work robes, not stopping for her answer.
"Yes, sir," she said, scrambling to follow him down the narrow stairwell. "I'm hoping to join DMLE after leaving school, Magical Equipment Control. It's very important, isn't it, Mr. Potter? Keeping people safe from substandard equipment or magical items that, well - aren't?"
Harry stopped in front of Ron's office door, which was slightly ajar. "A word of advice, Cadet Martin."
Her eyes widened with an expression Harry was tired of seeing, partly awe and partly something hormonal. "Yes, sir? Anything you could tell me, Auror Potter, anything at all."
"If it's what you want to do with your life," Harry said, "go on ahead with it. Just don't fool yourself into thinking that enforcing petty rules and codes is going to make a bloody bit of difference in the quality of the average wizard's life, all right?" He pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaving the cadet in the hall looking as if he'd hit her with a Jelly-Brain Jinx.
"I didn't think you had it in you, Potter, making little girls cry."
Harry froze, letting the door swing shut behind him. "You."
"As ever," Draco Malfoy said.
"I didn't make her cry." Harry felt irritation flood through him. "She's got some bloody Huffle ideas about Truth and Righteousness. Might as well forget them before she does anyone harm."
Draco laughed. "Some things never change, Harry, do they? You still speak in capital letters, the Weasel still goes an unfortunate shade of coral when he can't have what he wants." He straightened the seams on his trousers, then crossed his legs and leaned back.
"God, Malfoy, stop acting like you're here for a bloody social call on the Minister, will you?" Ron slumped back in his chair and flipped his quill onto the desk. "Right, I got Harry like you wanted. Now, can we talk?"
"What's going on, Ron?" Harry leaned back against the wall. "And what does he want with me?"
"You could ask me yourself," Draco muttered.
"Could, but didn't," Harry said. "Ron?"
"His lordship's here for polite questioning. Part of that new Artifacts task force." Ron shuffled through the parchment on his desk. "Suspected of selling magical objects to Muggles, though why a Malfoy would dirty his hands at trade I'm not quite sure, so it's got to be a front for something."
Harry nodded. "And I fit in how?"
"Protection," Draco said.
"I'll show you protection," Ron said darkly.
"He's got a point," Harry said after a moment. "It'd be easy for him to claim that you lost your temper, Ron, and beat a confession out of him." He raised his hand as Ron opened his mouth. "And, it'd be easy for you to claim that he used Dark Magic on you so that you'd drop your investigation." He turned his gaze to Malfoy, who was conducting a careful study of his cuticles. "So. You wanted me here, I'm here, Ron's got questions. You prepared to answer?"
Draco met his gaze. "I've nothing to confess. I run a legitimate business, Harry." He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and extracted two business cards, handing one to Harry and tossing the other to Ron.
"D. Malfoy, Decorative Antiques, Angel Arcade, Islington High Street." Ron dropped the card with a grimace. "You can get anything you want printed on a card, Malfoy."
"That doesn't mean it's untrue, Weasley." Draco sighed. "Look. Get to the point, will you? I've got a shop to run."
Ron leaned back in his chair, frowning as he organized his thoughts. "DMLE's gotten complaints about a rash of burglaries. The thief, or thieves, take only enchanted objects. Rare ones, actually, not things you could buy in the shops."
"So go to Borgin & Burke's." Draco shrugged. "Borgin's been a fence since he was in nappies, and he doesn't care much for issues of provenance."
"I'm sure you know how far that inquiry got," Ron said, a ghost of a smile on his face. "So, the next obvious question would be whether there's a wizard who's selling ugly ancient things to Muggles for exorbitant sums, and whether any of those things happen to be obtained from homes other than his own without permission."
Draco laughed. "Guilty to the first part, and innocent to the second." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, Muggles care where things come from, especially if they're from the sort of families that don't have things of their own. I'm good at what I do, Weasley, and I pay my taxes. I'm not going to endanger that by taking stolen goods into my shop, and I'm certainly not going to endanger my culture by selling magical objects to Muggles." He stood, smoothing his trousers. "Will it stop this nonsense if someone comes to inspect the shop? I'll open my books, though I'd prefer to have my solicitor present if it's not an Auror I know."
Ron got up from his chair and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Can't say that I think you're lying, Malfoy, as much as I'd like to know what the hell you're doing in a Muggle shop." He smiled at Draco, a bit wryly. "But you understand why you're an obvious target."
Draco nodded, his expression sober for a moment. "And you understand why I work with Muggles now. It got a bit tiresome, the endless insinuations."
Harry shifted against the wall. "I'll do it."
Both Ron and Draco looked at him. "Do what, mate?"
"Go through Draco's shop." He flushed a bit, cursing himself quietly for betraying emotion. "If you'll permit me, that is?"
"It's why I asked you be here," Draco said quietly. "You and my cousin are the only ones I'll let in without legal representation." He reached to take his card from Harry's hand, borrowed Ron's quill, and jotted a few words on the back. "There's a Floo in the cellar storeroom, disguised as an Italian mantel of ungodly grandiosity. That's the address. I'll adjust my schedule to your convenience." He handed the card back to Harry.
"I could come now," Harry said.
Ron looked at him quizzically. "The staff meeting -"
"Can go stuff itself," Harry said. "Also, Percy's doing a presentation on the new paperwork regime."
Ron shuddered. "Run while you still can, mate." He nodded to Draco. "Malfoy."
"Weasley." Draco opened the door and left the office. "Coming, Harry?"
Harry pushed away from the wall and grinned at Ron. "Take notes for me." He returned Ron's three-fingered salute and went out to the hall, where Draco waited. "Floo or Tube or flying carpet?"
"Floo." Draco looked him over. "Leave the robes. You're going Muggle, remember?"
"Right," Harry said. "Go on ahead, then. I'll get some things from my office and meet you at the shop." He waited until Draco took the stairs toward the Atrium, then went upstairs to his own office and collected some reporting forms and a Self-Inking Quill. He hung his robes behind the door and put on his old leather jacket instead, then went down the hall to the loo and washed his hands and face under the cold tap, thankful yet again that the Ministry mirrors didn't talk.
Harry stared at himself in the glass for a minute. He'd gotten older somewhere along the way, since the last time he'd bothered to look. Draco hadn't aged much - a bit sharper 'round the edges, his cheekbones even more prominent than before - but he'd grown into the bones he already had. Harry shook his head sharply, trying to dislodge the thought of Draco's face so that he could concentrate on the problem at hand. Burglaries. Stolen items. Spells to detect magical residue. Do your job, Potter.
Nearly an hour later, Harry knocked and opened the door of Draco's shop. It appeared unoccupied, but a moment after he entered, Draco came out of a back room, a dust-streaked white teatowel in his hand.
"You didn't Floo."
"No. Took the Tube and had to change trains." Harry looked around, deciding to put his papers down on an old inlaid trunk. "Don't get the chance very often, and I like it."
Draco smiled wryly. "And it had nothing at all to do with delaying your visit here. Or with me." He wiped his hands on the teatowel and dropped it over the back of a chair. "Very well. Look where you like and cast whatever spells you need. I'd prefer to pull papers for you, if only because I don't like people in my files, but I can document every item here." He went back to the other room, leaving Harry alone.
Harry watched Draco leave, a strange pang in his heart. He stifled the stray emotion and took out his wand, beginning to cast diagnostic spells that would identify any magical traces in the shop. Soon, he was caught up in the soothing rhythm of casting and dispelling, noting each object scanned and the results as he worked his way around the room.
A metallic noise startled him. He turned to see Draco levitating a silver tea service into the room and settling it on a small table. "What time is it?"
"Nearly gone four," Draco said. "You've been working for hours. I thought you could use a break if you're not done yet." He poured the tea and handed a cup to Harry, indicating plates of sandwiches and biscuits on the tray, then took his own cup and sat down. "Success?"
"If by success you mean 'verifiable proof that Draco Malfoy is a very bad man,' then no." Harry hoisted himself on top of two stacked steamer trunks, then sipped his tea. "It's certainly not magic-free, but I wouldn't expect that in a shop owned by a wizard. Some evidence of long-gone boggarts and doxies, a few personal spells of the 'Euphemia Mintle owns this lamp' variety, but nothing harmful."
Draco shrugged. "It's not surprising. Most of my stock comes from wizarding homes, of course, but it's all legitimately consigned." He looked up at Harry, silent for a moment. "Not that I'd want the consigners known by Magical Law Enforcement, Harry."
Harry nodded. "How about by your ex? Off the record?"
Draco studied his teacup. "Is there off the record with us now? There wasn't before."
"That was a long time ago." Harry sighed. "I mucked that up, Draco. Mucked us up. It's probably six years too late for an apology, but there it is. I'm sorry."
Draco arched an eyebrow at him. "Accepted." He finished his tea and poured another cup. "I never held it against you, you know. You'd wanted to be an Auror forever, and I can understand the Ministry's reluctance to have Auror Harry Potter shagging a verified Death Eater."
"Death Eater with his own Order of Merlin for bravery, the bastards." Harry slid off the trunks and went to refill his cup, eating a small sandwich as he stood there. "You never gave me the chance to fix it, though. One day they announce the new penalties for associating with known enemies of the Ministry, and the next day you're gone to France, and then I don't see you for six years until you show up in Ron's office."
"I owe you an apology as well," Draco said quietly. "It just seemed easiest - they'd already taken Father's assets, but I had a house from my grandmother near Boulac - and I didn't want you to be forced into a grand gesture that might cost you a job you loved."
"So you made the grand gesture." Harry grinned at him.
Draco returned the smile. "Of course. I didn't have a job." He leaned back and stretched out his legs. "All right. Off the record? Other wizarding families whose assets were seized by the Ministry."
"Precision in language, Potter. I don't accept consignments from people who had the Mark and meant it - which rules out Severus and me - but I am happy to help their relatives." Draco ate a piece of shortbread, flicking the crumbs from his black jersey. "For a price, of course, though I donate half my commissions to the Widows & Orphans Fund anonymously. I like to think it wipes away some of the taint."
Harry looked around the room. "And you can document all of these pieces?"
Draco stood and placed his cup on the tray. "Yes, though I'd rather give a statement that doesn't name my clients." He thought for a moment. "I can ask around, but truly, Borgin's the only person who'd fence magical items for what they're worth. An enchanted silver pitcher is just a pitcher to a Muggle. What I sell are smart purchases from previous generations."
"I'll fill out a report tomorrow and send you a copy." Harry put his cup next to Draco's, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure. "I suppose I should go."
"Let me show you around a bit first?" Draco smiled shyly. "It's not the Manor, but I'm still rather pleased with it."
Harry followed as Draco led him upstairs to the neat bedsit with a narrow bed and a clean kitchen that showed signs of regular use, then back down into the back room filled with china, glass, and silver, and down the rickety wooden steps into the cellar storeroom. "I'll admit it's not someplace I'd ever have imagined you, but it suits." He smiled warmly at Draco, who was obviously proud of his home and shop.
"Thank you," Draco said, looking around at the pieces in various stages of restoration and repair. "It's odd. I think I feel more myself here than I ever did in a house with my name on it." He turned back to Harry, half-smiling. "I had to prove that I could be me, without my father or my boyfriend or my name to back it up."
Harry watched him, the light from the staircase slanting just right to pull a glimmer from Draco's hair. He reached to brush a missed shortbread crumb from Draco's chest. "I missed you, you know," he said softly. "Missed you for you, not for the Malfoy part of it."
Draco circled Harry's wrist with his fingers. "I missed you too," he whispered. "Still do."
"Draco...." Harry reached for him at the same time that Draco pulled him closer, and in one overwhelming moment Harry had Draco in his arms, kissing him and sliding his hands across Draco's back, trying to fill an unexpected chasm of need that had grown quietly over the years since Draco left. He smelled a whiff of Draco's soap, mint and lime and lavender, and his knees almost buckled under him. "You never changed your soap?"
Draco chuckled and walked backwards, bringing Harry with him, so he could lean against the wall. "You liked it. I had no reason to find something new." He kissed Harry softly. "There's been nobody else, not that it should matter."
Harry leaned against him, letting the wall support them both, and nuzzled Draco's hairline. "Not for me, either. It's not as bad as it was, but there's still a part of me that doesn't trust anyone who might have a hero fixation." He kissed Draco more deeply, sliding his hands under the hem of his jumper. "One thing I never had to worry about with you."
"No," Draco said as he worked at Harry's belt buckle. "Nor I you. Let the rest of the world see the Boy Who Lived and the Death Eater, and let us just be Harry and Draco. I liked that." He pulled the belt tongue free and unbuttoned Harry's trousers, leaving the placket open, then wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him close. Draco shifted his hips a bit, settling his own erection next to Harry's, and rubbed gently against him.
Harry groaned and pushed Draco's back against the wall, kissing him harder as they ground together. He tugged Draco's jersey over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, and leaned down to kiss Draco's shoulders and collarbone as they continued to rub against each other. Harry grinned as Draco's head tipped back, exposing his throat; he licked along the tendons of his neck and chuckled as Draco moaned softly.
"Want you, Harry," Draco whispered. "Please?"
"Not yet," Harry said, and quickly undid Draco's belt and buttons, pushing the fabric down over his hips. As he wrapped his hand around Draco's cock, hard and hot in his hand, both he and Draco sighed happily.
"Take care," Draco whispered. "As I said, it's been a while."
Harry stepped back, pushing his own trousers and pants down and stepping free. "You do it, then. Got any lube?"
"Accio almond oil," Draco said, and a bottle came flying through the workroom. "I use it to blend furniture oil, though I can't imagine why I'm explaining that." He laughed, opened the bottle and drizzled some onto his fingers, then handed the bottle to Harry.
"And here I thought you were having orgies among the sideboards." Harry poured a bit from the bottle and put it aside, watching as Draco started to stroke himself slowly. "Like that. Yeah." They watched each other for a while, stroking in the same rhythm, until Draco's breath hitched a bit.
Harry picked up the bottle again and leaned forward to kiss Draco. "Turn around, then." He poured more oil into his fingers, reaching down to slick and stretch Draco, using the same pace Draco was using on himself. As he worked, he kissed Draco's back and nuzzled into his hair, amazed at how familiar this all felt. It wasn't until Draco shifted and made a small noise that Harry became aware he'd been rubbing against Draco's hip as he fingered him. "Ready?"
"Yes," Draco breathed. "Want you - so fucking close, but want you first."
Harry kissed his shoulder again and moved a half-step closer, resting one hand against the wall as he pushed slowly into Draco. "Oh Merlin, Draco, I'd forgotten...."
"I hadn't." Draco pushed back against Harry's cock, meeting every thrust of Harry's hips with one of his own. He stopped wanking, needing both hands to brace the wall as Harry sped up, taking him harder. "Yes," he whispered. "Like that."
Harry could feel the tension building in his gut, a weird tautness that felt better with every stroke into Draco, every small noise Draco made, every memory that had somehow become real again this afternoon. Under him, Draco started to shake. Harry knew he was trying to stop his own impending orgasm, knew how Draco liked to hold off as long as he could. He leaned forward and slid his tongue around the shell of Draco's ear, then whispered hoarsely. "Come for me, love."
Draco yelped at the wetness and the words, and then again as he started to come, shooting onto the wall. Harry groaned as he felt Draco clench around him, shoving his hips forward and pinning Draco against the come-covered wall as he shuddered and let himself tip over the edge into release. When he'd finished, he slumped against Draco and breathed heavily.
"I can't breathe."
"Sorry." Harry chuckled as he pushed off from the wall and helped Draco stand upright. "That - thank you. We should take six years off more often."
Draco moved around the workroom, collecting clothes. "All the same to you, I'd rather not."
Harry stopped halfway through pulling on his pants. "Rather not have done?"
"No, prat. Rather not take six years off between orgasms with you." Draco tossed Harry's belt at him. "I have no idea how that ended up in a chandelier. I don't even remember taking it out of your belt loops." Draco smoothed his jersey down, carefully avoiding a direct look at Harry. "Although I suppose that rule's still in effect, so I won't press."
"Draco." Harry tucked his shirt in and turned to face Draco, tipping his chin up to catch his eye. "What did I say to that cadet this morning?"
Draco sighed, then assumed the posture he'd always taken when answering Snape, hands behind his back and nose elevated. "That enforcing ridiculous rules doesn't make a difference in the average wizard's daily life." He softened his stance and looked shyly at Harry. "But we're neither of us average wizards."
"No," Harry said, and kissed the tip of his nose. "And that's why it doesn't matter." He pulled Draco close. "Can we try again?"
"I'm not sure," Draco said, muffled against Harry's chest. "Are you going to protect me from Weasley when he decides to prosecute me for selling little old ladies' Death Eater commemorative charm bracelets?"
"I think I could promise that."
"So much for making the wizarding community safer, Auror Potter."
"I love you too, Harry."
Harry grinned and kissed Draco again, then released him. He'd always loved days like this, he thought as he followed Draco up the staircase, the kind that ended up far better than they started. Maybe, if he was lucky, some lives were like that too.