Recipient: The hd_holidays community!
Title: The Risk of Exposure
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Ginny/Neville,
Summary: After Draco discovers something about Harry during a chance meeting, Harry can’t seem to get him out of his head or out of his life.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Semi-public sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism
Epilogue compliant? Nope.
Word Count: 6,800
Author's Notes: Thank you to my darling betas.
The crowd was thick, bodies pressed uncomfortably close as Harry pushed his way through, wand held high. Gold shimmered in ribbons of light from the tip, telling the people to part for the on duty Auror. Harry hated to use it; he felt like a prat with his hand raised above his head as he marched across the room. But it was unavoidable tonight; even his scarlet uniform was lost in the sea of protesters.
Hermione had assured him this was to be expected. The Committee to Restore Balance was an unpopular initiative and a grassroots movement to dissolve the Committee had easily gained loud and influential support. The Committee’s focus was to investigate the true assets of certain families who had been accused of acquiring wealth through the tens of thousands of Galleons stolen during the war.
“Auror Potter.” The voice broke through the chanting crowd, arrogant and mocking.
Harry turned, brow furrowed, already knowing who he’d see. “Malfoy.”
The last time Harry had seen Malfoy he was a pale, trembling boy who stood trial and admitted his guilt. Malfoy had listened ashen-faced while the Wizengamot lowered his sentence to six months house arrest, mentioning Harry’s testimony as the reason for the leniency. The man before Harry now, all bright eyes and flushed cheeks, looked somehow younger despite the two years that had passed.
“Hello, Potter.” Malfoy raised his chin, stepping forward and making Harry shift his gaze just enough to emphasis that Draco did have an inch or two in height on Harry.
“Protesting, Malfoy? Really?” Harry sneered. “Isn’t that a little too democratic for your style?”
“I firmly believe ...” Malfoy’s eyes flickered to a poster a witch to his left was hoisting, and quoted, “The war is over, let’s move on as equals.” His lips quirked on the last word, challenging Harry to say otherwise.
Harry rolled his eyes, wishing they were still in the halls of Hogwarts where he could just shove Malfoy out of the way and only risk landing in detention – not getting a reprimand for unnecessary use of force. “Out of my way, Malfoy.”
“You can’t make us all leave. We have a right to voice our objection.”
“Maybe,” Harry said. “But I could still have you arrested. Give the boys in Interrogation something to do for the next few hours.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he squared his shoulders, giving himself another inch on Harry. Harry could feel the toe of Malfoy’s boot knock his own.
“Oh, they would love you.” Harry leantin as he spoke, placing the palm of his hand on Malfoy’s chest. “Might knock that smug look off your face.”
“A false arrest? You don’t have the balls.”
A sudden grip on his crotch sent a shockwave through Harry. His jaw dropped as the fingers curled, cradling his bollocks in a tight grip.
His instinct should have been to push away, to lower his wand, which was still idiotically raised in the air, raining sparkles of gold over his and Malfoy’s hair.
Instead, Harry froze.
His eyes flickered through the crowd. It was warm, the stifling feel of too many people crammed into too small a place – all shouting and jockeying for position near the stage. Not a single person was turned to him or to Malfoy. Not a soul knew where Malfoy’s hand was at the moment as it palmed Harry through his Auror uniform.
It was like a filthy secret, dangerous and wrong; Harry’s cock grew heavy.
Finally, his eyes fell back to Malfoy, and he realised too late just how long he’d delayed in reacting. Malfoy was staring at him, wide-eyed, and too calculating. A smug smile pulled at his lips.
“Well, well. That’s interesting.”
Mortified, Harry shoved Malfoy back, sending him spiralling into the two young girls that had been standing behind him.
“Touching the uniform of an on-duty Auror is grounds for immediate arrest, Malfoy.” But as he rushed the words out, he spun around and worked the rest of the way across the room to his post by the stage.
Late that night when Harry’s hand slipped under the covers, he fought off the flashes of blond hair his brain provided. He kept his mind blank as his hand worked steadily over his cock, bring himself to full hardness with quick, efficient strokes as he did every night. But in the haze of arousal, just as he was toppling over the edge he could hear the crowd from that afternoon, the muffled chatter of too many people talking at once, echoing against the walls. It sent a thrill down his spine. He came to the memory of grey eyes, wide and knowing, staring at him as though they were the only people in the room while over Malfoy’s shoulders the crowd talked on, oblivious.
“Stop it! You did not walk in on that.” Ginny laughed, falling into Neville’s shoulder.
The music was still playing low while the Leaky’s dinner crowd finished up, and those looking for an evening at the pub slowly filled the place. In the corner, the band they’d all come to see was setting up.
“I did. I swear it.” Neville took a sip of his pint and gave Ron and Harry a wink. “McGonagall gave them both a month’s detention for indecent exposure in a classroom and inappropriate use of the Engorgement Charm.”
The table erupted in laughter.
Ron smacked Harry’s back. “Why’d we never think to try that, mate?”
Ginny turned to Neville and said, “Should we believe them?”
Neville shook his head, his lips pulling into a grin.
“Hey!” Ron raised his hands defensively. “We were too busy trying to not get killed to worry about the size of your bits.”
Neville snorted. “Oh, yeah. You two -- never got into any trouble thinking with your dicks.”
“Well, maybe eighth year. Remember that night by the lake when Hermione and I, and you and Ginny...” Ron cut himself off, darting a look between Neville and Harry, as though just now realising that a story with Ginny and Harry skinny-dipping wasn’t really appropriate.
Harry coughed, amused at Ron’s discomfort. Maybe a few years ago it would have been awkward, but they’d long moved past that.
Neville chuckled. “Is that the one that ends with the giant squid taking a special interest in Harry’s pasty white arse?”
“Oi!” Harry said and glared at Ginny.
"He didn't hear that story from me," Ginny said. "The way I see it, it's a private matter between you and the squid, Harry."
"I used Legilimency on her." Neville nodded, making Ginny snort. Harry shook his head at both of them.
Ron laughed, clearly relieved and clicked his pint with Neville’s. “That’s the one! It’ll never stop being funny.”
Hermione arrived half-way through their next pint. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, as Harry stood to let her slide into the booth beside Ron.
“You weren’t at the office. We went looking for you.”
“We had an unofficial meeting of the Committee in the back room here.” Hermione paused to take a gulp of Ron’s pint. “We’re trying to do some damage control after that last protest.”
Harry had seen the morning papers. The Committee was getting battered from both sides of the political divide either because people felt it reparations allowed former Death Eaters to pay for their freedom with gold, or because they were the ones being investigated and they felt unjustly targeted.
Hermione, as head of the Committee, had given the Prophet an interview making it clear the investigations would be fair and not retribution for those pardoned in the unexpected generosity of post-war trials. The focus would be on those who were suspected (through witness accounts and proper evidence) of gaining their wealth through illegal means.
How much of that interview would be read and understood by the masses, Harry wasn’t sure. The entire process was a massive headache.
Ron tucked an errant hair behind Hermione’s ear and kissed her. “Glad you could make it.”
He had to have had a few beers. It was always a sign he was headed for a nasty hangover when Ron was free with his public signs of affection.
Ginny gave them a fond look and Neville leaned forward to whisper something in her ear. She laughed, blushing, and mouthed, "Be patient." The look Neville gave her in return made Harry shift in his seat, unsure where to look. Ron was still gazing at Hermione. Harry slipped out of the bench, mumbling about getting another drink, and bolted before one of them could misinterpret his desire to leave them to each other as anything other than simple discomfort of being the fifth-wheel.
Harry stood at the bar, avoiding the eyes of the young witches beside him. They giggled into their palms, shoving each other in an obvious ‘you say hi’, ‘no you say hi’ argument. He turned away.
Harry hadn’t been interested in taking anyone home in quite some time.
After Ginny, he’d tried to date, but the women that gravitated towards him were far too interested in getting their pictures in the paper, and the blokes who caught his eye were far too invested in keeping their names (and sexual orientations) out of the papers. He’d given up entirely on ever getting off with anyone beside his own right hand. He pushed away from the bar, hoping Ron wouldn’t take the mickey if he left after the band's first set.
He walked into the toilet of the Leaky and almost walked right back out again. He hadn’t seen Malfoy for a month and he’d almost forgotten the incident. Shame heated his cheeks when he thought of the liberties he took in his nightly wanking. Though he’d trained himself to blur the details – disassociate the actual memory and the person from the fantasy – he couldn’t stop the immediate mortification as he opened the door to the loo to find Malfoy standing in front of a urinal.
He stuttered to a stop; behind him the door swung shut, muting the music of the band playing. Malfoy’s hand was on his dick, tucking himself back into his trousers when his gaze flickered up to the mirror and caught Harry’s reflection.
A slow, wicked smile crossed his face.
Harry swallowed back his nerves; after all, Malfoy couldn’t actually read his mind. If Harry acted like he had no memory of Malfoy’s hand on his crotch, Malfoy would be the one to look like the git for making more of it than it was. Breaking the eye contact, Harry moved to the urinal furthest from Malfoy and unzipped.
Malfoy didn’t move; Harry couldn’t piss.
Harry gritted his teeth and stared resolutely at the exposed pipes above the urinal. They were old, the copper green and corroded near the fittings. In his peripheral vision he could make out the blur of Malfoy’s reflection and knew he was still there.
He’d wait it out. Malfoy couldn’t possibly stand there without any justification. It wasn’t done. The band started a new song and the crowd roared, Ron’s voice topping them all. And there he was holding his dick, waiting for it to cooperate while Malfoy stood two urinals to Harry’s left. Christ, Harry felt his dick thickening in his hand.
He counted to ten, staring resolutely at the urinal, trying to will away his erection enough to zip up without showing off an obvious bulge. Then he counted to ten again.
“Problem there, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice rumbled over the pounding bass outside.
Harry looked up and cursed himself for it the second his eyes caught Malfoy’s in the mirror. Malfoy’s cheeks were pink and a blush crept up from his open collar. They watched each other for a heartbeat, Harry hyper-aware of their open flies and the dozens of people on the other side of the rickety door; his cock twitched in his palm.
“Or did you come in here for something else?” Malfoy bit his lip, and his left hand rose to press up against the mirror, drawing Harry’s attention down to Malfoy’s right. He flicked his wrist, almost indecipherable, but the repetitive motion was unmistakable to Harry, who knew when he was being played. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, his cock now achingly hard in his hand.
Beside him, he could hear the slap of flesh in slow, measured strokes. Malfoy panted, his eyes steadily holding Harry’s as they stared at each other’s reflections. His wand was in his pocket. He couldn’t stop this, whatever this was, but he could lock the door, he could make sure no one walked in – that this wouldn’t end up in the morning paper. He could see the headlines now: Auror and Death Eater caught comparing wands. He broke out in a cold sweat at the thought, but it did nothing for his erection, or the fact that his hand had begun to move over his length. He tugged his balls tight to get his focus back and crammed his hard cock back into his pants, buttoned and zipped with a wince.
Malfoy only smirked, pumping hard now. His temples were damp with sweat and the hand on the mirror was white-knuckled with tension. With a strangled gasp, Malfoy shuddered, knees buckling as he came. His eyes never left Harry’s.
The door creaked open with a blast of music and a burly man entered and stood at the urinal between them. Harry's heart thudded in his chest, face flaming. On the other side of the man, Malfoy cleared his throat. Harry heard him zip and move to the sink to wash his hands. As soon as the door shut behind Malfoy, Harry ducked into a stall, slid the lock in place and pressed his forehead against the door. He waited for the other man to finish and leave before lowering his zip and taking himself in hand. Grey, taunting eyes urged on his every stroke.
“Lunch at the Leaky?”
Harry tried his best to look nonplussed. “I was thinking that new place. The one Hermione suggested?” He hadn’t been able to step foot in the Leaky Cauldron without getting a shiver of arousal for the last two weeks.
Ron’s nose scrunched up. “Really?”
They’d just turned to the corner, eyes on the lift and a break from a long morning in sight when Shacklebolt’s office door swung open.
“Ron, can I see you for a moment?”
“Just heading off to lunch with Harry.” Ron’s voice had that hopeful lilt that never seemed to work.
Shacklebolt's grin seemed to say: you amuse me in the way you forget that I’m your boss. “It’ll only take a minute,” he replied and ushered Ron inside.
Just as the door was closing, Harry heard Ron whine, “This had better not be about the bloody Committee again.”
Knowing Shacklebolt's ‘minutes’ and wanting to actually eat before supper, Harry headed for the lift. Unfortunately, Johnson caught up with him before he’d pushed the button.
“Benson case is yours, I hear.”
Harry sighed. “It’s mine, all right.”
“Here you go.” Johnson handed Harry a file as thick as Hogwarts, A History.
With a grunt of thanks, Harry gave the lift a look of longing and headed back to his office.
Harry entered his cubicle, his head buried in the Benson file. At the clearing of a throat, his head snapped up to the chair opposite his desk. Draco Malfoy looked pristine, far more formally dressed than he had been either at the protest or at the Leaky Cauldron. From the fine tailoring of his robe to the polish of his boots, Malfoy was definitely far too prim and proper for the things Harry’s mind drifted to: how Malfoy would look bent over Harry’s desk, arse bared and spread for him, slick and waiting for Harry to pound into him... or shoved under Harry’s desk, his face buried in Harry’s crotch as he sucked Harry off.
Christ, how could he honestly want those things? With Malfoy. In his own office. He was losing his mind.
Malfoy had his head turned, looking over his shoulder with a wicked grin like he knew exactly what Harry had been thinking. Harry walked past, moving to stand behind his desk.
“What can I do for you today, Mr Malfoy?” He managed to keep his voice steady. Malfoy’s legs were spread indecently wide, his hand high on his thigh. His open robes showed off how his thumb grazed the bulge at his zip. Harry sat, rearranging his cloak to hide his interest in the image Malfoy presented.
On the other side of the cubical wall, Shirley was complaining (again) about the new memo system in which important memos duplicated themselves every ten minutes until they were read -- or until the recipient was buried and needed to be rescued, which, admittedly, had only occurred twice so far.
Malfoy’s lips quirked, listening to the tirade, then he sank lower in the chair and said, “I have a question for you.”
With his eyes trained on Harry, a flicker of uncertainty seemed to cross Malfoy’s face, but it disappeared again in an instant. It was replaced immediately by a challenging smirk, and Malfoy pushed the chair back just enough that Harry had a good view from over his low desk as Malfoy’s thumb moved slowly up, rubbing just below the zip of his twill trousers. Harry watched, mesmerised at the soft play of Malfoy’s balls as they moved beneath the pressure of his thumb.
Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly hot all over, and forced himself to look Malfoy in the eye. “A question?”
Malfoy hummed, voice low as he said, “I understand the Ministry spent a hundred and fifty Galleons on the ice sculpture at last year’s Christmas party.”
Harry blinked, trying to wrap his mind around the words that did not match the actions. They were impossible to pair with the hungry look in Malfoy’s eyes.
With his eyes trained on Harry, Malfoy slipped his hand forward and palmed his cock. “I know that for a fact.”
Harry looked around his cubicle; technically, no one could see them at the moment. Ron was still in the meeting and Shirley was still going on about three hundred copies! and she wasn’t one to poke her head over the divider to ask Harry something. But anyone could walk in at any time. He exhaled sharply, realising he’d forgotten to breathe. “I – Okay. Ice sculptures.” His voice cracked. “I believe you.”
Malfoy smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges as though Harry had just given him an invitation to continue this ... whatever this was. “And do you believe this is responsible governing?” He flicked open the button of his trousers. Harry’s brain stopped functioning.
“More research should be done – due diligence on the most value for our tax dollars,” he went on, his voice a deep rumble as he lowered his zip.
Directly on the other side of the cubical wall, Johnson’s off-tune whistle made Harry’s heart stutter. His eyes widened as Malfoy made no move to remove his hand from his trousers, but in another instant the whistle faded off into the distance. He resisted the urge to bang his head on his desk. This was insane.
Malfoy was stroking himself now. In Harry’s office. In the middle of the day. Two-fucking-thirteen in the afternoon. His hand moved in short, jerky pulls. He stared at Harry, focused. “I know of one shop that will do a perfectly serviceable ice sculpture for thirty-five Galleons.”
“And you're telling me your shopping tips because?” It came out breathless. Harry’s cock pressed fiercely at his zip. As discretely as he could manage, he lowered his hand to his crotch to relieve some of the pressure. His cheeks flamed at Malfoy’s knowing grin.
“I am a tax payer.” The words weren’t coming as easily to Malfoy now. He stuttered over the p, but went on, his tone thick with a mixture of sarcasm and want. “And you are the champion of the people.”
Harry’s knuckles brushed hard on his cock. He couldn’t pretend he was relieving the pressure any longer as he stroked himself through his robe. Fuck, he was going to get fired. Humiliated. This was going to end up in the Prophet and he’d go through life labelled a pervert. “I—” He stopped, trying to remember what Malfoy had said last.
“I’m sure you are concerned as the rest of us.”
“I – yes, of course,” he replied automatically. Were they still talking about ice sculptures? He was close, the pretense of the conversation fraying at his nerves as pressure began to build in this balls. “What?”
Lust glittered in Malfoy’s half-lidded eyes. “Tax payers’ money, Potter. Pay attention.”
“Hey, Shirley, did you get my memo?” Ron’s booming laugh came from a few feet behind Harry, followed by on oof at the familiar sound of Shirley’s paper-weight bludger hitting its favourite target. “Now, now... it was important.”
“Better hurry this up, Potter.” Malfoy ground out the words through clenched teeth, slipping out of the game for the first time. “Weasley is about to come in here and get a show.” And that, the acknowledgement that this was happening, set Harry off. His fingers curled around the outline of his cock, squeezing as best he could against the thick material of his uniform. His balls tightened and he stared shocked and helpless at Malfoy while his orgasm rushed through him. Beneath his fingers, he felt the warm, wet spread of his come seeping through his robes. It crashed upon him then: he’d come in his pants, Christ, in his uniform, while sitting in his office.
“Did you just...” Malfoy gaped, blinking at Harry like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. “You... Fuck.” He collapsed forward, hand working frantically, pumping his dick. A breathless ‘ugh’ escaped with each stroke until his face crumpled and Harry knew without looking that he had coated the front of Harry’s desk with his come.
They stared at each other, flushed and sweating, trying to remember how to breathe. Malfoy looked just as confused as Harry felt, like he too was trying to make sense of what the hell was happening between them.
“Ron Weasley, you are an arse,” Shirley shouted. There was a chuckle just outside the entrance to the cubicle.
Malfoy’s eyes widened in panic.
Ron entered the cubicle, walking backwards and saying, “Thank you, thank you.” He was distracted, bowing to the non-existent applause or he surely would have seen Malfoy’s quick charm and the fixing of his trousers.
“I think another department, perhaps – ” Malfoy stood, fumbling as his chair nearly toppled in his rush. “Might...”
“Yes.” Harry wanted to stand, shake Malfoy’s hand, anything to calm Malfoy’s nerves, acknowledge that he knew that something had just changed in this weird thing that was happening between them but he didn’t dare move. He couldn’t trust himself to stand, or trust that his robes were presentable at the moment. “Though, I’d help you if I could. Ice sculptures are important.”
“Ice sculptures.” Malfoy’s face cleared, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Indeed.”
Malfoy gave Harry a nod, then walked out with a curt, “Weasley.” He turned the corner and was out of the office in a heartbeat.
Ron shook his head, staring at the spot where Malfoy had been standing. “What was that about?”
“Not sure,” Harry said. “I’m honestly not sure.” He wondered, with a flush to his cheeks, if Malfoy had cleaned only himself or had remembered the front of Harry’s desk too.
Ron huffed, sitting heavily at his desk. He turned his back to Harry while he straightened a pile that was teetering dangerously. “Did he ask about the Committee? Did you tell him it wasn’t assigned to you? He really should be directing his questions through me.”
“He didn’t say a word about it,” Harry replied, distracted. He discreetly waved his wand at his trousers then peeked over to check his desk – which was thankfully clean.
“It had to be about the Committee. What else could he be here for?”
Harry shrugged and gave a tight-lipped smile. “Dunno.” He looked away before Ron could ask any more, picked up the Benson file and pretended to read it.
Harry couldn’t stop wondering though, exactly what was Malfoy doing?
The owl arrived a week later, crisp parchment and a stylised M pressed into the thick, green sealing wax. Harry’s face heated at the sight of it landing on his desk while Ron inhaled his lunch, oblivious. He stole away to a quiet storeroom with it burning his palm.
He needn’t have worried, though. It was a formal invitation to the Malfoys’ annual Christmas Gala – hundreds had already been delivered around the Ministry. Shacklebolt's had been laid out on his desk during that morning’s meeting.
Harry quickly refolded the letter, stuffing it deep into his inner pocket and contemplated the answer to that question.
When Harry returned to his office, Hermione was standing over Ron with a very familiar invitation in her hand. Harry instinctively patted his pocket to check that his was still where he’d put it and not impossibly in Hermione’s hand.
“We will be going,” she was saying.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s at Malfoy Manor, for Merlin’s sake!”
Hermione’s hands went to her hips and Harry ducked past, hoping to go unnoticed.
“If these protests have taught us anything, it’s that post-war prejudices are still tearing our society apart. We have to go. It’s up to us to set an example.”
“Come on, Hermione.” Ron shook his head, then caught Harry’s eyes. “Harry, you’re not going, are you?”
Harry looked between them and debated the honour in simply darting out of the cubicle, saying he had to use the toilet.
“If Harry gets an invite, he should go. It would send the right message: we are moving on and the entire wizarding world needs to as well.” Hermione looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Right, Harry?”
“Harry wouldn’t set foot in Malfoy Manor for all the gold in Gringotts.”
“That’s not ...” Harry stuttered, not even sure what he was going to say.
“Ron Weasley!” Hermione sent Ron a glare that would cow stronger men than he, then her voice softened as she turned to Harry. “Harry, just... if you get an invite, think about it. It’s important.”
“I will, Hermione.” Harry shuffled the papers around his desk, not meeting Ron’s eye. “Think about it, that is.”
He’d likely do nothing else.
He replied that night, confirming his attendance, but Harry couldn’t help wondering about Ron’s comment about the Committee. Part of him thought this was a ruse. Maybe Malfoy was planning on blackmailing him to get the Committee disbanded. Maybe the Malfoys were hiding something major and they needed the Committee stopped before it was found out.
Harry drove himself to distraction with his maybes.
Harry was on edge from the moment he’d buttoned his formal robes and tried to flatten his hair. He hadn’t been able to decipher what Malfoy’s intentions were tonight, or if he’d planned to even approach Harry at all. Then again when, at any point in their history, had Malfoy ever ignored Harry? No, something was likely to happen tonight.
Blackmail was the theory of choice at the moment -- though the sincerity in Malfoy’s eyes the last time he’d seen him . . . well, Harry was trained at reading people and when Harry was at his most vulnerable, there had been nothing calculating in Malfoy’s face. That still didn’t mean he trusted Malfoy. The best he could do was to be hopeful.
With a frustrated exhale, he grabbed some Floo powder and took one last look in the mirror. His reflection gleamed in anticipation. Yes, hopeful was the word for it.
The instant Harry stepped through the Floo and into Malfoy Manor, a small, finely dressed man was at his side, brushing the ash from his shoulders. Harry blushed and muttered an awkward thank you. With a bow, the man scurried to the green flames of the next Floo.
He was lead immediately to the entrance to the ballroom by another servant. When he’d been here last -- well -- decor was the furthest from his interests. But now, he could appreciate the beauty of the Manor, despite the pretension. The high ceiling and marble columns were decorated in more holly, mistletoe and fairy lights than Harry had seen in his life. High above the crowd were a series of balconies, their banisters adorned with shimmering gold garland.
To the left, Lucius and Narcissa greeted each guest with warm handshakes and air kisses, playing the perfect hosts. Only two years before they’d been left in disgrace after the trials; it was surreal.
Harry avoided them entirely, squeezing past Slughorn, who was waiting to catch the Malfoys’ attention. He found Ron by the canapé table.
“Funny being back here, eh?” Ron pointed a hand (that still held a stuffed mushroom cap) across the room, to where Lucius was talking with Shacklebolt. A man beside Rita Skeeter snapped a photo. “A bit creepy how those Malfoys can play a crowd.”
Harry snuck a few shrimp. “Not sure what they are trying to prove with this party, other than that they have money to burn.”
“You would think they’d know the Ministry would gladly take it off their hands.”
Harry shrugged, searching the crowd.
Standing in a massive archway to the right of the hall, Draco Malfoy flashed bright, fake smiles at everyone. Harry could tell he was mingling with all the right people, kissing the hands of all the most influential women. Harry’s skin itched to stalk across the room and drag him from the hall by the collar.
Harry flushed at the unexpected fierceness of his reaction, and grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“There she is!” Ron beamed and stood a little straighter as Hermione moved through the crowd. He’d just moved to go to her when Malfoy caught her arm.
Harry’s attention flickered between Ron, Hermione and Malfoy. Ron’s neck grew pink at the collar as Malfoy bowed to kiss Hermione’s hand. Rather than simper, as the woman before her had, she tightened her knuckles into a fist. She looked very much like Malfoy might get a right hook to the jaw if he touched her. But Malfoy’s smile never faltered. He only winked and rubbed his cheek as though he could still feel the last time he’d pushed Hermione to violence. Hermione brightened with a small smile.
“He certainly knows how to schmooze.” Ron laughed. “Is there a spell to stick a piece of spinach to someone’s teeth?”
Harry laughed a little too loudly, covering his own discomfort with a long sip of champagne. “You’re not jealous of Malfoy, are you?”
“No! Of course not!” Ron eyes widened, looking at Harry like he might be crazy, then a heartbeat later, asked, “Do you think I should be?”
Hermione and Malfoy were still talking, friendly. But not friendly. Hermione had a vaguely amused look like Malfoy was an odd species she hadn’t quite figured out, but was getting close. Malfoy was still all exaggerated smiles and stiff politeness. “No.” Harry knew what Malfoy looked like when he wanted someone.
“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Ron cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on Hermione. “I’m just wound tight because of all the time they’ve been spending together in meetings.”
Harry blinked, running over what Ron had said. Hermione only had one project running at the moment. “What meetings?”
“The Committee. It’s keeping her so busy. Late nights and all that.” Ron grimaced and turned to Harry, looking a little lost. “And Malfoy’s never missed a Committee meeting. She’s always saying how devoted he is to it.”
“But -- Malfoy’s on the Committee?” Harry all but shouted. “I thought he was trying to get the committee disbanded!”
Ron raised his glass with a smile to an elderly woman who was scowling at the outburst.
“Disbanded?” He looked at Harry like he was Confunded. “Hermione said he’s been on it since the first day. Something about them wanting a balanced group to head this up and Malfoy was the first pure-blood to volunteer.”
“What?” Harry said, shaking his head. “But...” He stared at Ron, at a loss for words.
“Harry, you look dashing!” Harry jumped as Hermione grabbed his arm, having crossed the room while Harry had stood dumbfounded. Behind her was Malfoy. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to remove my date from hovering at the canapé table.”
Ignoring Ron’s outrage, she pulled him in the direction of the ice sculpture castle displayed in the middle of the hall.
Malfoy slid up behind Harry. “You came.” His voice was a soft mixture of pleased and surprised.
“You are on the Committee to Restore Balance?” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.
Malfoy stepped back, looking genuinely confused. “Of course I am.”
“But you were protesting!”
Malfoy waved his hand. “Oh, Pansy dragged me to that. The Parkinsons have a lot to lose if these taxes are implemented. Honestly, they have no money sense at all.”
“But you are on the committee. You can’t protest it.”
Malfoy shrugged. “I was just there, showing her support and all that. I thought it would be a bore.” Malfoy was suddenly warm at Harry’s side, his breath tickling below Harry’s ear as he whispered, “It wasn’t.”
Harry shivered, closed his eyes and tried to remember where they were. Before it went any further though, Malfoy backed away.
“There’s more interest in this ballroom than you are looking for tonight, I’d wager,” Malfoy whispered, his eyes flickering over Harry’s shoulder.
From the corner of his eye, Harry spotted Rita Skeeter talking with Narcissa not far from them.
“Come on.” Malfoy turned away without another word and rounded a corner. Harry followed him down a hall and then another. There was the clanking of dishes that said they were near a kitchen, then Malfoy grabbed Harry’s hand and led him up a set of stairs.
When they finally stopped, they were on one of the balconies high above the crowded ballroom.
“Do you trust me?” Malfoy pulled his wand out.
Harry stared at it, and then at the crowd below. “Should I?”
Malfoy laughed, and flicked his wrist. The air around the balcony shimmered for an instant. Before Harry could do more than register the Notice-Me-Not spell, Malfoy had him crowded up against the banister.
“What are we doing, Malfoy?”
“Look down there, Potter.” Malfoy had pinned him so Harry was trapped between the banister cutting at his hip and Malfoy’s hard dick pressed against his arse.
It was hard to breathe, but he was looking down anyway, surveying the crowd at Malfoy’s command.
“What do you see?” Malfoy breathed in his ear. “Look at Father.”
Lucius was laughing wholeheartedly with a man Harry knew vaguely, the head of International Magical Cooperation. Bartholomew something or other.
“He’s obsessed with public image. The Committee? He wanted it instated. Even if we lose half our wealth, which Granger tells me is likely.” The words were coming out raw, like honesty was ripping from Malfoy’s throat. “Nothing matters more than status.”
Malfoy’s hand snuck down Harry’s chest, and his palm closed over Harry’s hard length. Harry wanted to say something, acknowledge what was happening, but he felt like Malfoy needed to get his point across uninterrupted.
“It’s all I hear about from morning until night. How perfect I need to be.” The button on Harry’s trousers popped, the zipper lowered. “Every second of every day.”
“Is that what this is about for you?” Harry ventured, struggling for words as Malfoy’s fingers wrapped around his cock and gave him a sharp tug.
They were touching, intimately, for the first time, Harry realised. In all that they had done, all that Harry had fantasised about -- this was first contact, standing there with a crowd of several hundred people gathered below. They moved like bees around the ballroom, swarming in a muffled chatter as they mingled from group to group in a strange dance of affectation.
“Isn’t it all so perfect? A huge success. Father’s already secured that Rita will confirm it tomorrow.”
Behind Harry, Malfoy was rolling his hips, knocking into Harry’s arse, matching the quickening rhythm of his hand on Harry’s dick.
“Doesn’t it make you want to scream for something real.”
“Yeah.” Harry was so close now, he wasn’t even sure what he was saying. He leaned forward to grip the banister for balance.
“Look at those people down there, Harry. You love it, don’t you?” Malfoy’s fist flew over Harry’s cock. He panted, warm and wet at Harry’s shoulder. “Knowing they are right there and don’t know you are about to lose your load right in front of them.”
Harry cried out, half in panic that Malfoy might actually drop the spell and half because he was driven over the edge at the thought of it. His orgasm tore from him; he stood, white knuckled, clinging to the banister and watching the people below who remained blessedly oblivious while Malfoy pumped him through the last of it.
“The way you look -- God.” Malfoy gasped, milking the final drops of come from Harry’s cock. “When my hand touched your cock at the protest.” Malfoy was thrusting now, rubbing himself off on Harry’s arse. “When you came in your pants in your office...”
Malfoy shuddered, then rocked frantically once and again before pressing himself hard against Harry’s arse with a dragged out moan.
They collapsed on the floor, Harry’s trousers open, his soft dick hanging loose. Malfoy rested on his back, his eyes on the ceiling, not looking at Harry. Harry wondered if Malfoy regretted it, how much Malfoy had revealed of himself in the heat of the moment.
Malfoy sighed. His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead, his robes a rumpled mess. Harry had never seen him look better, the afterglow still colouring his cheeks and his confessions still hanging in the air.
“Hey.” Harry leaned forward and waited until Malfoy’s eyes found his. He wanted to say, You’re not your father but he knew it would come out all wrong. He cursed himself not knowing the right words at moments like this.
Malfoy waited for him to say more, but when nothing came, he snorted, then sat up and waved his wand at his crotch and his hand (which had still been filthy with Harry’s come). Harry fumbled with his zip. They could walk away right now. It would be over, the moment lost. But Harry’s gut told him that even if they shared another time together, he might not get Malfoy laid bare again.
Harry couldn’t let that happen. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Malfoy’s lips. He felt Malfoy’s soft gasp, just before the kiss deepened with Malfoy pressing back, sucking in Harry’s bottom lip and giving it a nip.
“I should get back,” Malfoy breathed into the kiss, but his fingers were still holding tight to the back of Harry’s neck.
Harry kissed him again, not ready to let this go now that it was taking form into something... something that he couldn’t name but felt right.
Malfoy pulled away, catching his breath. “We’ll do this again sometime?” His voice was quiet, unsure. Nothing like the teasing, taunting man who brought Harry off so easily.
“Yeah, okay.” Harry grinned, warm and a bit giddy still in the after-glow of his orgasm.
Malfoy snorted. “Pervert.”