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fics

The Fate we Make, drarry [T, 20k]

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley didn't have a good breakup. So, they’ve decided to see who can bring the most outrageous date to each Weasley event. When Harry finds out that Ginny is bringing Cho Chang to Christmas — which will be the first Weasley date with the same gender AND Harry’s ex — he has no idea how to one-up it. Until he gets the brilliant and definitely not terrible idea of asking his healer, Draco Malfoy. 

The Last of my Humanity, jayvik [T, 2K]

An alternative take on Jayce meeting Viktor at the Commune. Jayce has just crawled out of the depths of hell, with one thing on his mind: Viktor. Featuring the conversation that takes place when Jayce finds Viktor at the Commune to kill him.

it was always you (if you're sure), byler [T, 1.8K]

An early morning conversation during a sleepover. Featuring confessions, angsty conversations, and a really-bad-at-explaining-his-feelings Mike Wheeler. Set during the summer after season five.

doodles

When Harry came back for their Eighth Year, he didn’t expect that Draco Malfoy would have a complete reinvention.

 He’s grown out his hair, ditched that insufferable gel and let his hair out loosely clipped back, the shiny strands framing the angular contours of his face. He’s not as gaunt and sickly pale as he was a few months ago on trial; he’s toned and looks full of life. Those haunted grey eyes are now an inviting silver, his face soft but sharply defined. It probably also helped that he donated to like a million charities (including the one to rebuild Hogwarts) over the summer with his father’s money the second he got chucked in Azkaban. 

Not to mention, he talked smoothly in class, answered questions without hesitation, and somehow managed to seem perfectly composed even though most of the Eighth Years were barely holding it together. The other years fawned over his looks and words (Hermione calls in the “bad boy turned good trope”), and even the professors seem mildly unsettled by it. Harry is mostly just confused.

Because Malfoy is this new-and-improved version of himself with literally everybody (even Ron, to his disgust), but just not with Harry.

It starts off small. Malfoy is talking to Luna, and Luna invites Harry into the conversation by asking him a question. Malfoy is mid-sentence, then he suddenly derails and stares at Harry like he forgot how to speak. 

“Like I was saying- Potter, I- I mean. That’s, uhm-” Then he just stops talking, mildly mortified. He clears his throat, letting Luna talk. 

Harry frowns. Right. He assumes it’s hostility, that he’s offended that Harry would intrude. It’s what makes the most sense.

Later that week, it continues to happen. “Potter, could you- actually, no, I- forget it.”

“Do you understand the assignment? Not that I think you- I mean- yes, obviously you do.”

Each time, Draco looks increasingly furious with himself. Harry assumes Malfoy wants to lash out at him but doesn’t know how. He almost wishes Malfoy would yell at him or hit him or something, because Harry didn’t know how to react to this. Malfoy was normal with literally everyone else, even the other Gryffindors. 

The weirdest part, though, is everyone’s reactions to this situation. Lavender once whispered to Parvati, “He’s doing it again,” under her breath, when Malfoy nearly dropped his book just because Harry walked past. 

Some Seventh-year nudges her friend when she sees them talking, sighing dreamily as Malfoy walks away. “Merlin, what I’d give for him to notice me like that.”

Seamus snorts into his potion notes. “Mate, it’s actually embarrassing at this point.”

“What is?”

Seamus just stares at him. “Nothing,” he says. 

Harry and Malfoy have been weird with each other for years, and no one batted an eye. Why was everyone so interested now? It’s not like Malfoy hating him was anything new. 

Harry sees Malfoy sitting at a library table and decides to join him. It’s not a weird thing to do, considering almost all the other tables are occupied and Malfoy’s table is empty. Ron and Hermione were sitting at the table right next to it, too. He sits down, and Malfoy starts to say something, then stops immediately, looking back down at his book.

Harry narrows his eyes.

“Malfoy.”

“Yes?”

“You were saying something.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I literally saw you open your mouth.”

Malfoy freezes, and for a second, Harry actually thinks he’s going to get up and run away. Instead, he opens his mouth again. 

“I was going to ask,” he says finally, “if you understood the Potions notes.”

“...uh, yeah, kinda. But why would you need my help with Potions?”

“Right.” Malfoy pauses.

“Good point.”

Another pause.

Malfoy closes his book, looking away. 

“Forget it.”

He stands up too quickly and leaves, speed-walking away. Harry watches him, wildly confused and reeling from that interaction.

He looks to Ron and Hermione. “Did I do something to him?”

“No,” Hermione says.

“Yes,” Ron replies. 

Harry looks at the two of them, frowning.

“What?”

Ron looks at him almost pitifully. “Mate.”

“What?” He repeats.

“He only does that with you,” he says, dramatically hand gesturing to Malfoy’s empty seat. 

Harry rolls his eyes, sighing. “Yeah, yeah, he hates me. I get it, guys.” 

Ron and Hermione look at each other, but don’t reply. 

Later that week, Harry finally sees Malfoy alone in the corridor.

“Malfoy.” He visibly stiffens.

“Yes.”

“You’ve been acting strange around me.”

“I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have.”

“…I don’t know what you mean,” he says.

Harry looks at him like he’s insane. Is he going insane? Was he just imagining things? What was going on? He just wanted Malfoy to treat him normally. Whatever normal was for them, anyway. They were both just trying to survive their Eighth Year. 

Behind them, some of the Eighth-Year Slytherins walk past, and Zabini whispers, not even quietly, “He’s so gone dude.”

Malfoy blushes slightly, giving Zabini a Snape-level death glare.

“…what did they say?”

“Nothing,” Malfoy says quickly.

Harry looks between him and the smug-looking Slytherins.

It takes him around several seconds, but things finally begin to process. 

“Oh,” Harry says. Malfoy looks like he wants to die. 

Harry squints.

“…Oh.”

And somewhere behind them, someone very helpfully mutters,

“Finally.”

take 1

The first time Harry hears this ridiculous rumour, he finds it amusing. 

“Me and Malfoy?” He asks.

The intern nods. “Everyone thinks you’re together.”

“That’s ridiculous. People will just make up anything nowadays.”

“Y-yeah, totally.”

The second time, it's less funny because it’s from Dean, a fully trained adult Auror, not some naive teenage intern. 

“Potter, could you ask your healer boyfriend if he could send over the reports today?” 

“...my what.”

“Your boyfriend?” Dean replies, looking up from his work.

“Malfoy isn’t my boyfriend.” He replies quickly, defensively. 

Dean gives him a look. “Right. Just ask him for those reports.”

After the third, fourth, fifth, and even sixth time, Harry stops finding it funny.

"Why does everyone think I’m dating Malfoy? I mean, that’s insane. Right, guys?"

Ron and Hermione exchange the ‘are you seeing what I’m seeing?’ look that Harry has been a victim of since they were fourteen.

"What?" He asks.

“Well, Harry-” Hermione starts, clearly ready to gentle parent him into whatever realization he was missing, until Ron interrupts.

“Maybe you should ask Malfoy, mate.”

Harry is not asking Malfoy. He’ll just ask everyone else. He’s an Auror, after all; investigations like this are his thing. Obviously, this rumour is coming from somewhere. He’ll just ask around until he finds out where. 

He goes up to the Mungos’ receptionist, bracing himself. He inhales, then asks, “Could you tell me where my boyfriend is?”

She doesn’t even look up. “He’s on spell damage today, fourth floor.”

“Malfoy’s not my boyfriend.”

She looks up. “Alright.” She looks extremely unconvinced. 

“I’m being serious. We’re not dating.”

“Really?” 

“Yes.”

"Oh." 

Harry does not like how shocked she looks. He shakes his head. She probably sees lots of people and gets confused; he doubts it means anything.

That is, until everybody’s answer is like that. 

“Isn’t he your partner for every gala?”

“He leaves any case he’s on if you’re injured.”

“You literally threatened the Minister because he accidentally insulted Malfoy.”

“You bring him coffee every morning?”

“You guys go to the same place for lunch every day. Even the Prophet’s bored of it.”

Harry is beginning to suspect he may not survive this investigation with the insane things people are saying. I mean, it’s all true, but clearly taken out of context.

"Malfoy."

Draco doesn’t look up from his paperwork. "Potter."

"Everyone thinks we're dating." 

“I’m afraid they do.” He replies dryly.

“Uh, do you not care?” Harry asks.

Draco looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Harry pauses, realizing he actually doesn’t mind the idea. He was just worried Draco would take offense to such an egregious misunderstanding.

“No.”

“Then there isn’t really an issue, is there?”

“Suppose not.”

“Well, I have work to do. I’ll talk to you later tonight.”

“Er- alright then.” As Harry reaches for the door, Draco speaks again.

"Harry."

Harry turns. "Yeah?"

“Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps everyone else might be right?” Draco asks, suddenly looking at him expectantly.

 “I, er, guess so,” Harry replies, faltering under his sharp stare. Draco looks satisfied with this answer, even though Harry has never felt more confused in his life.

Malfoy acts like everything is normal later that day, but Harry can't stop thinking about it.

‘Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps everyone else isn't misunderstanding the situation?’ What bloody situation? He tries to pay more attention to things.

The next morning, when Harry drops off Draco's coffee, nobody looks surprised, as per usual. One Healer actually says, "Morning, you two."

Draco replies, "Morning." Like, this is normal. Like that is a normal thing to say. Harry doesn't even work here!

During a meeting, Draco throws a hissy fit because Harry’s robes aren’t on right, and he adjusts his collar. Nobody reacts. Draco falls asleep on his shoulder during one of their breaks. Nobody reacts.

Later that day, he gets an invite to a Gala addressed to the both of them. Like they’re a unit. 

“This is insane! To Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy. What the hell are they thinking?”

Ron doesn’t even look up from his paper. “Yeah, Mate, that’s so crazy.” He says, half listening. 

He looks around to see if anyone else saw this insanity, but no one has reacted. Wait. Harry thinks about the stupid coffee. The lunches. The galas. The fact that they almost live together with how often Malfoy’s at Grimmauld.

Oh.

Shit.

take 2

“I know- I know, I don’t mean to hurt you. You- you know that.” Mike says.

Will turns to look at him again, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know anything.”

He takes a deep breath in. “This whole time. You knew. You knew how I felt. You knew, and we decided it would be best if we pretended that you didn’t. But you can’t just suddenly decide to uproot everything because you’re depressed and are in desperate need of a rebound-” Will says, his voice growing more agitated.

“You’re not a rebound, it was-” Mike tries to reach for Will’s shoulder, but stops his hand before he makes contact.

“It was what?” Will is starting to regret even coming here. He’s just barely avoided hurtling towards heartbreak these past few months. He was only just starting to feel okay.

Their lips brush. Barely. It’s not a kiss. It’s more like Mike forgot how close they were and didn’t pull away quickly enough.

It lasts a grand total of half a second, and Will feels his heart stop. It takes Will a few seconds to process, but when he does, he recoils back so fast Mike nearly winces.

“Stop. Stop. What the fuck, Mike?” Will’s tone isn’t kind.

“I-” Mike starts.

“You’re grieving. Upset over El.” Will says, cutting, then falters. “You’re confused.” He tries to ignore the irony.

Mike’s eyes narrow. “I’m not-”

Will cuts him off. “Yes, you are. I’m not doing this.” He says, sharply, looking away. “I’m not being your distraction.”

“Draco Malfoy, ex-child Death Eater and heir to the Malfoy line, hasn’t been seen in Wizarding England in nearly 3 years!” The Prophet had read that day.

Malfoy had disappeared right after the trials. He was cleared of all charges and had an ironically bright future ahead of him, but that was before he snapped his wand in half and promptly fucked off into oblivion. His exorbitant Gringotts vaults were emptied, and no one had heard of him since.

There were rumours that he went to France, living it up as a muggle billionaire, or that he was plotting away in the English highlands to become the next Dark Lord.

Harry knows he shouldn’t care. And he doesn’t. His life was good; he and Ron had just finished Auror training, he and Ginny were on mostly speaking terms again, and the war grief was finally starting to fade. But it wouldn’t stop nagging at him.

He was just so used to seeing him, Harry reckons. Nothing weird about it. You get used to seeing someone every day for 7 years; it was only normal to wonder what he was up to.

Harry’s in Muggle London to investigate a fairly simple case. But he’s taken a bit off track when he accidentally overhears that a man with the name of Malfoy was to be performing at a popular London Muggle bar. Obviously, he has no choice but to check it out. For Aurorly research purposes.

Harry pushes himself through the crowded bar, muttering “excuse me” and “sorry” as he bumps into people and receives some not-so-kind looks. It’s a busy place, and Harry mentally pauses as he walks up to the front. This was insane. Why was he even here? Ron and Hermione would never let him hear the end of this. Maybe he did have a problem. He almost turns to leave.

But then he sees him.

Malfoy.

He’s sitting on the bar stage, and his fingers start elegantly gracing the keys of a piano. Harry suddenly can’t breathe. It couldn’t be him, could it? But he had the same white-blonde hair, now falling past his shoulders, those grey eyes, and that striking jawline. He looked fucking ethereal. Nothing like the half-starved and gaunt-looking boy he’d seen at the trials. He’d filled in, but still carried that lean build.

It was beautiful. The music, obviously. It sounded like a dream. No wonder so many people came to listen to him. Harry’s almost tempted to think he’s using magic to play somehow, but he can’t feel the magical signature of any spellwork or allure.

Harry doesn’t know what to do. So he just watches. After what feels like several minutes -which he later learned was almost an hour- Malfoy is done playing. He immediately spots him, his steely grey eyes narrowing. Harry is too frozen to look away. The crowded bar breaks into applause. Dozens of people crowd up to him, holding out things for… were those for him to sign? They looked like records. Were they Malfoy’s?

Harry pushes through the crowd, ignoring the not-very-kind looks he gets for cutting through the line. Malfoy’s standing there, talking amicably to someone as he signs something they hold out.

“You, uhm- sounded nice,” Harry says suddenly, as the person walks away. Malfoy glances at him, but looks away. If he’s shocked to see him, he doesn’t show it. Harry wonders for a moment if Malfoy will ignore him completely, but he mutters, “…thanks.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Harry says. He isn’t sure why he says it. It’s not like they’re friends, but Harry wants him to know he won’t ruin this for him.

“Right.”

“When’s your next, er-…?”

Malfoy gives him an odd look. Harry thinks Malfoy’s going to tell him to fuck off, but he says, “Tomorrow. Ten.”

“I’ll be there, then.”

“Not like I can stop you,” Malfoy mutters dryly, walking away.

Around three months later, the Prophet had a new headline. “Draco Malfoy spotted for the first time in Wizarding London, alongside Harry Potter.”

Harry was convinced Malfoy was up to something. 

Nothing new, of course, but this time he was convinced to actually do something about it. Their Eighth year has been uneventful so far, except for the fact that whenever Harry even glanced at Malfoy, he’d immediately freeze and look away. One time, Harry tried to politely nod to him in the hallway, and Malfoy immediately turned away and walked faster. It was very suspicious behavior. 

So the most reasonable course of action was, of course, to eavesdrop on the Eighth Year Slytherins to see what they were up to. It was Saturday, a Hogsmeade day, but the Slytherins often preferred to stay behind in the Eighth Year Common Room while everyone else left. So Harry gave some half assed excuse to Ron and Hermione about not feeling well and stayed behind.

Harry pulls over his invisibility cloak, hiding behind one of the couches as he creeps into the Common Room, where Malfoy, Parkinson, Zabini, Greengrass, and Nott are all sitting and talking. 

He inches close enough to be in earshot of their conversation. “-yeah, we always see how you get whenever you talk to Vane. Not very subtle.” Malfoy says, and Zabini jabs him in the shoulder as the others laugh.

“Rich coming from the one who’s been acting like a blushing first-year all term,” Zabini remarks, dryly.

“Shut up,” Malfoy says, rolling his eyes. 

There’s a snort of laughter from Parkinson. “He has a point. You’ve been in love with him for what, three years now?”

Harry freezes. In love? Malfoy was in love? With who? How the hell does he know nothing about this? Harry definitely should have heard about this, especially if it’s been three fucking years. He suddenly feels a tight knot in his stomach. 

“Be nice, Zabini,” Greengrass says, with mock sweetness. “It’s really only been two and a half.” He hears laughter.

“Don’t mope, Draco, he’s just as bad as you are if the staring is anything to go by,” Parkinson says, placatingly. 

“He does not stare,” Malfoy says.

“All he does is ominously stare,” Zabini says, rolling his eyes. Harry doesn’t like this. He’s half a second away from going there and making Malfoy tell him who it is himself. Who’s been staring at Malfoy? Surely, he would have noticed.

“He’s Potter. Since when does he ever do things normally?” Nott says, speaking up for the first time.

It takes Harry several seconds to fully process what Nott has just said. ‘He’s Potter. ’ Potter. That was his name. Malfoy was in love with someone. That someone was him. 

Oh.

Fuck.

part 1

“Pansy Parkinson is a bitch.” Harry says one day in the Great Hall. Their Eighth Year, in Ron’s opinion, has been great. Except for one tiny detail: Harry no longer has to worry about a constantly looming threat to his life. This is great and all, but it’s resulted in Harry deciding to now put that energy into never shutting the fuck up about Malfoy.

“And why’s that?” 

“Why’s she always sitting so close to Malfoy? What are they doing?” 

“I think they’re just sitting there, mate,” Ron says. Even though the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables were on the opposite ends of the Great Hall, there was an unspoken rule that no one sat in the eyeline directly between Harry and Malfoy (to avoid their death glaring), giving Ron the same view Harry had- which was of Parkinson leaning on Malfoy while they talked to Zabini and Nott. 

“I think… I think they’re plotting something.” Harry proclaims, glaring at the Slytherins casually eating breakfast. Ron looks around for any support because it is far too early in the morning to deal with this alone. Not a single person is even remotely fazed by Harry’s claim, except for Dean, who raises his eyebrows and gives him a ‘well, he’s your best friend’ look.

Ron runs a hand over his face. Every. Fucking. Day. It’s either ‘He’s so posh and annoying. He’s definitely doing it to piss me off. Right, Ron?’ or ‘I think he’s looking at me. You think he’s looking at me?’ and Ron is moments away from losing it. 

Ron knows that he might have the emotional intelligence of a fish, but even he knows what’s happening. He’s fairly sure the entirety of Gryffindor knows, judging by how no one gives a shit anymore. Even Malfoy has stopped caring, but Ron swears he likes the attention. 

“They might be dating, Harry,” Hermione says, idly.

“Dating? Dating? They’re not dating.” Harry says, quickly and confidently. Ron is trying very hard not to laugh while Hermione just looks at Harry pitifully. 

“Really?” Hermione asks.

“Why would they be dating? She’s not even his type!” Harry says, hitting the table with his hand, some cutlery loudly clattering. Neville shoots them a concerned look, but Ron mutters ‘Malfoy’ to him under his breath, and he nods understandingly. 

“Harry, mate, you’re scaring the First Years.”

“She’s feeding him the pears! He hates pears! I can’t believe it! What do you think he’s up to, Ron? Ron?” Harry says, his arm dramatically pointing at Malfoy and Parkinson. Ron considers banging his head into the table, but decides against it. 

Ron then gets a terrifying vision. This continuing after Hogwarts. Both of them in Auror training, and Harry skipping classes to stalk Malfoy. Having to stare at Malfoy in the Ministry cafeteria. Being forced to eavesdrop on his conversations. Ron could see it now, forced to spend years of his life enduring this.

“She’s touching his hair! Do you see that, Ron? Do you see that?” Harry says, nearly jumping up and out of his chair. Ron is about to tell him the shut the fuck up before he throws something at him, but Dean comes to his rescue. 

“Can you both just snog each other already? We all know you want to.” He says, loud enough that some people from the other House tables hear. Ron can’t help but grin into his food, knowing it was only a matter of time before it got to Malfoy, and Harry, for once, didn’t comment on the smirk on Malfoy’s face when it did.

part 2

“So tell me WHAT YOU DID.” Harry’s voice echoes throughout the interrogation room, his hands slamming onto the table.

Draco flinches at the volume, averting his eyes.

“Eleven of your patients tried to ‘attack’ you. Eleven. They all acted as though magically entranced. You have a near-perfect track record. You wouldn’t just destroy your career. What. Happened.” He says, his tone harsh.

Harry’s Auror robes were broad and powerful. On them, there were several insignias: for the Ministry, for his First Class Order of Merlin, for his Head Auror status; it didn’t take a genius to see his power.

But that wasn’t to say Draco was without influence. He was a senior-level Healer, renowned, his powers highly sought after. His grey Healer robes also bore numerous insignias, his prestige rivalling Harry’s. The same respect and honour Harry had earned by birthright, Draco had worked to the bone for. And he had gotten it, becoming one of the most highly regarded Healers in Britain. 

“Harry-” Draco starts.

“Don’t Harry me. They think it was a fluke. I think it was dark magic. So, tell me, which was it?” Harry says, his voice deadly. Their animosity wasn’t a secret. Everyone in the Healing and Auror departments knew they both loathed each other. Draco knew if it got out that Harry was the one interrogating him, it would be a scandal beyond measure.

“It’s been taken care of. You don’t need to worry about it anymore.” Draco says, his tone cold and professional as he finally looks up and meets Harry’s eyes. They’re warm and green, the harshness in them flickering for just a second when Draco makes eye contact. 

“I need answers, Malfoy, not vague statements,” Harry says, unwavering. 

Draco inhales. He really, really did not want to get into this with Harry. It was a secret that Pansy, Blaise, and a supervisor knew, and certainly not something he wanted fucking Harry Potter to know. Could he even trust this man? But considering the options were either telling him or scandalizing his career, he had no choice.

“I worked two back-to-back 24-hour shifts, causing me to miss my daily suppressant medication. This has never occurred in my years as a Healer, and will not happen again. The department is aware of the issue and has cleared it.” Draco says, as smoothly as possible.

“You were off what?” 

“Suppressive medications are usually given to magical creatures or adjacent beings, mitigating their subconscious magical effects and allowing them to-” 

“No, no, I know what it is. But what does that have to do with anything? And why do you take-?” Harry says, cutting him off, the mostly put-together man looking very caught off guard.

Harry suddenly pauses, just staring at Draco. The silence stretches for what feels like a millennium, and Draco feels an awful tension creeping up in his gut, his fight-or-flight response kicking in. Fuck, he should’ve just chosen to remain silent and report Harry for improper interrogation. 

At last, Harry speaks, his eyes wide. “You’re a veela.”

“Why the fuck are you following me?” Malfoy says, his voice harsh and cold. In Harry’s defense, he wasn’t following him. He was simply… in the same hallway. Every day. At the same time.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault that Malfoy had grown up to be one hell of a man. Malfoy was a renowned senior-level Healer, with his powers highly sought after. His grey Healer robes bore numerous insignias that Harry probably couldn’t even pronounce. As Head Auror, Harry spoke with him quite often about cases, but never beyond that. 

Harry always thought Malfoy would grow up to be cold and pointy, like an oversized version of his 13-year-old self. But instead, he had the beauty and elegance of his mother with the sharpness of his father. His long, silvery hair easily fell past his shoulders, his grey eyes like pools you could fall into if you stared long enough. Harry was very sure he wasn’t the only one who had noticed the striking beauty of Draco Malfoy, judging by the lingering glances the man often got.

“I’m not following you,”

“Oh, really? You just happened to have the same schedule as me every day for the past fucking month?” Malfoy steps closer.

“Er…”

“I don’t know what you suspect me of doing, but I will not hesitate to report your use of your Head Auror position to conduct some sort of unauthorized surveillance,” Malfoy says, his tone biting. 

Harry falters. “Wait, what-”

“I’m not naive. What do you think I’m up to now? Using dark magic on my patients? Stealing Ministry files? I’m not the boy I was back at school, and whatever ludicrous stalking you’re up to is a waste of your time and mine. I would never do anything to ruin my career, and that includes allowing your meddling.”

“Dinner.” Harry blurts out, watching Malfoy’s coldness slowly turn into confusion. “Have you eaten dinner?”

“No,” Malfoy says, slowly. “I haven’t,” Malfoy is now looking at Harry the same way a healer looks at a Janus Thickney Ward patient. Harry isn’t sure if that’s an improvement or not.

“I haven’t either. I was wondering if you want to do that. With me. Tonight. For dinner eating purposes.” Harry sees Malfoy’s eyes darken, and he immediately backpedals. “Or not. Not works perfectly fine, too.” 

“Did someone put you up to this?” Malfoy asks, eyes narrowed.

“No! No, I just- I wanted to spend some time with you. And get to, er, know you.” Harry finishes, a bit pathetically. 

“You’ve been illegally stalking me, so you could ask me out for dinner?” Malfoy asks him, looking at him like he’s announced he’s the new Voldemort. 

“For fuck’s sake I wasn’t stalking- you know what, yes,” Harry says, defeated.

“That is… very unexpected,” Malfoy says, looking at him oddly.

“You look good in healer’s robes,” Harry says weakly. 

Malfoy’s smile is downright lethal. “I look better out of them.”

Ah, shit.

He's ruined.

Harry has shit eyesight. Now, this has been a fact of life since Harry was a kid. He couldn’t see jackshit, and he’d been living with that up until the war ended and Hermione convinced him to get magical eyesight correction done.

And holy fucking shit was the world so much clearer than he had ever imagined. Turns out the glasses he’d been using for the past seventeen years of his life were not the most accurate (shocker), and he was seeing things in a whole new light. 

Neville had way greener eyes than he’d remembered, and had Hermione always had that many curls? And since when had Ron had that many fucking freckles? 

But the main issue was Malfoy. Harry first sees him in the ministry atrium (while Harry is in Auror training and Malfoy is making his Healer rounds), and he nearly has a heart attack. Because fuck. Fucking fuck fuck.

Since when were Malfoy’s eyes that grey? They were as light as silver, but dark enough that you could mistake them for being as deep as the ocean. And his stupid fucking hair. It shone like anything, and Harry could swear it was damn near glowing. It was hard to ignore, especially now that Malfoy had grown it out to his shoulders. And Malfoy’s face was not nearly as pointy as Harry’d remembered it. It was… pretty? Attractive? He was starting to see why half their year had fancied Malfoy. 

And his physique- he looked nothing like he did when they were 16. There was almost an elegance to his lean but toned body, the form-fitted Healer robes hugging all the right places. Like he was some fucking model. Holy fucking shit, this is not happening. Harry does not find Malfoy hot like he’s some kind of schoolyard girl.

“Morning,” Malfoy mutters, walking past him while he gapes at him like a fish. Has Malfoy always been this gorgeous? No, there was simply no way. It must be an illegal spell. Or perhaps it was an imposter. Or maybe Draco Malfoy had decided to become a Veela. Yes. Yes, that would explain why Harry felt like he was losing his mind.

“Malfoy!” Harry calls out before Malfoy turns into the next hallway. Malfoy pauses, looking back at him, confusedly, as if he thought Harry was calling someone else.

“Yes?”

“You, er, look nice.”

Malfoy stares at Harry like he’s just announced that he’s going to elope with McGonagall. For a moment, Harry thinks Malfoy is going to yell at him, throw something at him, or slap him, and Harry almost runs away. But he does not, deciding that that would not be very Aurorly of him.

Malfoy blinks. “Thanks,” He mumbles, walking away. Harry is very grateful that his eyesight is good enough to see the faint flush rise in Malfoy’s cheekbones and neck.