#aurorpartners

“Mate, you alright?” Ron asked, a shine in his eye that told Harry he was several drinks deep. “You’ve been staring at Malfoy all night. Don’t think he’s up to something, do you?” 

Harry frowned, shook his head.

“No. Just…nothing,” Harry said, and Ron leaned toward him. 

“You haven’t got a Marauder’s Map for the Ministry, do you?” 

“What? No, why?” 

“Thought I might find you lying awake tonight watching Malfoy’s tiny footsteps like you used to do in sixth year.” 

“Shut up. It’s not like he lives there, anyway,” Harry said, elbowing him away. 

Harry searched for Malfoy again, glimpsing blond hair as he disappeared around the corner, and Harry got up from his seat, then turned back, grabbing Ron by the arm.

“Don’t ask why, but I need you to distract Nott for me.” 

“Gross! I don’t want to talk to him—” 

“I’ll buy your drinks next Friday. All of them. Please?” 

Ron’s eyebrows lifted, a glint in his eye as he stood up from his chair and wobbled a bit before he went toward Nott. Harry lingered at a nearby table for a long moment before he went to the bathroom. He pushed the door, his heart pounding, unsure of his intentions as he rounded the stall door and nudged it open. 

Malfoy was there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head bowed. He looked up, timidly at first, but his expression shifted when he realised that it was Harry standing there. He straightened, arms hanging by his sides, mouth opening and shutting again. 

“Waiting for someone?” Harry asked, and he braced his forearm on the door as Malfoy tried to push it shut. 

“What is this?” Malfoy asked, his eyes going to the space behind Harry as if expecting someone to be there. “What do you want?” 

“I want to know why you’re hooking up with a prat like Theodore Nott. Have you no self-respect?”

“Self…?” Malfoy huffed, relenting his fight with the door as he stared at Harry in disbelief. “Even if that were true, it would be none of your business, would it?” 

Harry’s neck pricked, his heart skipping, eyes darting to the floor and back to Malfoy’s face as his alcohol-riddled brain tried to come up with an excuse. 

“The team is my business. It doesn’t do well for training if people start hooking up with each other.” 

“Oh? Well, I didn’t see you put up an argument about Weasley’s little bet regarding Finnegan and Thomas. Is your anti-sex clause only applicable to Slytherins?” 

“Well—that’s different. They were always that way—skirting around each other, even in school.” 

“So what? We’re all trainees. What difference does it make?” 

Harry swallowed, shrugged, glanced away again. 

“It doesn’t—I just—it doesn’t matter. They’re not doing anything and neither should you.” 

“Who said I was? Did you hear something? Did someone say something to you?” 

He had stepped closer, his shoulders set, eyes narrowed and Harry felt the urge to step back but didn’t—not wanting to allow space for Malfoy to exit the stall. 

“Nobody said anything,” Harry said quickly, and Malfoy looked back and forth between his eyes, stance not easing. 

“Then why would you think I was waiting to meet— someone in here?” 

Harry shrugged, leaned his other arm against the wall nearest, blocking Malfoy in.

“Well, I’m not blind. I…saw you come in here just after him last week.” 

“So? Can’t two people use the toilet at the same time? What are you, the piss police?” 

“As the Lead Auror in training, I don’t think it’s smart to sleep with your fellow trainees.” 

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself , if you’re so obsessed with all of it? Maybe it will keep your nose out of other people’s business,” Malfoy spat. “Can you move, or were you planning on climbing in here and seeing what all the fuss is about?” 

Harry let out a huff as Malfoy leaned back, folded his arms, rested his shoulder against the stall wall. 

“I didn’t think you and Nott were so close,” Malfoy said, lifting his chin, shaking his hair off his face. “That must be how you found out—he told you, didn’t he?” 

“What? No—I—I saw you follow him in.” 

“I don’t believe you. Why would you notice where I go? Why would anyone?” 

“I keep tabs on the whole group. It’s part of my job, isn’t it?” 

Malfoy’s mouth quirked, his eyes dropping to Harry’s shoulder, then his chest. Suddenly Harry’s collar felt too tight, chest heating uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“What I think is that you heard a rumour and came to see if it was true,” Malfoy’s eyes lingered on Harry’s belt for a long beat before he lifted his gaze again, shrugging. “I’m not as opposed as I once thought.” 

“Opposed? To what?” 

Malfoy didn’t answer, taking a step closer. 

“You’ve gotten better at duelling, you know?” Malfoy asked.

“I’m sorry…was that a compliment you just gave me? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” 

“Well, you’re still not that great. Just better than before.” 

Harry huffed, his heart leaping when he felt Malfoy’s fingers at his shoulder, sliding up to adjust his collar. 

“What is it you heard?” Malfoy asked, and Harry’s eyes found his mouth, unable to look away.

“Heard?” Harry whispered. 

“What did he tell you?” 

“Who?” 

“You came in here for a reason, didn’t you? What is it?” 

Harry opened his mouth, shook his head, licked his lips. 

“I…I don’t know. To see if you were waiting for him, I guess. Like he did last time.” 

“And then what?” Malfoy asked, his hand flattening on Harry’s shoulder, sliding down to his chest. 

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Harry murmured.

“Your lack of forethoughts hasn’t changed, then.” 

"What row is it? How far must I climb?” Draco asked.

“This says row seventy-nine. We’re on…” Harry leaned over the railing, reading the sign. “Fifty-three.” 

Draco groaned loudly as he continued up. 

“You’re welcome for getting such good seats,” Harry called. 

“At what cost? I could go into cardiac arrest, you know? You’d think they’d come up with some sort of lift system. This is absurd, having to climb our way to the top.” 

“Maybe you could quit the aurors and dedicate your life to lift-installation in sports arenas.” 

“I would, but nobody else would be able to put up with my git of a partner. They’d beg me to return.” 

“As if!” Harry said, jabbing a knuckle into his ribs, making Malfoy run up the next several steps to get away from him. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed in an on-the-job accident.”

“I’m too clever to be killed by some low-life criminal.” 

“Not by a criminal—by me.” 

“Well, that wouldn’t be an accident, now would it? You’d have about a decade and a half of pre-meditation, at least. You’d never get away with it.” 

“That’s the only reason I haven’t done it.” 

“Maybe you could try in the winter when things get slow. It could be fun. What level are we on now?” 

“I don’t know, look at the blasted sign yourself,” Harry said, breathing hard, dragging himself up by the railing, trying to take the effort of climbing off of his legs. His eyes caught on a sign as they passed by, and he groaned. “Sixty-one.” 

“Circe’s tits, Potter, you’re going to have to carry me. I can’t make another eighteen flights.” 

“I’m not carrying you, dickhead. You can stop if you want, but I’m getting this over with.” 

At the next landing, Draco slumped against a railing, head tilted back, resting on his elbows. Harry glanced at his throat as he passed by, head ducked as he started up the next flight, breathing hard as he carried up several more flights and then stopped, clung to the railing, wiped sweat from his brow. His lungs ached—his thighs burned—his shirt was sticking to his back. 

“I always knew you were pathetic, Potter,” Draco said from behind him, and Harry lifted his head, looking at him as he passed by, his face red from exertion. 

“You gave up first!” Harry bellowed, following up after him, hand on his chest as he struggled to breathe. 

“Yes, but I recovered quicker,” Draco said, his steps slow and heavy. “I’ve got better stamina—always have.” 

“Go fuck a broomstick, Malfoy,” Harry murmured as he jogged up the flight ahead, seeing there were three more flights left. 

He could hear Draco keeping pace behind him, ignoring the fatigue in his legs, the burning of his lungs, the rasp of his throat as he drew in breath and reached the seventy-ninth row. He tried not to seem too relieved, looking down at his ticket, wiping sweat from his eyes to read their seat number and then the signage, turning left. He dragged the sleeve of his shirt across his face to dry it, trying to get control of his breathing before they found their seats. 

Squeezing past the other people in the front row, he sat down and rubbed his hands on his knees, looking up as Draco passed in front of him and collapsed beside him. 

“I hate you so much,” Draco gasped, his hair clinging to his forehead. 

“We’re exactly on the centre line. These are great seats. Stop complaining.” 

“I taste blood.” 

Draco had never noticed quite how soft his palms were. As they pressed against his eyes, cool—moisturized—he wondered if Harry would notice, too. That is, if they did this.

“I can’t—” his voice came out choked, face burning hot, sweat on his forehead. “We can’t—” 

“There’s no other choice. A quarter of the sand has already gone to the bottom, and the runes say—” 

“I know what they say! I read them!” Draco shouted. “I knew I shouldn’t have come down here with you! Knew you’d get us in trouble when there’s only one bloody week left in auror training and I’ve been so—” 

The fight left him, and he leaned back against the wall, both hands pressed across his mouth, eyes shut. He heard Harry pacing somewhere in the room but couldn't look at him. 

“It doesn’t have to be…” Harry tried, but Draco shook his head, and he trailed off. “Fine.” 

Draco opened his eyes, saw Harry seated on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands interlaced. 

“Who knew I’d survive Voldemort only to die because some dickhead was too proud to shag me.”

“This isn’t about pride, it’s about—!” Harry looked at him with his eyebrows raised, expectant. Draco turned away. “I’ve…never done it before, alright?” 

“Well, if you don’t do it now, you never will. No time like the present.” 

Draco stared at the wall beside him—the cool stone—pressed his hand to it. 

“I don’t want my first time to be with someone who hates me,” he said, quieter than he’d intended, his face unbearably hot. 

“And if I didn’t?” Harry asked, and Draco looked at him. “Hate you?” 

“You’re just saying that because you want to live.” 

Harry scoffed—hung his head. 

“Whatever,” he murmured, laying on his side facing away. “You don’t even have to look at me. Just…put it in.” 

Draco’s body flamed at the image, nails scraping the wall behind him, picturing it before he could stop himself. He stared at Harry’s slowly rising shoulders in silence, his hammering heart louder than the stream of falling sand. His eyes squeezed shut, and he tilted his head back, trying to calm his breathing without Harry hearing. 

“I could blow you. Make it easier…” Harry continued. 

Draco felt blood rushing between his legs, his mind out of control, gritting his teeth as he remembered Occlumency, tried to use it to save himself. 

“All you’d have to do is stand there. I’m perfectly capable of fucking myself, as I so adequately demonstrated by trapping us—” 

“Shut up!” Draco snapped, sweat on his top lip and brow, cheeks painfully hot. 

Harry looked over his shoulder, glasses askew, green eyes sweeping him up and down before he pushed himself upright, one foot coming to the floor. They stared at each other as Draco’s pulse beat all over his body—sure that Harry could see it pounding at his throat—knowing just the shade of blotchy red his face was colouring. He’d seen it before as he watched himself come to the thought of Harry—the colour of shame. He wore it now. 

“You…like that idea, don’t you?” Harry asked, his eyes dropping, and Draco didn’t need to look down to know what he could see. The tightness in his trousers was telling enough. “Do you think we need to do it on the bed, or can I…?” 

His other foot came down and Draco’s shoulders raised, crowding himself into the corner, wishing he could sink through the wall.

“No!” he shouted, but his voice was thin, tears wetting the corners of his eyes. 

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter never seemed to cross paths in the auror department of the Ministry of Magic. They did a few times in Diagon Alley, at Madam Malkins before a Ministry event, and once at a pub that Draco never went to again, but other than that they were always apart. Draco would often catch Potter slipping in and out of his office silently, his face bowed over a folder, or a cup of coffee, or even just his wand.

They had no reason to talk to each other, and so, they didn’t.

Draco’s ‘office’ was a cubicle in the center of the auror department. It was a cramped space, with about twenty different desks in groups of four. Draco sat with the interns, even though he was an auror, but he supposed that he didn’t mind so much because it was better than being shoved into a tiny office with another auror who most likely would want nothing more than to see Draco killed. Or worse; fired.

He would always grab a cup of coffee from the break room before coming to his desk, and his desk-mates would graciously avoid his eye as he sat down and got situated at exactly nine o’ five in the morning. The morning rush of people entering the ministry was something that Draco actively avoided. He would much rather be a little late than have his shoes be stepped on by every passing wizard. It’s not like anyone would notice, anyways.

“Malfoy.” Draco’s ears rang at the sound of his own name.

He knew the owner of the voice before he even lifted his eyes from the file on the desk. It was Nora, the Minister's secretary, who always came bearing bad news. 

"The Minister is asking for you." She said, and Draco stood to follow her towards the lifts.

The Minister rarely called for Draco, but when he did, it was never good. It was never to thank Draco for all the progress he had made on indexing the file room, or doing grammar checks in case files so that the Ministry didn’t appear uneducated when certain files were released to the public. Of course it wasn’t very important work, but it was a lot of work. The work of an intern, not of an Auror.

He grit his teeth as the secretary opened the Minister’s door. He started to walk in, but froze almost immediately, his heart shuddering to a stop. Harry Potter was standing near the door, heading to make an exit as Minister Carter continued to talk to him. Potter was nodding, but turned his head when the door opened, and his eyes caught on Draco. Draco held his breath, and wasn’t exactly sure what his face was doing, but Potter looked away a moment later and nodded toward the Minister.

“Alright, I got it.” Potter said, and then all eyes were on Draco. “I’ll get started on it now.” Potter muttered, and slid out the door past Draco without another word.

The secretary shut the door as Draco walked in and took a seat. Carter was still standing from when he had been talking to Potter.

“This won’t take long.” He said, pulling a file from the tall book shelf behind his desk. It wasn’t until he picked up an empty file box that Draco realized what was happening. He was being fired.

Draco sighed and pressed his lips together as he stared down at the box, not all that surprised. He knew that he would be fired one day, and figured that he had been working here for quite a while anyways. He did, however, wonder what it was that caused his termination. Maybe those 5 minutes in the morning really did matter.

“You’re being moved.” Carter said, finally.

“Moved? To what department?” He asked, though he was happy that he was not being fired altogether, there wasn’t another section of the Ministry of Magic that he would have liked to work.

“Same department, different office.” Carter said, scratching a signature on the bottom of a piece of parchment.

“Office?” Draco asked.

“Auror Potter is without a partner. I’m assigning you to fill that roll.” He said, turning to fit the file back on his bookshelf.

“Harry Potter?” Draco questioned.

“Of course bloody Harry Potter, who else?” Carter snapped, picking up the empty file box as he rounded his desk toward Draco.

Draco stood, taking the box as Carter shoved it against his chest.