Harry Potter leaned against the polished oak desk in his Ministry office, the weight of eight years as an Auror settling into his shoulders like an old scar. At twenty-six, he had long since traded schoolboy heroics for case files and late-night stakeouts, yet nothing prepared him for the monthly reparations meetings that forced him to share air with Draco Malfoy. The war had ended nearly a decade ago, leaving both men scarred in different ways - Harry with his endless patrols through Diagon Alley and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Draco with his quiet work in the reparations office, trying to rebuild what his family name had once torn down.
Draco arrived precisely on time, his dark robes tailored to perfection, silver-blond hair catching the candlelight. War veteran or not, the man carried himself with the same aristocratic tilt Harry remembered, though the sneer had softened into something more guarded. "Potter," Draco greeted, voice clipped. "Let's make this quick. I have no interest in lingering over old grievances." Their conversations began with pointed barbs about past betrayals and Ministry politics, but over months the edge dulled. Harry noticed the way Draco's fingers lingered on parchment when passing documents, how his gray eyes flicked to Harry's mouth during arguments. Diagon Alley encounters followed, accidental at first, then deliberate. One rainy evening outside the Leaky Cauldron, Draco's hand brushed Harry's wrist, sending heat up his arm that lingered long after they parted.
Tension thickened like storm clouds. Harry found himself replaying their last exchange in bed at night, wondering if the flush on Draco's cheeks had been anger or something else. Draco, for his part, lingered in Ministry corridors after meetings, exchanging terse updates that stretched into reluctant admissions about shared losses from the war. "You always were the one rushing in without thinking," Draco said during one late session, his voice low as they reviewed a file on remaining Death Eater assets. "Some of us had to think our way through survival." Harry shot back with a grin that held no malice, "And some of us had to clean up the messes. Still do." Their eyes locked, the air between them crackling with something neither named.
The snap came on a quiet night in Malfoy Manor, summoned under the guise of reviewing a joint case file. Harry arrived at the grand entrance, the manor looming with its familiar chill, now tempered by adult perspective and the absence of Voldemort's shadow. Words turned heated, accusations flying about trust and old rivalries, until Draco shoved Harry against the study wall. "I've had enough of your sanctimonious stares," Draco hissed, but his lips crashed against Harry's before the sentence finished. The kiss tasted of firewhisky and years of restraint breaking, tongues sliding with desperate hunger as hands fisted in robes.
Clothes vanished under impatient hands. Harry mapped the pale scars across Draco's chest, tongue tracing old wounds as Draco groaned low, fingers threading through Harry's dark hair. They tumbled to the velvet chaise, Draco's fingers slick with conjured oil working Harry open with deliberate slowness, each press and curl drawing gasps and muttered curses. "Merlin, Potter, you're tighter than I imagined," Draco murmured against Harry's ear, his breath hot as he added a second finger, scissoring gently while Harry rocked back. Harry replied with a sharp bite to Draco's shoulder, "Shut it, Malfoy, and get on with it before I change my mind." When Draco finally thrust inside, Harry arched with a cry, legs locking around slim hips, the stretch burning in the best way as Draco filled him inch by inch.
The rhythm built from frantic to deep, each snap of Draco's pelvis drawing curses and pleas. Sweat-slicked skin slid together, hands gripping hard enough to bruise, Draco's pale fingers digging into Harry's thighs as he angled deeper. "Look at you, Harry," Draco panted, using the first name like a weapon, "Taking me so well after all these years of pretending to hate me." Harry groaned in response, reaching down to stroke himself in time, the dual sensation pushing him closer. They shifted positions, Harry on his knees now with Draco behind, thrusts growing erratic as Draco reached around to pump Harry's length. Sensory overload hit - the slap of skin, the scent of musk and old books in the manor, the taste of salt on Draco's neck when Harry twisted to kiss him again. Release crashed over them in shuddering waves, Harry spilling first across the chaise, Draco following with a low moan buried against Harry's back.
Afterglow left them tangled, breaths mingling. Draco traced Harry's lightning scar with unexpected tenderness, their bodies cooling as the fire in the grate crackled. "This changes nothing," he murmured, though the lie hung thin between them, contradicted by the gentle way he pulled Harry closer.
But the manor door creaked faintly in the corridor beyond -