Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Watch out for the --”

“-- Dismemberment curse. Already one step ahead of you, Potter. I disengaged it when you were still tripping your way up the stairs,” came Draco’s drawl.

“Just saving you a third trip to St. Mungo’s this month,” Harry shot back. “Healer Chadwick is quite taken with you, you know. Dirkwood told me she thinks you’re injuring yourself on purpose just to land in her wing.”

“As if I’d deliberately put myself in harm’s way for a woman,” Draco snorted. “Landing’s all clear.”

“For anyone, you mean,” Harry chuckled. “Remind me why you’re in this line of work again?”

There used to be a time when every word that left Malfoy’s mouth raised Harry’s hackles. Few things could wash away years of irreconciliation differences and inimical history, and Harry supposed that three years of grueling Auror training and two years of working as partners in life and death situations would do the trick.

It also didn’t hurt that the blond was well fit, Harry thought, as he watched the sway of Draco’s arse ascending the stairs. The eye candy aspect compensated somewhat for his partner’s prickly temperament. The sinewy lines of his body was accentuated by his Auror garb, which was custom-designed for each Auror to be tight, well-fitting and, in Draco’s case, extremely flattering.

“... signs of ancient spellwork woven into it,” Draco was saying. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” Harry tore his gaze away from his partner’s backside. At the top of the stairs, Draco was inching carefully along the hallway, illuminated wand held high to cast light into shadowed corners. In the years after Voldemort’s defeat, the Auror Division had its hands full rounding up erstwhile Death Eaters and the various traps and safe-houses they had set up around Britain. This particular shack had belonged to Corban Yaxley, who had spent the better part of a decade evading the Ministry until his eventual capture last week on a well-timed tip-off from Mundungus Fletcher.

“Keep up, Potter!”

“What’s the hurry?” Harry replied. “Hot date tonight?”

“You know the only date I’ve got tonight is with you and a wank load of paperwork,” came Draco’s disgruntled reply. “You catch that disturbance in the chandelier?”

“Already on it,” Harry said. He pointed his wand skyward and shot a Stasis Charm towards the ridiculously ornamental fixture, temporarily neutralizing the aura of dark magic pulsing from it until a specialized team could be sent in.

Harry would never admit it out loud but the prospect of a late night back at the Ministry with his Auror partner was not wholly unpleasant. With none of their colleagues around, Draco tended to let his guard down and the man that lay behind the standoffish exterior was, Harry discovered to his pleasant surprise, unexpectedly witty and conversable.

Besides, Merlin knew Harry had little to look forward to back at his empty flat. If spending more time with Draco meant that he had to nurse an increasingly hopeless and unrequited crush, then he would just have to man up and deal with it.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a creak of floorboards. Acting on intuition, he raised his wand, an incantation on his lips before he had even processed what was happening.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” he bellowed, catching his partner in a jet of golden light as the floor fell out beneath Draco’s feet. Draco was instantly suspended in midair, arms flung outward and eyes wide as Harry guided him to safe ground. Breathing hard, they peered over the edge of the hole in the floor. A bed of nails lay waiting to pierce the unfortunate faller. It wouldn’t have been fatal, but would have resulted in a great deal of pain and blood.

“Creative,” Draco said humorlessly. “I thought Fletcher said this place wasn’t booby-trapped?”

“I’ve stopped trusting Dung ever since that incident with the hag,” Harry said grimly. “You reckon we should request reinforcements?”

“Scared?” Draco smirked.

“Hardly,” Harry replied.

“You’re not completely incompetent. I trust you to watch my back,” Draco said with a curt nod of thanks.

And a rather nice back it was, too, Harry thought, then kicked himself mentally. Now was not the time to get distracted.

“Chuck us another Levitation Charm to get me across the other side,” instructed Draco.

“Hang on, you missed this room,” Harry pointed at an inconsequential-looking door they had just passed. He reached out for the serpent head-shaped doorknob, keen to do as thorough a search of the place as possible.

“No!” Draco cried, “I told you earlier there’s a cur-”

He had barely spoken before Harry’s hand made contact with the bronze doorknob. Several things happened at once. The knob gave a giant rattle. Draco charged towards him, arms outstretched and eyes blazing. Instinctively, Harry threw up a nonverbal Protego which exploded around him in a dome, flinching at the ripple in his shield when the curse bounced off it. The two seconds it took Draco to run to Harry and presumably push him out of harm’s way cost him the time to cast protection. Harry watched in horror as Draco caught the brunt of the spell full in the chest and toppled over.

“Dr-Draco!” Harry staggered forward blindly, heart in his throat. Dust settled ominously around them.

“Ow! That’s my foot, you oaf!” A plaintive voice drifted through the cloud of dust. Harry crouched down beside his partner, shaky with trepidation. Draco was clutching his head in his hands. He looked frail and shaken, but alive.

“Are you alright?” Harry cried. He crouched over his partner and ran through a series of diagnostic spells.

“Get off me, I’m okay!” Draco protested. “For Merlin’s sake, right after I compliment you, of course you had to go cock it up!”

“No physical damage, internal bleeding, mental debilitation,” Harry sagged to the floor in relief. “Still, I’ve got to get you to St. Mungo’s immediately …”

He trailed off. Something was not right.

“Is there something on my face, Potter?” Draco frowned.

“Ah, shit,” muttered Harry.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M STUCK LIKE THIS?”

Harry winced as Draco’s voice rose to an ear-splitting pitch. Kingsley Shacklebolt, always the epitome of serenity, did not bat an eyelid. Harry had to give kudos to the Head Auror. Although Draco - skinny, pale, pointed fifteen year old Draco, did not strike a very intimidating figure, he was alternatively glaring at Harry and Shacklebolt like he had Avada Kedavras shooting from his eyes.

“The Spell Damage team at St. Mungo’s have already tested counters to every known de-Ageing Spell, to no avail as you have witnessed yourself, Mr. Malfoy,” Shacklebolt said calmly. “Meanwhile, I’ve got my best team working on a cure. Mrs. Granger-Weasley has even set aside her current investigation to work fulltime on your case as a special favor to Harry.”

The mention of Harry’s name made Draco’s narrow shoulders tighten and Harry sank lower into his chair. He didn’t begrudge Draco’s ire in the slightest; he was after all mostly responsible for Draco’s current predicament.

After the fiasco at the Yaxley safehouse, Harry had immediately Apparated the two of them to St. Mungo’s, where Draco was pronounced to be in perfectly good health - apart from the fact that he was now fifteen years old. Ageing and Anti-ageing spells were not uncommon, but three hours and batteries of tests later, no counterspell or potion made the slightest difference. His memory and mental faculties were intact, though he experienced some difficulty with more complicated spellwork and almost splinched himself Apparating back to the Ministry.

“So now what?” Draco snapped. “I’m not coming in to work like - like this.”

He scowled and pushed up the too-long sleeve of his Auror robes. Harry still couldn’t get over how young he looked, grey eyes overly large in his pointy face, cheekbones sharp enough to cut, and lips twisted this side of petulant. He looked tiny, too, half a head shorter than Harry and probably a few stones lighter. Growing up together, Draco always had a few inches on Harry and it was bizarre now to think that Harry could probably pick him up with one hand and sling him over his shoulder if he so desired.

Theoretically speaking. Not that Harry wanted to. With another look at Draco’s querulous expression, Harry quelled that line of thought lest Draco read his mind and actually murder him.

“Take a few days off. You too, Potter,” Shacklebolt said with the air of someone who was doing them a favor.

“Fine,” Draco muttered, “Gives me time to do my own research. The Manor has an extensive library, I’m sure I can find something in there that the Healers overlooked.”

“As for that …” Shacklebolt steepled his fingers and, for the first time since teenage Draco had stormed into his office, appeared discomfited. Harry had a nasty premonition of what was coming next.

“What?” Malfoy said in a voice that spelled imminent doom for the bringer of bad news.

“Best to keep a low profile,” said Shacklebolt.

Malfoy frowned. “Come again?”

“We don’t want word of this to get out. Rita Skeeter has been flitting around for gossip ever since the scandal with Dawlish -” Here, Shacklebolt closed his eyes briefly as though still in pain from the backlash over that particular incident. Dawlish, who had never been the brightest mind in the force, had disappeared five months ago during an undercover mission in Greece. He was recently found on an island off the coast of Thessaloniki, shacked up with a goblin named Hilde. Dawlish loudly claimed to have been Confunded, but as goblins were not permitted to carry wands, his defense did not carry much weight with the Wizengamot. The disgraced Auror was subsequently transferred to the Goblin Liaison Division and Skeeter had a heyday publishing a very sordid article about the whole affair.

“It’s not like I’ve been going around screwing goblins!” Draco scowled, which Harry thought was a fair point.

“Skeeter will find a way to make it sound equally terrible for the Auror Division,” Shacklebolt waved his hand impatiently. “‘Abominable incompetence, internal sabotage ... she will twist the story anyway she can with that blasted quill and the Division cannot suffer any more reputational damage.”

“What do you propose then? Throw me in a cell?” Draco’s mouth twisted.

“It was Mrs. Granger-Weasley who proposed the perfect solution,” said Shacklebolt. “You will stay with Potter until we find a cure.”

“No!” Harry and Draco yelled simultaneously, identical expressions of horror on their faces.

“I’ll take the cell!” Draco volunteered.

“Wait - what?” Harry turned to him, slightly affronted. “Is the idea of living with me worse than incarceration?”

“By wizarding law, minors must remain under the custody of an adult until they come of age,” Shacklebolt continued as though they had not spoken.

“I. Am. Not. A. Minor!” Draco raged.

“Even so, your magical signature identifies you as one,” Shacklebolt said, unperturbed. “The curse has done its work well. Right now, you won’t even be able to disable the wards on your own house without triggering a warning from the Office for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery.”

Draco opened his mouth and snapped it shut.

“The less people who know of this, the better. Hence, Potter will be your guardian until this blows over.” Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair and surveyed the pair of them with something that approached sympathy. “In fact, I think this can be a good bonding experience for the two of you.”

Harry pushed down a burst of hysterical laughter. He didn’t think Shacklebolt would appreciate his idea of “bonding” with Draco. And now he was apparently the boy’s “guardian”. He couldn’t see any happy ending to this.

“This is bollocks!” Draco yelled in ineffective fury. Harry was suddenly reminded how much of a brat teenage Malfoy had been, that he was almost surprised the words “my father will hear of this” did not come out of the blond’s mouth.

“Language, young man!” boomed Shacklebolt in a tone that brooked no argument. “It’s decided then. You will stay with Potter until we find a cure.”

“But -”

“Kingsley -”

Shacklebolt held up an imperious hand, shutting up the both of them. “Out, the lot of you!”

Harry Side-Along Apparated the two of them into the alley behind his flat. Draco stepped away from his touch as soon as they appeared at their destination, as though keen to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. He maintained a sullen silence as he traipsed up the stairs behind Harry, still looking comical in his overly large robes.

“So, this is home.”

Harry disabled the ward on his door with a discreet tap of his wand. As soon as the lock clicked open, Draco pushed inside unceremoniously. He kicked off his shoes and left them helter-skelter in the foyer, then stalked into Harry’s living room with a decidedly unimpressed expression.

“It’s tiny,” he complained.

“Get used to it, you might be here for a while,” Harry replied coolly. Sure, his one-bedroom flat was a mite cramped, but it suited his bachelorhood and Harry much preferred this place to the echoey emptiness of Grimmauld Place. Plus, it was close to the Ministry and there was a lovely bakery downstairs from which the scent of freshly baked bread could pull him right out of bed in the morning if he kept his windows open.

Naturally, the charm of the flat was entirely lost on Draco, who promptly flopped face-down onto the sofa.

“My life is over,” he moaned.

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Harry rolled his eyes and started clearing dirty plates from the coffee table from when he fell asleep in front of the telly the night before.

“Who knows how long it’ll take to find a counter-curse,” Draco continued to mutter into the cushions. “Granger hates me. She’s probably told Weasley and they’re off somewhere having a good old laugh. She’s never going to find a cure. I’m going to be stuck like this forever!”

Draco was always a bit of a drama queen, so Harry couldn’t decide whether or not to chalk this up to teenage moodiness or his usual histrionics.

“Hermione doesn’t hate you,” he said placatingly. “In fact she quite respects you as a colleague.”

There was a pause. Then, “She punched me once in third year.”

“Yeah, well, you were a git back then.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

Harry sighed. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry about the cursed doorknob?”

“Once more won’t hurt,” was the petulant reply.

Harry threw up his hands and gave it up as a lost cause.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” he said shortly, and left Draco to his own devices.

Harry stood under the hot spray for longer than usual, letting his thoughts run freely under the water. For his own sake, he hoped that Hermione will find a counter-curse soon. How was he going to survive in close quarters with Draco Malfoy for an indeterminate period of time? The fact that this Draco was fifteen somehow didn’t dull his libido one bit; it only added an edge of guilt and confusion to his feelings for the blond.

By the time Harry finally got out of the shower and towelled himself dry, he was sporting a healthy erection. Shutting his eyes in resignation, Harry tried to focus on the least sexy things he could think of. Dolores Umbridge … Horace Slughorn … Ron and Hermione getting it on … ugh, that did the trick.

“I’m not going to wank over an underage Malfoy,” he told his reflection crossly as he dressed.

“You’re fighting a losing battle, sweetheart,” replied his mirror.

When he got out of the shower, Harry found Draco no longer spread-eagle on the sofa, but prying through Harry’s bookshelves. He picked up a framed photograph of Harry posing with Ron and Hermione at his best friends’ wedding, sneered and replaced it on the shelf crooked.

“Got over your tantrum, have you?” Harry remarked as he spelled his hair dry, which resulted in even more of a fluffy bird’s nest than usual.

Draco turned to him with an uncharacteristic grin, holding aloft a book that made a stone drop into the pit of Harry’s stomach. The title Inside the Locker Room: A Homoerotic History of Quidditch flashed across the cover, accompanied by a picture of two buff wizards gripping the gleaming handles of each other’s broomsticks suggestively.

“Titillating reading material you’ve got here,” Draco drawled.

“Give that here,” Harry muttered, crossing the living room in long strides and snatching up the offending book from the boy’s grasp. “And stop prying!”

“Not quite what I imagined your taste in literature to be,” said the boy with a gleam in his eyes that Harry did not like. He had apparently forgotten to be miffed at Harry and was now looking entirely too cheerful. Harry was not sure he preferred this shift in mood.

“Do you spend much time thinking about my taste in literature?” Harry muttered. He mentally reminded himself to hide his stash of gay porn DVD’s from Draco’s pointy, prying nose. They were Transfigured to look like National Geographic documentaries, but he wouldn’t put anything past the Slytherin’s wily ways.

“I pretty much assumed it was non-existent,” Draco drawled, strongly reminding Harry of why the boy used to get under his skin so much back at Hogwarts.

“Ha bloody ha,” said Harry. He chucked the book onto his cluttered dining table and crossed his arms against his chest. “You’ll have to kip on the couch tonight. I haven’t exactly set up the place for guests.”

Draco stretched his arms above his head, looking like the cat that got the cream. He tipped his pointy chin towards the book Harry had confiscated.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to disturb you and your nighttime reading,” he said, making it sound much raunchier than it had any right to be.

“It’s a silly present from Hermione when I came out to her and Ron, so just let it go,” Harry said shortly. He didn’t want to discuss his sexuality, not with Draco Malfoy and least of all with the teenage version of him.

However, the cutting remark Harry expected did not come.

“Got a boyfriend, then?” Draco asked bluntly.

“None of your business!” Harry replied reflexively, taken aback.

“It’s not a Weasley, is it?” Draco said with a look of disgust.

“What - no!”

“I suppose they’re not all bad,” Draco said thoughtfully. “The eldest one - the curse-breaker - he might be alright.”

“Bill’s married,” Harry said inconsequentially. “And anyhow, what -”

“I suppose it’d be all over the Prophet if you had a boyfriend,” Draco mused, cutting him off. “Maybe you’re keeping it a secret. Is it a Muggle then?”

“There is no boyfriend - wizard or Muggle!” Harry yelled.

“You know, wizards would fall over themselves to be your boyfriend,” Draco said knowingly. “I know for a fact that Nichols over in Magical Accidents and Catastrophes is totally hot for your a-”

“We’re not talking about this!” Harry clapped his ears over his suddenly hot ears and tried not to wonder how Draco knew ‘for a fact’ about Nichols in Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

“Go take your shower,” he ordered, feeling like a parent trying to ground a wayward teenager who was just going to sneak out of the house through the window anyway. “I’ve left clean towels and clothes for you in the bathroom.”

Draco brushed past him on his way to the bathroom, turning with a sultry glance as he did so. “Speaking of clothes, I bet if you changed up your wardrobe, you’d have no problem getting a boyfriend!”

“Shower!” Harry growled, and thankfully the boy finally heeded.

Harry ran his hands through his wild hair and sighed. He could deal with anger, resentment or even the silent treatment, not this teenage fiend with no brain to mouth filter. And what was that comment about his clothes all about? Harry shook his head. He needed to stop overanalyzing and letting the kid get the upper hand.

Draco took so long in the shower that Harry had finished preparing dinner by the time he emerged in a gush of steam, pink-cheeked and clad in one of Harry’s old, threadbare shirts and joggers. The shirt was too small on Harry but still hung off Draco’s lithe frame to expose sharp collarbones and a hint of freckled shoulders. He brushed wet, too-long fringe out of his eyes and padded barefoot into the tiny kitchen adjoining the living room. Harry caught the scent of his own body wash on Draco and had to tamp down on the urge to do something inappropriate.

“What on earth is this?” Draco asked, sniffing suspiciously at the pot that Harry had left simmering on the stove.

“Chicken vindaloo with jasmine rice,” replied Harry. “What - the house elves back at the Manor never cook Indian?”

At Draco’s blank look, Harry took the answer to be ‘no’.

“Is this even edible?” Draco grumbled. “It’s so - yellow.”

“Beggars don’t get to be choosers,” Harry snickered as Draco’s stomach gave a loud growl. “Make yourself useful and grab some plates and cutlery.”

“If I die of poison, at least two people in this world will know the truth of what happened,” Draco sassed. He started rattling open every drawer and cabinet in the kitchen except the one Harry indicated, until Harry emitted a long-suffering sigh and went to retrieve the plates himself.

“If I were to poison you, Hermione and Shacklebolt will consider it entirely justified based on your behavior,” he snapped. “I’ll claim self-defense.”

Ignoring Draco’s sputter, Harry loaded up his plate with chicken and rice, grabbed a can of Guinness from the fridge and strode into the living room. He plopped himself down on the sofa, propped his feet up on the coffee table and switched on the television, thumbing through channels until he settled on the Graham Norton show. He could feel the gnawing edge of a headache and mindless entertainment was exactly what he needed.

Draco brought his plate sulkily to the dinner table. Then, overtaken by curiosity at the television, he joined Harry on the sofa, balancing his plate and can of beer.

“No alcohol for minors.” Harry made a half-hearted swipe at his can of beer, trying to act the proper guardian Kingsley apparently expected him to be.

“Merlin, I’m not actually fifteen, so stop treating me like one,” Draco said, holding the Guinness out of Harry’s reach. He took a swig and made a retching sound. “Ugh, what is this Muggle swill?”

“No one’s forcing you to drink it,” Harry rolled his eyes as Draco stubbornly chugged the rest of the can, just to be contrary. “And I’ll stop treating you like a kid when you stop acting like one.”

He dug into his own dinner, too tired to care. The day has been unexpectedly trying.

“What’s this?” Draco asked around a mouthful of chicken vindaloo, jerking his spoon towards the screen.

“Telly,” Harry said. “Television. Muggle watch programs on it for fun.”

Draco watched silently for a few minutes, a frown etched on his face. “You mean to say that Muggles like to sit in front of their “tellies” and watch a group of people laugh mindlessly at a bunch of people talking on a stage?”

“Uh huh, pretty much.”

“Why are they laughing? It’s not even funny!”

“Muggle reference,” Harry yawned. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Draco’s frown deepened, but didn’t prod further. He polished off his plate, then padded back to the kitchen for seconds and thirds. They fell into a companionable if tense silence filled by canned laughter from the television. On screen, Graham Norton was interviewing some actress who looked vaguely familiar. Harry half listened to her promoting her upcoming movie, and half focused on watching Draco out of the corner of his eyes. For the first time that day, he truly felt a pang of sympathy for the boy, who looked vulnerable and bewildered. It can’t be easy when your future hangs uncertain, Harry thought, and vowed to himself to be kinder to the youth.

By the time the ending credits rolled, Draco’s head was lolling and he was drooling slightly against the armrest of the sofa, empty plate balanced precariously on one knee. Picking up his wand, Harry floated their plates over to the sink. Then he dug out some blankets from his closet, cast a few Freshening Charms so that they didn’t smell so strongly of mildew, and awkwardly tucked them around Draco’s sleeping form.

Heaving a sigh of relief that their first night of forced cohabitation was over, Harry flopped into his own bed and was asleep in seconds.

Years of living dangerously have made Harry a light sleeper. His fingers were already closed upon his wand before he realized who the intruder in his bedroom was.

“Merlin, you almost gave me a heart attack!” he said sleepily. “What are you doing in here?”

“Potter!” Draco hissed. “There are weird sounds in your house!”

“Can’t be intruders,” Harry mumbled, eyes fluttering shut already. “I’ve got about ten layers of wards on the place.”

“No! There’s like - clanging and banging in the walls! Sounds like something’s in the pipes!”

“Huh?” Harry screwed up his face, still not willing to let go of sweet slumber. “Oh - the pipes - that’s just the Muggle heating. ‘S an old building. Go back to sleep.”

There was a moment of blissful silence where Harry thought Draco had returned to the living room. No such luck. Draco poked him again. “Potter!”

“Nrgh,” Harry grunted, flapping his hands as though chasing an annoyingly persistent mosquito.

“Can I sleep here with you tonight?”

Harry pried open one bleary eye. Draco’s eyes were wide and huge in his face, which was white and ghostly in the semi-darkness. He looked genuinely spooked.

“Oh, fine,” Harry groaned, relenting. He rolled over on his side to give the boy room. “Don’t hog all the bed sheets.”

Draco needed no further invitation. He hopped into Harry’s bed, all skinny legs and flailing arms. Harry sighed and sank back into the mattress, then stiffened when he felt the tickle of Malfoy’s feathery hair against the nape of his neck and a weight on his back. A minute of internal debate later, he decided to ignore it; stranger things have happened to him than being spooned in his own bed by a teenage Malfoy.

Harry was drifting in that pleasant state in-between sleep and wakefulness when Draco let out a huge sigh that pulled him rudely back into consciousness.

“Potter.”

Harry pretended not to hear.

“Harry.” Slightly louder this time.

Harry counted to ten in his head.

“Harry!” Draco nudged his leg with a cold toe.

“What?” Harry grumbled.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Well, I can!” Harry exclaimed in great annoyance. “Just - count sheep or something.”

“That’s stupid,” Draco said mulishly.

“You’re stupid.” Harry was lacking the capacity to come up with anything wittier.

“Aren’t you the epitome of maturity.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “D’you want me to cast a Soporific Charm?”

“You’re barely awake, I don’t trust your wandwork.”

“My wandwork is just fine, thank you very much.”

For some reason, Draco found this highly amusing and chuckled, making the bed bounce with the force of his laughter. He shifted in Harry’s bed, the susurration of skin against bed sheets loud in the quiet room.

“Potter, I’m horny.”

Harry expelled the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I always have a wank before bed. It helps me sleep,” Draco continued.

Harry clenched his eyes shut and tried to breathe normally. This was more information than he needed to know.

“Then go out and have a wank if you’re so keen on it,” he muttered with forced nonchalance.

“Don’t want to go out there,” said Malfoy petulantly. “Don’t trust the pipes.”

“Well, you’re not tugging one off in here,” Harry protested.

“Why not? We’re both blokes. If you’re so bothered, you can go back to sleep.”

There was a rustle and a small moan. God, he was actually doing it. Harry felt his face burn.

“Cut it out!” he hissed. “Can’t go to sleep now, can I?”

“D’you need a wank too?” Draco’s voice was breathy. “Go ahead, I don’t mind.”

Harry clenched his fingers in his bedding and cursed silently. His cock was swelling, tenting his pyjamas, but he would eat slugs before he would allow himself to touch it. Not with Draco lying right next to him.

Draco, on the other hand, had kicked aside the linens on his side of the bed. Harry’s bed was not big; lying on his back, Harry’s right arm was pressed up against Draco’s left. He could feel the muscles twitch in the boy’s arm with each stroke. Harry was wide awake now, skin prickling with heat, the last remnants of sleep chased away by the choked out sounds Draco was making as he touched himself.

Harry stared unseeing at the ceiling. How long was he going to have to lie here and pretend like he wasn’t listening? He wasn’t going to look. He absolutely wasn’t going to look. He turned his head the minutest degree and let his eyes roam down the contours of Draco’s body in the darkness, illuminated by the light cast from streetlamps. A small sound escaped his mouth when he saw that Draco had completely removed his pants. Harry could quite clearly see the outline of Draco’s cock, the head appearing and disappearing in his fist accompanied by a wet, squelching sound with every stroke.

When Harry raised his eyes to Draco’s face, Draco was staring right back at him, expression unreadable. Harry’s heart stopped.

“Not done yet?” he tried sound gruff, to mask his embarrassment at being caught staring, but his voice came out cracked and unlike his own.

Draco licked his lips very slowly. Harry tracked the point of his tongue.

“You offering to help?” Draco whispered, high and breathy.

It was that edge of desperation in his voice that made Harry do what he did next. He rolled over so that they were facing each other, taking satisfaction in the way Draco’s eyes became round and his mouth fell open. He gasped when Harry touched him. His cock, hot and slender, throbbed and twitched in Harry’s hand.

“Yes …” Draco moaned and arched into his touch.

The angle was awkward and Harry found he didn’t have much room to maneuver his hand between their bodies. He wanted to see all of Draco, spread out in his naked glory. Fixed on that thought, he grabbed Draco bodily by his skinny hips and hoisted the boy on top of him. Draco gave a squawk of surprise and planted his knees on either side of Harry’s waist for balance. His wet cock bobbed and slapped against his taut stomach.

Now unimpeded, Harry gripped Draco’s cock with one hand, petting the inside of his smooth thigh with the other. He built up a steady pace, greedily drinking in the way Draco sighed and moaned, the way his muscles jumped with every twist of Harry’s wrist. Draco’s large grey eyes burned into Harry’s as he reached under his shirt to rub at and pinch his own nipples.

“Oh - oh - yes!” Draco gave a cry of youthful abandon and Harry felt hot come dribble down his hand and wrist. He sagged onto Harry’s chest and panted into the crook of his neck while Harry stroked his back, like he was petting a skittish animal.

Finally, Draco raised himself back into a sitting position astride Harry. His hair was a complete mess and his stomach was streaked with come. Harry wanted to eat him alive.

“You’re hard,” he remarked, looked down at Harry’s enormously tented crotch.

“Never mind, it’ll go away. Go back to sleep.” Harry dabbed at the stray bits of semen on his night shirt. Sleep was in fact the furthest thing from his mind; the guilt over what just happened was already starting to creep in.

Draco gave a small roll of his hips that made Harry’s erection slide against the crease of his arse through his thin pyjamas.

“Draco …” Harry said warningly. “You should probably stop that.”

“I can return the favour,” Draco’s eyes glittered and he ground down again. Harry tightened his fingers on Draco’s waist convulsively, but did not push him away even as he hated himself for letting this continue. Slowly, his hands crept lower to cup Draco’s arse and squeeze the soft cheeks. Draco made a small sound and moved against him faster, teasing his cock with barely-there friction.

Then Draco slid off his lap. Harry swallowed the rising feeling of disappointment and tried to feel relieved. He was supposed to be the boy’s guardian, for fuck’s sake. Thank God at least of them had the good sense to stop before -

Harry’s train of thought derailed when Draco shimmed down the length of his body and tugged at the waistband of his pyjamas.

“May I?” he asked coyly. The way he licked his lips made his intentions quite clear. He didn’t wait for Harry’s response before reaching into Harry’s pants to free his erection.

“Fuck.” Harry flopped back onto the bed and flung his arm over his eyes as Draco bent down to lick kittenishly at the tip of his cock.“I’m going to the special hell.”

He must be dreaming, Harry thought. He had become so consumed with lust that his most lurid fantasies were seeping into his dreams, coloring them with vivid detail. The way Draco’s eyes shuttered with desire as he opened his mouth wider to take Harry’s cock - that couldn’t possibly be real. But Draco’s hair between Harry’s fingers felt real, and when Draco closed his eyes with a moan of satisfaction, Harry didn’t think his wildest fantasies could produce a sound that was so simultaneously needy and arousing.

Harry propped himself on his elbows and watched the obscene slide of his rigid flesh between Draco’s swollen lips. Unable to stop himself; he canted his hips up, fucking into Draco’s mouth, and felt the head of his dick slip into the back of the boy’s throat. Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head. He could feel Draco swallow convulsively, before pulling off to gulp deep breathes. Then he sucked Harry into his throat again, ambitiously deep, a small, determined furrow marring his brows.

“Fuck,” Harry swore. It felt so right in all the wrong ways.

When Draco pulled off, his eyes were blazing with naked want.

“I’m so horny,” he moaned, sounding almost helpless, and Harry saw he was hard again, hand moving in the shadow of his pale thighs. “Harry, please …”

Harry felt his stomach give a mighty clench.  Somehow, he knew adult-Draco would never plead like this and the juxtaposition made this situation all the more arousing.

This is foolish. Ill-advised. Dangerous. His mind supplied. What the fuck are you doing?

“We shouldn’t,” he said weakly, but even as he said that, Harry was pushing Draco down on the bed, and holdings those slim white thighs apart to better watch the boy push his fingers clumsily into his hole.

“I already pulled one off earlier. Twice. Once in the shower and once before I came into your room,” Draco groaned, sinking his fingers as deep as they would go. “I’m just got so horny, thinking about you.”

“God,” Harry said shakily. He could cut steel with his erection; he was so turned on. “What do you want?”

“Touch me,” Draco pleaded.

“Where?”

A sound of frustration. “Anywhere.”

Blanketing Draco’s body with his own, Harry kissed the boy, who responded with an eager tongue and soft lips. Harry took his time exploring his body, sucking lazy lovebites into Draco neck that looked lovely blooming red against pallid skin. The boy was so responsive, moaning and arching into Harry’s touch when Harry bit his nipples and licked the divot of his bellybutton.

Draco gave a little whimper when Harry skirted past his cock to trace the rim of his hole. His skin was feverish and Harry needed to know if he was just as hot inside. Grabbing his wand for a quick Lubrication Spell, Harry pulled Draco’s hand away and replaced it with two of his own lubed fingers.

“Let me in,” he said, kissing the inside of Draco’s thigh.

“Yesss,” Draco whined prettily as he planted his feet on the bed and writhed on Harry’s fingers.

“You’re so bloody tight,” Harry sighed, hypnotized by the way Draco rode his fingers, trying to get them deeper inside.

Draco bit his bottom lip. His eyes were dark and unfocused, lips falling open on a choked exhale every time Harry pushed inside him.

“I-I’m still a virgin. At fifteen, I mean,” he admitted, turning his reddening face into the pillow.

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips and swallowed. “Let me take care of you, babe.”

He spread Draco’s thighs as wide as they would go, then bent down to lick his perineum and trace his tongue around the rim of Draco’s hole. Draco was stretched so tight around his fingers, smooth and scorching inside, and he made such a sweet keen when Harry nudged his sweet spot that made Harry just want to wreck him.

“H-Harry!” Draco pulled Harry’s hair almost painfully with one hand, the other gripped white-knuckled around his cock, and he was coming again with big gulping breaths. Harry’s cock twitched in sympathy as Draco’s arse convulsed tight around his fingers, milking them as he arched and shot streaks of come onto his chest and stomach.

Harry withdrew his fingers carefully as Draco came back to himself. He was almost trembling with desire and the need to come. Feasting on the sight of Draco’s dazed expression and naked, come-covered body, Harry started jerking his cock with desperate speed. He was fit to burst … it wasn’t going to take long at all ...

Draco watched him lazily, eyes still dark. Then he pulled his knees up to his chest, exposing his pink and lubed hole.

“Fuck me,” he said, and Harry’s fingers almost slipped off his cock.

“Are you sure?” Harry choked.

“Fuck me,” Malfoy repeated, spreading his thighs wider. “Do it. I’m so wet and open. God, I want you.”

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. Harry happily bid adieu to his last shred of resistance. Slicking his cock up with more lube, he looped Draco’s legs over his waist, and pushed inside the boy with agonizing slowness. Draco moaned softly at the penetration and twisted his hands in the sheets. Despite coming twice and being thoroughly fingered already, he was still amazingly hot and tight around Harry’s cock.

Finally, Harry bottomed out. Beneath him, Draco already looked dazed and fucked out, and restraining himself was one of the hardest things Harry has ever done. Keeping his thrusts slow and shallow, he stroked Draco’s softened cock to bring him back to hardness. Draco’s hazy grey eyes flitted between Harry’s face and to where they were joined, mouth open as though he couldn’t believe Harry was actually inside him. Soon, he was hard again, rolling his hips so that Harry’s cock rocked smoothly in and out of him.

When Harry hit the right spot, Draco let out a surprised “Ah!” and his arms flew up to grip Harry’s biceps almost painfully hard. Harry did it again, feeling drunk on the little involuntary sounds Draco was making, pumping into that tight heat faster and faster until his thighs were trembling. All too soon, Draco’s arse was tightening on his cock. Harry could tell the boy was close and it took all of his willpower to slow down and draw out until just the tip caught on Draco’s rim.

“Please -- damn you, Potter, fuck me!” It was worth it to hear Draco swear and plead and strain to pull Harry back inside.

“God, you feel amazing,” Harry groaned as he surged his pelvis forward. The boy let out a sweet moan as Harry slid back inside his tight hole.

And then something very strange happened.

Draco’s face and body seemed to ripple, like there was an invisible wall of water separating them. Then, as though Harry was watching some Muggle time-lapse video, Draco’s face lengthened, his jaw grew defined and stubbly, and his hair shortened. His shoulders widened, chest and stomach tautened with muscle, even his cock lengthened and thickened as Harry watched, open-mouthed at the transformation.

Holy fuck , Harry thought wildly. He was balls deep in twenty-five year old Draco Malfoy. He let out a helpless groan and his dick gave a massive throb.

“Why d’you stop?” Draco demanded, newly deepened voice sending a tremor through Harry.

“Y-You’ve turned back,” Harry stuttered. In his surprise and uncertainty, he pulled out. Was Draco going to reach for his wand and hex him now?

Draco surged up off the bed, planted his palm against Harry’s chest and pushed him away with ease. Harry fell back onto the bed, bracing himself for the worst, when Draco proceeded to mount on top of him.

“Did I tell you to stop?” he growled, then proceeded to position Harry’s cock at his entrance, and sink down with a satisfied moan.

“Oh - fuck -!” Harry cursed, fingers curling into the bed sheets and arse clenching as Draco rode him furiously, cock bouncing between their bodies. Draco fucked like a man possessed. His eyes never left Harry’s, staring him down the entire time as he rode Harry closer and closer to the edge like some orgasm-giving angel. Harry’s head tipped back as his orgasm threatened to crest. Fuck - it was going to be huge.

“Fuck me hard, you magnificent bastard, fuck me so deep I can taste your dick in my throat. God, Harry! Yes, just like that! Come inside me and fill me up with your spunk!”

Adult-Draco had a dirty mouth.

“Ah shit!” Harry’s nails dug crescent indents into Draco’s hips as he bucked and came. White spots danced across his vision. Meanwhile, Draco never stopped; even as Harry’s dick started to soften and become oversensitive.

“Oh my God, you’re killing me,” Harry moaned as his come squelched out of Draco’s hole and down those strong, tireless thighs. Draco was stroking his cock furiously now, eyes half-lidded and head falling back. When he finally came, his orgasm was almost dry and he shook like a leaf on the wind.

Draco toppled onto the bed next to Harry, skin aglow with exertion.

“Fuck, you wore me out,” he gasped.

Harry gaped at the ceiling, feeling like someone had just Vanished all the bones in his body. Trying to gather his thoughts into coherence was akin to holding water in a sieve. His brain would not cooperate. The weight of silence hung as heavy in the air as the smell of sex.

“Draco?” he croaked finally.

When there was no response, he looked over the other side of the bed. Draco was already asleep, nose buried in Harry’s pillow and snoring softly.

Harry sighed and groped for his wand to Scourgify their bodies clean. The drama would have to wait until morning.

Harry woke up feeling like he was being suffocated alive, which was no surprise given that Draco had somehow mistaken him for the mattress and was lying half on top of him, arm snaked around Harry’s torso and one leg strewn across Harry’s thighs.

Removing bits of blond hair from his mouth, Harry carefully extricated himself from the other man’s tentacular grasp. He didn’t think Draco would appreciate waking up to find them so intimately wrapped around each other. Sitting up in bed, he allowed himself a few minutes to openly ogle Draco’s nude body, before resolutely turning away and ambling into the bathroom.

“Exciting night?” His mirror sniggered.

“Do shut up,” he scowled.

Harry brushed his teeth morosely, all the while keeping up a mental stream of self-beration. How could he have let his long-repressed lust for his Auror partner overtake his senses last night? Especially when the other was in such a vulnerable position? What had he been thinking?

You obviously weren’t thinking , his mind supplied.

A disturbance in the wards informed him of an arrival by Floo. Harry pulled himself out of his reverie, pulled his bedroom door closed and strode into the living room to find Hermione stepping out of his fireplace.

“Good morning, Harry!” She said, brushing soot off of her jumper, “I’ve been up all night studying Draco’s case and I think I’ve cracked it!”

“That’s great!” Harry said. He arranged his face into what he hoped was an expression of attentive eagerness and surprise.

“Are you hurt?” Hermione frowned, looking at his chest.

Harry looked down to see four thin, red streaks across his pecs. His mind immediately flashed back to the memory of Draco riding his cock, nails dragging lines into Harry’s skin as he came. Harry’s eyes glazed over slightly.

“Uh, field accident,” he lied. “So what did you find out?”

“Where is Draco, anyway?” Hermione asked, looking around.

“Figured I’d let him sleep in,” Harry jerked his head towards his bedroom. If Hermione was surprised that Harry let Draco sleep in his bed, she didn’t show it.

“Okay, perhaps it’s better for now that he’s not here,” she said. “The thing is, we’ve been thinking it was a De-Aging Spell this whole time, when in fact it’s more subtle than that. You see, centuries ago, when the daughters of high-class, pureblood wizarding families fell into certain - shall we say - romantic  indiscretions, their families would sometimes use a spell that would reverse age them and bring them back to their physical state before they lost their virginities, to ensure that they would be presented as virgins on their wedding night.”

Hermione screwed up her nose to indicate what she thought of this outdated practice, then continued.

“ You see, It was customary for the groom to cast a spell on the wedding night that would tell them whether or not their brides were virgins, and this variation of the De-Aging Spell effectively circumvented the charm in case the girl was not, in fact, a maiden. Back then, the intention was usually to reverse the ageing process of the young women by a few days or months, but in Draco’s case it turned him from twenty-five to fifteen, because he must have lost his virginity at fifteen!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. He had a feeling where Hermione was going with this.

“So you see, Harry, the counter-curse is simple, really. Barbaric but simple. Draco has to lose his virginity again and he will revert to his present age,” she finished.

Before Harry could formulate a response, his bedroom door opened and Draco appeared, hair mussed and starkers save for a pair of Harry’s boxers. Harry experienced several strong emotions all at once: a flash of hot arousal that made his groin stir, and mortification that churned in the pit of his stomach.

“Morning, Granger,” said Draco, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Good that you’re here. Wonderful news - I changed back to myself during the night! No lasting damage, as far as I can tell.”

“Morning …” Hermione said slowly. She looked from Harry, then to Draco, then back to Harry. Harry could almost see her make the mental connection between the marks on his chest, and the matching lovebites on Draco’s neck.

She pinned Harry with a Look. “We’ll talk later,” she said, then grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and disappeared back into green flames.

“What’s with her?” Draco frowned.

“Dunno … probably just remembered that she forgot to feed Rose or something,” Harry muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He was going to get an earful from Hermione later, but right now he had a far more pressing concern in the form of a gorgeous man standing half-naked in his living room.

Harry headed towards the kitchen, unable to meet Draco’s eyes. “Tea?”

“What’s with you?” Draco said slowly, following him into the kitchen.

“Nothing!” Harry blurted, busying himself with putting the kettle to boil. “Um, how do you feel?”

“Sore,” replied Draco archly.

Harry coughed. “I meant, no lingering after-effect from the curse?”

“Don’t think so,” Draco shrugged. “Must have been a time-bound incantation.”

“Yeah, that’s what Hermione said as well,” Harry fibbed, deciding that the full truth could wait until later.

“It’s good to have my body back,” said Draco with a stretch that drew Harry’s eyes to his toned chest. “I’d forgotten how weird it felt to be at that age, like I had all these feeling and wasn’t totally in control of myself.”

Harry experienced a fresh surge of guilt.

“About last night -” he started, concentrating on a red mark just above Draco’s pulse point, “I … I really don’t think we should have done what we did.”

There was a pregnant pause. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

“Because it’s me, or because I was under that spell?” Draco asked guardedly.

Harry blinked. “Because of the spell, obviously.”

“Harry,” Draco said slowly. “Did you think you were taking advantage?”

“Yes! Maybe!” Harry threw up his hands, confused. “I don’t know!”

“Well that’s ridiculous. My body may have changed, but my mind didn’t.” Draco stepped closer, eyes smouldering. “And I assure you the feeling was - and is - entirely mutual.”

“Oh,” Harry said softly.

“Otherwise,” Draco continued, “I wouldn’t have gone into your room and seduced you last night.”

“Seduce -” Harry gaped.

“There’s something to be said for teenage impulsivity,” Draco smirked.

Harry shook his head incredulously. “You devious -”

“You mean opportunistic -” Draco corrected.

“I can’t believe -”

“You are remarkably easy.”

Harry could not deny that. “Do you know how much mental torture I put myself through, making myself out to be this terrible child molester?”

“You mean you don’t have an exclusive kink for underage boys?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh my God, no!” Harry shook his head, horrified. “If anything, I have an exclusive kink for you!”

He clapped his hand to his mouth, realizing how it sounded. Draco immediately stopped laughing and, to Harry’s surprise, turned scarlet.

“You’re a daft fool, Harry Potter,” he whispered. And then Harry was being pressed against the kitchen counter and getting the life snogged out of him. It felt like one of those earth-shattering kisses and when they parted, Harry was surprised to see that the world still looked the same.

“‘Wizards would fall over themselves to be my boyfriend,’” he said, repeating Draco’s words back to him. “I’m interested in one particular wizard. Blond. Sarcastic. Fantastic Arse. You reckon he’d be my boyfriend?”

“You should at least take him to an extremely hard-to-reserve restaurant with an extensive wine menu,” Draco advised in a tone of faux-seriousness, which was spoiled by him biting his lip in an effort not to smile.

“I already made you dinner,” Harry reminded.

“Indian food and beer?,” Draco sighed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll have to lower my standards for you.”

“I hate you so much,” said Harry, his sparkling eyes saying the exact opposite.

“Likewise,” murmured Draco, before they were kissing again, in addition to some groping, quite a bit of humping, and a whole lot of desecration of Harry’s kitchen counter.

“Not to sound like I’m complaining,” Harry panted as Draco sucked on his neck and ground deliciously against him, “but a bed would be nice right about now.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to fuck you over your kitchen table so hard that your neighbors hear you screaming over their morning coffee?” Draco asked hotly.

Harry pulled himself together with difficulty.

“Never got along too well with the neighbors anyway,” he said, and was rewarded when Draco sank to his knees on the kitchen floor and drew down Harry’s pants with a wicked grin.

They did make it back to Harry’s bed eventually.