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Step 1: Acquire objective!

It’s a bright and sunny morning, and it’s already shaping up to be a no good, horrible day. His cupboards are bare, his fridge dismal (he could swear he still had some of Molly’s leftovers, but he doesn’t). His muggle wallet has maybe a quid left in 5p coins, and there are a couple of sickles in his coin bag. It’s just enough for him to quickly head out to Tescos to buy some store-brand cereal and a tiny pint of milk for breakfast.

Usually, Harry would head over to Molly’s or his friends’ for meals anyway. But Harry’s supposed to host a dinner tonight with his friends. He can’t put it off any longer: he must visit Gringotts.

Except, after the rather minor dragon incident (in the grand scheme of the War, it was hardly the most illegal or questionable thing Harry and his friends had done), withdrawing galleons is an exercise in frustrations. Harry’s last visit must have been months ago, where the guards poked at him, and none of the goblin tellers wanted to serve him, until finally a group of them did a prickly magical security search before finally escorting him to his vault. After making him wait through their lunch break.

The thought of visiting makes Harry sick, but he has to go early in the morning, if he’s to have time to suffer through the process and go grocery shopping and prepare for tonight.

It takes til mid morning when Harry finally musters himself to go, after he cleans his house. Upon stepping into Gringotts, the lights flash and an alarm starts beeping, and three goblin guards swarm over to him.

And all the other customers are looking at him, some more politely than others.

“Mr Potter,” one of the goblins glares, hand half-drawing out the small sword by their side. “State your purpose.”

“I need to access my vault,” Harry says quickly.

The guards’ faces all sour, muttering to each other.

“Again? How suspicious…”

“Look, come on, it can be quick—”

The tall doors at the other end of the main hall open, and a human and a cluster of goblins stride through. The goblins look as though they’ll like to chain Harry up, but the human though—the figure and their hair colour looks familiar.

“I thought you said there was an emergency.” The sharp, deep tone tugs forth a burst of memories as the features resolve into a grown up Draco Malfoy. Malfoy yanks his robes back from the grip of one of the goblins. “It’s just Potter.”

Shit, the way Malfoy says Potter is the same. The glare in his silver-grey eyes is the same. Except Malfoy’s hair is long; it’s in a braid. His robes look too small, straining at his shoulders and arms, and his height is sharply enhanced in comparison to the goblins surrounding him.

“You, Human Malfoy, will deal with dragon stealer Potter from now on,” one of the goblins jabs Malfoy in the stomach.

“What? Just because we’re both humans?” Malfoy retorts. “Oh, fuck you. Fine.”

“Good,” the goblin replies, smirking. “You keep an eye on that criminal.”

Both of them look at Harry, who protests, “I’m not a criminal.”

Malfoy’s lip curls. “Potter would be a poor criminal. Gryffindor,” he drawls.

Harry hisses, taking a step towards Malfoy. “Hey! I would be a great criminal! Undesirable number one! Secret vigilante army!”

“And dragon stealer,” more than one goblin says, and there’s more than one glint of a steel blade from the guards.

“Oh, fuck you.” Malfoy grabs Harry’s arm, and tugs him sharply so that Malfoy’s between him and the other goblins. “Keep your damn mouth shut, Potter, before you dig yourself to Australia.”

“Hey—”

Malfoy’s other hand lands firmly on Harry’s mouth. It smells like a hint of musky sweat, and basil and chocolate, and the warm softness of Malfoy’s fingers causes a tingle to spread across Harry’s skin. He breathes deeply.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” Malfoy says.

“The dragon stealer wants access to his vaults,” the goblin says sourly.

“If you hated Potter that much, you should have told him to take his gold and leave Gringotts altogether. Barclays has a wizarding branch in London—”

The goblins start muttering, and Malfoy smirks, those lips curving, eyes lighting up, and all Harry can smell is Malfoy.

“You dig your own mines,” Malfoy drawls. He releases his hand from Harry’s mouth. “Come along now, Potter.”

The rest of the world comes rushing back in as Malfoy tugs Harry towards the far doors. His strides are long, and Harry has to trot, lest Malfoy ends up dragging him along.

“Ugh, slow down, Malfoy!” Harry shakes off Malfoy’s grip, shakes off the haze in his mind as his brain finishes cataloging current-Malfoy.

Malfoy turns at the door, and then scowls—

—not at Harry, but at the goblin guards following him.

“Ralak, Gorgo, Snorklog,” he snaps, “I can handle Potter myself. Go back to your stations and stop wasting your time.”

The guards look more perky. “We’ll make a goblin out of you yet, Malfoy,” one of them says, smiling rather disturbingly.

Harry swallows down a laugh, and gets a glare from Malfoy.

“I’m too tall,” Malfoy scoffs. “Now off with you. No, not you, Potter. Get in the cart.”

“I was going to,” Harry retorts. “And you can’t handle me. You’ve never been able to handle me.”

Malfoy’s nostrils flare. “Oh,” he says, sickly sweet. “Should I call one of the guards back with their newly-polished, sharp, and efficient sword?”

Harry tosses his head and climbs into the first cart. “We’re supposed to be adults, Malfoy, and beyond petty squabbling.”

“Pot calling kettle black,” Malfoy says coolly. He takes the driver’s seat at the back, and the cart starts moving.

“Well then,” Harry says primly, affecting Malfoy’s ridiculous accent. He half-turns on his seat and holds a hand out to Malfoy. “How do you do? Harry Potter, pleasure to meet you.”

Malfoy takes it, and grips tightly. “Draco Malfoy, pleasure,” he drawls.

Harry grits his teeth and squeezes back. “So, Malfoy,” he says, smiling a grimace. “What brings you to Gringotts?”

Malfoy’s grip becomes painful, then withdraws. “Oh, does it offend your sensibilities that I work here at Gringotts?” The cart jolts and rattles and accelerates.

Harry opens his mouth, but his words are whipped away in the wind. The cart picks up speed, vaults flash by, and Harry has the legitimate fear that his glasses will come flying off—

—exhilaration grips him. He grabs the side of the cart with one hand, leaning forward, relishing the breeze, the twists and the turns. He’s a bit wobbly getting off, but has enough coordination to turn to Malfoy and give him a grin.

“Not bad,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “And a perfect stop too.”

Malfoy’s eyes flick to his hair, then away. He scoffs, not quite looking at Harry. “Of course. Your vault, Potter.”

Malfoy doesn’t enter the vault, and Harry feels like he can calm down a little. He realises that Malfoy didn’t actually answer his question, the prick.

What’s Malfoy doing at Gringotts? That Malfoy didn’t answer is very, very suspicious. It’s going to require all of Harry’s skills to obtain the answers.

When Harry exits, Malfoy’s waiting in the cart.

“I need to convert some of this into muggle money too,” Harry says offhandedly as he clambers back into the cart.

“Very well.” The cart starts moving.

Harry turns his head, studying Malfoy from the corner of his eye. Malfoy is steadfast looking straight ahead.

“Your hair grows quite fast,” he says. “A braid suits you.”

Malfoy’s cheeks flush, and his eyes flash to Harry. “You wouldn’t know hairstyles if a hairdresser hit you in face,” he scowls.

Harry laughs, and laughs again at the incredulous look on Malfoy’s face. I see, I see… Harry props an arm on the back of the seat, and twists his body to look directly at Malfoy. “And the goblins seem to like you.”

Malfoy tilts his chin up. “Low standards coming from you. They’re merely great at recognising brilliance.”

“Hmmm.” Harry smiles faintly at Malfoy. “Sure they are.”

Malfoy slaps a hand against Harry’s forehead and pushes him away. “Sit fucking properly,” he growls, “or you’ll break your neck.”

“You care,” Harry smirks.

“You fucking wish,” Malfoy snarls back. The cart speeds up to the top, and screeches to a halt at the ground floor.

Harry gets out, and barely has time to recover from the ride before Malfoy’s crowding him against the wall. Blood pumps, and the freshness of it has Harry feeling like he wants to fight or something.

“What do you want Potter?” Malfoy growls, low and dangerous.

Harry sucks in a sharp breath—Malfoy’s thigh is so close.

(Wait, but why would that matter?)

Malfoy gets closer. “What scheme are you trying to—charm me—into completing for you?”

“Merlin, Malfoy!” Harry tilts his head back, and shrugs nonchalantly. “I didn’t even know you worked here until like, right now. Don’t you think, as adults, we should catch up with each other? It’s been years since—”

“Since the War trials,” Malfoy says. His jaw tightens. He steps back, leaving Harry bereft. “I should thank you.”

“I still have your letter,” Harry says. It’s true, it’s in the top drawer of Harry’s desk back at Grimmauld Place, along with other Malfoy paraphernalia.

Malfoy lowers his head and grimaces. “Thank you. Your testimony meant a lot to me.”

Harry bites back a smile. “Okay.”

“Even though I hated that you made me sound like a stupid child.”

“Hmm.”

Malfoy’s gaze raises in a narrow glare, and Harry wipes the grin from his face and puts on an expression of, huh? what?

“Oi, Malfoy!” a goblin calls out. “Kekor wants to see you. A new shipment of contracts have arrived.”

Malfoy snaps away from Harry. “Tell bloody Kekor to make me a cup of tea.”

“He’ll kill you first,” the goblin replies cheerfully. “...Is that the dragon stealer?”

Malfoy grunts. “Yes, it’s bloody harmless little Potter. Come on, Potter.”

“Hey!”

Malfoy shoots him a satisfied little smirk that has Harry stunned all the way to the currency exchange counter. Malfoy makes short work of the exchange, the calculated numbers flashing by, and Harry’s handed a receipt and heft of British pound notes.

“Now off you go, and don’t come back,” Malfoy says.

Because Harry is contrary as fuck, he puts on a bright smile. “Thanks, Malfoy. Have a nice day!”

Malfoy makes a choked sound, much to Harry’s evil delight, and quickly heads back into the mysterious workings of Gringotts. Meanwhile, Harry gets prodded outside by the goblin guards.

New shipment of contracts, Harry thinks. Is Malfoy a manager? A lawyer? An errand boy? And why the fuck do the goblins like Malfoy more than Harry?

It’s not even noon yet, and the sun is bright, and it’s already shaping up to be a very interesting day.

*

Step 2: Avoid suspicion from friends

Harry brings out the dinner dishes with a bright smile. There’s Ron and Hermione, of course, and today Luna and Ginny have joined too.

Ron makes a deep, appreciative sniff. “Smells really good, Harry.”

“Yes, very,” Hermione agrees.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try some miso ice cream for dessert?” Luna asks.

Ginny pats her on the arm. “You’re too avant-garde, dear.”

The conversation flows to other examples of Luna’s avant-garde-ness, and Hermione’s insistence that they’re not really avant-garde if they never take off. Ron interjects with a question about one of the dishes, which leads into a full explanation of how to cook it from Harry.

“Oh, just make it together sometime!” Hermione finally says.

Harry and Ron both exchange grins. There are some things Hermione cannot understand, and cooking is one of them.

“Yes, Hermione,” they both chorus.

“You free on Sunday morning?” Harry proposes.

“Oh yeah, we could make them for the Burrow,” Ron agrees.

“Done.” They shake hands, bump fists. Ginny laughs until Luna has to pat her on the back.

“More importantly, Harry, you look remarkably happy,” Hermione says.

All eyes turn to him.

“What?” Harry blinks.

“You think?” Ron asks, squinting.

“Ooooooohh, did something happen?” Ginny says, tone scandalised.

“What the hell, Ginny?” Ron whines.

“I mean…” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “It’s been a good day.”

“A verrry good day,” Ginny says, winking.

“I just went to Gringotts, went to the markets. Saw my lovely friends.”

“Aww, Harry,” Ron says with a grin.

“But you hate Gringotts,” Hermione says. “You really should transfer your account to Barclays.”

“But my vault has more than just coins,” Harry says.

“Then some other storage too!” Hermione insists. “It may take a bit of effort, but it’ll pay off in the long run.”

Ginny smirks. “You’re missing the point, Hermione. What changed, Harry? Did they finally start worshipping you?”

Harry makes a face at her. “You’re blowing it out of proportion,” he complains. “It’s just Malfoy’s working there now.”

“Ooooohh,” Ginny says.

Harry’s cheeks heat up, and he throws a clean napkin at Ginny’s face. “Stop insinuating! Malfoy’s still a prick. Just a lot faster of a prick.” He leans back in his chair. Act casual!

Ron nods. “Can’t imagine him not being a prick.”

“Malfoy’s a...bank teller at Gringotts?” Hermione says slowly.

Harry shrugs. “Don’t think so.”

“Draco likes working there,” Luna says, smiling fondly.

All eyes turn to Luna.

“You knew?” Harry says, for all of them. Winces when Hermione gives him a Look. “Well, er, good for him,” Harry quickly adds.

Luna blinks. “Of course. I have Saturday lunches with him and his mum—when you’re at Quidditch training,” she adds, laying a loving hand on Ginny’s arm. “We are cousins after all.”

“You’re cousins?” Harry’s voice rises.

“Yes.” But frustratingly, Luna goes back to eating.

Harry wants to ask Luna more. He’s just about to, except he catches Ron and Hermione looking at him, then looking at each other in that knowing way that couples do.

Damn. They’ll think it’s bloody sixth year again, even though this is definitely different.

“So, small world,” Harry says nonchalantly, and sits back in his chair. “I was thinking of getting Teddy a proper broom for his next birthday.”

Ginny snorts. “Did you get Andromeda’s permission?”

“But I've almost finished the expansion charms on her garden. What’s the point otherwise?”

“What if she wants to host a party, or just more space to run around,” Hermione points out.

“If I just buy it, she can’t say no, right…”

*

Step 3: Acquire information

In the top drawer of Harry’s desk at Grimmauld Place is Malfoy’s thank-you letter from right after the War trials. There are also a lot of Harry’s old notes from trying to figure out Malfoy’s plots back in Hogwarts, little questions and clues that makes Harry shake his head and smile at his young, naive self.

Harry’s already given back Malfoy’s wand (there goes that excuse), but Harry’s nothing if not driven when he has an Important Task to do.

Over the next few days, the drawer fills up slowly with newspaper clippings that Harry has been gathering in-between his gardening and babysitting duties.

Much more slowly than Harry would like: he can’t let Hermione and Ron know what he’s doing (they won’t understand), and for some reason, the papers don’t seem to talk about Malfoy much at all. Malfoy’s even absent from Witch Weekly!

After a week, this is what Harry has managed to determine:

• The Malfoys laid really low after the War

• Narcissa Malfoy occasionally donates to various charities

• Lucius Malfoy is rumoured never to leave Malfoy Manor (Harry should hope not: the man is still under house arrest)

• And Malfoy (Draco Malfoy) has been seen with Narcissa Malfoy at one (1) charity event. (Malfoy’s hair in the picture doesn’t appear very long, though he looks remarkably like Narcissa Malfoy)

Harry despairs at journalism these days. He finds so many more articles about himself than Malfoy, which is pointless because obviously Harry knows what’s going on with his life. Why aren’t there articles about spotting Malfoy at, say, a university? Or out in muggle London looking confused? Or eating ice cream at Fortescues? What is Malfoy’s favourite ice cream flavour?

(Is it still triple chocolate?)

(There are regular quizzes in Witch Weekly about Harry’s favourite things, which his friends delight in taking. Hermione knows him best, apparently.)

In short, the pickings are slim.

Harry glances over at the photo of Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy at the charity event. Then grins at himself for coming with such a great idea. And Hermione will be proud of him too, if she ever finds out.

(But then again, she’s too smart, so it’s best if she doesn’t find out.)

*

Step 3.B: Acquire information directly from the source

Harry swaggers into Gringotts. He doesn’t mind the alarms, doesn’t mind the goblins’ menacing glares. For, just barely a few steps in front of him is Draco Malfoy himself. His heart skips a beat—at the surprise of seeing Malfoy so soon—before a grin comes over his face.

“Malfoy!” Harry says cheerfully. “What a coincidence!”

Malfoy grimaces, and walks right past him, out into the street.

“State your business, Mr Potter!” one of the guards orders.

“Wait, Malfoy!” Harry dodges the guards and rushes after Malfoy. He dashes in front of Malfoy. “Wait, where are you going?”

Malfoy glares down at him. “Lunch, Potter.”

Oh. Harry smirks. “Great. I’ll come with you.”

“No.” Malfoy sidesteps Harry.

First, soften him.

Harry steps back in Malfoy’s way. “Oh, come on, Malfoy.” He glances over Malfoy. “Your robes are pretty today,” he says, and smiles.

Malfoy stiffens. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Then, appeal to his ego.

“You both know that the goblins would make a faff of whatever it is I need to do,” Harry says. “You’re the only one who can deal with me efficiently.”

“Deal with you,” Malfoy repeats flatly. He starts walking fast towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry doggedly follows. “Malfoy! Come on! I’ll even say please!”

Malfoy gives him a disdainful look. “You, saying please to me?” He taps on the bricks, and Harry follows him out to Muggle London.

“Wait, you’re not transfiguring your robes? They’ll notice!”

Malfoy scoffs. “As though I wish to blend in with the hoi polloi.” His lip curls. “Many of them dress much more oddly than I.”

“I think those are just tourists,” Harry says.

“Tch.”

Harry follows Malfoy, looking around curiously. Maybe if he had been an Auror or Ministry worker, he would know the restaurants around Muggle London, but he usually has home-made food, so he doesn’t.

“Do you know a good place to eat?”

Malfoy shoots him an irritated look, and changes direction. They end up heading into a place that says PAUL, depuis 1889. Harry sticks close to Malfoy’s side.

“French? Are you French?”

“For the—on my father’s side, yes.”

“Do you know Fleur?”

“Yes, we met in our fourth year, remember?”

Harry purses his lips. Ah. He does remember how the students from Dumstrang and Beauxbaton had surrounded Malfoy’s posse, regardless of gender. He remembers one of his suspicions that Malfoy was a veela, too, but unfortunately nothing came out of that.

But does Malfoy still keep in touch with any of them? Did anything happen between Malfoy and any of them?

By the time Harry looks up again, Malfoy has apparently ordered for both of them, and Harry accepts a paper bag with a baguette sandwich, and then Malfoy’s leaving.

“Wait—don’t you sit down in restaurants?” Harry hurries after Malfoy.

“Well, a certain someone needs to get something done at Gringotts, and I rather get it over and done with.”

“I’m not in a hurry,” Harry says. “...Unless you’re really busy with work.”

“Yes.”

“What...kind of work?”

“Work.”

“Contracts?” Harry says with a smirk.

“Work.”

“I bet you did really well in your law course. Did you do it at LSE?”

Malfoy glares at him. “How—what? Fuck you, Potter.” His strides lengthen, and they’re back in Diagon Alley, back at Gringotts.

The alarms go off again.

“Go away,” Malfoy immediately tells the guards. “Don’t waste your time on Potter.”

“Hey!”

“What do you want, Potter? You withdrew just last week.”

Harry puffs up his chest. “I want to make a large donation to some post-War charities.”

“Large.”

“Large transfers,” Harry confirms.

Malfoy huffs. “Fine.” He doesn’t say follow, but Harry follows Malfoy through doors and corridors to an open office space that’s surprisingly well-lit.

There are a lot of goblins, and they’re all glaring at Harry.

“Oi, get back to your own business!” Malfoy says. “Potter’s no more a threat than a child in their terrible twos, and much more easily dealt with.”

“You’re a bastard, Malfoy!” one of the goblins calls back. “We’ll have your guts if the dragon stealer tries anything on your watch.”

Malfoy flips them two fingers, and some of the goblins laugh.

(If Harry had tried that, Harry seriously might not be alive anymore.)

Malfoy’s desk has shelves rising from it, already filled with papers. Gersmith & Potts: 1970 - 2020 is all Harry can read before Malfoy summons another chair and pushes him down.

“Now sit quietly and eat,” Malfoy orders. He puts his own baguette to the side while he flicks through a dozen papers. Harry stares as he eats—until Malfoy huffs and clears all the papers closest to Harry.

Malfoy hums, and then starts writing.

“What are you doing?”

“Filling your details for the transfer,” Malfoy says.

Harry’s eyebrows go up, and he leans in close to Malfoy. It all looks right, though...and he smiles to himself. “I didn’t know you memorised all of my information.”

Malfoy grunts. “All the better to get you out of Gringotts,” he says gruffly. “How many charities were you planning?”

“Just one.”

Malfoy’s look is unimpressed. He hands Harry the papers. “The name of the charity, the amount—in both numerical form and written form—and your signature.”

Harry does so, and Malfoy accepts the papers back. Aside from his narrow-eyed look of suspicion, he doesn’t comment. “That’ll be processed within five working days.” With his wand, the papers fold up, seal, and fly off wherever it is that transfers go to get processed.

“Now, out.”

“But I haven’t finished eating—you haven’t started eating,” Harry protests. (He still doesn’t know what Malfoy has ordered, and thus does not know what Malfoy likes to eat, aside from French stuff. Malfoy must like croissants, right?)

“Out.”

“Malfoy—”

“Is Potter causing you problems?” the goblin the desk over asks.

Harry bites back the urge to groan: blocked by a goblin again. “Okay, I’m leaving.”

Malfoy escorts him back out into the main hall.

Harry wants to ask more, but he makes the executive decision to cut his losses for now. “Have a good day, Malfoy. And thanks for the lunch.”

“Good day,” Malfoy bites out.

Harry’s heart buoys up with the returned farewell. Seems like Harry’s going better than he first thought!

*

Step 3.C: Subtly acquire information from secondary sources

Harry props his hands on his hips and surveys Andromeda’s newly finished garden with a swelling of pride and accomplishment. What used to be an overgrown little rectangle of grass and broken tiles is now a lush, large garden. From the little covered veranda area by the house with tables and chairs, to the new white pavement, the swings and slide, lots of trees made for climbing, and to the big open space that would be great for hosting events...or flying.

Harry sends the last of his gardening tools back home, just as Andromeda and Teddy emerge from the house.

“Done!” Harry says, running to pick Teddy up to sit on Harry’s hip.

Andromeda looks around, and gives Harry a smile. “It’s lovely, Harry.”

“Swing?” Teddy asks, eyes wide and round. “Pretty please?”

Harry laughs. “Of course, Teds!” He helps Teddy onto one of the swings and pushes him up and up.

“I was thinking, Andromeda,” Harry starts.

Andromeda raises one eyebrow, so reminiscent of Malfoy. (Or perhaps, Malfoy is reminiscent of her?) “Yes, Harry?”

“I first got on a broom when I was one.”

Andromeda’s eyes narrow. “Yes. Under the influence of Sirius.”

Harry’s chest tightens a moment, but he pushes on, “Yes, still. Teddy’s going to be five soon, isn’t he? Surely he could...they have new child-safe ones these days! I’ll be sure to be there to look after him.”

Teddy kicks his legs. “Hawwy? What are you talking ‘bout?”

“Grown-up things, like carrots,” Harry says, tickling Teddy. Teddy squeals with laughter and jumps off the swing.

“I made a pessy for you, Hawwy! Just wait!”

Neither of them follow Teddy into the house, Harry turns to Andromeda. “Please? I bet even Malfoy had his first broom by now.”

“—Lucius?”

“Fuck, no, I meant Draco.” Harry glances at Andromeda. “Are you...in contact with Narcissa Malfoy?”

Andromeda gives him a disgruntled look. “Nosing into a witch’s affairs,” she says. “But yes. We’ve been exchanging letters.”

“Ye-es?” Harry slides a little closer.

“It’s going to be a long time before we mend our relationship,” Andromeda says pointedly. “It won’t ever be the same.”

“Does she ever talk about her son?”

“Quite frequently, given...What’s this about, Harry?”

Harry hides his hands behind his back. “Just curious. I hope he’s doing well and all. I heard he attended a muggle university.”

“Ah, yes. That was quite surprising, but I hope it was enlightening. But he’s back in Wizarding London now, if you were hoping to meet him.”

“Oh?”

“To become a solicitor, Draco needs to complete a training contract with a law firm,” Andromeda explains. “Gringotts has a Muggle front, too, and has the added benefit of training him in Wizarding law.”

“He must like it a lot.”

Andromeda’s look becomes really suspicious. “Why don’t you ask him, Harry? I was thinking of inviting him and Narcissa over, eventually.”

Harry’s eyes widen and shakes his head. “Oh, no, that’s quite alright. Oh look, is that Teddy?”

And it is indeed Teddy, trotting out with a card in his hand.

“For you, Hawwy!” Teddy says.

Harry takes the card: it says, Best godfather on it, and Harry melts into his knees and gives Teddy a big hug. “And you’re my favourite godson.”

Teddy giggles. “Am I?”

“You are!”

*

Step 4: Repeat Step 3 (acquire information)

Just ask him out for lunch, just ask him out for lunch, Harry tells himself. Say, Draco would you like to go out for lunch? No way he’ll let some goblins interrupt them again. He could have gone to Malfoy Manor, or waited for dinner with Andromeda, but the threat of Narcissa Malfoy is too great.

So instead, Harry’s standing outside Gringotts again. It’s a bit before Malfoy’s previous lunch-time, and Harry’s thinking of taking Malfoy down to Muggle London to a pizza restaurant that seems pretty popular. Pull out Malfoy’s chair, get the bill—

The Gringotts alarm lights flash, and guards flank him. The far door slams open and Malfoy stalks across the hall.

“Malfoy—er, Draco,” Harry greets with an encouraging smile. He holds out a potted plant. “This is for you! It’s a bit late for a new-job present, but it’s very low maintenance.” He pushes it into Malfoy’s stomach, and Malfoy takes it, blinking and frowning.

Going well, Harry!

And then Malfoy’s eyes narrow. “...Potter. What must I do for you?”

“Say, Draco, would you like to go out for lunch?”

“No.”

“I know this place—wait. Did you say no?”

“I said no.”

“Hmm.” Harry looks at Malfoy. “Does this mean you don’t like eating out, Draco?”

“Who gave you permission to use my given name?”

“Well, Andromeda calls you Draco.”

“She’s my aunt.”

“Do I need to become your aunt before I can use your given name?”

Malfoy stares at him. “What the fuck, Potter.”

“So, Malfoy, would you like to go out for lunch?” Harry tries again. “I know this place in Muggle London, it’s good, I think you’ll like it.”

Malfoy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Potter. You’re up to something. You came by just last week. Why are you here again? Oh, is there another Dark Lord hidden somewhere in your vault?”

“...I’m perfectly innocent,” Harry says. “Ask Hermione!”

Malfoy turns his head, and glares to the goblins to the side. “What are you looking at? Potter’s clearly not stealing any dragons right now.”

“He has a suspicious face,” one of the goblins growl.

“Of course he does, he’s Potter.”

“Hey!”

Malfoy vanishes the potted plant (damn, Harry hopes it’s to his desk and not into nothingness), and pushes Harry out of Gringotts.

“O-oh,” Harry says, understanding. “We’re going out for lunch, aren’t we? Do you want to pick instead?” He adds, slyly, “I bet you know much better places than me, Malfoy.”

In fact, Harry would love it if Malfoy picks, because that would give Harry a lot more information.

“You—Merlin.” Malfoy bites back a sigh. He straightens. “Come,” he orders.

Harry follows with an evil grin. “Not in public, Malfoy.” Ends up with a face full of Malfoy’s robes.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“What does that mean?”

Malfoy sighs again and takes Harry’s arm. Before Harry can smell Malfoy’s cologne, they’re apparating and landing down somewhere in Muggle London. The streets are fairly crowded; and Malfoy takes him to a Japanese restaurant.

“You’re Japanese too?” Harry asks.

Malfoy shoots him a disgruntled look after the server shows to a table for two. “Luna is half-Japanese.”

“Oh, yes, she’s your cousin,” Harry says wisely. “You can read Japanese.”

“Not as well as Luna,” Malfoy says sharply. He taps the menu in front of Harry. “Choose.”

“It must be nice,” Harry says wistfully. “They tried to teach us French back in primary school, but I wasn’t allowed to study.”

Malfoy frowns at him, and glances back at his menu.

“Yeah, because my aunt and uncle made me do all the chores, and anyway, I wasn’t allowed to be smarter than Dudley. One time, he beat me up for it.”

Malfoy’s head snaps up. “Pardon?”

“My muggle cousin liked chasing me and kicking me,” Harry says, shrugging. Saying it like it means nothing helps Harry feel like it’s nothing. It’s not important anymore, anyway.

“You should curse him,” Malfoy says slowly.

“I didn’t know I was a wizard then,” Harry says patiently. “And the Ministry would have locked me up for underage magic, or something.”

...why is Malfoy looking at him like that? Did Harry say an inadvertent compliment or insult? Perhaps the Ministry comment? Lucius Malfoy used to be in the pockets of Ministry officials, right?

“Are you two ready to order?” the server asks.

“Yes,” Malfoy says, “we’ll have—” and then he orders something in Japanese—what, Harry has no idea.

“What if I hate what you ordered for me?” Harry says once the server leaves.

“You won’t,” Malfoy states, like a fact.

“How would you know?”

“You ate everything back at Hogwarts,” Malfoy says, rather disgruntled. Are his cheeks just a little pink?

“You watched me,” Harry says, delighted.

“Pot, kettle, black.”

Harry wriggles his eyebrows. “How did you find this place? The decor is pretty.”

And when Malfoy answers, Harry’s eagerly listening. The key, he realises, is to ask adjacent-like questions and potentially straight-up wrong statements. Such as, what do you think about introducing GCSEs to Hogwarts? and I bet Wizarding Law is much easier than Muggle Law, and Treacle tart is clearly the best dessert. And Malfoy just opens up, and Harry learns things like:

• Malfoy’s partial to chocolate-coffee desserts

• The area around Malfoy Manor used to be fairy woods, and as a child, Malfoy would go there all the time with the house elves while his parents were busy

• Most of the humans who work at Gringotts are Curse Breakers. (“Like Bill!” Harry says.)

• Malfoy thinks all his contract papers and legislation compliance forms would be much too difficult for Harry to understand (“Bah!” Harry says.)

• Malfoy’s favourite colour may be emerald green, but it’s not the colour that flatters him the most.

“I think you would look handsome in green,” Harry protests.

A smile hovers on Malfoy’s lips. How could Harry even think of them as mocking? “I shan’t be taking fashion advice from you, Potter.” Malfoy calls for the bill, and the two of them head to the counter to pay.

Quick as a flash, Harry slaps down a fifty pound note before Malfoy can. “My treat,” Harry says, nodding to the muggle at the counter.

Mlafoy huffs, but he lets Harry get away with it. They leave the establishment, and Harry sticks his hands in his pockets, feeling rather pleased.

“Now, what service do you wish from Gringotts?” Malfoy asks as they walk back to the apparition point.

For a moment, Harry’s mind is completely blank.

Oh...shit…

Malfoy’s eyes are narrowed as he takes Harry’s arm. The side-along throws off Harry’s balance, and he emerges on the other side in Malfoy’s arms. Malfoy rather quickly pushes him away.

“Surely you did not enter Gringotts with intent to waste my time and take me out to lunch,” Malfoy says. “Surely you’re not up to something.”

“I—er—my vault!” Harry blurts out.

“To retrieve more galleons?”

Fuck. Er—“Er—no. There’s some—er—family heirloom-y thing. Yes! A family heirloom thing. Can’t remember, I need to take a look.”

“Hmm.” Malfoy’s hum is dubious, but he accompanies Harry inside Gringotts anyway. Malfoy shoos away the guards, and they take one of the carts down.

Unfortunately, Harry’s a bit too preoccupied to talk. Come on Harry! Act smooth! Malfoy can never suspect…

“Your vault, Potter.”

Harry jumps to his feet, heart pounding and dearly hoping he hasn’t been just sitting there for minutes. He fumbles with his vault key—throws an everything-is-fine nod to Malfoy—and steps inside.

In the Potter vaults, there are piles of galleons, then more piles of galleons (the piles keep growing: Harry has no idea how the royalties from Sleekeazy’s come in). But Harry can’t retrieve galleons, so he heads further in. There’s a lot of old books, scrolls. Little statuettes, and rows of displayed necklaces and rings and jewellery.

Harry has no idea what he’s told Malfoy he’s going to get. Aware of the time, Harry grabs an old looking chess set and heads out.

“That’s a family heirloom?” Malfoy scoffs.

Harry freezes. “Er.”

Malfoy leans in closer, his arm brushing against Harry’s chest. A delicate finger traces the edge of the case.

“1893, manufactured by the Queens United Company,” Malfoy says. “Far inferior to the 1880s chess sets by the original Silver Knight Collective.”

“What?”

“It’s hardly even vintage—”

Harry sucks in a sharp breath. “No! It is! Seriously Malfoy, you don’t know everything.” Harry hugs it to his chest, dust and chess-piece grumbles inside be damned.

Those grumbles seem to be getting louder. Very, very loud.

“Fuck!” Malfoy yanks the box from Harry and drops it to the ground with a THUMP!

It’s still...and then it starts vibrating.

“Let us out! Let us out!” little voices scream.

Harry looks at Malfoy, horrified. “Are there people trapped inside there?”

“More likely a sentient curse,” Malfoy mutters, drawing his wand.

“Shouldn’t we get a curse-breaker—”

Malfoy mutters some spells, and symbols emerge. “No need,” he says, throwing a levitating and bubble charm over the chess set. “Are you sure this is the family heirloom you’re looking for?”

“Definitely.”

Malfoy grimaces. “Then give me a moment.” His wand draws shapes, trails of gold and white. The fingers of his other hand pick apart the strands that come loose. And Malfoy’s face is deep in concentration, those silver-grey eyes sharp and focused.

Some indeterminate time later, Malfoy snaps his fingers in front of Harry’s face.

“Hey!”

“I’m done,” Malfoy says. “You could at least pretend that you weren’t bored.”

“But I wasn’t.” Harry looks away from Malfoy’s face. Quite the opposite, really...

Malfoy sighs heavily, and hands Harry the chess set. They get back into the cart, and it starts moving back up.

Harry feels peculiar. Glancing at Malfoy’s hands reminds Harry of Malfoy’s delicate work with the spells. Malfoy’s hand as he wrote on those bank transfer papers last week. Malfoy’s hand on his arm, side-alonging him.

Malfoy’s hands are different from Harry’s. They’re much paler, the tips tapered. They look soft, too.

The cart makes a sharp turn, and Harry squeaks manfully. “Malfoy!” He turns back to glare when Malfoy starts chuckling.

Malfoy smirks, eyes lighting up. “Hardly a Wronski feint,” he drawls. “Unless you’ve lost your touch with the broom.”

“I can handle a broom fantastically,” Harry retorts, heart still beating hard.

“A broom,” Malfoy drawls. “Is that so?”

Harry’s about to retort when Malfoy’s tone catches up to him. Good sense exiting his brain like the free breeze, Harry leans backwards in the cart, closer to Malfoy, and winks. “I’m great at riding them too.”

Malfoy’s eyes are breath-catchingly close, and they’re looking at him, silver lit up in flashes by the lights along the way, and Harry wonders what would happen if Harry’s just a little closer—

“Shit!” The cart jolts and Harry’s elbow knocks painfully against the side of the cart.

“We’re here,” Malfoy says, getting out.

Groaning, Harry rubs his elbow. His breath catches again when Malfoy extends a helping hand. “Ow. Thank you.”

“There are no cushioning charms on the Gringotts carts,” Malfoy says pointedly. “To build character, apparently.”

“And dissuade people from visiting too often?” Harry grins.

“Precisely.”

Harry ignores Malfoy’s tone. “Thanks for the—” Harry lifts the chess set. “Have a good day, Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s lips pursed. “Indeed. Hope to not see you again soon.”

Harry ignores Malfoy’s tone and waves goodbye. Today’s mission has been extremely successful, and now Harry just needs to figure out what to do with the chess set...

*

Step 5: See Malfoy again soon (repeat)

After that, Harry comes by Gringotts every week, then twice each week. He doesn’t come at the exact same time—that would be suspicious. Sometimes, he arrives in the afternoon, a perfect time to have afternoon tea with Malfoy before he has to head to his vault.

(Malfoy’s partial to earl grey and chiffon cakes. Harry’s partial to—he quotes Malfoy—the most sickly sweet desserts.)

He brings Malfoy more tiny potted plants (which indeed now live on Malfoy’s desk), and tins of fancy biscuits. After he brings tiny sword charms for the goblin guards, their pokes have become friendly instead of menacing, and the desk goblins all have a good laugh when Harry gives them chocolate coins.

(“That hideous statuette is a family heirloom?”)

(“It’s in the Potter vaults, so of course it is.”)

Harry’s top drawer at his desk in Grimmauld Place is starting to overflow with new notes and receipts, and the second drawer down has been cleared for the new information.

Each visit leaves Harry wanting more. He finally learns that Malfoy’s working with the goblins because no one else had wanted him (“How short-sighted of them!” Harry told Malfoy plainly), but now Harry has questions like, What does Malfoy do in his spare time? Does he have any spare time? How does he braid his hair? How is it still so white?

Really, there’s nothing Harry can do but go to Gringotts. And this time, he’s going to be withdrawing galleons for real! Malfoy won’t suspect a thing.

Harry adjusts the collar of his new emerald green shirt (all the better to avoid suspicion), runs a hand through his hair, and heads off to see Malfoy Gringotts once again.

*

Step 6: Deflect suspicious friends

“Hey, Harry, where were you? I was calling you,” Ron says.

Harry freezes at the bottom of the stairs to the attic. “Nowhere.”

“What’s up with your attic?”

“Oh, just storing some old things up there,” Harry says. He nudges Ron down the stairs with him to the main living area. “What’s up?”

“Hermione’s wondering why you’re at Gringotts so often,” Ron says, dangling a newspaper in front of Harry.

“What?”

There’s a picture of Gringotts: Harry is handing Malfoy a gift bag—Harry remembers, inside there was a new mug with the Queen on it that he thought Malfoy would appreciate. It’s a bit blurry, but photo-Harry and photo-Malfoy seem to be having a good time.

HARRY POTTER CAUGHT COURTING DRACO MALFOY

“Okay, that’s totally not true,” Harry says. “Those aren’t courting gifts, they’re bribes.”

Ron gives him a weird look. “And why are you bribing him?”

Harry smiles smugly as he hands back the newspaper. “You know how the goblins took forever to serve me?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, they forced Malfoy to do it instead. And you know how much Malfoy hates me, so I have to keep on his good side.”

“Wouldn't visiting him virtually every day be annoying and the opposite of being on his good side?” Ron pointed out.

“...”

Ron sighs and reaches for the newspaper. Harry quickly tucks it into his side.

“I want to read it,” he says. “Just to make sure.”

Ron stares at him. “Fuck,” he says. “Hermione’s right…”

“Whatever it is, she isn’t!” Harry protests. “Malfoy’s merely an old school mate. We’re not even friends.”

“Hermione would say otherwise.”

Harry scoffs. “I know more about Malfoy than her. Malfoy’s still a prick to me.”

“And yet, you still go back,” Ron mutters. He groans, and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s worse than I thought. Bloody hell.” He pulls out a pamphlet. “Hermione told me to give you this.”

How to know if someone likes you

“Ron,” Harry says, betrayed. “I’m hardly some kid with his first crush!”

“Nope, take it, and tell me no details,” Ron says, shoving the pamphlet at Harry.

“Ron,” Harry says again. “I don’t fancy Malfoy and Malfoy doesn’t fancy me.” Harry scoffs. “I’d know if I did, give me some credit.”

Ron shakes his head. “No, I’m not discussing this with you further. I’m here to ask you about Sunday lunch.”

“Oh yeah, of course I’m coming.”

“Sweet. Mum says she’ll let us bring two—two desserts, one each for Sunday. As a trial, which means we need to think of the best desserts ever.”

Harry thumps Ron on the back. “Mate, I’m totally with you. We better start brainstorming—er, in the kitchen. My study’s a mess.”

Ron shrugs. “Sure. Might have a poke about your pantry.”

*

After Ron leaves, Harry hurries back to his study, where his papers on Malfoy have overflowed, and his big hanging board on Facts About Malfoy—complete with a timeline—must never be seen by his friends. Harry cuts out the new article with himself and Malfoy in it, and makes sure to spell-hide all and any incriminating items.

Unwillingly, Harry glances at the How to know if someone likes you pamphlet...

*

Step 7: Determine if target likes you

Harry wonders into Gringotts, whistling innocently, hands behind his back. The alarm still goes off, but Harry cheerfully greets Ralak, Gorgo, and Snorklog.

Malfoy comes striding over, a striking figure in his robes, a silhouette that has really grown on Harry.

“Potter, what can I do for you today?”

“Morning, Draco,” Harry says.

Malfoy fixes him with a Look. “Back to given names now, are we?”

Malfoy doesn’t seem to be any more coy, or any more nicer, than usual.

Harry pulls one hand from behind his back, and presents Malfoy with a bouquet of acacia flowers. “These are for you.”

Malfoy’s eyes widen. His cheeks flush a little pink, his lips a touch shiny. All very good signs—

“Oh, fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy says as he takes the bouquet. “You don’t even know what these flowers mean.”

“...I do!” Harry says a beat late. But he catches Malfoy giving them a sniff, the tilt of a fond smile on Malfoy’s face.

Malfoy catches him looking though and glares. The bouquet vanishes, and Malfoy motions for Harry to follow. “I bet you rolled out of bed in those clothes too,” he mutters. Malfoy ruffles Harry’s hair, and smirks. “I think I just made it better.”

“Hey!” Harry covers his head with his hands, cheeks hot.

Malfoy chuckles evilly, the git.

At the carts, a goblin and another wizard’s just exiting.

“Hey, Malfoy,” the goblin says. “Kraker tells you to stop taking the carts so fast or she’ll string your guts up.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I’m perfectly within regulation speed,” he says. “Tell Kraker she should stop being such a cheapskate and get maintenance down more often.”

“Bloody wastrel, you are, Malfoy,” the goblin says.

“And you suck at poetry, Ligol,” Malfoy retorts. “Come on, Potter, don’t dawdle.”

Harry glances between Malfoy and the goblin.

“Wait. You two like each other. You goblins like Malfoy.”

The goblin makes a face. “I see Malfoy’s ugly face everyday. Of course we like the bastard. If we didn’t, he’d actually be dead.”

“As if you would dare,” Malfoy scoffs. He hooks an arm under Harry’s armpit and half drags him onto the cart.

Insults, Harry realises. Slytherins and goblins show affection by insulting each other! Harry frowns, thinking hard. They must both enjoy the sport of making the best insult.

“Dear me, Potter, are you actually thinking for once? And here I thought I’ll need to get you a silk gag for that mouth of yours…”

“Heh heh heh.” Harry chuckles as he realises.

“...Now you’ve really lost it,” Malfoy mutters.

Malfoy likes me! Harry proverbially rubs his hands together. Well, Harry’s not surprised. A lot of people like Harry, and clearly it is just as inevitable that Malfoy would like him too.

And this will make it a lot easier.

Harry leans back and smiles slyly at Malfoy. “Just thinking about how handsome you are.”

Malfoy’s gaze snaps to him. “W—what the fuck. Of course I am.”

“Are you sure you’re not a veela?”

Malfoy scowls, but his cheeks are endearingly pink. “Don’t think you’re so smart, Potter,” he says, spitting out the Potter. “I’m merely endowed with incredible genetics.”

Harry smirks. “Oh, endowed now, are you?” He rolls his eyes, and adds, “Somehow, I have a feeling you’re bluffing. I pity the pureblood wife your parents are going to force you to have…”

“I damn canceled my arranged marriage,” Malfoy growls. “And…” Malfoy smirks, then, and Harry’s heart skips a beat.

“And they’re not going to be a wife,” Malfoy says, licking his lips.

How the tables have turned, dammit. Harry squeezes his legs together, for once hating that he has jeans on instead of robes.

The cart slows to a stop.

“Here we are,” Malfoy says, smirking still.

“Y-yes.” Harry gets up on shaky legs and flees to the Potter vaults. Away from Malfoy, Harry takes deep breaths. He needs to calm the fuck down. Harry can’t use the fact that Malfoy likes him if Malfoy can get under his skin so easily, the sly Slytherin prat.

Just go out there, smile charmingly, and ask him the next question on the list.

Harry grabs a random object and heads back out. He puts a bit of a swagger in his walk, a hint of a smile. “So, Malfoy, I bet you like candles with your romantic dinners.”

Malfoy shudders. “Yes, but not that horrid thing you have there. How could such an item even be kept in the Potter vaults.”

Harry glances at what he’d just picked up. It’s a giant candelabra, and the light fixtures look like creepy eyes. Woops.

Malfoy grimaces. “I’ve been trying to be polite—”

“Polite, really?”

“—But what the fuck are you doing with all your family heirlooms?”

Malfoy’s finally asked! Harry smiles smugly. “You see, I’m currently renovating. You know how I work on gardens part time, so I thought it’s time to try interior design. And what better place to start than my own home?”

Harry’s heart races at his delivery: the words are smooth, not a single stumble nor suspicious word.

Malfoy’s eyes narrow. “No. You surely aren’t.” Then, horror. “Wait. You really are renovating.”

Mentally, Harry pats himself on the back for his superb acting. Time for the next question!

“I can’t even imagine what the inside of your house now looks like,” Malfoy shudders. “How can anyone even bear to look—surely Granger would have better sense—”

Harry’s original question flies out of the window, and his mouth says, “Mnm, then why don’t you come see the inside of my house then? And see for yourself how good I am.”

Malfoy’s eyes are wide, then he gives a tiny shake of his head. “I suppose I must sacrifice my eyes for the greater good,” he says, much aggrieved. He straightens and fixes Harry with a stern look. “Now put that candelabra back in your vaults. It is not fit for decoration any time this century.”

Harry automatically follows the order before he even realises it, and feels rather confused when he’s back on the cart, empty handed.

“I’ll have to find a real interior decorator,” Malfoy’s muttering as the cart zooms back up to ground level. “Move all those heirlooms back to the vaults...some back corner where no one will see…”

They arrive at ground floor, and Harry follows Malfoy with a feeling of impending doom. It’s all going to come falling apart...Malfoy will know...but there’s absolutely no way Harry’s going to back down from an invitation he’s given.

Wait! But Malfoy likes him. He could use that to his advantage.

“Oi, Malfoy, running off with Potter now, are you?” Gorgo says at the door to Gringotts.

“I’m about to address a dire emergency,” Malfoy says. “Tell the boss to pay me overtime: it’s a design disaster.”

“In your dreams!” Gorgo says cheerfully. “Smell you later, Potter.”

Harry blinks, and quickly farewells Gorgo and hurries out after Malfoy. “Where are we going?”

Malfoy spins round and pins him with a look. “To your house,” he says, slowly and clearly.

Enact new plan! Harry’s brain screams. Harry lays a hand on Malfoy’s arm, and flutters his eyelashes. “I just changed the bedsheets.”

“Wh—that’s not even—Morgana, just side-along us.”

Harry steps much closer than necessary to Malfoy (come on, where’s Malfoy’s reaction??), and apparates them. They land on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place.

Malfoy glances around as Harry opens the front door. “Lovely plants,” he says, actually sounding impressed.

Harry huffs. “I’m a gardener. Of course they’re beautiful. Though I bet Malfoy Manor has great gardens too.”

Malfoy quirks a little smile, and Harry smiles back.

Harry has no idea how long they stand there smiling, but Harry’s smile must not be confounding enough, because Malfoy is all intent again on seeing Harry’s interior efforts.

Which, fuck.

Harry slowly leads Malfoy into the house. Shows him the kitchen, the dining, the living spaces. The bathrooms, the bedrooms, the library (not the study).

“Potter,” Malfoy says Harry’s name like Harry’s in Big Trouble. “Not a single one of your family heirlooms. I’m so very impressed.”

Yep, big trouble. Harry slumps. “It’s up here,” he mumbles.

He takes Malfoy up to the attic—thinks, for a moment that maybe he could try and seduce Malfoy one more time, except Malfoy’s face is set as fuck.

And so, finally, they emerge in a sloped ceiling attic room.

“Lumos,” Malfoy spells. The room lights up. It’s dusty, and there are dozens of boxes and furniture, and Malfoy quickly finds the pile of lamps and candelabra and statues and junk in the nearest corner.

Harry fights the urge to scuff his feet like a kid. “I mean, I was planning to interior decorate, I just never got round to it yet—”

Malfoy slowly looks at him. Steps closer. Then closer again. Stops. “You never planned to decorate anything.”

Harry flushes.

“Have you just been fucking around? Wasting my time to retrieve these useless miscellanea? Oh, dear Potter, you must really love seeing my face.” For a brief moment, Malfoy’s face is in a hard scowl, before it twists into disappointment and disgust. He crosses his arms. “Just tell me what you want and stop playing this game. And oh, did you know that acacia flowers are for secret love?”

The thing is...Harry did know.

“...What did you do after the War?”

“You know,” Malfoy says, narrow-eyed. “I was at LSE completing a law degree.”

“...And what are you doing at Gringotts?”

“Working for my certification as a solicitor.”

“And are you up to something?”

“There’s my work. My taxes. Presents for upcoming birthdays.” Malfoy’s lips thin. “This entire time. You thought I was up to something. I can’t believe I thought…”

Malfoy turns away and heads down the stairs.

And Harry’s brain is yelling at him to do something!

*

Step 8: URGENT! Reassess objective!

“Wait!” Harry yells, dashing down the stairs. “What did you think I was doing?” He ends up with his face in Malfoy’s back, and it takes a moment for them to separate.

Malfoy looks at him. “What does it matter? I’ve clearly misinterpreted the situation.” He snorts. “Unless my humiliation isn’t enough for you.”

“Promise I won’t laugh,” Harry says. “I just really need to know what you thought I was doing.”

Silence. Then, “The acacia flowers mean secret love. That you gave to me.”

Harry’s gears are trying to turn, but there’s a block in his mind. “Right.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” Malfoy pinches the bridge of his nose, then says, clearly, “I thought that you fancied me. That all those lunches was one of your Gryffindork schemes to have a date with me. Of course, you weren’t actually courting me—I couldn’t give you that much credit, your gifts just all accidentally met the traditional courting guidelines.”

Oh.

“Umm…” Harry’s ears are burning. His palms are sweating. “Why did you think I fancied you?”

“Your stupid hair, and your stupid bright eyes, and your stupid smile, and your stupid blush. All your questions, as though you really wanted to know me. And your horrible flirting,” Malfoy adds, disgruntled.

“My flirting’s great,” Harry protests. He looks down at his hands.

His heart is racing. His chest is tight. He wants to smile incessantly and creepily at Malfoy…

He has been so intent on determining whether or not Malfoy liked him that...he didn’t realise that he fulfills the requirements list on the How to know if someone likes you pamphlet.

“Oh dear,” Harry says to himself. “I think I really love seeing your face.”

“...Pardon? If you love seeing my face, I’ll send you a head-shot portrait,” Malfoy snarks.

Harry looks back up, standing straighter. “Oh, come on, Malfoy. It’s not like the rest of your body is ugly—”

Malfoy’s eyes narrow.

“—Fuck, that’s not what I meant.”

Harry stiffens when Malfoy takes a step closer, a smirk growing on his face.

“...I’ve seen the inside of your house,” Malfoy drawls. “Are you going to now show me how good you are?”

“Not in the bloody corridor, I’m not,” Harry says. “And your flirting is horrible.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “I’m just repeating your words from earlier, dear Harry.”

Despite Harry’s best intentions, when Malfoy reaches out for him, Harry grabs back, and they’re suddenly pressed together, and Malfoy’s mouth is on Harry’s and fuck Malfoy’s mouth is just as good at kissing as it is at being a prat.

Malfoy’s hand does something in Harry’s hair, and his tongue does something in Harry’s mouth and Harry melts into Malfoy.

“Bedroom, Potter,” Malfoy whispers into Harry’s ear. The lips against the shell of Harry’s ear, the vibrations of the sound make Harry shiver. “Unless you want to do it in the corridor.”

Now that he has Malfoy, he doesn’t want to let go. So instead, he tightens his arms around Malfoy and apparates them straight to bed.

*

Step 9: CLASSIFIED

Malfoy’s mouth is heaven, Harry finds. He wants to melt. He never wants to stop. He doesn’t know why he didn’t start this earlier.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Malfoy mutters. He runs his hands down Harry’s sides, firm, hot, and right on Harry’s skin—Harry has no idea when his clothes came off, or even where they are now, but it’s not really important as the hot-wet-fuck-yes slide of Malfoy’s tongue, the jolts of yes-fuck where his cock rubs against Malfoy’s thigh.

He whines when Malfoy pushes him back and away. “You,” Harry says, tugging at the shirt Malfoy still has on.

Malfoy falters, and Harry props himself up on his arms.

“What is it?”

Grimacing, Malfoy takes off his shirt, and Harry’s eyes take in the scars, the faded Dark Mark.

“I’m supposed to be the smart one here,” Malfoy mutters. “This is a bad idea.”

Harry takes Malfoy’s forearm. “This was a bad idea,” he says seriously. He moves on to trace the Sectumsempra scars. “And this was a bad idea.” Finally, he moves onto Malfoy’s lips. “But kissing you is the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Malfoy’s lips quirk into a smile. “The best idea? No wonder your past is littered with failure.”

Harry pulls a face. “Malfoy, you—”

Malfoy’s kiss is hard, and yep best fucking idea ever.

“Fuck. You’re such a slut for kisses,” Malfoy says, as the bloody tease moves from Harry’s mouth to Harry’s ear, to his neck.

“Malfoy,” Harry whines. He ruts up into Malfoy’s thigh, licks his lips invitingly.

“Stop moving,” Malfoy orders. “You’re not getting precome on my trousers.”

Malfoy’s low growl goes right down to Harry’s cock, and it makes everything so much worse (so much better).

“Then—fuck you—take them off!”

“No,” Malfoy says smirking. He holds a hand out, and a vial of lube smacks into his palm. “I’m going to fuck you with them on...with you. Naked. Laid out like a feast.” His hand traces across Harry’s chest—sharply pinches a nipple.

“Fuck—” Harry hisses, his chest pushing up into the touch.

“Oh,” Malfoy leans in. Twists one nipple, and then starts sucking the other.

“Fuck you, stop teasing!” Harry can feel the bulge of Malfoy’s cock. It’s growing, it’s hard, and Harry can’t stop whimpering. “Come on, please,” he begs. He sneaks a hand down to his own cock, trying to ease the pressure—and cries out when Malfoy pushes both of his arms into the bed.

“Patience, Potter.” Malfoy opens that vial of lube and starts slicking his fingers.

“That’s for next time,” Harry retorts, trying to sneak a hand back.

“Ah.” Malfoy sits back on his heels. “You don’t want my cock then?” Malfoy’s cock is still hidden inside his trousers. Malfoy leans in close, teases Harry with a kiss, leaves him wanting. “Be good for me, Harry.”

It’s the growl, the purr, of Harry’s name that does it. Malfoy wants Harry to be good. So Harry will be good.

“So good,” he whispers.

Malfoy gives a slow, fond smile. “Good boy, Harry.” Malfoy’s fingers circle Harry’s rim, light, then firm. A protection spell tingles, and Malfoy’s fingers push in, long and deep.

Harry makes tiny little movements, tries to grip those fingers. He wants to be good, but it’s good and—

“You feel so hot,” Malfoy murmurs. “I can’t wait—look at you. You love it. You really want it.”

“Yes.”

Malfoy’s fingers press just right, and Harry gasps again. He shifts his hips, trying to help, trying to get more.

Malfoy’s fingers slip out, and Harry clenches down, already feeling empty. Then, Malfoy unbuttons his trousers, and tugs his cock out.

Harry salviates, licking his lips. “Oh,” he says. “You really are…” He wants it. Even if Malfoy was a bastard of a prick (and he sort of still is), Harry would want that cock.

Malfoy smirks, and slowly wanks it. It shouldn’t be possible, but it’s growing larger in his hand, the head of it peeking out whenever he tugs the foreskin down. It’s slick, shiny with precome and lube, and Harry’s hands twitch. He wants to touch—he whines, stares into Malfoy’s eyes, tries to make Malfoy understand that he wants it.

Malfoy leans in, and the head of it brushes against Harry’s entrance. A bit of pressure, and it slowly goes in.

Harry bites down his lip. Swallows. Pants, open mouthed, as Malfoy feeds in centimeter by centimeter, as Harry’s body swallows Malfoy’s cock. It’s—everything—all his focus in on how Malfoy’s cock is opening him up, stretching him out.

“Good, Harry, you’re doing good.” Malfoy’s words twirl in the haze of Harry’s mind. “You look so fucking good, Harry. So fucking good on my cock. You were made for this.”

Harry can only moan—Malfoy, words, how? It’s like—Malfoy is splitting him open, like Malfoy’s cock is moulding him, making him the perfect sleeve, the perfect hole. The fullness is overwhelming and incredible and Harry just keeps getting fuller and fuller, as Malfoy goes deeper and deeper, and Harry wonders if it’ll go up to his throat.

“Malfoy,” he whimpers. “Malfoy, I’m gonna—”

Malfoy groans. “Call me Draco. And you’re so good, Harry. Harry.”

Then, Malfoy starts tiny little thrusts, burning slides in and out. Draco’s cock trying to go deeper yet again and is it even possible. Harry can’t help it—he lifts his hand, fist in mouth, just trying to not explode.

“No, Harry, let me hear you.” Draco pulls almost completely out (no-no-don’t leave me empty—) and slams back in.

Harry gasps in pleasure. And Draco does it again. And again. It’s too full, too much, pleasure taking over his body, his soul, and someone’s moaning, and it’s him because he can’t stop.

“Yes, look at you. Fucking good. You’re in love with my cock, aren’t you? You are such a slut for it. No one’s ever going to compare to me.”

Such a big ego, Malfoy, Harry thinks, before the thought is wisped away by the dicking Draco’s giving him.

Draco goes faster and faster, his grip on Harry’s hips is hard, his cock sparking pleasure every single damn time, and it’s everything and Harry’s heart is racing—

“That’s it, that’s it Harry. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you? Because you’re a good boy.”

Fuuucck. Pleasure. Lightning. Stars. Harry screams as he comes, and Draco’s cock pounds him right through it, and it’s like it goes on forever, and when Harry thinks it might be over, Draco’s coming too, thick and hot inside Harry and it’s too much and Harry’s coming again, dry.

Harry pants, chest heaving. Draco’s fucking is slow, slower. As though he’s trying to push out the last of Harry’s orgasm, as though he’s trying to push his come as deep as he can inside of Harry. Harry’s mind hazy. He reaches out for Draco, a little aimlessly, wraps his legs around Draco’s hips to keep that cock inside.

“Shit.” Draco slumps down on him.

Harry gives him a silly grin and wraps his arms around him.

“Aren’t I heavy?”

“Mmhmm.” Less talking, more snuggling.

“...I need to get back to Gringotts.”

Harry tightens his arms. “No escaping.” He clenches down, smirks when Draco’s hips stutter a little.

“Harry.”

“Screw Gringotts,” Harry says. “And screw me instead.”

“The death of me,” Draco says.

Harry pouts, and takes Draco’s mouth with his. He’s sure he could seduce Draco to stay longer.

And it works, very well indeed.

*

Step 10: Debriefing

Harry sticks the tip of his tongue out as he carefully arranges the different foods in the container. Behind him is the utter mess of his kitchen that comes from cooking at least five different components, but that’s not the important part.

“Oh, hey, Harry, what are you doing?” Ron wonders in. “Do you wanna go for lunch with me and Hermione? Can I have those?” He points to a bowl of Harry’s failed attempts at octopus sausages.

“Yeah, sure.” Harry nudges the last piece of fried salmon in place, and closes the container with a victorious grin. “It’s for my boyfriend.”

Ron chokes. Harry, the good friend he is, thumps Ron soundly on the back until Ron’s able to breathe again.

“Who? What? Weren’t you courting Malfoy—wait. Hermione!”

Hermione comes rushing in. “What’s the problem?”

Ron points at Harry. Harry frowns back at him.

“He has a boyfriend!”

“So what?” Harry sniffs, and carefully wraps the container with a Snitch-patterned cloth and a set of cutlery. “I can have lunch with you in an hour or so. I need to head to Gringotts to deliver this first.”

Hermione gives a sigh of relief. “Finally!” she says. “Never mind lunch today,” she says knowingly (what the heck does she know that Harry doesn’t?). “But. We are definitely having dinner together tonight.”

Harry shrugs. “Sure.” He already knows they (read: Hermione) are going to grill him, but it’s definitely not going to be as incriminating as when Draco found about Harry’s stash of notes on him when they tried to fuck in the study.

(Mhm, Harry’s getting hard just thinking about it.)

“Anyhow, see ya!” he says, pushing Ron and Hermione to the floo, before he himself floos to the Leaky Cauldron.

He greets Tom, and ambles down Diagon Alley. It’s a bright and sunny afternoon, and Harry’s day had started with a really good fucking.

(Mhm, Harry’s salivating just thinking about it.)

Upon stepping into Gringotts, the lights flash and an alarm goes off.

“Morning—or afternoon,” Harry greets the goblins cheerfully. “Is Malfoy around?”

“State your purpose,” Ralak orders.

Harry lifts the wrapped lunch. “I have something for Malfoy—I’m not taking anything out.”

That mollifies the goblins, who let him pass, just as Draco emerges. Harry’s face splits into a wide grin. Harry does a little awkward run up to greet him.

“I have something for you,” he says. “I made it myself. It’s your lunch!”

Draco’s brow raises. “Did you, now?” He glances around, and glares at the people looking at them. “Come on in.”

“Heh?” But nonetheless, Harry gets into the cart that Draco points to, and very soon, it’s zipping down the vaults. “Where are we going? Why?”

Draco leans forward from the driver’s position. “A good Harry deserves a reward, doesn’t he?”

Harry’s eyes widen a little. “Oh, yeah, definitely.” He meets Draco in the middle, and it’s so exhilarating to kiss him while the cart’s zooming down the tracks.

They stop at a familiar place: Harry’s vault.

“Open it.”

So Harry does. But this time, both of them step inside, and Draco closes it behind them. Harry has just enough time to balance the lunch on top of a pile of galleons before Draco shoves him against a conveniently empty wall and starts fucking his mouth with his tongue. WIth luck, and some seduction, Harry’ll have Draco fucking his mouth with his cock. The alternative is that cock in his arse, which, truth be told, sounds really good as well. There’s no way Harry can lose.

And so, what is Harry learning these days? Draco’s body, for one. Draco’s cock in particular, and those fingers, oh, Harry loves them. He has learned that post-coital Draco and just-woken Draco are the best Draco’s to ask questions of, and to extract promises from. For example:

• Draco actually loves Harry’s hair.

• And Harry’s lips.

• And Harry’s arse—

—ah. Well, the learnings stop there as they busied themselves with other activities.

And did Harry learn his lesson about annoying people? Not at all, since it has worked out mind-blowingly well with Draco. Literally.

The End!