at
http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/2778308
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Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandom:
Relationship:
minor Hermione Granger/Blaise Zabini
,
minor Kingsley Shacklebolt/Andromeda Black Tonks
Greengrass/Draco Malfoy - Relationship
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Published: 2014-12-27 Words: 14307
Un Noël très parisien
Summary
When Draco crossed paths with Auror Potter at a political function in Paris, he was not
expecting their former animosity to change into something rather more intriguing. But he
could be certain their casual flirtation would not last more than the night, couldn't he?
Notes
Dear cissa, you are a gem! We hope we have folded all of the things you like into this little
Christmas village of H/D Paris/London romance and flangst. Happy HD Erised! Many,
many thanks to all of the indulgent and generous mods! xxx N+F
See the end of the work for more
"Antoine, I need those figures now on the habitat of Carinthian blue salamanders. The Slovenian
minister is arriving right after lunch." Draco pushed a stack of file jackets from one side of his
otherwise immaculate glass desk surface to the other. His notes for the day's meetings were laid
out next to his Incend-all, colour-coded and organised. He'd quickly learnt the importance of being
over-prepared when meeting with politicians. They were a slimy lot, all of them, ready to wriggle
out of anything they might have promised you earlier. Good, hard facts--and lots of them--were a
must, as was a certain impervious sangfroid.
He waved his wand to complete the magna vox spell, satisfied that his brusque order had shaken
the entire outer office. The conference room and reception area were sound-shielded by the best
audio wizards his employers could find, so his current visitors should be none the wiser. His staff
needed a bit of shaking up on a regular basis to be properly productive, he had discovered during
his five years at the magical law firm of Uyttendaele and Frey. Something about the additional
nervous load made the underlings particularly sharp and goal-oriented. Of course, it also led to a
higher than average turnover rate and a lot of pleading on his assistant's part, but Draco considered
that a fair price to pay. The large Christmas bonus paypackets he approved more than made up for
the additional burden of placating, and Draco was assured that he had the most durable talent in
the business.
Although the office was bustling behind his open door, Draco closed his eyes and took a slow
breath through his nostrils. Once opened, his eyes lingered on the photograph of Scorpius playing
at the beach at Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat this past summer, his curls bright in the sun as he splashed in
the deep turquoise water with his nanny. He gave a brief answering smile to the image of his little
boy turning over his navy and white striped shoulder to give his Papa holding the camera a smile.
The image lingered for a moment and then the loop of motion began again.
Scorpius was with his mother in Neuilly-sur-Seine now, and already more grown up than he had
been in June. Without photographs, Draco wouldn't be able to keep anything about his three-year-
old son fixed - Scorpius was constantly in motion, constantly growing, and while Draco's busy
travelling schedule did not allow him to see his son every week, he had set his foot down with his
colleagues and now had every other week at home in Paris.
That limit had been sliding a bit during General Elections and the current dispute over the
European Wizarding Magical Substances Agreement, but the principle held firm. Also, he'd been
able to get Christmas off this year with the amount of overtime he'd been logging during the
negotiations. Draco's working style was flexible and rapid enough to allow him to pursue the
maximum interests of his clients, the list of which had grown impressively this year. Draco had
brought the most business to the firm and was set to collect an astronomical year-end bonus plus a
bottle of 300-year-old whiskey from the senior partners. He might even make partner next year.
Tomorrow, the talks would move from Bruges to Paris, so at least Draco would see the inside of
his flat before the weekend. He had no one waiting for him at home, only his precocious little boy
who came to stay with him as often as time permitted during the year and went on holidays with
him once at midsummer and once at midwinter. Mother had been pressuring him to come visit
with Scorpius in the fall in the Languedoc to enjoy the wine season, but she didn't understand the
difficulty of synchronising all of the schedules. Astoria's architectural work allowed for moderate
flexibility, but the Greengrasses wanted to see their grandson as well. And the firm schedule was
booked through February for parliamentary business.
Also, if he were to be completely honest, Draco wasn't entirely sure he liked his mother's new
social companion. Even if he was a Margrave.
A slight cough alerted Draco to Antoine's presence at the door. The officials and aides would
already be in the conference room enjoying local baked goods with coffee. Parliamentary sessions
always gave the baker's around the corner a rush of business, but they were justly famed for their
viennoiserie.
"M. Malfoy, the London delegation are becoming restive." Antoine spoke five languages easily,
but his most talented form of expression was non-verbal amusement.
Draco couldn't helped the answering tug of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "Should I take
some time to compose an owl to my mother, then?"
"I think the Undersecretary might have a stroke. It seems he doesn't have a taste for pain au
chocolat, unfortunately."
"Barbaric." Draco smoothed a hand across his fine charcoal robes as he stood up. Taking the
folder from Antoine and ignoring his entire look of satisfaction, Draco sailed down the short
hallway, robes sweeping behind him, grandly, thanks to hours spent in front of his mirror as an
adolescent, attempting to mimic his Head of House. Time to earn the vastly inflated consulting
fees this conference would generate for the firm.
As he stepped into the well-lit room with large windows, Draco took a moment to scan the
attendees, most of whom were munching on pastry or wiping away crumbs. The baked treats
were irresistible--and were murder on formal robes for butter stains. Draco found they gave a
natural advantage in talks as they provided the opposition with a bit more distraction than planned.
He counted three assistants, a Senior Assistant, and the vice-head of Magical Creatures in the
room. At their head, on the near side of the table, Undersecretary for International Magical
Cooperation Percy Weasley was thinner and more supercilious than Draco remembered from their
school days. His close-cropped ginger hair was thinning at the back, a fact which gave Draco an
immense amount of pleasure given his own receding hairline. Weasley had an untouched
porcelain cup of black coffee on the table in front of him and a bitter expression on his freckled
face. When Draco entered, he gave a slight huff and recrossed his long legs.
"Weasley," Draco drawled, taking his seat at the head of the conference table, "I'm so glad you
could find the time to meet with us in advance of the talks in Paris."
"Cut to the chase, Malfoy. Your lot have us over a barrel with the damned Floo link needing to be
approved." Draco was sure Percy would have permanent frown lines if he held that face.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Draco said. "We're only trying to reach a mutual
agreement over conservation of the environment and the loosening of trade restrictions to allow for
more economic improvement in the mountainous regions."
"Mmm. I imagine." Weasley sniffed. "And the sudden blockade of the improvement plan from
Graz to Zagreb is entirely coincidental?"
"I would be entirely out of my depth to comment." Draco looked at the sheet in front of him. "I
can't imagine why you think Ljubljana'd be interested in that."
"Malfoy, please, do not insult my intelligence. We both know that Ukfloo needs local permission
to build a rapid flash network on an international corridor and the Slovenian permits have been
surprisingly unforthcoming."
Draco pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And what are your thoughts on the loosening
of the protected species lists for talks in Paris. I'm sure I might be able to bring something to them
to help them influence the local office in Maribor. Who knows, there might even be potions
research and development work that could be contracted to British Wizarding Businesses."
Weasley crossed his arms, a fierce look on his face. "We do not negotiate side interests, Malfoy.
And you know the environmental groups will have an absolute Hippogriff over this."
With a nod, Draco stood up. "I fully understand your reservations. I'm sure we can continue this
conversation at a more opportune time." He'd learnt never to bow to pressure and never to give the
appearance of needing to settle anything. "I do hope we'll see each other in Paris, if only at the
French Minister for Magic's ball."
The shock on Weasley's face gave him away. Bulls-eye, Draco thought. He needed this settled
now, or he risked losing Croatian support in the talks. He also wasn't sure who else Draco had on
his client list, and how it would affect other key interests. Draco kept his face impassive as he
picked up his favorite quill and the black folder from the long, glossy table.
"Now wait a moment, Malfoy." Weasley had both feet on the floor and was rising out of his seat.
"I think we should lay a few more options on the table before we end the conversation, don't
you?"
"Only if you're willing to continue," Draco said.
"I am." Weasley sat down again. "Rather."
With a nod from Draco, Antoine passed out pale blue folders embossed with the firm's seal, keyed
to burst into flames if they were brought out of the building without permission.
"Perhaps we should begin by looking at the precedents for protected Wizarding trade in Austrian
Wizarding law over the past five hundred years." Draco opened his own folder to the flagged
page. "I believe it begins on page seventy three."
While the rest of the group paged through their folders, Draco sat back in his chair, mentally
preparing his memorised points. He glanced out of the glass door to the hall beyond and
experienced a brief jolt of recognition. Was that Harry Potter guarding the hall? Out of curiosity,
Draco pushed his glasses up again. Yes, that was indeed Potter: tall, dark-haired, and luscious in
the deep crimson robes, with a composed, neutral expression on his face. What was he, Deputy
Head Auror now? Draco wasn't entirely sure - he'd seen some sort of commendation in the
Prophet recently. And here Potter was, in Draco's corridor, looking impossibly fit and broad
shouldered in his robes. Draco craned his neck to see as much as he could from the side, raking
his eyes as far as they would go. The robes weren't revealing much, but Potter's neck, shoulders
and jaw suggested impressive physical activity. Draco wouldn't mind getting under those robes.
As if in answer to his lascivious thoughts, the corner of Potter's mouth twitched. He knew Draco
was looking, then.
Draco turned his attention slowly back into the room of witches and wizards before him, many of
whom were attempting to read whilst surreptitiously shaking the crumbs from their laps or wiping
their buttery fingers on the seams of their robes. Antoine was a genius in not providing napkins.
He began his attack. "I assume we're all through the section on the preservation of the way of life
for mountain dragon herders and the Concord of Traberk under the auspices of the Habsburg
High Mages. As I believe you can tell, this has the important ramifications for the current
regulations."
Several of those at the table weren't through the section yet, but Weasley was unruffled. The smug
twat had likely done his homework.
"Now if we skip ahead to the section on the troubles with the Duchy of Styria and the
Cisleithanian taxes on ashwinder eggs, I think you'll find another important concession for the
trade in traditionally produced magical substances."
Draco's eyes travelled back to the door, and yes, Potter was looking right at him. Fit bastard. It
was Draco's turn to smirk. They were going to be here all day, and a little eye candy was
welcome. Potter looked like he could crush rocks with those strong, tanned hands of his. Draco
would love to put them to better use.
Sadly, there was business to be transacted. Draco refocused on the task at hand. Potter could wait,
but the talks could not. Besides, it was a pipe dream, wasn't it? A frivolous schoolboy's fantasy?
Draco sneaked one more glance to make sure and was treated to an actual small smile and raised
eyebrows.
Merlin, Potter was handsome when he smiled. It didn't help Draco's focus at all, and, to his horror,
he found himself almost smiling in return.
________________
No one did a ball quite like the French in Draco's opinion. Enormous quantities of wine were
flowing, tables were groaning with piles of holiday confections and savoury treats, beautifully
dressed people were dancing in the enchanting woodland scene of the enormous frosted glass
floor and chatting in the softly light light of candles in the corners. The ballroom in the Musée
Jacquemart-André was swathed in white flowers, tree trunks, greenery and fairy lights, looking
like some enchanted forest grotto, complete with a dainty waterfall tumbling into a small rocky
pool in the corner. The Wizarding Wing was open for guest viewing with a particularly fine
collection of Royal Patronus-themed cameos from the Bourbon collection, and the courtyard was
decorated with a winter scene and strategic heating charms.
Draco perched on one of the plush velvet cushioned benches in a small alcove, a glass of
champers in hand. Near him water tumbled and splashed against stones in a soft, comforting
gurgle. He'd done the rounds thrice already, laughing, complimenting, and flirting when
necessary. He'd also danced a few dances, particularly with his hosts. For all that Draco was good
at the social graces, he found them exhausting at times. Hence the brief respite as he fortified
himself with the best champagne French wizardom could provide, which was very good indeed.
He had a good, if slightly obstructed view of the ballroom floor and could leap into action as
circumstances dictated.
"Is this seat taken?" a voice asked beside him. Draco looked up to see Potter looming over him,
his red Auror robe traded for a beautifully cut black dress robe that accentuated his tall, broad
shoulders and his narrow hips. Draco wondered if Potter's chest felt as impossibly hard as it
appeared, smooth and wide beneath the velvet lapels of Potter's robe. Potter raised an impeccably
groomed eyebrow, and Draco's cheeks warmed.
"Not at all," he said and gestured towards the other cushion with his half-empty glass. "Do feel
free."
Potter sat close, a glass of burgundy in his hand. Draco was struck once more by how fit Potter
looked and how muscular he must be. He wasn't the scrawny boy Draco remembered from
school. Draco cleared his throat, at once uncertain how to proceed. A work question was always
the safest start, he thought.
"Here on official duty?" His voice sounded odd to his own ears.
"Not tonight." Potter looked out over the throng, a swirl of wizards in black robes interspersed
with the bright, colourful gowns of the witches. Teal appeared to be the colour of the season,
judging from the several gowns in that hue Draco could see. "I'm here as Harry Potter, Boy Who
Lived." His voice was light, but Draco could make out the ironic undertone. "How about you?"
"Every Ministry function is a work night for me," Draco admitted. "Pressing of the flesh and what
not."
"Which is why you're hiding behind the water feature."
"Precisely."
Potter took a sip of wine. "Your secret is safe with me. There's only so many times you can smile
and nod your head at some puff-headed Minister spouting off about some international incident he
knows nothing about."
"Welcome to the entirety of my life." Something about Potter's nearness made Draco more frank
than he meant to be.
Potter laughed and the rich warmth of it sent shivers up Draco's spine. He couldn't look away
from Potter's mouth and the way it turned up at one corner, dimpling his cheek.
"So. Weasley. How on earth did you end up on his security detail? Seems a bit beneath, what, the
Deputy Head Auror, is it now?" Draco said.
"Percy requested me." Potter shrugged. "Kingsley owed him a favour, I reckon, and Perce is the
sort who thinks having someone like me guarding him makes him look more important than he is.
To be honest, I don't mind much. It gets me away from the desk. Wouldn't want to be one of those
Aurors who goes soft and boring once he's out of the field."
"I highly doubt that's possible," Draco murmured into his glass, and the curve of Potter's mouth let
him know he'd been overheard. He couldn't really care--Potter was anything but soft, and rather
too interesting for Draco's own good.
Potter turned his gaze back on the crowd. "I hear you've taken Paris by storm. You're all Orianne
can talk about."
The French Minister of Magic's wife had become rather fond of Draco over the years, much to his
surprise, even taking his side in the divorce which had annoyed Astoria to no end. She had been
cut out of the Paris social circuit for a full season after the divorce until Draco had asked Orianne
to call off her dogs. Slowly Astoria'd begun receiving invitations again, although not yet to the
important affairs. Orianne hadn't yet forgiven her completely.
"She's biased," Draco said, but he'd admit to being pleased that Potter's heard. Having Orianne's
favour was quite the coup.
Potter smiled and raised his glass to his lips. "She certainly doesn't like your ex."
Draco hesitated. He was still fond of Astoria; their divorce hadn't been that acrimonious, all things
considered. "Orianne thinks I could do better," he said after a moment. Diplomatic and true.
"Mmmm. Does she?" The look Potter gave him was studied and sharp as it drifted down the
length of his body. Draco was a bit taken aback. He wasn't a complete idiot: that had most
certainly been an attempt to flirt. "Wouldn't the hypothetical person be risking serious social
displeasure if he failed?"
"Perhaps?" he countered. He set his now empty glass on a tray carried by a house-elf, then turned
towards Potter. "But then the rewards of pleasure would be so much higher if he succeeded."
Potter smiled an easy, knowing smile and Draco was lost. This had spiralled out of his control.
Perhaps it was merely a case of the world looking beautiful through a glass of champagne (more
of a bottle and a half, if he were honest), but all he wanted to do was lean in and snog that smug
look off of Potter's face.
Potter's eyes were warm and for a moment, Draco was certain Potter had similarly graphic
thoughts and perhaps even intentions. Then, without warning, he looked away. The feeling was
akin to going from bright sunlight into shadow.
"But I've been presuming. I've said 'he,' and you may have a witch worth of pursuit." Potter toyed
with the stem of his red wine glass, then sent it gently flying to land on the tray of a house elf five
metres away with a thoughtful look on his face whilst Draco followed its path with open-mouthed
astonishment. Ruddy showoff! He found it dead sexy, however, the intensity of Potter's magic and
the confidence to wield it that casually. He also thought it quite sporting of Potter to offer him a
way out, if needed.
"Which witch would that be?" Draco let his thoughts roll off of his tongue without thinking, then
coughed to hide his embarrassment. "I mean, no. Not at the moment. Not a witch. Hypothetically
speaking."
Potter turned to face him then, and the look in his eyes was downright predatory. "Then may I,
perhaps, throw my hat into the ring."
Draco bit his lip. "Er, you can throw more than that."
Potter raised a thumb to Draco's mouth and smoothed out the wrinkle of his canine. "May I?"
Draco closed his eyes, then leant slightly to the side to brush Potter's ear with his lips. "If that
request ends in 'kiss' or 'snog,' I'd suggest we go out into the courtyard so as not to arouse the
interest of too many international Wizarding authorities."
"And if it ends with 'please'?" Potter asked throatily.
"Then I'd demand we go out to the courtyard immediately." Draco's arm was goose-pimpled
under the touch of Potter's hand. He was impossibly close to Potter now, close enough to wrap
himself around those broad, broad shoulders and snog the living daylights out of him. And he was
beginning to fail to see the need for discretion, which a warning voice in his head told him was
very, very bad for business, and tonight was supposed to be dedicated to business, after all.
To which his lust replied, yes, but this was Potter.
Potter wrapped an arm around Draco's shoulders, and for a moment, Draco thought his directive
was going to be ignored. Then he felt the stomach-flipping swoosh and heard the pop of
Apparition and Potter was pressing him up against the edge of a boxed, decorated fir tree. It was
very warm with the charms, although the needles pricked a bit.
Draco kissed Potter first, leaning forward to catch his lips with his own, then pulling him back,
back so their hips were almost touching. Potter's hands smoothed over Draco's shoulders, then
held his upper arms while his tongue did surprisingly delicious things to Draco's mouth. Draco put
a hand behind himself to boost himself up onto the edge of the box. Potter dropped his hands to
Draco's hips as their mouths entwined as though there were no breath and no light and no
separation in the universe, no cold and nothing other than the endless need to sink into each other's
mouths and plumb each other's depths. Draco was sure he was wrinkling his robes, and maybe
even getting earth or moss on them, but he couldn't care less while Potter was there with his
unfairly firm chest (yes, it was delicious to be crushed against) and his stupidly plush mouth
(Draco took great delight in biting it until Potter looked bee-stung), and his gorgeously strong arms
(there were so many delicious possibilities with that sort of strength - Draco couldn't decide
whether he'd want to start with vertical, horizontal, or upside down).
After an impossibly long time they broke apart, panting. Draco's hair was now forward and in his
eyes. Potter's face looked wrecked and his robes were definitely mussed from Draco's balling the
fabric up in his fists.
Something inside Draco seized with panic. What the hell was he doing? This was Potter and they
were on the eve of some of the most important talks of his career. He was in the garden with
Orianne hosting, for Merlin's sake. This was madness, and it had to stop now. What was he
thinking? He still had three strategic contacts to interact with for his list to be complete.
"Potter, I really must...." Draco waved his hand in the direction of the museum.
A burst of women's laughter accompanied the sound of the door opening into the silence of the
garden. Draco could catch a snatch of music before it closed again, the laughter moving closer and
morphing into voices.
As Potter smoothed his robes, Orianne turned the corner of the path, two of her closest friends in
her wake. She looked surprised to see Potter, and even more so when her gaze slipped behind him
to land on Draco, taking in what he's certain is his rumpled hair and wrinkled robe. Her mouth
twitched in amusement.
"Bon soir, Draco." Orianne's eyes flicked back to Potter. "Are you having a good time?"
He could hear the laughter in her voice. Thank Circe for the shadows that hid the flush warming
his face. "Lovely as always, madame." He glanced at Potter. "I should be going," he said, then
turned back to Orianne, bowing over her hand.
She squeezed his fingers. "Such a pity. I'm certain M. Potter will be heartbroken to lose your
company."
"But not to gain yours," Draco said smoothly. He knew he'd have to endure her mocking
questions at some point. Tonight was not the time. "Many thanks for your hospitality."
Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him as he took his leave. Merlin, what a fool he's been, he
thought, stepping back into the bright lights and brighter music. He took a glass of champagne
from a passing tray and smiled.
He'd loved every moment of it.
________________
It was perhaps a mark of the diversity of Draco's circle of friends that his address in the 6e
arrondissement was considered extremely bohemian and unbearably haut-bourgeois at the same
time. To be fair, the neighborhood had undergone a full-scale bourgeoisification since his great-
grandmother had purchased the lease in Wizarding building near St. Sulpice. Some of his
Wizarding acquaintances had family ties in Paris going back to the 13th century and still
considered the Blacks parvenu. The Malfoys, naturally, were too recently prominent to be
considered by the set, although their military service during the 17th century Wizarding Wars was
worthy of passing mention. Most of the others were impressed that he owned property within the
city limits at all.
Despite the snobbery of some of his trusted companions and the accusations of snobbery from the
others, Draco adored the high ceilings and ancient Floos of his flat. It was the first piece of
property he had called his own, and his gratitude to his mother for this priceless gift in the post-
War period was still uncomfortably immense. From his roost in the second floor of the Rue de
Canivet, Draco had ventured out into the streets of Paris, had begun attending lectures, and had
finally mustered up the courage to enroll and take a degree at the EHESM : École de hautes
études, sciences magiques. He'd expanded it over the years and there were many more modern
pieces among grand-mère's antiques, but it was still his favorite place in all of wizardom.
"Darling, what do you think of this one? It's a bit shabby, but I think it's got that sense of beach
chic Blaise insists we look for." Pansy flipped the page in the rental book their travel agent had
sent them, holding it up to show him pictures of a small white house perched on the edge of a
white, sandy beach. Gorgeous blue waves rolled gently up onto the sand, and palm trees swayed
slightly in a breeze. They were planning a New Year's trip to Vieques, some secluded island off
the coast of Puerto Rico that Pansy had assured Blaise and Draco was the place for discerning
witches and wizards this season. The portkeys were a bit of a challenge, but Draco didn't care
where it was, as long as it was warm and next to the ocean and alcoholic beverages were
provided.
"Does it have a house elf?" Draco was attempting to work on a report for Monday as his best
friend sprawled across the worn leather chesterfield in his study. He was failing miserably. "You
know how Blaise feels about self-catering."
Pansy sat up, her black bob rumpled from the cushion, and tossed the rental book aside. "I don't
see why we can't bring Essy along."
"Because she loathes heat to begin with." Draco's house elf was ancient; she'd been with the
Malfoys since his grandfather was a boy. He'd offered her a tea towel years ago and a placement
with other retired elves, but she'd always refused it, saying she was happy to be here in Paris with
him. Draco believed her: Essy'd been the reason he'd survived that year the Dark Lord took over
the Manor. He made sure her room was warm and worked very hard to keep the place in good
nick himself. "You know how cranky she gets in the summers. Besides, Blaise is trying to
convince Granger to come. She'll only whinge a bit if there's already an elf."
"I honestly don't know what he sees in her." Pansy had been horrified when Blaise started seeing
Hermione Granger six weeks past. She still hadn't got over it. "All that hair and those politics! It'll
be dreadful if she comes with." She shuddered. "I don't understand why my holiday has to be
ruined because Blaise wants some Gryffindor fanny this month."
Draco snorted. "Don't make me remind you of our last holiday when Blaise and I had to endure
small talk with that blockhead, McLaggen, so that you could be shagged rotten against the wall
every night. And keep us up half the night, too!"
"I did love Greece," Pansy said, stretching against the chesterfield with a pleased smile. "So
fulfilling."
"You both need better taste in sexual partners." A tap at the window caught Draco's attention. An
enormous grey owl fluttered outside the glass, a note dangling from its leg. "Pans, be a love? It's
likely from work."
"Honestly, Draco. If I didn't adore you…" Pansy pushed herself up from the sofa and walked over
to let it in, her feet shuffling across the wooden floor in Draco's grey flannel slippers that were two
sizes too big for her. She pulled her cosy cabled cardigan tighter around her as she opened the
window. The sudden burst of December air caused the fire to flicker in the hearth. Draco shivered
against it. It'd been colder than usual this winter already, hence the planned holiday escape to
warmer climes. He could use a bit of sun and relaxation.
Pansy fed the owl a treat from the bowl on the windowsill. Draco reminded himself to remove it
before Scorpius arrived next weekend; the last time his son visited, he'd eaten half the bowl before
Draco had noticed. Luckily, there'd been no ill effects, although he'd had a terrible case of the
hiccoughs. Draco would rather not feel like a subpar father this visit as well.
"Draco!" Pansy's shriek startled him into dropping his quill. Her red-laquered mouth was a perfect
O.
"What?"
Pansy waved the open note at him. He ought to have expected her to read it; his friends had never
had proper boundaries. "This!"
"For Circe's sake, Pans." He stood up, annoyed, and stalked over to her. "This might have been
for my eyes only. I do receive Ministry mail, after all."
"It's from Potter," Pansy said, black eyebrows high. "Harry Potter."
Draco snatched it from her hand. "I know who Potter is." He skimmed the note, written in Potter's
near-illegible scrawl. Enjoyed our talk last night. Next time you're in London, look me up. We'll
have another drink or two together, if you're keen. All best, Harry Potter.
"Your talk last night?" Pansy dropped back down onto the sofa, legs crossed. "Details, Malfoy."
Draco folded the note and set it on his desk. "It was nothing. Just wine at the Orianne's ball and
perhaps a bit of flirting."
Pansy's blink was long and slow. "Flirting."
"You should see him," Draco said. "So fucking fit it ought to be illegal. Never expected that of
Potter, of all people. I couldn't help myself."
"You want to shag him." Pansy sounded incredulous. "Potter. Really? I'm not certain that's any
better than Granger or Cormac."
Draco suspected she was right. "His arse is spectacular."
Pansy's laugh rang out across the room. "Oh, my God. Draco. Really?" She fell back against the
pile of cushions, her arms stretched out over the back of the sofa as she crossed one leg over the
other, leaving her breasts on prominent display. Draco tried not to roll his eyes, but failed.
"Potter?"
"I don't see the problem with acknowledging that Potter has a decent body," he snapped, fully
aware of how petulant he sounded. "As far as I know it's not a crime."
"I'm just trying to wrap my mind around it," Pansy said. Draco's slipper fell off her foot, landing
on the floor with a soft thump. "Although I have to admit, it makes sense. All those years in
school you spent on about Potter this and Potter that." She snorted. "No wonder you lost interest
in my fanny."
Draco picked up a quill and pointed it at her. "I lost interest because you kept trying to pull Blaise.
And we were better as friends, pet. You know that."
"Not that it worked." Pansy sulked at him. "Years of trying to flash my tits at him, and what
happens? He falls for that cock-tease Granger. I mean, really, have they even shagged yet?"
"Yes," Draco said, distracted by his report. "Quite a bit recently. Evidently he prefers her twat to
that bottle of wine his mother sent for his birthday last."
Pansy was enraged. "He was supposed to save that for Vieques!"
"He didn't." Draco looked up as Pansy rolled off the sofa and stomped his way. "You really ought
to examine your jealousy, Pans--"
"You're going to fuck Potter," Pansy said, leaning over Draco's desk, her eyes wide and dark and
possibly a bit mad, in Draco's estimation. "Do you hear me, Draco Malfoy?"
Draco was genuinely frightened, if he had to admit it. "Why?"
"Because it'll annoy those Gryffindors of Potter's, including Granger. They all hate you."
That wasn't quite true, but Draco didn't want to point out the number of times he'd had lunch with
Granger in recent years. Their work assignments overlapped at times; he'd developed a rather
cordial relationship with the woman. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut, though. To be
honest, he thought Pans ought to have tried harder with Blaise if she was going to get this jealous.
"You're off your nut," he said instead. "I refuse to be a part of your schemes for revenge."
Pansy perched on the edge of his desk. She took his quill from him and rolled it between her
fingertips. "You already admitted you want to shag him."
"I said he was fit." He plucked the quill from her hand.
"Practically the same thing." Pansy tucked her hair behind one ear. "I think you should shag him.
It's been months since you've pulled anyone. All you do is work, and when you're not working
you've Scorpius. Don't get me wrong, I love my godson desperately, but you need to get back out
there again. Shag your way through the wizarding elite. Potter's the perfect start."
He had to admit she was persuasive. And Potter'd been interested, he was fairly certain. "It's a
ridiculous idea."
"All the best ones are," Pansy pointed out. "Just think of how lovely it would be to go to your
grave in another ninety years knowing you'd had the Chosen One's cock up your arse."
"You're crude," Draco said, but a smile quirked his mouth.
Pansy patted his cheek. "And you love me for it."
He did, although he'd never say as much. "I'll consider the possibility of Potter, even if it is part of
your barmy scheme."
"That's all I'm asking." Pansy slid off his desk. "I'm a bit peckish. Shall I tell Essy to bring us
lunch?" She didn't wait for him to answer, instead padding out into the hall, his slippers still
loosely anchored to her feet.
Draco watched her go, lost in his own thoughts about Potter and that delectable arse and those
lovely broad shoulders. He knew she was right; if he didn't at least try to bed Potter, he'd always
regret it.
With a sigh, he reached for a sheet of his monogrammed stationery. This would require a certain
amount of finesse, he thought. Hermione was far too clever and would likely see through any
attempt at subterfuge. Still, she was the most direct route to Potter. Now what, exactly, to write?
________________
Hermione picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. "I must admit your owl took me by
surprise," she said amidst the quiet clink of cutlery and the discreet murmur of voices in Claridges'
Foyer. In her soft crimson wrap dress she stood out against the cream and silver decor. Despite his
loyalty to Pansy, Draco understood what Blaise saw in her, with her long brown curls twisted in a
knot at the nape of her neck. The awkward, coltish girl of his youth had grown up into a beautiful
woman. And a powerful one.
"I thought it'd been too long since we'd met for luncheon." Draco cut into his pheasant, pleased at
how succulent it was. Jean-Luc had surpassed himself this afternoon.
"Of course," Hermione said with a laugh. "Nothing to do with Paris, then? Or a certain friend of
mine?"
Potter never had been able to keep his damned mouth shut, had he? "I'm sure I've no idea what
you mean." He took a bite of the tender breast meat with the fig and wine reduction. Perfection.
Hermione set her wine glass down and dabbed at her mouth with the corner of her napkin. "I'm
not a fool, Draco. You left our mutual friend a bit frustrated in the courtyard of the Musée, as I
understand."
"I'm not one to kiss and tell." Draco split a small yellow potato with his fork, letting its creamy
flesh steam between the tines. He was a bit annoyed. "Unlike your idiot friend."
"Harry means well." Hermione draped her napkin back across her lap and took a bite of her sole.
She looked over at him. "So. The point of this lunch? Not that I'm complaining, mind. I do enjoy
our meals together."
Gryffindors, honestly. Sometimes Draco had no idea how they'd managed to stumble into
positions of power. They'd not the slightest bit of finesse. He set his fork and knife down. "I'd
intended to bring you here in the attempt to ply you with wine and procure information about
Potter, yes." He eyed her. "That seems a bit unnecessary now."
"I'll never turn down another glass," she said, raising hers slightly. Within seconds there was a
waiter at hand, pouring more Puligny-Montrachet for her. When he stepped away, she looked
back at Draco. "What do you want to know?"
Draco considered. "Current partner?"
"None, and you know that," Hermione said craftily over the rim of her glass. Her eyes sparkled;
Draco was terribly fond of the cow when she was tipsy. "What you really want to know is if he'd
shag you senseless, right?"
"You've been seeing too much of Blaise," Draco complained. But she wasn't half-wrong, and the
very thought of it reinforced his courage. "I'm assuming the answer would be yes."
Hermione laughed. "Well, he did say you were the most interesting part of his trip. And the part
he'd like to see again."
"Of course I was." Draco pursed his lips at her; she laughed more. Draco liked the sound of it.
"So tell me, Granger, how might I best get into the Chosen One's y-fronts for a night?"
"Boxers," Hermione said, gathering her composure. "He'll be at the Ministry party tonight.
Kingsley's hosting. Blaise refuses to come with me because he finds all of the work chatter
tedious, so I could always use a plus-one."
That didn't surprise Draco. Blaise prefered to stay a safe distance from politics, which Draco
considered to be a sane decision. He raised an eyebrow. "And leave you alone, ungallant wretch
that he is?"
"If Harry gets shagged, I'd consider it a personal favour." Hermione cut her asparagus delicately
with her knife. "He's been in a wretched mood since he broke up with Terry Boot in May. None
of us thought it was a good match--not even Ron, and he's engaged to Lavender." From what
Draco could tell, Hermione's opinion of Lavender Brown wasn't that different from Pansy's
opinion of her. Funny how the resentment lingered long past the actual intent to have a
relationship with someone. "So yes, you may escort me to the party and abandon me there
whenever you're ready to increase the serotonin levels of my best mate."
"What a generous offer," Draco said dryly. Still, he was considering the possibility. "You're
certain Potter will be there?"
Hermione looked up at him. "Shouldn't you call him Harry if you're wanting to see him naked?"
"Don't be gauche." Draco frowned at her. "Will he be, though?"
"He always comes for a bit," Hermione said. "Part of the job and all. You'd have enough time to
work your wiles on him--not that it took that long last time, I've heard."
"Shush, you." Draco was lost in thought. It was a mad scheme, but he'd been thinking about that
kiss in the garden since it had happened. Potter was an itch he needed to scratch. And hard.
"Fine," he said after a moment. "If you're certain he'll be there."
Hermione nodded, chewing a mouthful of bread. She swallowed. "I'd be grateful, honestly."
"You know Blaise wants you to come to Puerto Rico with us," Draco said, reaching for his own
glass of wine. Hermione's face fell.
"Yes. But Pansy…" The horror on her face was expressive, and indicative of the accuracy of her
perception.
Draco rolled his eyes. "At some point the both of you will have to come to terms with each other.
You can't just skulk around on the margins."
"I know." Hermione frowned at him. "It's not me who's the problem."
"The more you let her cut you out, the more she'll do it." Draco was well aware of Parkinson
battle techniques. "Stand up to her. That's what I had to do when we were six and she was
bullying me. She'll respect you." He takes a sip of wine. "Eventually."
"After she makes my life hell?" Hermione looked a bit green around the gills.
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Granger," Draco snapped. "You stood up to a Dark Lord. Not to mention
my mad Auntie Bella. I'm fairly certain Pansy Lavinia Parkinson won't be the death of you."
She didn't entirely look convinced.
To be honest, Draco didn't blame her. There were still Slytherins who'd cross to the other side of
Diagon when they ran into Pansy, rather than speak to her. It was a point of Parkinson honour.
He reached across the table and patted her hand. "Just remember the size of Blaise's cock," he
advised, and Hermione pulled away, eyes wide and a burst of laughter catching her by surprise.
"You're absolutely wretched."
"Well, it's true. We always felt quite inadequate in the baths next to Blaise." Draco sat back in his
chair, wine glass in hand. With any luck he'd be up close and personal with Potter's prick in a few
hours.
That thought filled him with holiday cheer.
________________
The Ministry winter holiday party had its own very British and, in many ways, very delightful
appeal. The Christmas tree in the entrance hall was simply gorgeous, and the charmswork on the
bubble garlands was spectacular. Candles floated through the enormous arched ceiling, and a
weather charm caused light snow to fall and disappear on contact. The air was fresh with the smell
of pine and oranges. As Draco entered with Hermione on his arm, a shiver travelled down his
spine. This was the life he could have led. He would never trade it for his current life, but for a
moment, with a beautiful and smart witch on his arm and the sounds of England all around him,
he imagined what might have been. Then he spotted a very soused Stan Shunpike eating miniature
sausage rolls off the buffet and the spell was broken.
"Where's the bar, Granger?" Draco needed a whisky or three for this evening. His eyes scanned
the crowd for Potter, knowing that he'd likely be as elusive as a Snitch.
Hermione smiled mysteriously, at which point Draco realized just how many eyes were focused
upon them. "Don't be an arse. We have to greet the Minister first," she said in an undertone. Then,
more loudly, she said, "Of course, I would love to dance. But let's find Kingsley first."
Kingsley Shacklebolt was majestic in deep cobalt dress robes and a black velvet skullcap. Draco's
Aunt Andromeda, who had been Mrs. Shacklebolt for several years now, had chosen not to stand
in the official receiving line. She stood off to the left of her husband with an Auror guard and
waved to Draco when she saw him.
A line of people in their holiday best wended their way past Kingsley to pay their respects. Draco
and Hermione joined the line, and Hermione began talking to the witch in front of them, Prunella
something, in the Magical Creatures Department. Draco let his eyes scan the crowd and pretended
to himself that he was merely passing time, though he knew in his heart he was looking for Potter.
There were several red robes among the greens, blacks, blues, and purples, but none of them were
fortunate enough to be clothing Potter. Draco turned his attention back to the line as Hermione
began to introduce him. Perhaps Potter hadn't arrived yet.
After another few minutes, they were in front of their host. Kingsley kissed Hermione on the
cheek and smiled at her. Then he turned to Draco. "Draco, what a pleasant surprise! Any chance
you'll come back to help us with our internationalisation efforts?"
Draco demurred, secretly very pleased that he was being asked in front of all of the witches and
wizard pretending not to be listening. "I'm still quite busy in Bruges, but I'd be happy to advise as
needed."
Kingsley looked him in the eye while shaking his hand, shrewd as ever. A small smile quirked the
edge of his mouth and Draco was suddenly, bizarrely afraid. "Excellent. Have my office get you
on my calendar the next time you're here. I'm sure Dromeda would love it if you would join us at
home."
"It would be my honour." Draco bowed, and it was time for him to move. He and Hermione'd
already taken more than their allotted greeting time, and he was sure the people behind them hated
them.
Draco stopped to kiss his aunt and inquire after her health. Hermione greeted her warmly, and
they exchanged a few pleasantries. As they promenaded through the crowd, Hermione was wide-
eyed and quiet. When Draco saw she was leading them to the bar, he was surprised but didn't let
on. Finally, as they stood in yet another line, he leaned over to ask what he'd been thinking. "Are
you alright?"
She looked up at him, shaking her head minutely. "We should talk. I think Kingsley means to get
your help for something specific, you know."
Draco nodded, completely unsure of what she was talking about but pretending to understand and
smiling for all of the people trying to overhear. This was the worst place to discuss anything. He
made a mental note to ply Granger in private with wine for information. Soon.
During their first hors d'oeuvres, warm, and second course of cold meats and fish, Draco kept a
look out for Potter. They grazed and circulated through the crowd, drawing conversation and
chatter wherever they went. There were so many contacts to see and so many old schoolmates
who seemed to be important to government suddenly. Draco was glad that Hermione was as
focused a social navigator as he was; they made an efficient pair.
After amuse-bouches, and a pass at the groaning sideboard of mains, and another round of drinks,
all was right with Draco's world. The room was warm, his feet were a bit sore from dancing, but
the evening had been most profitable from a social standpoint. He'd gathered several useful pieces
of information, been warmly greeted by several people who would have snubbed him five years
ago, and he even had a business prospect or two to explore. And then there was the elusive
question of what Kingsley had wanted, which he sensed might be game changing and best not
thought of right now. But still, no Potter.
Hermione was chatting with Terry Boot about magical derivatives and Draco had started joking
with Tony Goldstein about the decorative charms and whether they could be altered to house
colours. They were both about to try and subtly change a garland each when there was a familiar
warmth behind Draco and a hand at his hip.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Mrs. Shacklebolt takes the task of holiday decoration quite
seriously," Potter said into his ear. Draco shivered slightly. Looking down, he saw the red of
Potter's robe next to his own velvet black.
Without turning, Draco retorted, "And will you take me into Auror custody if I commit an
offense?"
A low chuckle made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand up. "If you prefer. You could
also come of your own volition."
Draco pretended to be shocked at the double entendre. "Certainly not here," he said with mock-
offense, hand pressed to his breast bone. If he'd had pearls, he would have clutched them.
Potter stepped in front of him them, smiling. He kissed Hermione on the cheek and nodded coolly
at Boot, who'd been watching the whole exchange with a stunned look on his face. Goldstein just
laughed and raised his wine glass in greeting.
"Hullo, Boot. Goldstein. You won't mind if I steal your companion, Hermione?" His voice
sounded fond when he addressed his old friend, less so when he greeted his ex.
Hermione smiled. "Not in the least, although you do owe me brunch. I haven't seen you in ages."
Draco watched Potter agree to a time and place, and then he was swept away with a hand on his
wrist bringing him purposefully through the crowd. He wasn't sure where they were headed and
when Potter kept going through the less crowded corridors, he'd half a mind to ask. Potter stopped
suddenly, next to a small back office with an old but well-tended Floo.
Draco knit his brows. "What--?"
Potter pressed him into the wall, leaning in slowly. Draco shifted, glancing carefully around them.
They hadn't seen anyone coming in, so it should be fine for right now. Potter kissed him lightly,
then stopped, looking into his eyes.
"Hermione says you want to fuck me," he confided, and Draco's world turned over.
"Er," he said eloquently.
"I'm quite game. I'd hoped to let the flirting play out a bit longer, but I've been summoned in for
early duty tomorrow, so I don't have much time to waste." Potter had the nerve to look entirely
unashamed at the business-like nature of the proposition. His eyes were very green in the half-light
of the corridor, and Draco had a moment where he forgot what he was supposed to say.
Really, there wasn't anything to think about. "Very well," he said. "I've a room on the Wizarding
floor of Claridge's. Shall we go back to mine?"
He was rewarded with a toe-curling kiss, some delicious friction and strategic groping, and a
whispered "yes" from Potter. He bit Potter's lip for the trouble and let himself be snogged into the
wall, his hands gripping Potter's muscular shoulders and his body moving wantonly against
Potter's.
And then it was cold because Potter had moved, but he had a hand around Draco's waist and
Merlin, Potter was strong. He moved them both to the Floo and licked at the nape of Draco's neck
while he tried to grasp for Floo powder. Given the distraction, it took two tries and Draco thought
he'd been lucky not to spill any.
Draco stepped out of the neo-classic fireplace onto the smooth wooden floor. He shrugged his
dress robe off and brought it to the dove-grey wing chair by the window--he didn't want to have to
explain its condition to Essy if anything untoward happened. Or when. Closing the curtains, he
toed off his dress shoes and nudged them under the smooth mahogany desk. He glanced around
the soft beige and orange interior. Everything was in place except the guest of honour.
Potter appeared in the Floo then, his red robe swishing at the grate. "Sorry it took me a bit. The
night porter came by."
Draco walked up to him and reached for the clasp at his neck, undoing it casually. Inside, he was
quaking. He couldn't believe this was actually happening, and if he had a particular appreciation
for Potter in uniform, he'd never tell. "I'd begun to wonder if you'd lost your nerve."
"Never." Potter touched his face with a careful hand, stroking the pad of his thumb along Draco's
jaw, then pressing it to his lips. Draco closed his eyes and opening his mouth, lightly sucking on
the tip of Potter's thumb. Potter breathed in swiftly, then leaned down to claim Draco's lips with
his own. Draco dropped his hands, and the red robe swished to the floor. Potter didn't even move,
holding Draco close while licking his way into his mouth.
After blissful, heated moments, Draco swallowed and stepped back. His hair was in his face, he
was certain he looked a mess, and he couldn't care less. He bent and grabbed Potter's robe,
draping it over the long side table.
"You'll thank me in the morning," he said, and his voice was already hoarse.
Potter crowded him up against the table, then lifted him onto it, kissing him all the while and
knocking aside a silver fruit bowl. His fingers unbuttoned Draco's white dress shirt, and Draco
forgot to think of anything except the heated touch of Potter's skin on his. There was a brief pause
to undo his trousers, and Potter let his own drop where he stood. Draco wrapped his legs around
Potter, and draped himself across that gloriously muscled torso. This was a wonderful way to
finish a night, and he was quite proud of himself for arranging it.
His smugness lasted all of ten seconds, until Potter sank his teeth into the cords of his neck and
Draco moaned needily, shifting closer. Potter stood up then, walking them the few steps to the
large bed and laying Draco across it. Draco propped himself up on his elbows and regarded the
strapping Deputy Head Auror in front of him who was shucking his boxers. Potter looked fit
enough for a calendar, and Draco would buy every copy if one were ever made. Potter
straightened up, and if he didn't preen, he didn't exactly shy away from Draco's gaze either.
Draco shifted his arms under himself and wiggled his hips to get rid of his own pants. Potter lay
down next to him, tracing a finger down the length of Draco's thigh. "So what would you like?"
"Everything," Draco breathed. He never had been able to deny himself anything.
"Mmmm, greedy." Potter leaned down and swirled his tongue in the divot between Draco's
collarbones. Draco arched his back, letting his head fall back so Potter could have access to his
neck. He'd have stubble burn to heal in the morning, and he really did not even care. This night
was one for his mental trophy room.
Although Draco had expected a rough fuck, given Potter's obvious state of arousal, Potter was
maddeningly gentle instead. He stroked every inch of Draco's upper body and trailed kisses across
his torso before rolling him over. Draco thought then that he might shag him immediately, and he
was looking forward to the punishing stretch--Potter was quite well endowed, and Draco had to
admit he should have found this out sooner. Again, Potter surprised him, fingering him open
gently and sweetly until Draco was squirming with want. When he did press into Draco, Draco
was so ready he nearly shouted, pinned on his stomach by Potter's weight with his arse in the air.
Happy Christmas indeed!
Potter took his time, unselfish and even slow, until Draco was mad for release, flushed and
begging while Potter thrust into him relentlessly. Finally, Potter's hand circled his prick and
Potter's body pinned him in exactly the right way, and Draco gave an enormous, almost gasping
cry as his body was wracked with shockingly bright, needle sharp waves of pleasure. Potter
withdrew and pulled himself off over Draco's lazily prone form, Draco offering a few half-hearted
wiggles of his bum, until Potter's release splashed across his back.
The next round was in the bathroom, after a thorough cleanup. Potter's recovery time was
impressive, and after receiving a delicious round of careful strokes and sensual kisses, Draco
sucked Potter off against the black marble of the bath, struggling to compass his large girth with
his mouth. An hour or so later, Draco awoke to Potter's mouth on his prick and was surprised by
the intensity of it. He came with his fingers laced through Potter's black curls and Potter's fingers
in his arse, his body completely at the mercy of Potter's ministrations.
Draco curled around Potter as he dozed, not quite able to sleep although it must be near morning.
The room was musky with the smell of them, despite the fact that he'd aired it out a bit after the
bathroom round. He was too tired to get up for a proper cleaning charm, and too comfortable
wrapped around the soft, strong bulk of Potter's body. Potter liked to cuddle, which Draco found
strangely endearing. His lashes were dark on the pillow, his deliciously pink mouth slightly open
as he slept. Watching Potter resting and unarmed, Draco realized, to his horror, that he might even
be having Feelings. This was completely unacceptable. He'd have to stop right away. Right away
in the morning. At the moment, he was too tired to untangle his arm from Potter's grasp and it was
far easier to settle next to him on the downy pillow of the mussed bed and be carried off to sleep,
his nose buried in Potter's hair.
________________
Draco woke up to the pale grey light of early morning. He rolled over in the tangle of sheets and
coverlet, expecting to find Potter lying beside him, but the other half of the bed was empty. Right.
Of course. Potter had said he had an early shift. And he wouldn't be the sort to stay for breakfast,
would he? Draco didn't know why that thought rankled; usually he was grateful to have his one-
night stands leave before he woke. Perhaps he'd just expected a bit more of Potter.
A noise from the bath caught his attention, and then Potter walked out, buttoning his shirt across
his tanned chest, his hair rumpled and ridiculous. "Hey," he said in that thick, sleepy voice of his.
"You're awake."
"Sorry to disappoint." Draco sat up, crosslegged, the sheet pooling just over his well-spent cock.
"You might have made your escape."
Potter smiled slightly. He leaned in and kissed Draco lightly, his mouth soft against Draco's lips.
"Last night was very enjoyable."
Draco hmmed his agreement and tugged Potter down into another kiss. "Indeed."
"Have to go to work now." Potter pulled back, his hands untangling from Draco's. "Thanks."
No "I'd like to see you sometime" or "Let's do it again." Draco felt his face still into a polite mask.
"Of course," he said, and then Potter was gone, stepping into the columned arches of the
flickering Floo.
Draco sat in the bed alone and annoyed. This wasn't how he'd expected it to go, he realised. As
much as he'd told himself he'd only wanted Potter for one night, he'd thought it'd mean more.
Potter wasn't supposed to take him once, well, three times, and then walk away. Not like this.
Something deep inside Draco crumbled. He was the one who should have been dismissive. He
should have walked away. He should have said thanks in that gentle but dismissive tone. Potter
was supposed to have been Draco's foolish one-night stand, not Draco his. And he wasn't
supposed to have feelings for the man now, not a single one.
He fell back against the scattered pillows with a groan. They still smelled like Potter.
This was not what he'd wanted.
Not at all.
________________
"It's not the end of the world," Pansy said, as they swung Scorpius between them. Draco's son
squealed with delight, his booted feet pulled up from the icy pavement of the wizarding district in
Le Marais. Evergreen wreaths and fairy lights filled the brightly lit shop windows, each one
beautifully designed to catch the shopper's eye in passing. "You've fulfilled your lifelong goal of
shagging Harry Potter. I'd say that's a win."
Draco gave her a disgruntled look. "I was the one who was supposed to leave him in bed, Pans."
"Ought to have set an alarm then, yes?" Pansy grabbed Scorpius just before he tried to break away
and make a run for it. She lifted him to her hip. "Settle down, little wretch. Honestly, you're worse
than your father."
Scorpius stuck a tongue out at her, then threw his head back and laughed. Draco caught Scorpius's
blue and white knit cap before it slid off his head. He tugged it down over his son's blond curls.
"Not proper behaviour for the Malfoy scion," Draco said, and Scorpius squirmed from his
godmother's arms to his father, blowing kisses to both.
"But charming." Pansy stopped in front of a stationer's. "Darling, I know Scorpius gets bored in
these sorts of shops, but I really do need to pop in for a moment for a card to send Mummy."
"Fine, fine." Draco glanced around, then caught sight of a quidditch shop down the lane. "Find us
there?" he asked, and Pansy nodded.
The quidditch shop was warm and crowded, and Draco let Scorpius wriggle down and dash
towards a display of children's brooms. Draco'd thought about buying him one for Christmas, but
Astoria had put her foot down, saying Scorpius wasn't old enough--or coordinated enough--to
hover two feet above the ground. Draco didn't object too much; she had a point after all. He loved
his son immensely, but the simple fact remained that Scorpius had somehow managed to inherit
his cousin Nymphadora's inability to stay upright for long. Case in point, the way he'd just fallen
over a tin bucket filled with broomstick kits and was screwing his face up for a cry.
Draco scooped his son up and appeased him by picking up a small silver ornament of a Seeker
reaching out for a Snitch. At Draco's touch it spun to life, circling around Scorpius's head.
"Papa," he shouted happily as he tried to grab it the next time it swooped past him. "A Snitchy!"
"Indeed," Draco said with a smile, and he caught the tiny figure, letting it drop down into his
palm. He looked down at it, and only then noticed it was wearing the garish colours of the
Chudley Cannons. He almost dropped it back into the bin, but his fingers curled around it, almost
of their own volition. Potter, he thought. Potter was the only person in all wizardom who'd find
such a ridiculous ornament charming.
He carried Scorpius over to the till and handed the Seeker to the harried clerk, along with a
Galleon coin. "Do you owl gifts?" he asked, and the clerk pointed him towards the back wall of
open windows, lined with tables filled with festive bags and wrappings and bowls of owl treats.
"Help Papa wrap," Draco said to his son, setting him on one of the tables, and Scorpius cheerfully
wadded the tiny Seeker in a handful of cream and green tissue paper before stuffing it into a
brown paper bag. Draco wrote a quick note to Potter--Saw this and thought of you. Happy
Christmas, Draco and Scorpius Malfoy--and tucked it into the bag. An owl sat perched on the
window sill, hooting softly at Scorpius who laughed and waved at it. Draco tied the small package
to the owl's leg and fed it a few treats. "Harry Potter, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London," he
said to it, hoping Potter hadn't done something utterly idiotic and moved--and with a flutter of its
wings, the owl hopped out of the window and took to the air, disappearing between bare tree
branches.
"Auntie Pansy," Scorpius shouted, jumping up and waving his hands.
Pansy came up behind them, a small blue and silver bag in one hand. "Sending a present already?
How very prepared you are." She quirked an eyebrow. "Who's the lucky recipient? Surely not
your mother. I wouldn't think she'd be fond of Quidditch equipment."
Draco knew he could hide it, but she'd find out somehow. "It's for Potter."
Pansy's eyebrow went higher. "Really."
It was a mad idea. He knew that, but the owl'd already flown off. Nothing to be done about it
now. "Nothing'll come of it."
"I'm more interested in the fact that you'd like something to have," Pansy said, and she reached for
Scorpius. He leapt into her arms with a shout. "Would you like some hot chocolate, pet?"
Scorpius nodded exuberantly. "Yes, please, with peppermints?"
"I'm sure your father would be delighted to find us some." She looked at Draco, her face serious.
"Don't get hurt, love. Please."
"As if I would," Draco said, following her through the throng and back out into the chilly street.
He was afraid he already had.
________________
The last week before Christmas passed in a fervor of shopping, holiday parties, and consultations.
Potter never owled back. Draco tried to make excuses--surely Potter was busy with work or
Weasleys--but by Christmas Eve he'd had to accept there was nothing to be said for it except
Potter wasn't interested in Draco.
That was fine. Absolutely. They'd both got what they wanted that night and it had been excellent.
No shame there. Draco didn't need anything more.
Did he?
On Christmas Eve, after dinner had been demolished, Draco bundled Scorpius into his coat,
muffler, and favourite fuzzy hat. They had a tradition--if one could call it that in its second year--of
Apparating down to the Champs-Elysees to see the lights and the Christmas market. Scorpius was
delighted by the crowds of Muggles passing them by, many of the women stopping to wish him a
Joyeux Noël.
It was better this way, just the two of them, Draco thought, as he stood beside his son on the
Christmas market's carousel, one hand tight in the folds of Scorpius's coat. Scorpius clutched the
pole gleefully, kicking the wooden flanks of brightly painted horse as it moved up and down, the
gleaming lights of the market circling them. Draco didn't need anyone else mucking about in his
life right now, especially not Potter; he could barely manage work and the few days a month he
had with his son. He'd never introduced any of his lovers to Scorpius; he had no real intention of
doing so, but he felt a slight pang about Potter, which surprised him. He wondered what Scorpius
might have thought about Potter and Potter Scorpius. Pity he'd never find out. It likely wouldn't
have worked anyway.
The lights sparkled blue and white in the tree branches above, and after peeling a disgruntled
Scorpius from the carousel horse, Draco indulged his young son with a chocolate Père Noël and a
Muggle snowglobe with a cheerful skiing scene in the plastic sphere. Scorpius laughed each time
he tilted it sideways, watching the bits of faux snow swirl in the liquid, and by the time Draco
Apparated them both home, he'd tucked the snowglobe into the pocket of his coat and was lying
on his father's shoulder, yawning sleepily.
Snow was falling on the street, glimmering in the light cast by the streetlamps and just starting to
coat the pavement and trees in a thin white blanket. Draco stopped in front of the door to his
building, his heart in his throat. Potter was leaning there against the doorframe, a small silver
Seeker fluttering between his hands.
"Hi," he said, and Scorpius raised his small head and looked directly at Potter.
"Hi." Scorpius yawned again, then whispered loudly, "Papa, who's that man?"
Potter chuckled. "You must be Scorpius."
Scorpius nodded, then saw the Seeker in Potter's hands. "Papa buyed that," he said.
"I know he bought it." Potter looked at Draco. "I didn't put up a Christmas tree this year. I didn't
think I had any reason to."
"That's a pity." Draco hadn't moved in from the pavement. He wasn't certain he could.
Potter let the Seeker hang from his fingertip. "I meant to write."
"Why didn't you?" Draco put a squirming Scorpius down; his son immediately began to crawl up
the steps towards Potter.
Potter held the Seeker out to Scorpius, who batted at it with a squeal. Draco took the first step,
then another, watching Potter the entire time. "I was nervous," Potter admitted. He picked
Scorpius up and clasped him against his shoulder, giving him the Seeker to play with. "Hermione
implied you just wanted…" He stopped, then gave Draco a sheepish smile. "You know."
"Hermione was wrong." Snow was gathering in Potter's hair, flecking it with white. "You look
cold."
"A bit."
"Come in then." Draco moved past Potter and his son to unward the door. He held it open. "I
might have some mulled wine left."
Potter picked up Scorpius and carried him into the hall. They climbed the stairs to the second floor
in silence, Potter carrying Scorpius, and stopped before the tall, brown door to Draco's flat. As he
unwarded the lock, Draco was all too aware of the mess he and Scorpius had left behind, cups and
plates on the hearth, wadded up wrapping paper on the floor from the few presents Draco had let
Scorpius open before dinner. Potter didn't seem to mind, however, when he came in; he just gazed
at the tall tree, swathed with glass globes, silver garland and shimmering fairy lights.
"Nice," he said, letting Scorpius squirm down. "I missed my tree this year." He stood there, hands
in his pockets. "My godson Teddy usually helps me put it up, but his Gran and Kingsley took him
to Scotland this Christmas."
"Aunt Andromeda, yes." It was odd to think that Potter's godson was his cousin, and Potter was
already, in a way, part of the family.
Potter flushed. "Right. I do forget you're related sometimes."
"I'm sure you spend more time with them." Draco looked down at his son. "Scorpius, keep Mr
Potter company while I find us some drinks. Would you like hot chocolate?"
Scorpius nodded as he reached for Potter's hand. "Mr Potter, you come look at this, okay?"
Draco felt not a smidgeon of guilt for leaving Potter with his son. The boy could talk the ear off a
Hippogriff if he was in the right mood, in English or in French. He stepped into the kitchen, trying
not to think too much as he put together a tray of glasses, his and Potter's filled with spicy mulled
wine, and Scorpius's with the drinking chocolate Astoria had sent from Austria. His hands shook
slightly though as he stirred the chocolate into the warm milk: Potter's unexpected arrival had
thrown him off-kilter and his nerves were still straining to catch up.
When he carried the tray back into the sitting room--fortified with a levitation charm, just in case--
he found Potter sprawled on the floor with Scorpius, guiding the train Mother had sent around the
tree and up the walls, most likely scoring the wallpaper with its tiny wheels. Essy was watching
from the corner of the room, a gentle smile on her face.
Draco was charmed by the domesticity of the scene, not that he'd ever admit it.
"Chocolate," Scorpius shouted, jumping up to take the mug Draco held out to him.
"My child is a sugar addict," Draco said ruefully, handing Potter his glass of mulled wine and
taking the other. With a nudge of his wand, the tray floated back to the kitchen before Essy could
make a motion to get up.
Potter sat crosslegged underneath the Christmas tree, his knee poking through the hole in his jeans.
His jumper was a ridiculous bright red Fair Isle knit that set off his dark hair perfectly. "As I recall,
you received quite a few packages filled with sweets during our school days."
"Probably one of the primary reasons I was an utter prat." Draco took the wing chair closest to the
fire. Scorpius was quiet for once, sitting with his back to the hearth as he gulped down his hot
chocolate. His snowglobe circumnavigated the white and silver embroidered tree skirt on one of
the train cars, and his coat and muffler had been discarded on the sofa beside Potter's, though
Scorpius still wore his knitted cap pulled firmly over his ears.
"He wouldn't let me take it off," Potter explained, following Draco's curious gaze. "Said it was his
magic hat."
Draco sighed. "My spawn is odd. I blame the Greengrass genes."
Potter just laughed and took a sip of his mulled wine. "I like him."
"I like me too," Scorpius said, setting down his mug with a thump against the wooden floor.
"Everybody likes me!" He wrinkled his nose. "Except Carmy because she's mean."
"House elf of Mother's," Draco said. "I believe there's a mutual hatred involved."
Somehow Potter managed to keep a straight face, though his lips quirked slightly. "I see." He
looked at Draco. "I didn't mean to interrupt your Christmas Eve. I just wanted to see you again."
"Why?" Draco watched his son turn his attention back to the train, obviously bored with the
grown-ups around him as he flopped on his stomach, feet kicking in the air. Essy watched
Scorpius carefully, smiling at Potter when he looked over to her.
Potter turned back to Draco. "I wanted more," he said simply, and Draco's breath caught. "I
wanted you."
"Harry," he said, and Potter smiled.
"That's the first time you've called me that outside of bed." His voice was quiet, but a thrill ran
through Draco. The way he said first time, it sounded like there might be several more.
"There's a first time for everything, isn't there, Harry?" Draco said lightly, lifting his glass of
mulled wine. He liked the taste of Harry's name in his mouth, as spicy-sweet as the wine itself.
"Yes." Harry's eyes were dark and bright in the firelight. "And then the second and the times after
that."
Draco didn't know what got into him, but he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Stay. Tonight."
Harry hesitated. "Don't say that if you don't mean it."
"But I do." Draco's gaze darted to his son and the aged house elf watching him, then back to
Harry. "If you've nothing else to do tonight--"
"I don't," Harry said quickly. Cheeks pinkening, he took a sip of his mulled wine and looked over
at Scorpius. He licked his bottom lip, and Draco's body tensed with want. "I know it's not just you
though. I'm not looking for one night again." He glanced back over at Draco. "Like I said, I want
more."
Draco nodded. He set his glass aside, twisting his shaking hands together to still them. "I do too."
He wanted everything with Potter, he realised. Weekdays. Sunday mornings. Fights and wild
shags. Harry sitting beneath his Christmas tree, his son beside him.
This. Draco wanted this.
"Stay," he said again, and the word lingered between them, filled with hope and want and need. If
it was possible to fall for someone this quickly, Draco had managed it. Then again, perhaps it had
just been a long and circuitous route for the two of them. "Please."
"Yeah," Harry said, a small smile curving his lips, "I'll stay."
Draco raised his glass. "Happy Christmas, Harry," he said, for what he hoped was the first time of
many.
***
"Good night," Harry said from the doorway of Scorpius's bedroom. "And stay in bed or no
Christmas presents for you."
Draco laughed as Harry closed the door. "How many times did he make you read 'Babbitty
Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump'?"
"Three." Harry pulled him closer and nuzzled his neck. "By the second go-round, I was ready to
strangle him."
Draco smiled. "The urge fades. Eventually." He took Harry's hand, twining their fingers together.
"Are you tired?"
"Not terribly," Harry said as Draco pulled him towards his bedroom.
When they reached the light room with the large white bed and the soft, green curtains, Draco
paused. He hadn't had anyone new in his bed in years. He usually kept it as his private sanctum,
preferring to restrict his liaisons to hotel rooms or clubs.
"So," he said, switching on the light on the bedside table. He was suddenly uncertain how to
proceed, shocked at his own daring.
Harry was tall and quiet in the entrance to the room, broad shoulders blocking much of the tall,
white wooden frame. "Are you sure I shouldn't sleep on the sofa?"
And then it was easy. Draco turned and smiled, beckoning him to him. "Yes. I'm very sure that
you should sleep here with me."
Harry brushed a thumb across Draco's cheek, then leaned in to kiss him, long and gentle and
tasting of spices and wine. It was almost effortless how Draco's arms came up to hold Harry, how
their clothing slowly migrated to the floor, and then naked, in bed, Harry laid him out and looked
at him with such open desire that Draco grew pink with embarrassment.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you like this." Harry's eyes traced Draco's naked form. "I'm so
sorry I had to leave quickly last time."
Draco held out a hand. "You can make it up to me now."
There was lube in the bedside table and spells to be said. Draco let Harry press him back against
the pillows, sucking breath and thought and reservation from his lips. Then Draco's thighs were
spread over Harry's forearms, and Harry nuzzled a mark above his hipbone.
"This is the best Christmas present ever," Draco whispered.
Harry smiled, green eyes dark with intent. "Oh, it's not over yet."
Harry covered Draco with his solid frame, and Draco wrapped his legs around Harry's narrow
hips. Draco's hands dug marks into Harry's muscled shoulders. They'd cast a Muffliato, and Draco
knew he would be alerted if Scorpius moves, but he couldn't let himself shout the way he wanted
to. Harry thrust into him, bringing him closer and closer to the edge of falling apart. He threw his
head back and gasped, then caught Harry's lips with his, a challenge bubbling forth from his
wicked tongue. "Is that all you've got, Potter?"
It was not, and Draco was astonished with the brilliance of Harry holding him down and taking
him apart, piece by piece, until all he could do was howl his name.
The night was carpeted in beautiful stars, and Draco cried out, over and over again.
***
"It's Christmas, Christmas, Christmas!" The door to Draco's bedroom burst open and a small,
towheaded flurry of energy landed on the bed between Draco and Harry. "Papa, it's Christmas."
Draco peered at the clock on the wall. It was barely half-six, and the sky was still very dark over
the buildings of Paris. He and Harry had been dozing for all of half an hour. "I'm aware,
Scorpius," he said with a sigh. Scorpius bounced on the bed again, his elbow landing on Draco's
kidney.
Harry rolled over and Scorpius launched himself on him. "Mr Potter, you're here! It's Christmas!"
He tugged at Harry's hair. "Wake up!"
With a muffled roar, Harry wrapped the top of the duvet around Scorpius, tickling him in the
process. Scorpius kicked and giggled, one foot pushing against Draco's hip. "No, Mr Potter, no!
Papa! Help! Papa!"
Harry pulled back, letting Scorpius free. "Want to go make some toast and hot chocolate?" Harry
asked, and Scorpius nodded happily, wriggling his small body across Harry's hips. Harry helped
him off the bed. "Downstairs. I'll be right after you." He kissed Draco as Scorpius ran out of the
room. "Take your time," he said, and he reached for his jeans and jumper, sliding out of bed and
pulling them on. Draco had no idea where he found the energy.
"No pants?" Draco asked with a smile, burrowing deeper into the duvet.
Harry winked at him and shimmied his hips. "All better for when he goes down for a nap."
"Good luck with that."
"Tranquiliser spells, Malfoy." Harry opened the bedroom door. "Tranquiliser spells."
Draco threw a pillow at him. It hit the doorframe. "Don't drug my child, Potter."
Harry's laugh floated back at him as the door closed. Draco lay back against his pillows, telling
himself he'd just doze for a little while longer.
When he woke again, the room was filled with mid-morning light. For a moment, Draco was
disoriented. He sat up, heart pounding before he remembered that Harry was with Scorpius. He
slid out of bed, taking the time to shower and brush his teeth before he dressed in dark trousers
and a white shirt and went downstairs, his feet bare against the marble steps.
He could hear the sound of laughter echoing from the sitting room, and he stopped in the
doorway, surprised to see Pansy sitting on the sofa beside Potter, Scorpius between them.
"Happy Christmas, darling," Pansy said, standing up to greet him properly with a kiss on each
cheek. "I'm certain you had a lovely time unwrapping your present last night."
At Draco's raised eyebrow, she laughed and looked back at Harry. "Potter? You didn't tell him I
sent you?"
"Might have slipped my mind," Harry drawled, and he pulled Scorpius down from the back of the
sofa. "Draco, your sprog's about to explode from delayed gratification, by the way."
"Presents!" Scorpius crowed, bouncing up and down on the sofa cushions. "Papa! Presents!"
Essy stood next to the tree, an expectant look on her face.
Draco slipped an arm around Pansy's waist. "Release the Kraken," he said wearily while waving a
hand, and Harry snorted.
"I'm not going to ask how you know a Muggle film reference," he said, letting go of Scorpius,
who sped for the presents beneath the tree with a squeal. Essy chased after him, ready to gather
the paper and discarded ribbon.
"I'm a man of many talents," Draco said.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "More like Blaise forced him to watch terrible films when they shared a flat.
Usually as punishment for the times Draco forgot to wash up."
"In my defence I was raised with house elves." Draco eyed his son ripping paper from a present,
and Essy winding it back into a manageable ball. "How does he know which ones are his?"
Harry grinned. "I showed him."
"You're an evil man, Harry Potter." Draco looked down at Pansy and mouthed thank you. She
laid her head against his shoulder with a smile.
This was, Draco thought, one of the better Christmases of his life.
"So, Potter," he said cheerfully, "how'd you feel about spending New Year's on the beach in
Puerto Rico?"
Harry just smiled.
***
The stalls in the Camden market were hung with sparkling lights and fir garlands that leant the air
a fresh, Christmassy scent. Draco walked through the Muggle crowds hand-in-hand with Harry,
watching as Scorpius, now four, rode the shoulders of his cousin Teddy in front of them.
"He's going to drop him," Draco said, visions of his son broken across the pavement of Camden
High Street. "Astoria will have my guts for garters."
Harry squeezed his hand. "Teddy's twelve. I think he can handle a four-year-old."
Teddy's hair was a bright blue today, and Scorpius clung to it, his fingers twisted in the short
spikes. Teddy didn't seem to mind in the least; he'd spent a good portion of his summer hols with
Scorpius trailing after him, full of hero-worship and starry eyes, and he'd taken it all in good
humour, even when Scorpius had calmly informed Victoire Weasley that Teddy liked her.
It was Teddy's first day back from Hogwarts, and he was staying with them at Grimmauld Place
until Christmas Day, along with Aunt Andromeda while Kingsley was in Germany, meeting with
the Ministers of Magic from across the EU. His aunt had continued to warm up to him since he
and Potter had begun seeing each other. He thought, perhaps, he might even have his mother over
for tea this week. It was about time she reunited with her sister.
Harry bumped his shoulder. "Thinking thoughts?"
"Mostly about how we'll fit everyone around the dining table for Christmas dinner." Draco
frowned. "Perhaps we ought to consider using the Paris flat instead."
"Whichever." Harry rubbed a thumb over the bright ring he'd given Draco just that morning. They
hadn't told anyone yet; Draco had wanted to wait until Christmas day, when they were surrounded
by friends and family. Also, he knew Hermione was planning on sharing her pregnancy news for
the first time: there was a devious part of him that couldn't wait to derail her announcement with
his own. Terrible of him, he supposed, but he can't quite bring himself to care. By this time next
year he'd be officially tied to Potter and Potter to him, and that thought delighted him.
"Scorpius," he said sharply, as his son reached for a string of lights hanging from the roof of a
market stall, and Scorpius looked back, his disappointment evident.
"But Papa--"
"We'll drape your room in fairy lights tonight," Harry promised, and Scorpius beamed at him.
Draco felt a happy warmth spread through him. He had everything he wanted, all of the pieces
finally fitted together.
With Harry, the puzzle of his life was finally whole.
End Notes
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