Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling, whether she likes it or not.

A/N: I am a woman with no experience in m/m relationships. I've written my fair share of smut, but not m/m smut. I'll try my absolute best to make this a compelling story, but I always appreciate tips and/or constructive criticism.

This was written for Drarryland:2019.

Prompt: Your third Detention will be served with Harry or Draco - You must write either Harry or Draco suffering punishment/consequences at the hands of the other - either 1)Humorously -OR- 2) using Angst -OR- 3) Explicitly.

Xxxc

Harry leaned heavily into the broad doorframe of his office, his arms folding across his broad chest. His green eyes scanned the office space with a severity he had learned. His eyes narrowed in endless scrutiny and his back straightened so as to hold him taller. His short height was masked by the presence Robards had taught him. Gone was the indignant, easily provoked boy of his Hogwarts years, replaced now by a slender yet well built man who never let his anger boil to the surface.

He supposed his life was easier now. He'd run into his fair share of dark wizards after the fall of Voldemort, whether it was death eaters attempting to take back what they had lost, to avenge their master or adolescent teenagers that thought dark magic made for a fun prank. "The results never last" was always their excuse, indicating that the welts, the scratches they had caused were already fading, the broken bones could be mended. Few of them understood that such attacks left implications they could never see. Maybe that's why Harry cared so much, he had a few of his own.

He wasn't sure he could call it abuse, back then snapping a belt across a child's backside was merely punishment, correction. Harry imagined many of his comrades had been subject to the very same, save for Ron Weasley. The exception to nearly everything.

It was that thought that led his eyes to the man with rust colored locks, his best mate after all these years. Ron's face was turned away, focused on a piece of parchment laid out on the desk before him. Harry was too far away to catch an unsuspicious glance, but the scarlet shaded ears protruding from the equally bright hair gave him enough. "Weasley." He barked, the shifting of parchment in the office dropping to a standstill. Ears were strained, hoping to catch a whisper of the punishment, some gossip to be spread around the water cooler.

Ron pushed himself up from the desk, his eyes not meeting Harry's as he padded in the direction of the auror – head auror. Harry stepped back as he approached, turning his body sideways and leaving Ron room to slip by. His eyes caught a glance of the silver trim lining the edges of Ron's midnight blue sleeves and felt a flicker of jealousy at the attire. The uniform had been changed shortly after Harry's promotion – one that didn't require such silly things. He wore deep red dress robes, a callback to his Gryffindor roots instead. It was silly, he knew that. He hadn't had such stability since 1997, nearly fifteen years ago. Part of him craved such simplicity.

Harry shook his head, giving three jerks of his wand. One allowed the door to slam shut, closing the two men inside, the second shuttering the blinds of the windowed wall, and the third to cast a wordless muffliato. He'd been privy to office gossip only once in his life, after he'd gotten his ass handed to him by Robards. It was due to the bloody Extendable Ears, a Weasley invention he now cursed them for. Muffliato had been a routine ever since.

He reclined in the leather chair, hands going behind his head and legs crossing atop the edge of the desk. "What's this, then?" Harry asked lightly, the forced anger of before gone. He gestured to the red blush Ron was incapable of Hiding.

"Mi slipped me a note, that's all." Ron gave a chuckle and surprisingly some of the embarrassment dissipated.

"The Minister's understudy detailed all the dirty things she'd like to do to you?" Harry raised an eyebrow in scolding though the teasing grin on his lips ruined his façade.

"Miss it, do you?"

Harry gave a shrug; the truth was he wasn't sure. He'd loved Ginny, that much he knew, but sometimes love wasn't enough. A divorce wasn't what he wanted, to put distance between himself and his three children. To lose the vibrant woman he woke up to day in and day out, but perhaps he'd lost that years before. Their relationship had been strained for some time, each tied down by their job rather than the importance of their family. When seeing one another being a chore, an obligation, that's when they realized it was over.

Now, Harry saw his children every other weekend. The one part of their situation that physically pained him. They were better off, he knew it. Ginny had reconnected with Dean Thomas at a memorial event. They'd been married within the year. Three years later and the two of them still behaved like newlyweds. Something he and Ginny had never had.

Maybe it was the war, the knowledge that neither of them might make out alive. She had shown him a love during that time he'd only seen sparkles of. His aunt and uncle had never had it and he'd been privy only to the moments a camera had captured of his parents. A happiness he now knew could be falsified. No, this too lay with the Weasleys, Molly and Arthur. Even now, their love for one another overrode anything he had ever known, ever felt.

"Yes." He answered finally, after the silence had grown tense. He couldn't always admit that he missed Ginny, but he missed the brightness that shown on Ron's face when he mentioned Hermione's name, the smirk that hid nighttime encounters. Harry missed the only family he'd ever truly known. "Gin has the kids this week. You and Hermione interested in dinner at my place this weekend?"

Ron's lip curled in hesitancy, but the look he gave Harry made him wonder if some of his devastation had shown through – again. "We'd love to, mate, but Mi promised the kids some excursion in London – A library probably." He rolled his eyes. "She's dragging me along with her."

"There's no such thing as too much knowledge, Ronald." Harry mimicked, his voice eliciting an embarrassing squeak. Ron glared and Harry waved a hand in nonchalance. "I've been looking for someone to spend some extra time on the Nott case. Maybe I'll do it myself."

"You'll never meet another girl this way. You've got to get out there, live a little."

Harry sighed. He'd heard this same insistence for so long, maybe it was time he listened. The problem was he and Ron had two different opinions on the type of person that would interest him. He'd learned long ago that breasts didn't fall into the category. "There's this café I've been meaning–"

"Café?" Ron gave a bark of laughter. "You've gone soft in your old age, mate. I'll talk to her; she'll understand why I can't accompany her."

Harry had no doubt about that. Hermione was just as bad. "Oh no." He insisted, perhaps too quickly. "You are not going to be my wingman. Who knows the kind of trollop I'll come home with."

"Hey!" Began his angry shout of protest, Harry cutting him off before he could finish.

"Don't give me that. I've seen the women you ogle." He stood, shuffling the already perfect stack of parchment in front of him and lifting the muffliato. "Get back out there, see what you can find out about the Tintwhistle case."

Ron followed his orders, giving him a mock army salute before heading from the room.

"Don't forget I'm your boss!" Harry called after him, giving a disgruntled shake of the head. He plopped back down, fingers running through the strands of hair he refused to admit were growing gray. He removed the circular glasses from his nose, placing them on the broad desk in front of him. A hand wiped down his face, urging the exhaustion away. Maybe what he needed this weekend was a nap.

A sharp rap came at the open door and a groan escaped him. Fifteen minutes, that was all he had left of the day. Just fifteen more minutes and he'd be back in his flat, sprawled across his mattress and hopefully asleep. He glanced up at the intruder, not bothering to hide his disappointment. His eyes met that of solid mercury, of platinum blonde hair slicked back in disgusting arrogance.

"What is it, Malfoy?" The junior auror stepped in the room without invitation, the door shutting behind him. He slipped a short piece of parchment onto the desk before taking his own seat. Harry gripped the paper, dragging it in front of him and scanning the words scrawled across it. "What the hell did you get yourself into this time?"

"I was sure that slip said exactly what I did." His face contorted in mock confusion. "A charge for trespassing."

"Trespassing?" Harry waved the paper in anger. "You didn't extend your welcome at some establishment; you were found on the grounds of Azkaban!"

"For good reason."

"Which was?"

"Unimportant."

"Damnit, Malfoy. Why wasn't I contacted directly? This is dated a week ago, how am I just hearing about this?"

Draco gave a self-important shrug, slouching into a more comfortable position. Harry remained tight lipped, staring at the man across from him. You've got to get out there, live a little. His eyes scanned the gelled back strands of gold, the eyes that seemed to taunt him. Harry's gaze dropped further, looking momentarily at the tight fitting robes, the curves of muscle they betrayed. He could feel his pants beginning to tent, a surge of want. He had to get Draco out of here. "Meet me here Saturday night. We've got a case to check out." He expected a rebuttal, a roll of the eyes, at the very least a huff of annoyance. Harry received nothing. Instead, Draco stood. Adjusting his robes and retreating as if they'd discussed little more than what they had for lunch.

The door was slammed for what Harry hoped was the final time. Blinds still drawn, leaving him utterly alone, he placed a hand at his growing erection. "Ten more minutes." He mumbled aloud.

Xxxx

Harry stumbled into his flat, one thing still on his mind – or one person, rather. He wasn't sure what it was. Draco's auror application had been accepted just over a year ago. Harry had accepted it himself, not for who Draco was, but for what he was capable of. During that time, he had spent an unfortunate amount of time yelling at the junior auror, Draco always finding himself in trouble.

Today had been far from their first encounter. Perhaps it was the conversation with Ron that had taken place just before. Maybe it was the fact that his mind had lingered too long on the loss of love, of intimacy. He'd be lying if he said he didn't crave it, to be wanted by another human being. To feel scratches of desire marring his back.

Gone was the need to sleep, reawakened by something else entirely He and Draco had only had sparse conversations through the years, nothing of substance, and most of the time mockingly. They'd hissed insults at each other in the Hogwarts corridors, thrown them openly at other times. Harry had despised the other boy for the first several years before realizing that wasn't it at all.

No, he'd had a crush on Draco Malfoy for far longer than he cared to admit.

Ron was right. Ron was always bloody right. He had only been with two other people since his divorce with Ginny was finalized. He was hard up, no matter how eagerly he wished to deny that. Sex hadn't come often enough in the years that had passed, whether he was too involved with his job or simply appalled at getting to know someone knew, he hadn't bothered to try.

It was too hard being Harry Potter. The scar on his forehead had faded, but his fame never had. His name was whispered in legend these days, a whole generation had been born and grown in the years that passed since his final fight against Voldemort. He was treated now as little more than a myth by those that hadn't been old enough to witness it themselves. It was almost disheartening; his life's work being regarded as little more than fiction.

Partners, however, were in abundance. He'd rejected more offers than he'd actually accepted, been too worried that the whispers of want were made because of who he had been, what he had done, rather than who he was. Few of them, he was afraid, were made out of pure sexual desire. But, Draco had been immune to that.

He had grown beside Harry, they had taken classes together, had launched spells at one another. They had been there for one another's failures and the few triumphs in-between. The only problem was the fair-haired boy had never shown any reciprocating feelings.

Harry blinked away the intrusive thoughts. He could hope for more in two short days, for now he had something to take care of. He had had to wait for several long minutes inside his office before his erection faded. He had hurried from the place without so much as a glance at any of the other employees, even Ron. He'd felt an unmistakable blush in his cheeks as he made his way to the elevators and through the atrium of the Ministry, afraid that what he wanted was too obvious.

It hadn't mattered of course. The few people that milled about had concerns of their own, paying him little attention. For someone who had been so desperate to hide, acting the way he did was just the way to garner more attention, not less. But, now he was alone.

He grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey from the fridge, ignoring the otherwise emptiness of it. He needed food, something more substantial than alcohol. With a tap of his wand, the bottle top was removed with hiss of carbonation. He tipped the bottle back, allowing the abrasive liquid to spill down his throat and relishing in the trail of fire it left behind.

Harry placed the bottle down after a generous chug, loosening the tie from around his neck and pulling it above his head. He shrugged from the cloak of his robes, hooked a finger around each button of his shirt, undoing it and depositing on the floor without a care. Next came the dress shoes, the belt of his pants. He stripped until he was left in nothing but his undershirt. With a fistful of underpants in one hand and a cold bottle in the other, he made his way to the couch.

He took another swig of alcohol, feeling himself relax beneath its influence. Those gray eyes. He wondered what it would take to soften them, to bring the mercury within to a liquid state. He wanted to know what it felt like to run his hands through the coarse confines of gel that contained the blonde hair. How it would feel for Draco to slip inside him, their naked bodies writhing together as one. Harry grasped his cock, bringing the shaft in an upward motion before his hand slid down again. He imagined the pressure he was giving himself belonged to a very specific someone else.

Flashes of Draco slipped through his mind as he pleasured himself, distant tingles of interest as he questioned certain things. What would his own name sound like spilling from Draco's lips in orgasm? Would it be the rough, shout of 'Potter' that he'd heard so many times before? Or a sensual whisper of Harry, the vowel of his name dragged out in orgasm?

His balls tightened further at the thought, cum spilling from him and he relaxed. He was done waiting, done imaging Draco as he masturbated. On Saturday, he was determined to find out if he had a chance at something real.