Winter Pursuit

The arrival of his former arch-nemesis was unexpected, to say the least. As far as Draco could recall, it had been three years since he'd last seen the Icon of Purity and Perfection.

When the house-elf announced Harry Potter, Draco's first thought was to guiltily wonder what he'd done to warrant a visit from the Chosen One. Nothing illegal… lately. On the heels of that was the outraged urge to send him away. The third emotion was curiosity, which effectively trumped the others.

"Send him in," Draco said mildly after a quick glance around the room to verify that the place was acceptable. It wasn't Malfoy Manor, but the house Draco had purchased in Bath was nearly as elegant, if only half as large. The trappings of grandeur were in place, however. The marble, the paintings, the rugs, the statuary and crystal. All of it screamed wealth and privilege. Just the thing to intimidate Potter the Peasant.

Draco did not bother to rise when Potter was led into the study. He sat in his favorite armchair with an ankle resting on one knee and a book in his lap. He expected to see an older version of the lanky, bespectacled boy he'd left at Hogwarts. What he saw was a tall, confident, extraordinarily fit man. Draco had to clamp his teeth together to keep from gaping. Potter wore black trousers and boots, with a dark grey turtleneck jumper—cashmere, if Draco was any judge, and he was—and a black cloak. His ugly glasses had been replaced with lighter silver frames that seemed to highlight his green eyes. Potter's hair, thank Merlin, was still unruly, and far too long to be fashionable.

Potter's eyes were steady as he entered the room, ignoring the impressive surroundings, entirely focused on Draco. All business, that was Potter. As usual, Draco worked on shattering that veneer of concentration.

"What a delightful surprise, Potter," he said pleasantly. "Care for a drink?"

It worked even better than anticipated. Potter halted immediately, and whatever he had been about to say died on his lips. He blinked stupidly.

"Drink?" Draco repeated. "Libation? Beverage? Liquid refreshment?"

Potter flushed, reminding Draco immediately of the boy he'd loved to torment.

"No, thank you," Potter said politely. He cleared his throat, no longer looking like the confident hero that had killed Voldemort dead with bravado and a single Expelliarmus.

Watching him, Draco was struck with an epiphany. He suddenly realized exactly what he'd been missing in the past three years. Passion. In the past three minutes, Draco had experienced uncertainty, anger, pride, superiority, curiosity, and interest. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd missed the rush and interplay of emotion that always plagued him around Potter. Bloody hell… he'd missed Harry Potter!

The shock was enough to cause Draco to sit bolt upright. The heavy book slid to the floor with a bang. Potter's wand was in his hand in a trice, and he struck a defensive pose. Draco laughed aloud.

"Merlin's bloomers, you're jumpy, Potter," he said. And fast. If anything, his Quidditch-honed reflexes had grown even sharper since the war. The Gryffindor straightened and flushed before tucking his wand away.

"Habit," Potter muttered. Draco stepped over the book as he rose. He walked over to stand in front of Potter, knowing damn well he stood too close. He was leagues into Potter's personal space, forcing the Gryffindor to look up—up!—at Draco. It was a pleasant surprise to find he was taller than Potter. He did not tower over the Gryffindor, but the couple of inches were enough to imply a subtle advantage.

A muscle tightened in Potter's jaw and Draco knew he was dying to step back. Apparently, no one ever intruded on Harry the Chosen One Potter. He swayed slightly, and then rallied his Gryffindor pride. The green eyes narrowed, but held Draco's steadily.

They were in that pose, locked in a silent battle of wills, when Pansy walked in. Draco heard her gasp though he did not remove his gaze from Potter's. The Gryffindor, however, took the opportunity to step away, turning slightly to face Pansy.

"Potter," she said, sounding both surprised and annoyed. "To what do we owe this… pleasure?"

"No pleasure, I'm afraid, but business. Do either of you know where I can find Gregory Goyle?"

Pansy laughed at Draco with her best blank expression. Luckily, she was quite good at masking her emotions. Potter sighed, obviously sensing he would get nothing from her. He turned back to Draco with a quick shuffle that put him a couple of steps away—back to the safety zone of dead air.

"I know where he lives," Draco said with a shrug. "Why?"

"We believe he might be in danger," Potter said.

Draco said nothing, but his disbelief must have been evident to the Chosen One through some mysterious osmosis.

"I'm serious. Someone has been killing former Death Eaters, hunting them down. A vigilante."

Draco gifted Potter with another patented blank look, doubting that the Ministry was trying particularly hard to find said killer. Potter managed to delve beneath the nothing once more.

"I am going to stop them," Potter vowed. "I'm here partly because you are in danger, as well."

"You're here to protect me? Isn't that sweet? I didn't know you cared, Potter."

The green eyes flashed angrily. "Can you please just take me to Goyle? Time is of the essence."

Draco shrugged. "As you wish."

He stepped close to Potter again and took the Auror's left bicep in a tight grip as he drew his wand with his left hand. Pansy grabbed Draco's arm.

"I'm coming, too," she said. Draco felt a flare of annoyance. She barely tolerated Greg. She simply did not want to leave Draco alone with Potter. Pansy was bloody perceptive; Draco had to give her that. She had obviously sensed Draco's waning interest in her. The marriage proposal she longed for had stuck in the back of Draco's throat too many times to count, unable to make it past his lips.

Draco pulled Potter tightly against him and whispered the spell into the Chosen One's hair, feeling the softness of it against his lips and drinking in the clean scent.

The instant they Apparated, Potter shoved him away with a jerk, wand out and eyes scanning the area. Fuck, it was cold. They stood outside Greg's small cottage, perched on a rugged Cornish cliff, miles from everything. Goyle loved his solitude these days. A trace of snow dusted the ground and the wind was biting.

"Shit!" Pansy said and Disapparated. Potter blinked for a moment, but Draco knew she had only returned to Bath for warmer clothing. No way would she leave Draco alone with Super Auror Deluxe.

"What does Goyle do here?" Potter asked as Draco marched up to the door and checked the wards. They were down—not a good sign.

"He raises alpacas, or some such thing. He's turned into a bloody hermit since Vince… well… Draco's voice trailed off. Fuck, it shouldn't still hurt after so many years, and Vince had turned into a right bastard at the end, before he'd nearly killed them all with that damned fire. Potter's hand touched his arm for a moment, and Draco met the green eyes, surprised at the sympathy he found there. Goddamn Potter. Maybe all this dredging up of emotion was not a good thing, after all.

Draco shoved open the door and went inside. Potter's Lumos lit the place like a small sun, and the Auror was obviously ready for anything.

"See anything out of the ordinary?" Potter asked.

Draco's eyes immediately went to the small table in the center of the room. For such an outward brute, Greg was surprisingly organized. The table was normally completely barren, but today a seashell sat in the center of the table, looking like a simple decoration.

"I know where he went," said Draco just as Pansy walked in. She was dressed in a thick ermine cloak and threw another to Draco. He grinned at her and she sneered. Oh yes, she was vexed with him. Draco buckled on the cloak and walked over to Potter.

"Greg is in Pembrokeshire. Come, Pans."

She hurried over and took Draco's shoulder while he slipped an arm around Potter's waist and crushed their hips together. Potter gasped, and then they Disapparated.

Potter shoved at him when they appeared on the rocky beach, but Draco did not release the Gryffindor.

"What are you doing?" Pansy hissed in his ear as Potter wrenched himself out of Draco's grasp with a glare.

Draco ignored them both as his eyes scanned the scenery. Why would Greg come here?

"Why would he come here?" Potter asked.

"I'm not sure, but this is where we—" Well, he didn't want to share that tale with Potter. He and Greg had walked this empty beach for hours and talked about Vince. Greg had sobbed at several points. Draco thought Vince had been a royal ass-hat most of the time, but Vince and Greg had been bonded at the hip practically from birth. Vince's death had nearly killed Greg, as well.

Draco snapped his fingers. "There's a cave."

He led them up the beach a distance, with Pansy complaining bitterly about the rocks until Draco nearly snapped at her to return home. He held his tongue, knowing she wouldn't. Draco was about to enter the cave when Potter held him back by a grip on his arm. The Auror raised his wand and stepped into the cave, charging ahead like a brave Gryffindor hero.

It wasn't much of a cave. It was barely tall enough to stand in, and less than three meters deep. Draco crowded in behind Potter, since it was obvious by a single Lumos that the place was empty.

"Why here?" Potter asked, holding his lit wand high and ignoring Draco's shoulder against his own. Draco looked around, unwilling to admit he didn't know. He and Greg had entered the cave only because Draco wanted to search for cladonia lichen, a potion ingredient.

Potter turned to look at him, slightly backlit by the wand, and once again Draco was struck by the sheer deliciousness of the Auror. He silently cursed the huffing presence of Pansy, who reached out and clutched at Draco's shoulder for balance. Draco used her action as an opportunity to lean more firmly into Potter.

The green eyes widened, and he instinctively reached for Draco to keep from toppling over. A hand fastened on Draco's bicep, and the Slytherin's mind transferred that image straight to the bedroom, picturing Potter grasping him with those eyes wide with passion. As if reading his thoughts, Potter stepped away so quickly he nearly brained himself on the wall of the cave.

Draco kept his face expressionless, even though he wanted to laugh aloud in evil glee. Potter's eyes slid away to fix intently on the wall near Draco's head. Draco turned to see a white gash on the wall.

"Spell damage," Potter said quietly. He should know. Draco sobered and Potter added, "It's recent."

"But how—?"

"How what?" Pansy asked, but Potter knew precisely what Draco meant.

"Tracking Spell. It was either placed on Goyle, or on something he's carrying."

"So they can follow him anywhere?" Draco asked sharply. Potter nodded. "How does it work?"

"It's not instantaneous. If Goyle Apparates, it will take his pursuer a few minutes to orient, locate, and follow."

"But only a few minutes."

"Yes, and the longer the jump, the longer it takes to relocate the target."

"Until the victim is too tired to Apparate any farther," Draco added. Potter looked at him soberly and nodded. Draco frowned, hating the thought of Greg being chased down by an unknown assailant. The concern must have shown on his face, because Potter suddenly reached out and touched his wrist. It surprised Draco enough that his gaze snapped to Potter's, but the Auror did not pull away.

"Why would he come here?" Potter asked. "Why leave the shell on the table to guide you here?"

Draco marveled at Potter's deduction and tried to forget the feel of Potter's fingers on his wrist—skin on skin contact that sent electricity slithering over his nerve endings. He had to concentrate on Greg. Why here? Why this cave?

Draco thought back to his last visit. He had been searching the cave walls for lichen, and Greg had been… what? Stomping around, babbling excitedly. Damn it, Draco had completely ignored him.

He drew in a breath suddenly and covered Potter's hand with his own. Draco gave it a squeeze and smiled widely.

"I remember."

Draco reluctantly pulled away from Potter and walked to the rear of the cave. Greg had found a natural pocket in the back wall. He had jokingly asked if Draco had anything to hide.

Draco reached in to the dark space and encountered a piece of parchment. The note was barely legible, obviously having been written in a hurry.

Being chased by someone trying to kill me. I'll go to all the places D ever took me. If I get too tired, I'll go to the Ministry. Not sure, though, maybe it's them after me.

He handed the note to Potter, who swore.

"Damn it. If only he'd come to us first!"

Draco disagreed. If Greg had gone to the Ministry, Draco would have been denied this delightful reunion with Potter. Potter handed the note back.

"All right. Where would he go first?"

Draco thought hard. There were not really a lot of places he had taken Greg. A handful, maybe, which made it easier.

"He'd probably try a longer jump," Draco said decisively. "Let's try the Villa."

Draco tucked an arm around Potter's waist and pulled him close. Potter only sighed, apparently resigning himself to Draco's manhandling. Pansy wasn't. Her fingers dug into Draco's shoulder painfully as they Apparated. Draco took them to the living room of the Malfoy Villa in Marseilles. Potter leaped away and did his patented Auror wand-brandishing. Pansy did not release Draco, and she leaned closer to hiss into his ear.

"What the fuck are you doing, Draco?" she snarled.

"Whatever do you mean, Pansy darling?" Draco purred. His eyes were on Potter as the Gryffindor stalked from doorway to doorway.

"You know what I mean. Are you just fucking with Potter's mind, or are you seriously considering…?"

"Fucking with his body?" Draco asked bluntly and let his eyes slide over the Auror's tense form. Potter's legs were long and lean beneath what had to be a perfect ass, although Draco could not tell because of the dark cloak. Draco smiled, imagining peeling those clothes away from that delectable body. "He is terribly hot, isn't he?"

Draco shook off her hand, which had begun to hurt even through the ermine cloak. Those were some claws she wore.

"Do I mean nothing to you, Draco?" she cried as Potter stepped into another room. Draco pondered her question.

"Of course you mean something to me, Pans." Draco relented. After all, if things didn't work out with Potter, there was no need to go home to an empty bed.

"What would that be, exactly?" she demanded.

Draco was spared having to answer by the return of the Chosen One.

"I don't think he's been here," Potter said.

"Should we wait?" Draco asked.

Potter shook his head. "No… he might have been…"

Caught by now, Draco finished for him. He felt somewhat guilty for lusting after Potter when his friend was in danger. And then Potter stepped close enough to touch and much of Draco's guilt evaporated.

"Where to now?" Potter asked as Draco draped an arm over Potter's shoulders and Pansy clutched Draco's bicep in a death grip.

"Swiss Alps," Draco murmured against Potter's ear. He thought he felt Potter shiver right before they Disapparated.

They landed in a snow bank, and the cold took Draco's breath away. Pansy yelped, probably when the snow filtered into her shoes. Potter glanced around, and then looked at Draco dubiously.

"Here?" Potter asked. Draco scowled. Apparently, he'd been a bit distracted. He had meant to Apparate them into the chalet, not into the woods nearby. He tried again, and this time they popped into a cozy, albeit frigidly cold, living room.

There was no immediate sign of a struggle, so Potter stalked off toward the kitchen while Pansy lit the fire with a burst from her wand that nearly took out the surrounding bricks. She raised the hem of her robes to disclose her sodden shoes and stockings. Draco retreated from her sullen glare and hurried after Potter, who stepped out the back door. He noticed the footprints an instant after the Auror sprinted away from the chalet, following the disturbed snow into the trees. Draco raced after him.

He ducked under an overhanging fir branch and plowed straight into Potter, knocking him backward into the snow. Draco landed atop him, staring into the too-green eyes and panting.

"Didn't think you'd stop," Draco breathed, becoming extremely aware of Potter's hard body beneath his.

"The trail ended," Potter said. "They must have Disapparated again."

His breath fogged the air between them, and felt extra-warm against Draco's cold face. For a moment, Draco wondered why Potter wasn't fighting to free himself. It almost seemed the surrounding snow had frozen them both in a moment of surreal timelessness.

Draco let his head fall forward and pressed his lips against Potter's, ever so gently, like the touch of a snowflake. When there was no resistance, Draco moved his lips slightly, teasingly, seeking a response. Potter seemed to be in shock, and Draco decided to break through that immediately. He'd rather have a fighting mad Potter on his hands than an unresisting mannequin.

Draco's tongue plunged into Potter's mouth, sliding in greedy exploration over teeth, gums, and tongue, demanding an answer. He received one completely unexpected when a choked whimper escaped from Potter's throat, and then—wonder of wonders—the Auror's hands eased gently into Draco's hair. Potter's tongue twisted with Draco's as if doing his own happy questing, and Draco suddenly wanted to Apparate them directly to his bedchamber with an apology to Greg, because, damn it, Greg would go to the Ministry eventually, right? Draco might never get this chance with Potter again.

A shriek disturbed Draco's lovely fantasy, and Potter's lips tore away. The scream had come from Pansy, who began to howl a huge number of invectives at Draco, insulting his parentage, his morals, his selfishness and gall, and several other things Draco ignored. He made only a cursory attempt at holding the Gryffindor, who thrashed like a landed fish until he was free of Draco. Potter climbed to his feet, looking like a monochrome dream with snow clinging to his black ensemble and hair. Except for the eyes—those emerald orbs locked onto Draco's.

Draco got to his feet moments before Pansy's hand flashed out and connected angrily with his cheek, nearly knocking him back into the snow again. She had quite the slap to go with her claws.

"You bastard!" she screamed one final time before she Disapparated.

Draco grinned at Potter lazily. "I believe she's upset."

Potter looked away, and color suffused his pale cheeks. "Goyle?" he asked, and Draco nearly laughed. So, Potter was going for the denial defense. He'd probably already convinced himself the kiss hadn't happened. Draco thought about informing him that no one denied a Malfoy, but decided it might be easier to show him. He stalked forward and wrapped his arms around the Auror, whose body became ramrod straight once more. Draco attached his mouth to Potter's neck and sucked gently, buying a delightful shudder from the Gryffindor.

"What—what are you doing?" Potter asked raggedly. Draco's lips slid upward and his teeth teased Potter's skin until he reached the velvet-soft patch just beneath Potter's ear. He licked and nuzzled the spot until he felt the Auror's wand hand rise in panic. Draco admitted defeat—for now.

"Hogsmeade," Draco whispered and then took them away. He figured Greg would feel safer in Hogsmeade, where townsfolk and tourists would be witness to any attack.

A good plan, but apparently not exactly accurate. Screams and the hiss of spells came to them the instant they Apparated before the Three Broomsticks. Potter was out of Draco's arms and bolting down the icy street toward danger like a lemming heading for a cliff. Draco cursed and ran after him, amazed that the Auror's stupid Gryfffindor tendencies had not already gotten him killed.

As they rounded the tavern, Draco saw the unmistakable shape of Greg Goyle running in a zigzag pattern down a side street, slipping several times in the snow. A hooded figure shot spell after spell at him—most of them wickedly green—and seemed to be missing mainly from sheer luck.

Hogsmeade residents howled and leaped aside as Potter pelted up the street after the hooded attacker, bellowing idiotic phrases like, "Expelliarmus!" and "Petrificus Totalus!" Honestly, had his years as an Auror taught him nothing? Draco raced after the trio, shaking off his heavy cloak to gain more speed.

An "Accio!" nearly yanked the wand from the hand of Greg's attacker, who spun like a cornered badger and let a curse fly at Potter. Draco's heart leaped into his throat as the Auror dodged it—barely—and dove aside to avoid another.

Draco bellowed, "Incendio!" and the attacker's cloak caught fire. The man tore it off and then bolted after Greg again, with Potter and Draco in hot pursuit.

"Who is it?" Draco yelled, glancing at Potter as they ran side by side.

"I don't know! He's wearing an old Death Eater mask!"

Greg and the mystery man had turned a corner. Potter and Draco rounded the building—to find the attacker waiting. His wand was leveled directly at Potter, and his lips moved in a shouted curse.

"Shit," Draco managed before he drove himself sideways and pushed Potter aside, sending Draco straight into the path of the spell. He felt a blinding burst of agony… and then nothing.

Draco awoke feeling warm and contented. He tried to open his eyes and was rewarded with a lancing pain that drew an involuntary groan from him. Still alive, then. A movement beside him led him to deduce that he was also in a bed, and someone had just sat down next to him. That someone placed a cool hand on Draco's brow—the universal way to check for fever.

Expecting to hear the voice of some St. Mungo's nurse, Draco was shocked enough to open his eyes again when Potter's voice asked, "How do you feel?"

Draco fought through the growing headache to focus on Potter's handsome face as the hand fell away.

"Head hurts," Draco muttered, and Potter nodded. He Summoned a vial from a nearby table and uncorked it.

"This will help," he said and put one hand behind Draco's head to lever him upright before tipping the potion into Draco's mouth. He remained limp in Potter's arms, and reflected that the "helpless" thing had a lot of potential. Potter gently lowered him back against the pillows.

"Where am I?" Draco asked, although it was instantly obvious by the decor. Potter flushed.

"Erm… my house," he admitted.

Draco fought to keep the smile from his face. He had thought it would take him weeks, possibly months, to woo his way into Potter's bed. Now that he was here, he had no intention of being easily ousted.

"You were hit with a Stunner, luckily." Potter scowled and launched into full-on rant mode. "And what the hell were you about, shoving me aside like that? What if he'd cast a Killing Curse?"

Draco looked down at the cream-colored sheets. Truthfully, he wasn't sure why he'd done it. The maneuver had been instinctive.

"If it had been, then better I died than the Savior of the Wizarding World, don't you think?"

"No. I don't think. I won't have anyone dying for me!"

The words struck Draco harshly, and his lips twisted into a sneer. "Not even me, eh?" he asked bitterly.

Potter flushed and looked away. "Especially you," he said, so softly that Draco almost thought he imagined it. Potter shifted, seeming about to rise. Draco reached out and caught his arm, noting absently that the charcoal jumper was definitely cashmere and made Draco want to slide his hand up Potter's arm and over that muscular chest. Potter's eyes locked onto Draco's.

"Why did you bring me here?" Draco asked, finding it the safest of all the questions bursting to be asked.

"St. Mungo's seemed unnecessary, as you were only Stunned, and I didn't think taking you home was a good idea. I thought Pansy might hex me on sight."

"Hex you? Why?" Draco found it far more likely that she would hex Draco's balls into boil-ridden melons, if she hadn't already moved out.

Surprisingly, Potter hadn't pulled away from Draco's grasp. He reddened and looked toward the window, which showed the waning light of late afternoon. It was beginning to snow again, and tiny flecks caught on the glass before melting into wet dots.

"Well, I wasn't exactly fighting you off, earlier," Potter said quietly. "When you… you know… kissed me. Why did you do that, anyway?" The green eyes met Draco's gaze once more, inquisitive, but guarded.

"Because I wanted to," Draco said simply.

"Just to mess with my head, or—"

Potter's words choked off when Draco's hold on his wrist drew him forward until their lips met. The kiss was every bit as blissful as that in the Alps had been. Draco's other hand tucked into Potter's hair and held him in place while Draco mapped the contours of Potter's delectable mouth. Draco wanted to moan with delight; fuck it was good. The best kiss Draco had tasted in a long, long time. At once satisfying and yet leaving him starving for more.

When he released Potter, the Auror sat back and stared at him, breathing raggedly. Draco's hand released reluctantly from Potter's hair, and skimmed over the edge of his jaw, caressing it lightly with his thumb.

"Tell me, Potter," Draco breathed. "Tell me that was nothing special."

Draco nearly winced at having handed Potter the perfect opportunity to back out and flee.

"That was…" Potter began quietly. Draco waited. "That was… something."

A wicked, triumphant grin split Draco's lips. "Damn right it was," Draco agreed and dragged Potter roughly into another kiss.

Twenty minutes later, Draco lay sprawled atop Potter. The Auror's glasses were long gone, as was his cashmere jumper. His eyes were so beautifully glazed with passion it took every fiber of Draco's control not to wrest the black trousers from the Auror and stake his claim once and for all. He knew Potter wouldn't resist, judging by the—fuck that was hot—whimpering sounds humming in the back of Potter's throat, and the so-hard erection pressing delightfully against Draco's.

However, Draco knew it would earn him a cauldron full of pitiful Gryffindor recriminations once Potter recovered his senses. Draco would not have that. He wanted so much more than a one-off. He wanted the crazy, Celtic-knot tangle of emotions that Potter drove him to. He wanted to taste every inch of Potter's lean body, and wake up with those long legs tangled with his.

Unfortunately, that meant taking things very slowly, in order not to scare his skittish Gryffindor prey. Draco moved down slightly and drew his tongue languidly over a taut nipple on Potter's beautiful chest. The Auror gasped and his hands tightened in Draco's hair.

"Potter?" Draco asked casually.

"Hmmm?" Potter replied.

"You did catch the bad guy, I assume?"

"Hmmm?" Potter said again. Draco propped an elbow on the bed and rested his chin on his palm before regarding Potter with a patient half-grin. After long moments, Potter seemed to realize Draco had no intention of resuming the kissing session until his question was answered. Potter sighed heavily and the green eyes cleared slightly.
"Bad guy. Yes. Yes, of course I did. I nearly took his head off when you fell."

"And who was it?" Draco asked casually, trying not to feel a rush of warmth at Potter's words.

"It was Dennis Creevey."

"Dennis Creevey? That insipid little Gryffindor—?" Draco managed to bite off the word Mudblood.

"Yes, I was quite shocked, but you probably owe your life to the fact that Dennis didn't want to kill me, which is why he only cast a Stunner. He was not holding back on Goyle."

"Is Greg all right?"

"Yes, I dropped him off at his house once I assured him you would be fine."

"So, Creevey snapped?" Draco did not really want Potter to lose the mood, so he slid the fingers of his free hand over Potter's chest and traced the ripples of the Auror's washboard abs. Potter trembled slightly under Draco's hand.

"He blamed the Death Eaters for Colin's death. He wanted revenge."

Idiot, Draco thought. Dennis's ass-hat brother did not have to return to Hogwarts and fight. Dennis should have been proud that Colin was a "brave Gryffindor" to the end, which was practically the House motto. He didn't mention that sentiment to the brave Gryffindor beneath him.

"Yet another casualty of the war," Draco said instead.

A shadow crossed Potter's features. "Yeah."

"Well, thanks for saving Greg," Draco said and placed a kiss on the edge of Potter's collarbone.

"All part of my job," Potter said.

"I don't think so. You're always giving, aren't you, Potter?"

"What do you mean?" the Auror asked, stiffening slightly.

"I think it's time someone gave something to you," Draco said, using his best bedroom voice. And Draco had a fabulous bedroom voice.

He kissed a wet path down the center of Potter's chest, and followed the delicate line of hair to the waistband of Potter's trousers. Draco unbuttoned them smoothly, and drew the zipper down with his teeth. Potter leaned back on his elbows and watched. The emerald eyes were wide with disbelief.

"Draco, I—" Potter started, but the words turned into a strangled sort of gurgle when Draco mouthed the head of Potter's cock through the material of his briefs. Draco felt a rush of pure pleasure. Draco, he'd said, and Draco had not even begun. He nipped his way down the hard shaft, knowing the tease had to be maddening. He eased off Potter's trousers, and doubted the mindless Gryffindor even noticed.

"Oh… oh god," Potter said and shifted to press his cock harder against Draco's mouth. Draco snapped the waistband of the undergarment with his teeth.

"Want me to take these off, Potter?" he teased.

"Yes. Yes, fuck yes," Potter said fervently, and Draco obliged, gripping Potter's hips with his palms and sliding his hands down, pulling the briefs off without losing contact with Potter's skin. When they dropped off Potter's feet, Draco reversed the motion of his hands, sending them back up Potter's calves, knees, and thighs. His fingertips skirted the edges of Potter's groin, not quite giving Potter what he craved.

"You're a devil, Malfoy, damn you, a dev—" The last wasn't quite a word, but more of a yelp, which Potter couldn't help because Draco had taken Potter's lovely cock straight into his mouth.

"Oh god!" Potter managed in between soft little cries. Draco felt like a god. All those fucking wasted years of trying to get Potter to grovel before him, and all it really took was a bit of this—he licked up one side and down the other—and this—his tongue swirled over the head and flicked gently into the slit—to have Potter's undivided attention.

The Auror's hands were in Draco's hair again, but gently, not even offering guidance, more like clinging to a lifeline.

"You're so gorgeous," Draco murmured and took Potter into his mouth so far he had to open his throat to take it all. Potter moaned in a way Draco had never heard before, and his sense of triumph redoubled. He concentrated on Potter in earnest, holding the Auror steady with a gentle grip on his hips. The hands in his hair twisted until Draco winced.

Potter had lost his iron control—Draco had transcended his carefully-maintained reserve. It did not surprise Draco at all that Potter couldn't last; Draco would have been disappointed in his performance, otherwise.

Potter nearly howled when he came, a cry Draco knew he had tried to hold back, and failed. The hands clenched one final time and Potter nearly thrust through the back of Draco's throat, despite his grip on Potter's hips. Hot fluid spilled into Draco's mouth, but he'd been ready for it. When Potter's delightful shudders stopped, Draco sucked him clean, earning one last gasp, and then regained a position on Potter's chest. He gazed into the emerald eyes and did not bother to hide his smile of satisfaction.

Super Auror was, unsurprisingly, at a loss for words. Potter struggled to speak until Draco silenced him with a kiss. He was pleased when Potter did not resist, but only disentangled his hands—finally—from Draco's hair, only to wrap them around his shoulders.

"I should—" Potter finally managed, but Draco hushed him.

"You should sleep. It's been a long day."

"Will you—?"

Draco waited, amused at Potter's sudden blush.

"Will you be here in the morning?" Potter finished.

"I'll be here until you tell me to leave," Draco promised.

ooOoo

Weasley Flooed into the living room, caught sight of Draco, and heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"You're still here?" the redhead asked redundantly.

Draco didn't bother to look up from the book he'd been reading.

"Potter has not actually told me to leave, yet."

The comment earned a chuckle from the aforementioned Auror, who entered from the kitchen carrying two mugs of hot tea. Draco accepted one and let his eyes slide over Potter, whose lips were slightly pink and swollen from their earlier activities. It was almost too bad Weasley hadn't popped in an hour ago, when they were testing the limits of the couch's ability to slam repeatedly into the wall without shattering to pieces.

"And I never will," Potter said quietly as he leaned down to place a kiss on Draco's lips.

"Oh, come on, Harry," Weasley moaned. "It's been seven months."

"Eight," Draco and Harry said together. Weasley sank into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. Draco shifted over and Potter slid in next to him. He tucked Draco's arm over his shoulder, careful not to spill their tea. Draco sipped his, foolishly pleased that it was perfect, as always. Potter knew how Draco liked his tea. He knew how to fluff Draco's pillow. He know how to fold Draco's socks, and how to make sure there were new bars of soap in the shower, and how to rub that tight spot on Draco's knee when he walked on it too much…

Frankly, living with Potter was about a million times better than living with Pansy had ever been. Not that they didn't fight. Potter had driven him to the point of throwing things more than once. Potter had tied Draco up… well, once in anger… and several times after that because Draco decided he rather liked it… His grip tightened on Potter's shoulder at the memory. God, was anything sexier than a forceful, determined Potter? He shook off the thought.

Once Draco had collected everything that had accumulated at Potter's house, and Apparated home, fully intending to drown himself in alcohol until he was dead for making such a stupid mistake, only to have Potter appear on his doorstep twenty minutes into the plan.

"I never actually told you to leave," Potter had said adamantly with those emerald eyes flashing, even though his shoulders had been slightly hunched, fearing rejection. Draco had been so glad to see him he had dragged the Auror inside and shagged him senseless on the foyer floor.

Draco set his tea aside carefully. The book joined his mug in exile on the table. His reminiscences were turning him on.

"Weasel. Don't you have somewhere to be?" Draco asked.

Harry's elbow caught Draco sharply in the ribs, and Weasley scowled.

"No."

"Fine. Then you can watch." Draco set Harry's mug next to his and then pressed Potter flat against the couch. He covered the Auror's body with his own and captured his mouth in a searing kiss. Weasley's gurgle of horror was music to Draco's ears.

"I just came to invite Harry to dinner on Saturday!" Weasley yelped, and then sighed. "And you, too, Malfoy, since Harry pines away all bloody night wanting to get back to you."

Draco reared back and met Harry's gaze warmly.

"Do you pine for me, darling?" he crooned and began to unbutton Potter's shirt. Weasley shot to his feet.

"Anyway, if you decide to come, let us know!" Weasley cried and leaped for the fireplace. He was gone before Draco had the buttons undone.

"You're so evil," Harry said, but his tone was not disapproving.

"You love me that way," Draco murmured as he lapped gently at one of Potter's exposed nipples. He never tired of admiring the Auror's fit body. Harry gasped.

"Yeah, I think I do," Potter said on a breath. Draco froze, and he raised his head to meet Potter's liquid gaze. Potter gave him a tentative smile. "I think I love you."

Draco could not speak through the rush of emotion. He gave Harry the gentlest kiss imaginable. It was possible, just possible, that he loved the damned Gryffindor, too. Of course, Potter would have to work a bit to pry that information out of Draco. He wasn't about to offer it up like some Hufflepuff.

Before Draco lost himself to mindless bliss, he resolved to send a thank-you card to Dennis Creevey in Azkaban. Creevey's murderous rampage had led to the extraordinary happiness of a former Death Eater. He thought Creevey ought to know.