Chapter Text
Fortunately for Harry, the wards on the Ministry’s safe room—where he’s been Portkeyed away to—prove about as sturdy as a chocolate teapot when his strongest unlocking charms get involved.
Unfortunately for Harry, Draco has been placed in a room not quite as friendly and quaint as Room 7B.
“So,” Draco says with a heavy sigh, after Harry has just barrelled his way through the door in a panic. “This is what rock bottom looks like.”
Against the bars of the sparse Ministry holding cell enclosing Draco, Harry thumps his head.
“Careful, Potter, there’s barely a brain cell left in there.”
Harry closes his eyes. This is all such a fuck-up. Again.
“Nice to see the Ministry spares no expense, anyway,” Draco says dryly. “This place hasn’t had a face lift since Dumbledore was a lad—”
“Please,” Harry says, still scar-first against the cold bars. “Please just stop.”
He should’ve known it was the worst thing he could possibly say to Draco Malfoy.
Draco makes a long, hollow laugh. “Me, stop, me. Ha! What absolute irony coming from you, of all people. The one person in this world who never stops, who does exactly what he wants. Yet you want me to stop, when I’ve ended up a criminal in a fucking prison cell thanks to you—”
Harry shifts upright, eyes snapping open. “It’s not just me though, is it? You’re as much involved in this as I am.”
From his position on the small metal bed inside his cell, Draco glares across the room. “I can’t recall ordering you over in the middle of the night—”
“Don’t be so dramatic, I don’t order you anywhere,” Harry snaps. “And we’re not in a bloody prison. We’re on the basement level of the Ministry. There’s a junior Auror here eating his dinner, for God's sake.”
By the door, the young Auror pauses with his sandwich halfway to his mouth, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. He shuffles his chair closer to the door.
“I’m very sorry that I don’t do well with being locked in a cage,” Draco snips, folding his arms across his chest.
Deciding that maybe silence is the best course of action, Harry slides down to sit on the threadbare brown carpet tiles. He looks sullenly down at his lap, wishing he could turn back time to when he was filling in those stupid forms.
“Look. I’m sorry,” he mutters.
Draco looks up sharply. The air feels heavy, suffocating under Draco’s gaze.
“You’ve never once said you were sorry,” Draco says quietly.
“What?” Harry frowns. That can’t be true. His mind races back over the last few weeks. “Sure I have.”
Draco shakes his head. “No. You’ve never once apologised for all of this. You’ve done a lot of shouting and stomping about, but you’ve never said I’m sorry.”
Harry’s up and off the floor without a second thought. He crosses the room to where the bars run floor to ceiling, looking at Draco imploringly through the gaps. He can feel the shudder of the order as soon as he breaks ten feet. “Draco. I’m so sorry, for everything. This is all because of my mistake, and I’m sorry that you’ve been hurt by it.”
Draco swallows, the long line of his throat bobbing under the harsh Ministry strip lighting. He gives a small nod. “Okay. Thank you.”
Harry lets out a long huff of a breath. “I can’t believe I got you sent to prison.”
The corner of Draco’s mouth quirks. “Not prison, Potter. Just the basement.”
The door to the room opens suddenly, and they both look over as Robards strides in. Ron’s on his heels, peering round to look at them both. “Alright?” he mouths silently at Harry. Harry nods.
“Well, Potter. You don’t half get yourself in some stupid situations,” Robards says gruffly. He waves his wand and Draco’s door unlocks with a quiet click. “Get out of there, both of you. Malfoy, collect your wand from Auror Blackley.”
Harry goes first, Draco hanging back to keep the ten feet between them. They’re led up to Robards office, where two chairs are placed on opposite sides of the room. They sit down, Ron hovering by the door in between them both.
Robards twines his hands together and places them on his desk. He might be glowering, but it’s hard for Harry to tell when this is Robards’ default expression.
“Official disciplinary session, Auror office,” Robards says, and on his desk a quill jumps to life. It starts to scribble down everything he says on a fresh piece of parchment. “April 14th 2005. Present, Head Auror Gawain Robards, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ronald Weasley, and Draco Malfoy.” He clears his throat and looks over at Harry. “This is a mandatory session due to three violations of a Section #44b restraining order. You’ve had your safe space relocation to the holding cell, now any further infractions before the thirty days are up will incur an elevated response. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Harry says seriously.
“Malfoy?”
Draco nods. “Understood.”
Robards looks between them both for a moment, and then with a wave of his wand the quill freezes in its note-taking. “I know this restraining order was a mistake, and I wish we could just get it cancelled. Trust me when I say, there’s no one else angrier than I am at the Ministry’s administrative backlog. But we can’t keep using our resources on the two of you.” He waves a hand in Draco’s direction. “Malfoy, get gone. Stay away from Potter for the remaining nine days.”
“Yes, sir,” Draco says, pushing up to his feet. “I’m going to go away with Blaise for a few days anyway, so that won’t be a problem.”
Harry’s gaze snaps over. “Away?”
“Sounds a good idea,” Robards nods. “Anywhere nice?”
“Austria. Our friend lives in Vienna. We’re going to accompany him home.”
Austria. Harry’s heart leaps into his throat. Draco’s going to visit Theo.
Draco edges around the room, making sure to keep the required distance from Harry, and gives one last look back before he slips over the threshold. “See you in nine days, Potter.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and Robards looks at Harry with a stare that could probably have frozen Lord Voldemort himself. “So.” A beat. “You and Malfoy.”
Harry blinks. “Sir?”
“Is this going to continue to be a problem?”
“No. It’s not going to continue. Not for nine days, anyway.”
Robards nods once, slowly. “Good. Because if I have to deal with one more week of magical restrictions, or weaponised sexual tension disrupting my department’s efficiency—”
Harry chokes. “Sorry—what?”
“I don’t care what you do off-hours. I care what you do on Ministry time. And I don’t want personal relationships interfering with missions, judgment, or the state of my crime scene reports.”
“Right. They won’t.”
Robards leans back, fixing him with that quiet, unnervingly perceptive look that has made more than one junior Auror cry, as well as a few senior ones. “You’ve done enough damage for one month, Potter. I suggest you keep things boring for a while.”
Harry gives a tight nod. “Understood.”
“The well. Dry. Remember?”
“Yep,” Harry says. “Got it.”
****
Harry decides he will not spend the remaining nine days focused on Draco. He will push him completely out of his head until the restraining order is over. He won’t utter his name, or even think about a single hair on his bright blond head.
He lasts exactly one seven hour shift, and then when he gets back to his empty house, the spiral starts.
What on earth is Draco doing in Austria? In Vienna, at Theo’s house. Attending classical music productions in snooty Muggle suits, Blaise and Theo on each arm, maybe? Or even twining their hands together as they pull each other up the side of a mountain. Both activities end in furious shagging, followed by schnitzel in bed, of course.
He meets Pansy and Ginny at the pub, who have less than no sympathy for him.
“He deserves a break from all of this,” Pansy declares. “He’s been through so much. I, for one, hope he is shagging Theo.”
She receives the sharp end of Ginny’s elbow for that comment, as Harry thumps his head on the table.
Even Ron and Hermione have little to say on the matter, agreeing that time apart will do every one some good. They seem fed up with the whole situation, and implore Harry to just leave it alone.
Five days before the restraining order is supposed to expire, Harry can stand it no longer. He knows Draco is back from Austria. He needs to see him, just once, and then Harry can ride the high all the way to the 30th day. It’s all he needs to see him through.
He lets himself into The Sweepery’s workshop, and as soon as he claps eyes on Draco, he knows he was sorely mistaken.
One look is never going to be enough.
Draco looks resigned when Harry slides the door closed. He takes his foot off the pedal of the machine he’s working on, and climbs to his feet with the air of someone walking to the gallows.
“I actually thought you’d come sooner,” he says.
“Had to hold myself back from Portkeying all the way to Vienna, if I’m being honest.”
“You couldn't wait nine days?”
“Apparently I couldn’t even wait six.”
Draco sighs. “What do I always say? So desperate.”
Harry nods. In for a penny, and all that. “Yeah. I am. I want to see you and touch you so badly.”
He steps closer, and the boundary shudders as Harry breaks the ten feet.
“I just need to know you care, Draco.”
Draco blinks at this, frowning. “What? Care? Of course I care.”
Harry moves another step forward. “This whole thing with the restraining order, it’s been driving me crazy. Have you not noticed, that it’s always been me approaching you. I’m the one sending my Patronus, or coming to you in the middle of the night. Always me. If it was up to you, would we have even seen each other at all this past month? You’d probably have been grateful for the break, right? You could have spent it with Theo.”
“Theo?” Draco’s nose wrinkles. “Don’t be stupid.”
“That’s the problem,” Harry says, and he’s close now. Very close. “I’ve been stupid for the last six months.”
Draco gapes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just—I need you to show me you want this too. That you want me, because all I can think about is you in Vienna with Theo fucking Nott.”
“Why on earth would you be worrying about Theo?”
“I don’t know!” Harry throws his hands in the air. “Maybe it’s because I care, apparently.”
“About me.”
“Yes, you idiot. About you.”
They’re inches apart now. Harry can count every spidery eyelash, every tiny freckle on Draco’s smooth, pale skin. His hand reaches out, hovering over Draco’s jaw, not quite touching.
“Harry,” Draco says.
“I want to touch you.”
“Don’t.”
“You want me to.”
Draco laughs bitterly. “Of course I want you to.”
“Then tell me.”
The silence is ready to burst, dark and heavy above them. The air feels static-warm, a low pulse of magic surrounding them. Harry’s head is pounding. He feels dizzy.
He starts to move his hand back.
“Wait.” Draco tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “Kiss me. Please.”
Harry’s mouth crashes against Draco’s, hand slipping to cradle his jaw. The force sees them sway backwards on the spot, but Draco holds his feet planted, keeping them steady. Harry stumbles forward, pressing into him, the closest they’ve been in twenty five days. He wants to crawl inside Draco’s bones, tuck himself up in his ribcage. Burrow into marrow and muscle and know that Draco can’t get away, that no magical restraining order can keep them apart.
Harry kisses him, mouth glossy against Draco’s, frantic movements that just find him wanting more and more. He can practically hear Draco’s resolve snap. His hands wrap around Harry’s back, clutching him against his chest, and his mouth finds Harry’s over and over again.
It lasts for exactly five point seven seconds, and then the workshop explodes.
Well, it doesn’t, but the blinding red light and the sharp snap of magic that sends them both reeling certainly makes it feel like it’s the end of the world.
“Order 44B violation alert, Draco Lucius Malfoy against Harry James Potter. Order escalated to magical trace for constant Ministry surveillance. Please remain separated or be relocated to a designated safe space.”
The red light fades. The buzz of ancient enforcement magic dies out.
Harry staggers backward, wide-eyed, blinking through the glare of the spell discharge. “Draco—”
“Don’t.” Draco’s voice cracks.
He’s doubled over, bracing himself against the wall, sleeve pulled up where the magic had struck him. A dull gold Ministry sanction mark is now glowing on the underside of his left forearm—a magical sigil that shimmers faintly in the light of the workshop. It’s not large, and it’s not anything dramatic. If Harry didn’t know where to look, he probably wouldn’t even notice it.
But it sits below where the Dark Mark had once been.
Harry’s breath catches.
“I didn’t know it would—” he starts, voice raw.
“I said don’t.” Draco looks furious and pale, lips drawn tight, staring down at the mark on his arm. His voice, however, is steady. Angry, yes, but calm. He closes his eyes, and when he looks back up at Harry his face is blank of expression, completely devoid of any emotion.
Occlumency.
Harry’s only ever seen Draco use Occlumency once before, when someone vandalised the shop a couple of months ago. Aurors had been called, and Harry had arrived to see Draco in the middle of the room, surrounded by broken glass and splintered wood, with the oddest expression on his face. It had taken Harry a moment to recognise the shutting down of emotions, the self-preservation being employed.
“Draco—”
“This is what’s going to happen,” Draco says, voice as smooth as glass. “You’re going to leave, and you are not going to contact me, under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
“Draco—”
“You’re not going to turn up here. You’re not going to see me. Do you understand?”
“Fuck,” Harry mutters, hands wrenching his hair. He wants to go to him, tell him everything will be okay. He wants to fix this.
“Harry.” Draco drops the Occlumency for a split second, face morphing into a completely wrecked expression, like he’s only just holding himself together. “Tell me you understand.”
“Yes,” Harry breathes out.
He has to do this. It can’t be fixed, he has only one option, or it’s going to ruin everything between them. He knows he pushed too far, made the biggest mistake he could make. If he doesn’t leave it alone now—
Draco’s gone, Disapparating straight out of his own shop without another word.
****
Harry’s sleeping at Ron and Hermione’s cottage when the order breaks at midnight on the thirtieth day.
There’s no fanfare, no all-singing, all-dancing light show to tell him that Draco is now allowed within ten feet of him. Not even one of those infuriating scrolls yelling that they’re now free to approach. Absolutely nothing happens. For all Harry knows, it might still be active. It would just be his luck, after all.
Harry’s not sure what he expected to happen. He’s ran a million different scenarios through his head these last five days. Maybe Draco would be standing on the other side of the door, ready to knock as soon as midnight hit. Maybe Draco would smile and laugh and say how fucking stupid of you, Potter, but he’d kiss him, long and slow, and Harry would know instantly that everything is okay, because Draco still wants him.
Instead, there’s nothing. There’s no Draco, and there’s no reunion, and there’s absolutely nothing to tell Harry that Draco still wants him and everything is okay.
There’s just Hermione and Ron, looking at him with undisguised sympathy over their beans on toast the next morning.
“Maybe he’ll come by later,” Hermione says softly. “After work.”
“Yeah, he’s probably just rushed off his feet,” Ron says, scooping up some beans with his fork. “I bet it’s a busy time in the broomstick world.”
“He’ll have had a new shipment,” Hermione continues.
“Or a conference to prepare for,” Ron adds. “You know what he’s like when he gets lost in his work. He’s just like ‘Mione here.”
“Stop,” Harry says glumly. “You both really don’t have to do this.”
Hermione reaches out to pat his hand. “We’re just trying to help.”
“I know,” Harry says. He turns his palm over to squeeze her fingers. “I appreciate it. You’ve had to put up with me sulking around for the last few days.”
“S’fine,” Ron says around a mouthful of beans. “Felt like old times, like that time Ginny dumped you—”
There’s a thump as Hermione kicks him under the table.
“What are you going to do?” Hermione asks, quickly changing the subject. “Are you going to go and see him?”
“I don’t think I should.”
Ron chokes out a disbelieving laugh. “What? You’ve spent the last month pining over him. You’ve broken the law multiple times just to clap eyes on him—”
Harry opens his mouth to argue.
“—you’ve been doing Merlin knows what in alleyways—”
Harry snaps his mouth shut again.
“—you’ve been in a holding cell and in a disciplinary meeting and even then couldn’t stay away and the poor tosser ended up with a bloody tracking mark on his arm!” Ron throws his hands in the air, spluttering beans and bits of toast all over himself. “And now that you can finally, legally go and see him, you’re just going to stay away!” He looks at Hermione in shock. “Do you hear this? Am I going insane or—”
“Alright, Ron!” Hermione snaps, flustered. “We get your point. I actually think Harry is doing the right thing by staying away from Draco.”
“Mental,” Ron says weakly, slumping back in his chair. “You’re both absolutely mental.”
“I think I need to give him space,” Harry explains. “He’s the one that’s been hurt over and over again by the restraining order. I can’t just go bulldozing in thinking my presence is going to solve anything. I mean, it’s not helped once this past month, has it?”
“I think that’s wise, Harry,” Hermione says. “Maybe you’ve finally learnt something after all of this.”
“Absolutely mental,” Ron repeats with a shake of his head.
****
It’s not easy for Harry to force himself to stay away. Once again it’s a lesson in patience, but this time he’s determined not to break it. He has to prove to Draco, and to himself, that he’s serious about the whole situation. That he's not just waltzing around doing whatever he wants, consequences be damned.
Two days pass. Three, and then four. Soon it’s been a week since the restraining order was lifted and still no word from Draco. Harry feels constantly sick, belly churning, head thumping.
But still, he stays strong.
He’s just finishing up his lunch when the call comes in. His Auror badge vibrates on his chest, and when he pulls it off it flashes Diagon Alley - The Sweepery across the back.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, and Apprates to the alley with a quick turn on his heel. He can’t stay away, not if it could be something serious.
As soon as he lands, he knows something is going on. There’s a crowd forming, moving in the direction of the shop, and there’s the heavy beat of music filling the air. Everyone’s excited, surging towards The Sweepery, laughing and pointing.
Harry pushes through the crowd, trying to crane his neck to see what’s happening. He can only catch glimpses but what he sees is incredible.
The Sweepery is lit up like a firework, pulsing with bright colours that glint and shimmer in the sunshine. Music screams from floating speakers, practically shaking the entire building.
“Excuse me!” Harry shouts. “Auror coming through.”
The crowd parts, and Harry gapes as he finally sees the shop in all its glory.
The window displays have been charmed to appear twice the size, and the signage along the front is at full, blinding wattage. There’s broomsticks zipping in circles around the roof that dip into the crowd suddenly, causing everyone to scream and duck. There’s that stupid half-naked projection of Harry riding one of them, winking at everyone he passes.
“Well,” calls a voice from the doorway. “It’s about time.”
Draco’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. A smirk plays on his lips.
Harry takes a moment, unsure where to focus. He certainly hadn’t rushed over here expecting this.
Draco waits, eyebrow raised.
Inhaling a deep breath, Harry draws himself up tall. He adopts his Serious Auror Face. “Malfoy. I would say that you’re quite obviously breaking many trading and advertising laws.”
Draco looks thoughtfully at the shop front, tilting his chin. “About twenty-six, give or take.”
Harry reaches into his robes, pulling out his notebook. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to write you up for this.”
Draco grins. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
He pushes off the doorframe, looking quite meaningfully down at the space between them. There’s about ten feet of grey cobblestones between his shiny boots and Harry’s battered trainers.
He steps forward. “Sure, Potter.” Another step, and another. “Do it.” Closer, closer. “Write me up—”
He’s so close now, close enough that Harry could reach out and fist the front of his robes. He can smell the spice and broom polish mix, that scent that’s purely Draco that he’s missed so much. Harry clutches his notebook tightly.
“Fine me,” Draco says. “Twenty plus violations, all for you. Every single one of them. Tell me it’s proof enough.”
Harry frowns. “What—proof?”
“You needed proof that I wanted you, that I care about you, like I haven’t been proving it multiple times a week for the last six months,” Draco says. He waves a hand behind him at the shop. “This is proof, Harry, and it’s been proof that I’m so far gone for you it’s not even funny. I’ve taken twenty-six fines from you, and I’ll keep taking them so that you come by and see me.”
Harry huffs in disbelief. “You didn’t need to get yourself fined for me to see you, are you mad?”
“No, you’re mad,” Draco says. “I took a magical restraining order and still couldn’t resist you. There was nothing about me that was restrained. Yes, you said it was you that always came to see me, but I went running every single time. Don’t you see? I spent every moment waiting to hear from you, begging that you’d break.”
The Sweepery may be a disco ball, the music may be absolutely pounding, the crowd may be shouting and laughing, but Harry sees nor hears any of it. His world has narrowed, everything else fading away. There’s just Draco, here, in front of him, less than ten feet away, wanting him.
“Draco,” Harry says. “Please touch me.”
Draco doesn’t need to be asked twice. He’s reaching out and stepping forwards, finally walking directly up to Harry for the first time in a month. Finally sliding his hands around Harry’s waist. Finally bending his neck so he can meet Harry’s mouth and kiss him like Harry’s been desperately waiting for.
Finally.
Harry’s not sure how long they stand there for, making up for time lost at the fault of magical restraining orders. The shop continues to break multiple laws, attracting the attention of every witch and wizard in the entire Diagon Alley district, but still, Harry doesn’t notice or even particularly care.
“Hey!” shouts Ron’s voice from somewhere behind them. “You’re breaking public decency laws. Stop this instant or be relocated to a designated safe space.”
Draco and Harry pull apart, sending daggers Ron’s way.
“Too soon?” Ron asks with a shrug.
Greg’s standing next to him, grinning at them both. “Does this mean the workshop isn’t off limits anymore?”
There’s a loud shriek, as holographic-Harry dive bombs into the crowd, sending people scattering, and Harry looks over with a wince. “Do you think you could maybe cancel all of this, or I really am going to have to write you up.”
“Fine,” Draco says, but it’s with a wink as he pulls out his wand. “I’m thinking of retiring all of this, anyway. I can’t see it being as much fun anymore.”
“Never was fun for me,” Ron mutters.
“There’s no point carrying it all on,” Harry says, as he winds Draco back towards him with a finger in his belt loops. “You won’t need it. You’re not going to be able to get rid of me from now on.”
Draco’s smile is as bright as the beacon of his shop. “Okay, but don’t think I’m giving up calling you Auror Potter any time soon.”
“Don’t. You know I love it.” Harry’s fingertips graze under the cuff of Draco’s shirt. “Are you… alright? Here?” He slides over the smooth underside of Draco’s left arm.
Draco nods. “Yes, thankfully it disappeared when the order was up.”
Harry’s never felt like saying so many invocations to so many gods. He’s just about to lean in again, when someone moving away from the shop snags his attention over Draco’s shoulder.
“Shit,” he mumbles.
“What?” Draco’s looking around, searching the street for what Harry’s narrowing his eyes at.
“It’s Bertram Bigglethorpe, there, in the yellow robes. He’s heading towards the apothecary—”
“His restraining order has broken too, then?” Draco says.
Harry sighs, and he’s about to step away to go and handle the situation, when he pauses suddenly. He looks back at Draco. “On second thoughts, I think I’ll send Ron to deal with that.”
Draco pulls him close, smirk lighting up his face. “Finally, Potter, some restraint.”