Disclaimer: I'm just playing with JK's toys.

Warnings: Contains SLASH. Rated M for a reason.

Breaking All The Rules


"Anyone we know?" Granger greeted him when she walked into their office on Monday morning.

"Funny, Granger." Draco rolled his eyes, though he wasn't quite able to resist shooting another glance at the front page of the Prophet, still sitting in the middle of his desk.

It was a stunning picture, even if he did say so himself. He hadn't yet worked out who'd taken it, but based on the setting he half suspected Granger herself. He'd been pretty certain at the time that no one had seen them together, but clearly he'd been mistaken. There, on the front page of the prophet, beneath the highly original title of 'Harry Potter and the Death Eater', was a large photograph of he and Potter, wrapped up in a steamy embrace. The golden boy had Draco shoved up against one of Granger's kitchen cabinets as he practically devoured him with his lips. Draco's hands were tangled in the Gryffindor's hair, while Potter's fingers had somehow worked their way under Draco's shirt. They were pressed so tightly together that it was hard to see where one of them ended and the other began. He had already spent nearly ten minutes staring at the picture before Granger's arrival, only just managing to stop himself from reaching out to caress Potter's face.

"And you spent yesterday together as well?" She sounded so smug Draco would have been tempted to lie just to wind her up, if he hadn't been sure that Potter had already told her all about it.

"Yes, we did. As you well know." He arched an eyebrow at her.

She grinned back at him, unruffled. "I knew it would work out."

"Don't count your chickens yet, it's only been one date."

"Yes, but it was still a second date and for Harry that's a first."

"I don't think you can quite count the first time as a date."

"A technicality." She dismissed his argument. "And you know I'm right. You're the only man Harry has ever gone back to. That's a big deal and you know it as well as I do."

"Perhaps, but it's not going to be plain sailing."

"No, but it's a step in the right direction. You'll be good for him. You'll be good for each other."

"I hope you're right." Was all Draco could say in response as he finally slid the Prophet into his drawer for safe keeping.


The morning passed as usual after that, the pair of them working in companiable silence. If Draco was still a little distracted, his mind continuing to replay the events of the past couple of days, he didn't show it, burying himself in paperwork instead. Just before lunch, Draco headed to the file store, nearly groaning with irritation when he ran straight into Simon in the doorway.

"Morning, Draco."

He nodded curtly, turning his attention to the files he was looking for.

"I see you finally gave in to Harry Potter's charms." There was an odd edge to his voice and Draco wondered if he was jealous, though whether of Potter or himself was anyone's guess.

"So it would seem." Draco began stacking files on the table, cursing the need to do things by hand so as not to damage the delicate stasis spells protecting the older documents.

Simon fell unexpectedly silent after that and when Draco next looked round he found the boy giving him a look somewhere between condescending and pitying. It was the same look Draco had given to countless others, Simon included, when they were still fresh out of Potter's bed and hoping for a second invitation. It was different this time, of course, after all, Draco had already received and enjoyed his second invite, but the expression caused an unexpected jolt somewhere in the region of his heart. What if he was wrong? What if he had just been taken in by Potter's lines like all the other fools that had fallen into the Gryffindor's trap? They had made no further plans to see each other and just because Draco had won himself a second night in Potter's arms did not really mean that the other man had changed.

Not wanting to allow himself to continue along that particular line of thought, he began restacking the files in his arms, attempting to balance the towering pile to avoid the need for another trip.

"Do you want a hand?"

Draco almost said no, just to spite the boy who dared to think that he was just another notch on Potter's bed-post, but he pushed the childish thought away.

"Thank you." He passed half the files to Simon, waiting for the boy to proceed him out of the store, before following on.

At the door to the office, Simon stopped suddenly, blocking Draco's path and nearly causing him to drop a few of his folders.

"Simon, will you please move. These are heavy."

"Right, sorry." He sounded ruffled as he stepped into the room, moving to place the folders on Draco's desk.

Following behind him, it was Draco's turn to stop short, his eyes going wide. There, sitting on the edge of his desk, swinging his legs and humming to himself, was the Boy Who Lived, or more appropriately, the man who turned Draco's legs to jelly.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

He heard Simon gasp, clearly surprised by the blunt way he'd spoken to the Gryffindor, but Draco ignored him, setting his load down on the table before stepping back to regard Potter carefully.

"I thought I'd come and take you to lunch, if you're free?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Simon's jaw drop open in shock and it was this that seemed to shake Draco out of his daze.

"Fine, but you're paying." He turned away to retrieve his leather jacket from the hook by the door.

"Of course." The Gryffindor sounded amused and a moment later he felt a hand helping him into his coat.

"Leather suits you." Potter smoothed down the front of the jacket before giving him a slow once over, setting Draco's heart racing.

"It's his one muggle indulgence." Granger interjected, providing a timely reminder that they had an audience.

"Well I approve." Potter smirked.

"Good for you." Draco rolled his eyes. "Are we going for lunch or not? I only have an hour."

The Gryffindor held up his hands in mock surrender. "We're going, we're going."

Draco didn't bother to reply, turning instead towards the door. He had only taken one step when Granger called him back.

"Draco? I almost forgot, I have something for you."

"Can't it wait until after lunch?" He griped.

"Oh this isn't work related." She said lightly. "Here."

Before he could say a word, a large manila envelope was thrust into his hands. He knew what it was immediately, recognising the stationary even before he spotted the label on the front. He bit back a groan. He was going to kill Granger this time, he really was.

"What's that?" Potter asked curiously.

"Nothing important."

"Aww go on, let me see?"

"No, Potter, mind your own business."

The Gryffindor pouted and Draco nearly screamed with frustration.


"I said no." Draco gritted.


He closed his eyes for a moment, praying for strength and it was the chance Potter had been looking for. Draco's eyes flew open and he lunged forward, but it was too late. Death was too generous for Granger, it would be life-imprisonment, instead, without a single book for the meddling witch to read.

"Is this what I think it is?" Potter asked after a moment, still staring at the label on the front of the envelope.

"We're going to lunch. Now." Draco snarled, grabbing hold of Potter's wrist and dragging him forcibly out of the room, Granger's laughter echoing behind him.

"So, care to explain?" The Gryffindor asked, waving the envelope at him while they waited for the lift.

"Not really." Draco snatched it back, tucking it away inside his jacket.

"Explain anyway."

Draco sighed, mentally cursing Granger yet again. "Fine, but not here."

The Gryffindor nodded, accepting Draco's delay tactics for now at least. The lift arrived a moment later and they joined the crush of people escaping the office for their lunch break. Potter garnered more than a few surprised looks, especially when people realised who he was accompanying, but no one seemed to have the guts to say anything and a few minutes later, the two of them were out in the open, walking towards a cluster of wizard run restaurants a few streets over. They found a table towards the back of one of the nicer establishments and settled in opposite each other. Potter waited only until they had ordered before casting a muffliato charm around them and returning to their earlier conversation.

"So?" He prompted.

Draco picked up his fork and began to fidget, not quite able to meet the Gryffindor's eyes.

"You've probably guessed what they are, I don't need to tell you."

"Based on the fact they were labelled 'Harry Potter - Witch Weekly centre-fold shoot', I don't think I needed to do much guessing. The question is, why do you have them?"

"Because Granger gave them to me."

"And why exactly did Hermione give them to you?"

Draco winced, wondering desperately if there was a way out of this that didn't involve the truth. It seemed unlikely though, particularly as there was every chance that the Gryffindor would go straight to Granger for coroboration. Even if Draco managed to reach her first, he thought it unlikely that she would agree to lie for him.

"We had a bet." Draco spoke haltingly. "And I won."

"The prize was naked photographs of me?" Potter asked sounding slightly incredulous. "Why would you want those?"

It was Draco's turn to express incredulity. "After the weekend we've just had do you really need me to answer that? And before you jump to conclusions, no I wasn't planning on selling them."

"I... ok, I suppose I can see why you might be, er, interested." He cleared his throat, seeming unexpectedly embarrassed before he pressed on. "So what did Hermione get if she won?"

He grimaced. "My agreement that I'd go on a date with Simon."

"Who's Simon?" There was a slight frown on Potter's face that Draco tried desperately not to read into.

"A colleague of sorts. You saw him, he was with me when I got back to the office." He paused for half a beat before adding, "You've shagged him."

Potter's frown deepened. "Why would she want you to go out with him?"

If Draco hadn't known better he might have thought that the Gryffindor was jealous. He certainly didn't seem to like the thought of Draco dating his young work mate.

"She thought I was being too fussy." He had no intention of explaining his 'fussiness' any further.

Apparently just as keen to move on from the subject as Draco, Potter asked another question. Unfortunately, it was the one question Draco really didn't want to answer.

"What was the bet?"

Draco took a deep breath before fixing the Gryffindor with a steady gaze. "I'll tell you, but I need you to listen to everything I have to say before you go leaping to conclusions."

"It was about me, wasn't it?" Potter said with unexpected perceptivness.

He wanted to say no, to reprimand the Gryffindor for jumping to conclusion before Draco had even begun, but Potter was right.

"Yes." Draco said simply.

"I thought it might be. You coming to Hermione's party seemed so... unexpected. I thought there must have been something more behind it."

"Granger was worried about you. She knew you were running from something, but she didn't know what. Then when she heard about what happened after graduation, she put it all together."

Potter looked as though he were about to interrupt, but somewhat surprisingly, seemed to reign himself in, biting his lip and letting Draco finish.

"She knew I still wanted you and she thought that you wanted me too, you just didn't know how to deal with it. The bet wasn't really a bet, it was just her way of persuading me to take the risk and take a chance on you. I'm sorry."

Draco fell silent, waiting for the explosion that he was certain must be imminent, but nothing happened. For a full minute they sat there in silence before Potter finally spoke.

"Hermione knows about what happened between us?" He asked quietly, his expression blank.

Draco nodded.

"How long?"

"Only a week. Look, I'm sorry, I..."

The Gryffindor held up his hand, halting Draco mid sentence.

"You don't need to apologise. I wish you hadn't told her, but what's done is done. I don't think she'll tell anyone, especially not Ginny or Ron and besides, it was a long time ago."

"So why are you still beating yourself up about it?" Draco asked before he could help himself.

Harry's expression twisted into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. "I've never been too good at dealing with guilt."

"I'd noticed." Draco responded dryly, wondering if it was possible that Potter really wasn't angry with him.

As if hearing Draco's thoughts, the Gryffindor added, "And don't think you're off the hook quite yet. I'm still not sure how I feel about you and Hermione plotting behind my back... Though I suppose it worked out well enough in the end."

"She only had your best interests at heart." Draco pointed out, not beyond using the other man's Gryffindorish nature to achieve his own ends.

"And you did too, I suppose?"

"No, I had somewhat different interests, mostly relating to certain other body parts." Draco shot back, finally allowing himself to relax.

"I'd noticed." Potter echoed his earlier comment with a smirk, before motioning to the pocket of Draco's jacket, slung over the back of his seat. "So which ones are they?"

"How should I know?"

"Why not have a look, then?" Potter's smile became positively feral.

"What? Here?" Draco glanced round automatically at the busy restaurant.

"Live a little dangerously."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I always knew you were a total exhibitionist."

Potter laughed. "Not really, but if I know Hermione, she'll have put a few spells on those for safety, in case they get into the wrong hands."

Draco gritted his teeth, but before he could say anything, the Gryffindor spoke again.

"I'm not saying she doesn't trust you, just that she wouldn't want to risk anyone getting hold of them if they were to find out you had them."

Feeling only slightly molified, Draco nonetheless retrieved the envelope from his jacket. Taking a deep steadying breath, he slid the stack of photographs out of their protective sleeve.

He had thought he'd prepared himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him now. There were a dozen pictures in all and each one was hotter than the last.

The first image showed Potter on the bed again, though this time there were no sheets covering his bits. Instead, hands belonging to unseen people were piled in his lap while yet more stroked over the rest of him. One, obviously female, stroked the length of his right thigh while another distinctly male hand ran over his chest, brushing over a nipple as he went. It was smoulderingly hot, certainly, but it merely served to increase Draco's jealousy and he quickly moved on to another.

The next few all had a Quidditch theme and Draco much preferred those. In one, Potter was stood in the middle of the pitch, holding a quaffle in front of his hips, though he looked as though he might toss it away at any moment. In another he was seated in the stands, one leg propped up on the bench to protect his modesty while he stared out at the empty pitch, seemingly waiting for a match to start. Another image had Potter kneeling over a crate of balls, his fingers working on the fastenings which held the snitch in place. It was the only picture other than the original shower photograph that showed off the firm globes of Potter's arse and Draco found that he had to swallow hard to keep from visibly drooling over the image.

There were two more shower pictures in the complete collection. The first showed the Gryffindor front on, his hands running over his own body as he rubbed a bar of soap over his skin leaving trails of suds, the majority of which had been artfully arranged between his legs to create a pair of foam underpants. The other photograph showed him washing away the soap, his hands covering his bits as he let the water sluice over his skin.

There was yet another picture in which he sat on a picnic blanket beside a smart wicker hamper. A plate of fresh strawberries sat by his knee along with two champagne glasses. The bottle had been positioned between his legs while he worked at the cork with his fist. If anything the picture was even more provocative than the one with the broom that Granger had already given him. A second photo, clearly taken soon after, had Potter leaning back against the basket, feeding himself strawberries from the plate now balanced in his lap. He was apparently a very messy eater, however, and with every bite juice seemed to trickle over his chin, down his chest and along his arm. The third picture in the series was back with the champagne. The dish of fruit still in his lap, the Gryffindor had apparently decided that the best way of cleaning up the spilled juice was to wash it off with the sparkling wine. Ignoring the glasses, he had lifted the bottle to his lips, pouring a small amount into his mouth and the remainder down his deliciously naked body. By the time Draco tore his gaze away he had the strongest urge to take Potter on a picnic with a hamper full of champagne and strawberries.

One pair of pictures appeared to have been taken at Hogwarts, although he assumed they had not actually been shot on location. The stone walls and familiar scarred desks still sent an odd rush of nostalgia through him, though the setting was not enough to distract him for long. In the first photograph, Potter was actually somewhat dressed, though the presence of clothing seemed designed merely to highlight the vital parts of his outfit that were missing. He wore only a robe, barely clinging on to his shoulders, paired with a Gryffindor tie draped loosely around his bare neck. Reclining in what was obviously meant to be the teachers chair, he had his feet up on the desk and an insolent expression on his face. A notebook sat in his lap and he twirled a quill in one hand, pausing every now and then to stroke the feather over his lips. Everything from his debauched state of dress, to the way he was sitting gave the impression of a disobedient school boy and Draco found himself fighting against a desire to acquire an old school desk, just so that he could bend Potter over it. The second picture seemed tamer, though the Gryffindor had discarded the rest of his clothing prior to the shot. Carefully positioned behind a small cauldron, the Gryffindor was stirring the concoction with his finger, before lifting the digit out to taste the potion. It was a ridiculous pose, not least because Potter had always been shockingly bad at potions. Of course, he was also stirring the mixture with his finger which was almost never a good idea, though admittedly the 'potion' looked a lot more like melted chocolate than anything else.

Draco couldn't quite decide on a favourite but the twelfth photograph, the one of Potter straddling a muggle motorbike was definitely one of his top three. Granger may have thought that his jacket was his only muggle indulgence but he had to admit, though only in private, that he had a certain fascination with motorbikes. There was something inescapably hot about a fit man wearing tight leather with a powerful metal beast between his thighs. It had never really occurred to him that the same pose without the leathers would be even hotter. In this shot, Potter wore nothing but a smirk, his hands wrapped around the handle bars. The angle of the camera and the position of his knee were the only things protecting his modesty. There was no sound of course, but from the way the Gryffindor kept shifting, he could almost hear the engine revving like a roaring lion.


He forced his eyes away from the photographs to glance up at their subject, only to find Potter grinning at him. Belatedly he wondered how many times the Gryffindor had called his name before finally gaining his attention.


He tried for nonchalance, but he wasn't quite sure he'd made it, especially when he found his gaze returning to the pictures in front of him without his consent.

"Do you like them?"

'Of course I bloody like them', Draco nearly snapped, before carefully bringing himself back under control.

"Very artistic." He said instead.

"Bollocks." Potter snorted, digging through the pile until he found the shot of him decorking the champagne bottle wedged between his thighs. "That is not art. It's porn."

Draco found himself biting back a laugh as he admired the photograph again. Admittedly he generally didn't spend his evenings wanking over the multitude of priceless paintings in his family's collection, no matter how much skin was on show.

"And you didn't answer my question." The Gryffindor pressed, letting his voice take on a husky, seductive tone.

"What question?" Draco swallowed roughly at the sight of the heated expression on Potter's face.

"Do you like them?"

"Yes." He whispered, letting his attention drop once more to the excess of perfectly tanned skin displayed in front of him.

"Are you going to take them home?"

"Well I wasn't planning on sticking them up behind my desk." Draco's tone wasn't quite as flippant as he'd hoped.

"Will you wank over them?"

His eyes shot up from the table to meet Potter's heated gaze.

"Do you want me to?" Draco countered.


"Will you imagine it?" From the molten expression on Potter's face, it seemed he had effectively turned the tables on their conversation.

"Yes... But what will you imagine?" Potter shifted slightly in his seat and Draco wondered if the Gryffindor was even close to being as hard as he was. "Will you imagine bending me over a school desk? Or licking champagne off of my chest? Or riding me on the back of my motorbike?"

As the other man spoke, he rifled through the pictures, providing visual accompaniment for each suggestion. As if Draco needed any more stimulation. The photographs alone were more than enough to heat his blood, but with the subject of them sitting so close, pouring lusty words in his ear, he felt hot enough to spontaneously combust.

"Your motorbike?" He asked roughly.

"Mhmm." Potter's finger traced over the metallic beast, mostly serving to draw Draco's attention to the Gryffindor's muscular thighs. "Do you like that idea then?"

"Yes." He admitted.

"I never had you down as a motorbike fan." Potter teased.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me." Draco retorted, though there was no venom in his tone.

"I'd like to change that."

Draco nodded. "I'd like that too."

Potter smirked suddenly. "I'd certainly like to take you for a ride on my Harley."

There was a vaguely lascivious note to the Gryffindor's tone and Draco found himself gazing back down at the picture in front of him, imagining how it would feel to climb onto the bike behind Potter, their bodies pressed tightly together. He was so engrossed in his reverie that he didn't even notice when a waitress came to deliver their food. It wasn't until she pointed to the photograph that he became aware of her presence at all.

"What an adorable puppy! Is he yours?"

"Yes." Potter spoke up when it seemed Draco had been rendered incapable of replying.

"Well he's lovely." She smiled at them. "Enjoy your meal!"

Potter thanked her and she departed, leaving them alone in their bubble.

"I'm glad I was right about Hermione." Potter quipped lightly. "Or that could have been very embarrassing."

"Indeed. I don't think I've ever heard you called a puppy before." Draco tried to use the distraction to bring himself back under control, willing away the raging hard on that he would only be able to conceal beneath the table for so long.

"No I can't say I have been." Potter laughed. "I didn't know puppies rode motorbikes either."

"Apparently you can do anything, even in puppy form." Draco commented lightly, collecting up the pictures and returning them to their envelope.

Without the distracting images in front of him, Draco found himself able to concentrate once more, though his blood still pounded through his veins at twice its normal rate. Taking a bite of his lunch, he watched the Gryffindor across the table until the other man became aware of Draco's attention.

"What?" He asked through a mouthful of food.

Draco ate another bite, swallowing before asking his own question. "Why did you do it?"

Potter had the grace to look embarrassed.

"It was stupid really. A drinking game that got out of hand."

"Only you could lose a drinking game and end up splashed across the centre-fold of Witch Weekly with no clothes on."

"I didn't lose exactly..." Potter sounded slightly sheepish.

"Go on."

"Alright. I was out on a stag night with some friends and after doing our best to drink the bar dry at about three different night clubs in muggle London, we ended up in this dive of a place on Knockturn Alley playing drinking games. It probably would have been fine if we'd gone anywhere else, but this particular establishment is apparently famous for selling a foreign brand of Firewhiskey laced with a type of veritaserum..."

"Potter, you know that stuff is highly illegal in this country."

"I was off duty!"

"I can't believe the bar tender even sold it to you."

"I was under a glamour, they didn't know it was me."

"Well that explains why it didn't make the front page of the Prophet at least."

"Do you want to hear the rest of this story or not?" The Gryffindor frowned at him.

"I apologise. So you were in a bar in Knockturn Alley imbibing illegal alcohol and...?"

Potter glared at him for a moment longer before continuing with his tale.

"It was all going swimmingly until someone decided to buy a bottle. We ended up playing truth or dare and it was fine at first. The questions were filthy, the dares peverted, but it was all in good fun. Then it turned serious. Someone asked the groom if he was nervous about getting married, I suppose they expected him to turn into a gibbering wreck, but he said no. He was over the moon and could barely wait to get his fiancee down the aisle. The mood changed after that and the questions changed with it. Someone asked me who the best shag of my life had been and I couldn't bring myself to answer. They threatened me with a forfeit, making it as dramatic as possible, thinking they'd force me into answering, but I wouldn't. The forfeit was to pose for the magazine and in the end I agreed."

"You couldn't have got out of it afterwards?"

"Justin Finch-Fletchley was the one who came up with the forfeit. He was never going to let me back out and besides, I gave my word."

"Gryffindor idiot."

"Yes." Potter agreed with a half smile.

"Why wouldn't you just answer the question, surely that would have been better?"

"Maybe, who knows? But so many people have already seen me naked, it seemed like the lesser of two evils to let a few more."

Draco said nothing, but couldn't quite hide his grimace of distaste.

"I know what you must think of me." Potter said softly. "I know I'm a total slut and I'm not proud of it, but I had my reasons for staying silent. My body may not be much of a mystery any more, but my heart is still mine."

Despite what Potter had just said, he was still half tempted to ask the Gryffindor the question he had refused to answer in the past. Chewing on his food, he considered his options until he realised that Potter was smirking at him.

"You can ask me if you want to."

"Ah, but will I get an answer?"

"Perhaps." Potter remained enigmatic.

"Who was it?"

"You." He winked before adding, "And my answer hasn't changed since that night at the bar."

"Funny, Potter."

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

"That your best ever shag was the first time you bottomed? In the middle of a fucking field? And never mind all the crap that came afterwards. How could that possibly have been the best?"

Potter shrugged. "I never said it was perfect, just that it was the best I'd ever had. I told you that on Saturday night as well, if you recall. It wasn't just a line."


"It was special because it was with you." Potter interrupted. "I'd never wanted anyone so much in my life, never needed someone so much. It felt incredible, being with you like that, knowing that no one else had ever touched me the way you were touching me... No one else has ever made me feel like that before or since."

"Potter..." Draco didn't know what to say, completely blown away by what the Gryffindor had revealed so openly.

"Call me Harry? Please?"

Draco swallowed roughly, feeling oddly as though he was about to say something far more momentous than just the Gryffindor's first name.

"Ok... Harry."

Potter, no, Harry, smiled brilliantly, the expression reminding Draco of the sun coming out from behind a cloud. The next thing he knew, the Gryffindor had practically dived across the table, tangling his fingers in Draco's hair and pressing their lips together. In that moment, he forgot everything, where they were, who was watching, all of it. All he could think or see or feel was Harry. Even so, when the nearly blinding flash went off, Draco couldn't help but be pulled right back down to earth. Their lips parted and Harry looked round. Belatedly following the Gryffindor's lead, Draco turned his head, immediately catching sight of the Daily Prophet photographer making no attempt to hide his presence.

"I think we'll make tomorrow's front page as well." Harry said wryly.

"That'll be a first."

The Gryffindor looked briefly confused. "What will?"

"You being snapped with the same man twice." Draco's tone was teasing and for the first time there was no edge to his voice.

"They'll stop eventually. There's only so many times they can put us on the cover before people will start getting bored of it."

"I'm not sure twice is enough to bore people."

"No, but I wasn't planning on stopping at two."

"Pictures or dates?" Draco queried.


"What number were you intending to stop at then?" Draco found himself holding his breath as he waited for Harry's answer.

"How about we start at a hundred and go from there?"

"That's a lot of dates." Draco's tone was flippant though his heart had begun to pound.

"Should take a year or two at least."

"We'd better get started then."

"Kiss me again and I'm sure there will be more photos. As for the rest... let me take you to dinner tomorrow night?"

Smirking, Draco leaned back across the table, reaching out to tangle his fingers in Harry's mop of messy hair.

"Pick me up on your bike and I'm sure that can be arranged."

"I'll be there at seven." Harry promised with a grin and this time when their lips met, even the photographers weren't enough to distract them from each other.