Looking Back

by Rit Globe

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: PG13/R Harry has a foul mouth.

Summary: Draco thinks he knows exactly what he wants. Harry proves him wrong.

Notes: Written for the SlashNotSmut fic exchange.

Draco stared down at his father. To think how he used to idolize this man, now curled onto the cold stone floor of his cell. Lucius Malfoy had once been the epitome of everything he wanted. Now, he was just another mindless Death Eater inhabiting Azkaban: a disgrace to once great name of Malfoy.

"Look at you," he sneered, "Sniveling along the floor. The great Lucius Malfoy!" A humourless bark of a laugh escaped Draco.

"How the mighty have the fallen." His emotionless steel gray eyes never moved from the motionless figure of his father.

"You took everything from me." He spat.

"Now I'm going to get it back." Turning on his heel, Draco walked out of his father's cell. He felt the wards flex around him as passed the doorway.

He never looked back.

Harry loved to fly. He felt free, unrestricted, and in control while in the air. Nothing made him happier than flying. Two months after graduation, he signed to play for England as reserve seeker. A year after that, Ersatz Jones, seeker of nearly ten years, retired, leaving the position open to him.

"Harry! Mita Farce from The Daily Prophet! Could you--?"

When accepting the job, he hadn't thought of the negative repercussions of being both The-Man-Who-Lived-to-Defeat-Voldemort and The-Seeker-Who-Won-England-the-World-Cup.

Damn reporters.

"Harry! Witch Weekly readers want to know--!"

"Mr. Potter, any comment on--?"

"Enough!" Roger Sham, the team's coach, barked at the reporters. Harry shot him a grateful look as he made his way through the crowd to the edge of the field where he could apparate.

That's when he saw him.

Leaning against the tree at the edge of the anti-apparation wards was Draco Malfoy. The blond-haired pureblood had suffered great losses, financial and political, after the war and had practially disappeared as far as the rest of the Wizarding World was concerned.

Good riddance.

"Malfoy," Harry spat, hand immediately reaching for his wand.


"Looking for something?"

"I—," Malfoy hesitated, then cleared his throat. Trying to save face, Malfoy? "I have a proposition for you."

"Why should I listen to anything you have to say?"

"Listen, Harry—"



Ferret. The childish insult gave Harry pause. You're all grown-up now, Potter, chided his conscience, which sounded a lot like Hermione,act like it.

"Alright, Malfoy. What do you want?"

Crazy runs in the Malfoy family.

"You're crazy, you know that? A real fucking nutter. If you think I'm going to—"

"But you will. I need you to help raise my status in the Wizarding World. You need me to help rally the rest of the Death Eaters so you can walk down the street without a Ministry-appointed body guard. A fair trade: we will both gain. What do you see as a problem?"

The arrogant blond was right, although the eleven year old inside was screaming at that admission. Even six years after the final battle, Death Eaters remained scattered across the globe hiding from aurors. Every few months one would show up and make an attempt on Harry's life. Given his status as Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World, the Ministry had felt it important to keep its figurehead safe.

"Perhaps a show of good faith is in order?"

"It wouldn't hurt." His voice was more of a mumble than actual speech, but he was sure Malfoy heard him.

"Very well." Malfoy snapped his fingers and a long, elegant peacock feather quill appeared. He pulled a piece of parchment from his breast pocket and scribbled down two words.

Counterfeit Manor.

"You'll find several low-ranking Death Eaters there, all plotting and planning your demise I'm sure. Take it to your auror," Here, Malfoy gestured vaguely at Tonks who was still instead the apparation barrier. "When they find them, I'll find you. I expect your answer then."

And with that, Draco Malfoy apparated away.

Harry turned back toward the crowd and caught Tonks' eye. She gestured him over and he slipped the parchment into his pocket.

He didn't look back.

"They found them."

It wasn't a question, and Harry didn't know what to say with Draco Malfoy standing at his door with every reason to act smug and superior and not taking it.What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

No. "I guess."

Malfoy nodded as he entered, still no trace of a smug smirk on his lips. He scanned the living room of Harry's flat from one side to the other before moving to sit on the couch. Harry scowled at the thought of Draco Malfoy on his furniture. It'll take months to get the stench of ferret out.


"You know my terms, Potter."

He did. Six months—that's what Malfoy wanted. Six months of being best friends with Draco Malfoy. Going to events together. Taking him to press conferences. Getting him the best seats at England's quidditch games…

"And they'll get them all? Every last one of them?"

Malfoy nodded.


"Mr. Potter, who is your date this evening?"

"Minister, I'm sure you remember Draco Malfoy. He's a very good, very old friend of mine."

Even after three months the words came out funny. Yeah, great friend.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I hear you've been working to open an apothecary…buying the old Magical Melodies store?"

"You've heard correctly, I—"

Malfoy sure knew how to put on the charm. Harry tuned him out as he glanced around the ballroom at the high-class members of Wizarding society the minister deemed important enough to invite. Some of them had their noses so high in the air Harry was sure he could see straight through to their tiny brains. The women all laughed like birds, finding nothing actually funny, and the men all hovered around the alcohol, waiting for the evening to be over.

"Harry," Malfoy drawled, tugging on his sleeve and pulling him out of his thoughts. "The minister wants to know your thoughts on the war memorial…"

"I can't do this anymore."

"We have an agreement."

Harry tossed his book at Malfoy. The blond just dodged, reminding Harry that Draco was a seeker too, just like he was.

No, he thought, not just like me. Not like me at all.

"The agreement is null and void! You've got your fame and recognition! Your position in society! They caught Lestrange last week. You have no more bargaining chips."

"I'll leave when we've seen this through. There are two more months left. I won't leave until then."

Anger boiled in Harry as Draco—Malfoy—just continued to peruse the contents of his cupboards. How fucking dare he!

"No, you'll leave now! Now, Malfoy. You hear me?"

"I'll leave in two months," Draco—Malfoy—turned towards him and crossed his arms across his chest. "As it states in our agreement."

Harry grabbed at Malfoy's neck and pushed him against the wall. Fuck!

"Fuck you! Do you hear me Malfoy? Fuck you! This is my house! My life! You'll leave when I fucking tell you to!"

And then he kissed him. It was rough and brutish and nothing about it smacked of romance or flowers, but it was a kiss. His tongue was in Draco Malfoy's mouth.

This time fuck had a different meaning.

Until Draco pushed him away. In Draco's eyes he saw what had been missing since the beginning. The anger and the arrogance returned. The spoiled Slytherin Prince stood there, looking thoroughly snogged, and glared at him.

And then he walked away.

He didn't look back.

A knock on the door woke Harry up. He'd fallen asleep on the couch after hours of agonizing about Draco Fucking Malfoy.

He'd come to the conclusion the past few months had been a bad dream. Draco was gone now, and he wouldn't have to deal with him anymore.

And then he opened the door.

Standing there, looking a bit like a wet rat was Draco. Drenched from head to toe, chest heaving like he'd run the marathon and standing in front of him.


The light reflected in Draco's eyes was sinister: a mix of hate, anger, and something else. Something like lust.

And then Draco Malfoy kissed him.

It wasn't soft or romantic, but it was real and heady.

Draco broke the kiss and stared at him and Harry didn't know whether to tell him to leave or to stay.

Draco took the decision out of his hands as he walked away—

Straight to his bedroom.

This time, he looked back. And smirked.

Harry followed.