Draco stared at the black bottle on his desk, as though trying to see the secrets it contained through the opaque glass. His fingers drummed lightly on the desktop. He heard a rustle from down the hall, made by the only other Auror that kept the same ridiculous hours as Draco.

Said Auror paused in the doorway as he did every night, opened his mouth to say something deep and meaningful, as he did every night, but instead of his usual hastily muttered, "'Night, Malfoy," tonight the man paused and restrained himself from uttering his customary two word farewell.

"What's that?" asked the bane of Draco's existence. Draco shut his eyes and prayed for strength.

"It's a bottle, Potter. I'm glad your title of Super Auror is well-earned."

"What's in it?" Potter asked with his uncanny ability to ignore perfectly good sarcasm.

"A potion, most likely," Draco replied, biting his tongue before he wasted any more disdain. Well, perhaps a bit of disdain slipped out.

"Most likely? You don't know?" Potter asked and walked a couple of steps into the room, which was quite shocking, considering the Great Potter had never set a foot in Draco's office in the eight months they'd been working just down the hall from each other. On the rare occasions Potter needed to drop off a folder, he always sent an underling to do so.

"Careful Potter. Once in, you might not get out again," Draco warned.

Potter stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you seem terrified to enter my office. I just wanted you to know that you're entering unholy ground."

Potter scowled. "I'm not afraid to enter your office. I just assumed you didn't want me to."

"And your assumptions are always correct," Draco said in a dry tone. Potter sighed and ran a hand through his hair, apparently in order to muss it up even more, since that was the result. Potter turned to leave, but Draco said, "It came by owl post a few minutes ago."

Potter stopped, and Draco watched curiously as an internal struggle crossed the Gryffindor's features. Draco knew Potter planned to go straight home. The Golden Boy of the Ministry was nothing if not predictable. The bottle on Draco's desk had to offer a tantalizing break in the tedium. There had not even been an interesting case in weeks.

"Who sent it?" Potter asked and took two more steps into the room. Draco put an index finger on the small card and slid it across the desk, making no effort to put it close to Potter. The Hero of the Wizarding World walked forward and picked up the card. Draco restrained himself from putting a hand out and snatching Potter's wrist just to see how high the Auror would jump. He suppressed a smile at the image.

"'To Draco Malfoy,'" Potter read. "That's it?"

"That's it, Potter." Draco reached for the bottle and Potter's hand flashed out to clutch Draco's wrist in a bizarre reversal of the scenario Draco had just envisioned. To Draco's credit, he didn't jump, although his eyes flew to Potter's.

"Don't open it!" Potter admonished in an alarmed tone.

"If you're scared, Potter, go back to your office," Draco sneered.

"Don't be an idiot," Potter snapped.

Draco glared and tried to yank the cork out of the bottle, but Mr. Auror Supreme was stronger than he looked. His grip tightened on Draco's wrist.

"Knock it off, Malfoy. Just send it down to the Department of Mysteries and have them analyze it."

"I'm not afraid of a bloody potion. Besides, I wasn't planning to drink it."

"Potions don't have to be ingested to be dangerous."

Draco reached up and covered Potter's grip with his other hand. He caressed Potter's wrist slightly with his fingertips.

"Worried about me, Potter?" Draco asked in a silken tone. Potter snatched his hand away and Draco smirked at the flash of panic in the green eyes, before the anger took over.

"Do what you want, Malfoy," Potter snarled and stalked toward the door.

"Thank you, I will," Draco said and popped the cork.

Liquid exploded from the black bottle and sprayed Draco's arms, face, and hair in a silvery blast.

Potter raced back, instantly solicitous, and leaned over Draco.

"Oh my god, Draco, are you all right?"

Draco noted the use of his first name with surprise. Potter did not wait for an answer, but spelled the liquid back into the bottle and used a Cleaning Charm to remove what was left from Draco's skin.

Draco tore at the buttons on his shirt, struggling to take it off.

"Hot…" Draco said and tore the cuffs. He threw the shirt aside while Potter glared at him.

"Stupid, stubborn, Slytherin half-wit!" he said. "We've got to get you to St. Mungo's right now!"

"I'm fine, Potter, just a bit warm," Draco said as he kicked off his boots and unfastened his trousers.

"What are you doing?" Potter yelped.

"Just cooling off," Draco said calmly as his trousers joined the shirt on the floor. Draco's hands went to the waistband of his boxers, but Potter made a strangled noise and grabbed his wrists. There seems to be a lot of wrist-grabbing going on tonight, Draco thought.

"Come on, I'm taking you to the hospital."

Potter slid an arm beneath Draco and around his back to drag him from the chair. The Gryffindor pulled a bit too hard, probably expecting Draco to resist, and they both sprawled on the floor. Draco heard the breath oof from Potter as he landed on the Auror. Draco's face buried itself in the Chosen One's neck and the soft black hair tickled his forehead.

"You smell awfully good," Draco murmured against Potter's throat. "Who would have guessed? Eau de Potter."

The Gryffindor gasped and pushed Draco off. Potter rolled to his feet. Without pausing, he grabbed Draco's hands and hoisted him up. Draco stumbled against him, nearly knocking them down again, but Potter steadied them.

"Let's get you downstairs. You're burning up, and babbling."

Ever since the Prophecy incident in the Department of Mysteries, anti-Apparition spells had been draped all over the Ministry. They could only Disapparate from the lobby.

Potter kept an arm around Draco's waist and pulled him to the lift. Draco noticed the black bottle clutched in Potter's left hand along with his wand. Draco had flung an arm around Potter's neck and he toyed with the buttons on Potter's collar. The Auror cleared his throat, sounding a bit anxious, Draco thought. Probably hoping no one would spot him dragging a near-nude fellow Auror through the halls. Luckily, the Ministry was typically deserted at this hour of the night.

"What do you think the potion is?" Potter asked casually as they waited for the lift to arrive. He continued in his best Hermione Granger imitation, "It was silvery colored. And the texture looked somewhat oily. Did you ingest any? Or get some in your eyes?"

Draco had not released his grasp on the Gryffindor, and now he returned his face to the heady delight of Potter's neck. The Auror stiffened, but made no move to push Draco away.

"No… The fever is probably just a side effect. Nothing silver is terribly dangerous, except certain poisons containing mercury," Draco murmured. Every word made his lips slide against Potter's neck. He felt the brunet shiver. Interesting reaction. He wondered what would happen if he licked…

"Mercury!" Potter burst out. He hammered the lift button impatiently, causing the end of his wand to bang into the wall.

"Don't worry, Potter, I think I'd be feeling the effects by now if I were poisoned."

"You've got a raging fever and you can barely stand!" Potter said as the doors opened. He towed Draco into the lift. "Those sound like 'effects' to me!"

"I'm not going to St. Mungo's, Potter," Draco said.

"Yes. You are."

"No, I am not. I've seen how they treat former Death Eaters there. I'm sure they'll take fabulous care of me once they see this!"

Draco shoved his forearm before Potter's eyes. The dim lighting in the elevator made the Dark Mark look uglier than usual. Potter pushed Draco's arm down gently.

"You know that's not true," Potter said.

"It is," Draco said petulantly. "You wouldn't know, anyway, would you, Mr. Save the World?"

Draco fought his way out of Potter's embrace, but the Gryffindor followed as he backed away.

"Come on, Malfoy, this could be serious."

Draco shook his head. "I think it's just the residue," he said rationally. "If it's oil-based, it's still on my skin, despite your Cleaning Charm. I just need to wash it off. A simple shower will do the trick."

"We'll let the mediwizards decide that," Potter said with that annoying stubborn look he got when he was determined to save someone against their will.

"I'm not going," Draco replied with the same stubbornness.

"How do you plan to stop me?" Potter goaded. "You left your wand in your office with your clothes."

"Accio wand," Draco said, and Potter's wand flew into Draco's hand. Draco chuckled at the astonishment in the green eyes.

"Honestly, Potter, some days I just can't believe you defeated the Dark Lord."

The Gryffindor scowled as Draco's chuckles turned into something resembling a real laugh. Potter stepped forward with hand outstretched, probably expecting to wrest his wand away, but Draco put it behind his back mischievously.

The lift doors opened.

"Give me my wand, Malfoy."

"No."

Potter stepped closer, nearly pressing Draco into the wall of the lift while he reached around, grasping for his wand. Their hands touched, and Potter's white shirt was soft against Draco's bare arm.

"Give it to me," Potter said grimly. The words jolted into Draco, and his breath huffed out in surprise. He put his free arm around Potter's shoulders and leaned into him.

"Right here, Potter?" Draco asked breathily. "How kinky. But if you insist…" He opened his mouth, leaned forward, and sucked lightly on Potter's neck, earning a choked gasp from the Auror.

"Oh god, now I know you're not in your right mind. Let me have my wand." Potter's hand found the wand, but Draco would not release it. A small tug-of-war ensued behind Draco's back.

"I'll let you have it if you allow me to take a shower, and promise not to drag me to St. Mungo's." Draco spoke between soft, nibbling kisses pressed into Potter's throat, and he felt a shudder pulse through the Gryffindor's frame.

"God, you're impossible, and completely out of your head," Potter said. "Fine, I'll let you have a shower, but if it doesn't work and you have the slightest symptom after that, I'm taking you directly to the damn hospital, understood?"

"Agreed," Draco said and released the wand.

Potter pulled away, grabbed Draco's wrist, and yanked him into the lobby. Draco felt a swift tug as they Disapparated.

Harry released the bemused Auror immediately and stepped away. If Malfoy kissed him again, Harry was going to slam the blond up against the wall and… and… and hit him. Yes, that was the correct verb.

"Where are we?" Malfoy asked as Harry flicked his wand at a lamp, illuminating the room in a dim glow.

"My flat." At Malfoy's look of surprise, he added quickly, "It's only a five minute walk from the Ministry—and close to St. Mungo's. It's… you know… close."

Unwilling to meet Malfoy's gaze, Harry waved down the hall. "Bathroom's that way."

Malfoy took three steps and sank to his knees. He grabbed at the back of the sofa as he fell. Harry leaped forward and caught the Slytherin.

"Steady," he said, feeling a surge of guilt for letting Malfoy walk on his own. "I'll help you." Harry bit his lip on yet another admonition about the hospital. The stubborn blond would never do it. Plus Harry had given his word. The Slytherin's skin was like an inferno. Harry practically dragged him to the bathroom, and braced Draco against the sink while he turned on the shower.

When the water was a proper temperature, he looked at Malfoy in concern.

"Will you be okay?" he asked. Something unfathomable crossed the Slytherin's features, and the grey eyes gleamed brilliantly. Unbidden, Harry thought about joining Malfoy in the shower. Rather than horrifying him, the mental image caused a hot flush to work its way from Harry's toes to the top of his scalp. He couldn't breathe through the heat.

Thankfully, Malfoy nodded. "Just leave the door open, in case I fall," Malfoy suggested. Harry nodded and bolted. He paused at the end of the hallway and heard the slide of the curtain rings on the bar. The sound of water hitting flesh came next, and Harry tried hard not to think about water sliding over that smooth skin, tried desperately to block out the thought of the silver hair darkening to gold beneath the spray.

He wondered suddenly if there were towels. He couldn't remember if he'd used the last one this morning, and if he'd hung it up, or taken it to his room. Fuck. Harry turned and went quietly back down the hall, intending to take a quick glance at the towel rack. Instead, his eyes went straight to the image in the shower and he suddenly wondered what freakish insanity had possessed him to buy a clear shower curtain.

Malfoy's head was tipped back, and his hands were busy shampooing the wet hair. Even filtered by the plastic curtain, Malfoy's body was a vision. All thought of towels fled from Harry's numbed mind, and he turned to stumble back down the hall. He leaned against the wall in the hallway and buried his face in his hands. What the hell was wrong with him? A little nibble on the neck from an addled coworker and he was acting like a sex-starved schoolboy. Granted, said coworker was above average in the looks department—oh fucking hell, he was gorgeous. Malfoy was like some tantalizing fallen angel.

Harry pushed away from the wall, hoping to flee the insane ideas possessing him. Ideas that involved barging into the shower and shoving Malfoy against the wet tile…

He stood in the living room for a bit, staring blankly at the couch, vaguely glad that he'd turned into something of a neat freak after getting his own place. Unfortunately, it left him with nothing to straighten. When he realized he'd been tracking the pattern on the sofa to avoid thinking, he shook himself with a scowl.

Clothes. Malfoy would need clothes when he got out of the shower. Harry retreated to the bedroom and lit several candles by habit. His flat had Muggle electricity, but he tended not to use it in the bedroom, preferring a softer light. Harry opened the wardrobe. His clothes suddenly seemed tacky and unacceptable. He pulled out the nicest thing he owned—an expensive pair of black trousers with matching dress robes. He added an emerald green silk shirt. Harry had worn the ensemble only once—to Ron and Hermione's wedding.

He started, realizing the water had shut off, and turned to leave, only to find Malfoy leaning against the doorframe. Harry's jaw fell open in unconscious shock. Partially naked Draco Malfoy in a badly lit elevator was one thing. Mostly naked, wet, Draco Malfoy in a candlelit bedroom was sex incarnate. Harry's eyes traveled from the top of Malfoy's head (oh god, his hair really had gone gold, and now hung in damp tendrils over the chiseled face and neck), down over the smooth chest and rippled abdomen (it should be illegal to be so fit), and skated over the tiny towel around Malfoy's waist (fuck, all the bath towels were in the laundry), and over the gorgeous legs and perfect feet, beneath which water puddled slightly.

"Guh," was the only coherent sound Harry could manage as hot thudding desire enveloped him like pyroclastic flow. Malfoy took six steps into the room and locked his lips onto Harry's. The long fingers threaded into his dark hair and Harry felt the Slytherin's back, wet, smooth and beautiful as he touched Malfoy with terrified wonder.

Malfoy groaned, a sound that thrummed over Harry's senses like the primal noise it was. Harry succumbed, slanting his mouth over Malfoy's and plundering the sweet banquet handed to him. Some small part of him was screaming questions, but Malfoy's hands were under his shirt, sliding over his ribs, and he stifled the voice, deciding he didn't want to know.

Malfoy's hands moved down and grabbed Harry's arse suddenly, driving his hips forward. God, Malfoy's erection was hard against his, and the towel had fallen. One hand moved again, and twisted in Harry's hair as Malfoy deepened the kiss—something Harry could hardly comprehend, because it had already been the best kiss of his life. After a few moments of tangling Harry's senses, Malfoy's mouth ceased its assault and trailed hot kisses down Harry's throat.

The pale hands worked at the buttons on Harry's shirt, following the skin revealed with his lips. Harry's hands slid over Malfoy's shoulders and into the wet, blond hair as the Slytherin knelt. Harry's trousers were unfastened and pushed down in a swift motion and Malfoy's face nuzzled Harry's cock through his cotton boxers, nearly making Harry come right then.

"God, Draco," Harry moaned. "Draco, god."

Then Harry couldn't speak at all, because the boxers were gone and Draco's mouth was teaching Harry the meaning of bliss. He cried out as the hot wetness licked, stroked, and sucked at him, taking Harry to the root as the long fingers held him in place by a strong grip on his hips.

He was going to come—god, he was so close—but Malfoy's talented mouth released him. Harry whimpered in petulant frustration, and his hands clenched in the fine, damp hair. Malfoy stood and pressed a kiss on his mouth with a chuckle.

"Bed," he said simply and shifted slightly. Harry tumbled onto the bed, followed by the hard length of Malfoy. Harry's open shirt caught beneath him, trapping an arm. He yanked at it and pressed himself upward toward the pillows. The moment of reprieve cleared his head slightly.

Malfoy's naked form slid over his—oh that felt nice—and the blond head leaned in for another kiss. Harry gripped Malfoy's face in both hands, stilling the motion.

"Oh shit," Harry said, suddenly panicked. "It's the potion. This is just the damned potion, and tomorrow—"

Malfoy's fingers touched Harry's lips, halting the babble of words.

"It's not the potion. It's just me, exactly where I want to be," Malfoy said huskily, and his eyes were soft and fathomless.

Harry shivered, wishing he could believe the Slytherin, but then Malfoy reclaimed his mouth, and rational thought jumped the track. Malfoy's hands were on his skin, and his fingers were warm, but not hot, not feverishly blazing, so maybe the potion really had washed away…

Harry yielded to the pleasure driving him into a whirlpool where doubt and confusion had no place. He arched into Malfoy's touch and drowned in his kiss. Malfoy's hands touched his cock, slid lower, and skated across his testicles with maddening deliberation, sending a bolt of renewed lust through Harry. He moaned aloud as a long finger, wet and slick—how the hell had he managed that?—circled his sphincter with tortuous care. Harry nearly begged. Oh fuck, he wasn't beyond begging at this point. He tore his lips away from Malfoy's.

"Draco…"

"Harry," Malfoy whispered, and placed biting kisses on Harry's jaw. "I've wanted you so much."

The words struck with unexpected force, but they exploded as Malfoy's finger breached the great unknown. Harry hadn't been sure what to expect, but the riotous clash of sensation was startling. It was good and bad, pleasant and not, but extraordinarily intense, especially when Malfoy pressed inward and stroked his fingertip across something that nearly sent Harry out of his skin.

Malfoy chuckled. "Oh yes, that's the spot."

Fucking yes, that was the spot. That was the center of the goddamn universe, and Harry was going to set up a fucking shrine to it, especially when Malfoy added a second finger, and then a third. Harry heard himself half-sobbing as he writhed beneath Malfoy, who made himself Chief Priest of Harry's new religion when he moved down and sheathed Harry's cock in his hot mouth again. For the second time that night, Harry was on the very brink of coming when the fingers and mouth withdrew. He howled aloud, wondering if this were some sort of planned torture, but Malfoy brushed a soothing hand across his chest.

"It will be worth it," Malfoy promised and slowly slid his cock into the place his fingers had occupied, pushing deeper and deeper. Oh god, how could he possibly take it all? He felt like screaming, and then Malfoy pulled out and drove forward, hitting that holy place again, and hell yes, it was worth it, especially when he did it again, and harder, and faster—

Malfoy's hands slid under Harry's thighs and lifted them, looping knees over shoulders. The new angle was even better. Harry teetered on the chasm, and Malfoy drove into him in a frenzy, making the most incredible sounds Harry had ever heard, particularly when every huff sounded like his name.

And then Harry was dying, he was certain of it, because the world narrowed to a dark pinprick, and then detonated into a blinding whiteness of pleasure so intense Harry felt he couldn't possibly survive.

He came and came and came, until he wondered if it would ever stop, and then Malfoy arched and threw his head back. Harry watched, fucking hell, he imprinted that image on his mind for every cold night he would ever see again, and Malfoy's perfect teeth bit into his bottom lip. Harry had never seen anything so wondrous, and he felt a shard of regret that it could only be a fleeting, ephemeral moment.

Malfoy released Harry's legs and draped bonelessly over Harry's chest, all sweat and tangled hair and tired beauty. Harry reached up to wrap his arms around the gorgeous Slytherin, wanting to hold on just a bit longer, before cold reality intruded on their interlude. Malfoy seemed content to snuggle, and his breathing grew slow and even against Harry's chest.

After long minutes, Malfoy levered himself up and Harry met the silver stare. A smile crossed Malfoy's lips, but it was no smirk. He looked almost shy.

"I have a confession to make," Malfoy said quietly, and Harry felt his heart sink, especially at Malfoy's next words. "You'll probably want to hex me into a warthog… or a Weasley, or something equally loathsome…"

Harry froze, but he wasn't sure how to disentangle himself from the Slytherin and avoid the words he did not want to hear.

"It's about the potion," Malfoy continued, and then stopped, seeming unsure how to go on.

"You're still feeling the effects of the potion?" Harry asked gently, stupidly feeling the need to make it easier on the Auror. Malfoy groaned.

"No, Potter. That's just it. There was no potion."

Malfoy was apparently more befuddled than Harry had thought. Perhaps a trip to St. Mungo's was still in order.

"Of course there was a potion, Malfoy," he said, trying not to sound condescending.

"The potion was a fake, Potter. I concocted it myself," Malfoy said sharply.

Harry gaped at him. "What do you mean?"

Malfoy's cheeks darkened, and it took a moment for Harry to realize he was blushing. "I created a Lure-Harry-Potter-Into-My-Office-and-Shag-Him-Senseless Potion."

"But… but…" Harry's synapses seemed to have defeated him for greener pastures. He grabbed frantically at the few that remained. "But your fever…"

"I took one of those Fever Fudge sweets made by your twin Weasel friends. The timed-release sort."

The shocks just kept piling up. "You bought something from the Weasley twins? You?"

"Well, not personally, of course, I sent an underling to fetch it, but yes. I was desperate."

Desperate. That hardly sounded like the Malfoy Harry knew and loathed. He shoved at the Slytherin suddenly, trying to flee, but Malfoy's arms tightened around him, preventing escape.

"What was in the potion?" Harry snapped, angry now. He felt betrayed, even though he had been the one foolish enough to fall into bed with the wicked git.

"Olive oil. Bit of lavender. Silver coloring, and ethane to make it explode when I pulled the cap."

"Well, you can congratulate yourself on a perfectly planned and executed plot," Harry said tightly, feeling a wave of inexplicable misery at the realization that Malfoy had set him up as some sort of wretched joke. "I hope you're properly amused." Fuck, he wished his voice did not sound so wounded. Harry shoved hard at Malfoy, but the Slytherin lay atop him now, and held his wrists tightly against the bed.

"No, Potter—Harry—you don't understand. It wasn't meant to be amusing. It wasn't a joke or a trick. Not at all."

Harry glared at Malfoy, not trusting the earnest expression on the beautiful face.

"What then?" Harry demanded. "You just wanted me for me? You want hearts and flowers and candlelit dinners and a relationship?" God, his voice rang with pain now, spilling over the sarcasm like a waterfall. He cursed himself for feeling like they were back at Hogwarts again.

"Yes!" Malfoy exclaimed. "God, yes, that's exactly what I want!" The Auror's voice sounded relieved, and he began to place fervent kisses on Harry's jaw and neck. "All of that, and more. Snogging on the sofa, and bloody walks on the beach, and shagging in the kitchen over breakfast because we can't contain ourselves enough to reach the bedroom."

Harry felt his heart lurch, and he was struck nearly speechless. He relaxed in Malfoy's arms. As expected, Malfoy released his wrists, and Harry snapped his hands up to grip Malfoy's face. He stared into the gleaming silver eyes.

"You want all of that with me?"

Malfoy groaned. "Yes, with you! I'm mad for you, Harry. I have been for ages. I was at my bloody wit's end! You ignored me completely. You wouldn't even come into my damned office, for fuck's sake. What was I supposed to do? I had to resort to Slytherin tactics."

Harry tried to feel affronted, but the amazement had deflated his anger and he felt a strange jubilation taking its place. No one had ever, ever plotted with such determination to win Harry's… to win his heart?

"Swear to me you're not joking," Harry begged.

Malfoy's passionate kiss was answer enough. 

End