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Chapter Text

There was that awful sound again and Harry James Potter of number 12 Grimmauld Place rubbed the palm of his hand around his sleepy face with a groan as he sat up on his bed. 

He squinted at the very Muggle digital clock to his right and then leaned in closer so the squiggly numbers take an understandable shape. 

3:45 am

Fuck. 

Harry fell back onto his well worn pillow with a groan, sighing at the possibly hundredth time that month that he had been awakened by the damned cat outside. He stifled a yawn with his arm and thought of how Hermione was going to have his arse for not sleeping enough. 

If she could only see how much he tried. But no. She would go on and on before he could explain himself and Harry was far too tired to stop her tirade. 

Bloody hell, he had even changed rooms across the house and thankfully Grimmauld Place had plenty to choose from. But nothing seemed to help. 

For when Harry finally fell into deep sleep, the cat would start. Softly at first and then louder till Harry would wake up in cold sweat, panting as though he had run a million miles.

So tired. He was so tired. His eyelid were heavy and closed ever so slowly—

And the damned cat started screaming again. 

Fuck.

The morning was going to be terrible and he wasn't wrong

“Harry, you should sleep more,” Hermione tutted as Harry could barely stay awake at breakfast like they had planned to. It was wonderful and sunny, but all Harry wanted was to shut his eyes and set his forehead down on the edge of the table. Take a few minutes to nap. “I've told you to reduce your coffee intake and have proper eight hours of rest at least. And also it would be a good idea to —”

“Hermione, the fucking cat won't shut up,” Harry was louder than he wanted to be, wincing at himself. 

“Cat?” Ron frowned, his spoon of soup stilled halfway to his mouth. “Like a pussy cat?”

“A cat?” Hermione arched a brow. “You can't sleep because of a cat?”

“Why would I lie about it?” Harry retorted miserably. 

The two of them stared at him blankly. 

“When you say cat,” Ron began, a mischievous smirk curving the side of his lips as he spoke. “Do you mean a —”

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed and Harry snorted. 

“Not that lucky.”

“What do you mean you're not that lucky? Any girl would love sleeping with you. You're conventionally handsome. Terrible hair, but you make up for it by being the Hero of the Wizarding World. Anyone would sleep with you! Bloody hell, I know I would.”

“Ronald Weasley, you're sitting with your girlfriend of seven years!”

“Hermione, I'm trying to make him feel better!”

“It actually helped. Thanks Ron.”

“See? No worries, Harry. I've got you.”

“How have I survived the two of you for so many years?” Hermione moaned into her palms and Ron chuckled. 

“Come on, Hermione. You love us.”

“Not anymore.” She huffed. 

Ron chuckled again, this time his words were edged with a tinge of worry. “Yes, you do.”

Hermione just growled in response, her wild curls crackling with magic and annoyance. But before she could snarl again, Harry asked hastily. “Well, what do I do with a cat who won't let me sleep?”

“Just drink some milk before bed, Harry,” Hermione snapped, still glowering at Ron and Harry decided it was time he went off on his imaginary emergency to Gringotts for more cash.

Instead, he walked off to an alley and then apparated straight home. The sleepless nights had left him quite tired and dealing with Ron and Hermione's paradise bickering was sometimes more grating on his nerves than ever. 

He dragged his feet through the hallway, heading for the couch, summoning a glass of milk from his kitchen as he did and downed it in one go, the glass falling off his loosened grip as he lowered his hand. It shattered, but Harry was too exhausted to care. He would clean it up when he was less tired. 

His eyes were shut even before he crumpled onto the large expanse of his very comfortable couch. Weariness drowned him and he gave into its tides without a fight. 

His vision was blurry through his askew glasses when he finally stirred awake, his mind foggy and delirious with the swirls of sleep when he realised he was awakened by something staring at him. He blinked. The sight remained. 

“You're a cat,” he exhaled. “I was right.”

The cat, very physical and still illuminated in the pale moonlight that spilled in from the window raised a paw and snarled. Claws flicked out, catching the light and before Harry could react, the side of his face was scratched hard and deep. 

He screamed, hand pressing down on his facial wound, but when he looked back, the cat was gone. 

Hermione was more concerned the next morning. The scar on Harry's face was hissing like a cat, especially when he laid down to sleep, and none of her healing charms would work.

Mungo's was baffled by it too, but Harry was adamant not to fill a bed since there was nothing physically wrong with him. So he returned to Grimmauld Place and Hermione wrote three letters to the Ministry of Magic demanding urgent help for the hero of the Wizarding World, much to Ron's chagrin (“We helped too, Hermione.” “Fuck off, Ronald.”) and the Ministry sent one of their Unspeakables as soon as they could to identify the case of the cat ghost and the strange scar. 

"They're sending over an Unspeakable soon," Hermione mused over a letter that she had just received through a very miffed owl who had spent the whole morning flying to and from the Ministry because of the situation Harry had unfortunately found himself in.

"An Unspeakable?" Ron asked in disbelief, reaching for another warm cookie to go with his evening tea. "Couldn't they have sent an Auror instead?" 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron over her letter and even her owl seemed to huff a sigh of disgust at his incompetence. 

"An Auror would be adequate if the perpetrator was alive. Since we're dealing with a ghost, we need a skill set that an Auror would not quite possess."

"Dunno," Ron's voice was thick as he munched the cookie. "An Auror would have been a better choice."

Hermione let out a loud sigh of exasperation. 

Harry was still laying there, arm slung over his eyes as he listened to his friends. None of this made sense. He had a perfectly great life here at Grimmauld Place, albeit a lonely one, but it didn't matter. All everyone wanted from him was to date the Famous Harry Potter. No one cared who he was on the inside. Ron and Hermione were his only friends now, even the ones he made at Hogwarts he backed away from.

Some scars from the past you could never truly heal from and meeting them reminded the twenty four year old of the horrors that they had endured in a time not too long ago. 

This ghost was unexpected and the scar on Harry's face still burned occasionally, almost as another had before. 

It worried him more than he wanted to show his friends, so he kept quiet, listening to them squabble over talents of Unspeakables and Aurors, just as they argued about everything else in their lives. 

He sat up at once, wand in hand aimed at the fireplace as the floo roared to life, an instinct that had not faded with time.

There from the green flames, a lean figure clad in black walked out and straightened himself, gray eyes narrowed as he took the scene around him, settling on Harry and the wand aimed at him. Draco scoffed, tilting his head to a side with the tiniest upward curve of his lips.

"Careful you don't take an eye out, Potter."

"Malfoy," Harry breathed, frozen in surprise and did not lower his wand. He hadn't seen the blond since he had spoken at his trial, telling the Wizengamot that Draco was not at fault, that he had been only a boy made to follow in a path laid before him by the adults who were supposed to look after him.

On his left, Ron choked on his biscuit, spluttering something Harry didn't quite hear. 

Malfoy was here. 

His hair was longer now, pearly and feather-like against the infinite darkness of his cloak. And he stood there, all sharp jawed and glittery eyed, looking every bit the smug arse he always was.

But something shifted in Harry then. 

Something he didn't quite understand. 

"Why are you here?"

"Oh, believe me, Potter," Draco rolled his eyes, glaring at Hermione now, who was far too stunned to remember she had left her mouth open. "My department has more than enough problems to worry about than attend to the Hero of the Wizarding World, but unfortunately your Swot here annoyed my superiors enough to actually order me to come here and deal with your little—" He paused, turning back to Harry slowly, "—Cat problem?"

Harry blinked, remembering his dilemma that barely seemed like a problem anymore, even though his face still burned. Draco's voice had him distracted, so much so that he barely felt the sting anymore and Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione if the man's voice was a sort of cure that hadn't been investigated before.

She would probably call him mad.

Merlin, he probably was mad.

It didn't seem normal to want your former nemesis to not shut up. Nor did it make sense to want to pull said nemesis onto you lap and snog him senseless. 

But Harry didn't think he had made it through life ever doing anything that made sense, so of course he stood up and nodded at the blond who was frowning at the glowing scar on his cheek.

Draco didn't have to worry. Harry would indulge him his every curiosity and more. 

But first there was something he needed to do. 

"Hermione, Ron. Thank you for being here. I'll see you both tomorrow," Harry said with a pointed look at his two even more bewildered best friends.

Ron looked offended, but it didn't take Hermione even a minute to figure it out. She smirked at him gleefully and Harry was slightly mortified that he had been so obvious. But maybe it was just her. She had seen through him when he was dating Oliver too — that Harry was quiet with his love even though he did love with all his heart, but Oliver Wood could not see that.

She had hugged him tight and told him that it wasn't his fault. He hadn't had love shown to him in his younger days and the right person would understand, she would say. The right person would love him anyway. 

Harry did not think such a person could ever exist. 

But now, with Draco moving closer and raising a long pale finger to caress the strange scar on Harry's cheek, Harry would rather be damned than not try. 

"Come, Ron. We're leaving."

"Hermione, you can't be serious!" Ron picked another cookie before Hermione tugged him to the floo. "We can't leave Harry alone. You said it yourself. It's too dangerous with that cat!"

"Harry won't be alone," Hermione said impatiently, hand still firmly around Ron's wrist as she scooped a fist full of floo powder and moved to toss it into the fireplace.

Ron scoffed, eyeing Draco with undisguised skepticism. "Harry would need more help with that arse wipe around. HEY!"

But his yell vanished with him as Hermione tugged him sharply into the floo flames, taking him back to their home on the other side of town.

Harry sighed with relief, glad to have his moment now with the unsuspecting blond who was now merely a breath away from him, quite undisturbed by the departure of the couple. 

"Interesting," Draco whispered to himself, fascinated by the glowing scar as he ran a gentle finger along it. Harry willed his body to stay still, but the scent of the blond premaded his every sense. Honey dipped green apple and cinnamon. The smell was in his nose, on his tongue and Harry could almost taste him. His hands flexed at his sides as he fought the urge to grab the blond's tiny waist and pin him to a wall to discover for himself if Malfoy tasted as good as he smelled. 

Or better. 

Merlin, how had he not found him earlier?

Draco stepped back, ever the professional, and pulled out a wand from inside his cloak, waving it around as he asked Harry about the incident, the cat and the events that lead to it.

But Harry was in a daze, a goofy smile spread across his face as he tried his hardest to answer Draco’s many, many questions. 

Draco wasn't pleased. 

"I see time has done you no favours, Potter. You're still as thick as you were back at Hogwarts," Draco sighed, frowning as he tried to make sense of it all. "I might have to spend the night here to observe the ghost for myself."

Then he met Harry's eyes and sneered. 

"If there is actually a ghost like that around at all. Are you sure you didn't do it to yourself for a spot of attention? Salazar knows you'd drop dead if anyone in the Wizarding World actually decided to move on with their lives and not be stuck in the past."

The look on Draco's face was absolutely perfect when Harry burst out laughing. To say he was stunned did the least bit of justice and that only spurred Harry on some more.

He chuckled, wiping an eye from under his glasses and moved closer to the stunned blond, slipping his hands into the pockets of his Muggle trousers with a smirk of his own. 

Draco stood taller than Harry by a bit, but Harry was certain he could easily wrap an arm around the blond, slim as he was. 

"Draco," Harry said, "If I had known it would have taken a fucking cat clawing my damned face to get you into my home, I'd have had it done in a heartbeat."

Draco gaped, blinking and clearly stunned, which only seemed to inflate Harry's ego further. The setting sun's ray danced along Draco’s silky mop of long hair that Harry ached to run his hands through, to hold them tight in his fist and to ruin just as he would ruin the rest of Draco.

Harry was a man starved and here was dinner, blushing at him. 

"Er," Draco cleared his throat, with a quick shake of his head, turning to the stairs. "I'll need to investigate the bedrooms first then."

Harry smiled wide as he watched Draco make his way up the stairs and whispered in amusement to himself, "And you can stay there tonight if you'd like."

Chapter Text

Something had changed about Harry Potter. 

And Draco Malfoy had no idea why that made him feel funny low in his belly, nerves twisting like a writhing mess and he could barely think when the man spoke in that unfamiliar low timbre that made every word he said seep into Draco’s bones like a  warm cup of cocoa on a cold winter's morn.

He had taken the opportunity to touch Harry's face without any motion to hold himself back and mentally cursed himself for it. 

All Potter and his fucking friends saw him was as a monster. A pariah. A killer. No matter what Harry said at his trial, the point stood that he knew Draco was not a pure as he had once claimed himself to be, for Draco was tainted forever by the sins he never wanted to commit. 

Besides, Potter probably had enough women to fill every room in Grimmauld Place anyway. It wasn't as though Draco would ever stand a chance. 

So he focused on work, scattering dried potion of clarity around and cast spells to animate the happenings of the month before. He saw shadows of Potter, of the Swot and the Weasel, over and over again almost as if they had been the only people here. 

Interesting. 

And then he saw in the corners of the room when Harry's shadow slipped into bed, the ghost of vengeance seething as it prowled around the sleeping hero, rousing him incessantly.

That made no sense. 

Harry had indulged in no behaviour that could ever irk the dead, much less a ghost of a cat, but Draco didn't give up, investigating room after room, tapping on the floors of the Old House of Blacks. 

"Find anything?" A deep voice was amused and Draco hit his head on the table he had crawled under, following the glow that had been illuminated by his spell and had seemed similar to the one on Harry's cheek. 

He crawled out, rubbing his head and turned to snarl at the prat when he froze, staring at the grinning form of a shirtless Harry Potter wearing a pair of low gray sweatpants. What Harry lacked in height, he made for in width and muscle it would seem as Draco’s greedy eyes took in the bulging biceps and the veiny arms that crossed over a rather muscular tanned torso, so very deliciously presented with the lightest smattering of dark hair on his lower abs, disappearing into his pants. 

Oh, no. 

Harry laughed again, raising a hand to push through what seemed to be his wet hair, still dripping as through he was fresh from a shower. 

"Your mouth is open, Malfoy," He purred, pushing off the side of the door he was leaning on and stalked close to the crouching blond, holding out a hand. 

A beat and Draco accepted the hand, hauled to his feet with such a force that he fell forward against the hard mass that was Harry Potter who grasped his waist to steady him. 

"Easy." Harry's voice rumbled in his ear and a shiver ran up Draco’s back. "Can't have you falling for me now, can we?"

Draco swallowed hard, still speechless, and Harry laughed as he left the room. 

"Let me know if you need anything."

Chapter Text

Maybe he shouldn't have jerked himself off in the shower to the thoughts of Malfoy and that pretty little mouth of his, but whatever was a man to do when his former rival looked like such a treat and was flaunting his beauty around like the fucking siren he was. 

Oh, and he was spending the night in his house. 

Absolutely fucking perfect. 

He was restless in his room, pacing the length of it and thinking and thinking of nothing else but that smart mouth of the blond, wondering if it was heaven tucked away from his reach. 

What if he never stood a chance?

What if Draco was still with Pansy fucking Parkinson? Or some other damned pureblood girl? Or worse.

What if Draco and that twin of a best friend of his — Theodore fucking Nott — were more than what they seemed.

Merlin, Harry would crush every digit of Theo's hand, powder it and feed it to the brunette himself for even thinking of touching what was his. 

Because Draco was his, he just didn't know it yet. 

Damned it, was he losing his mind?

All Draco Malfoy had done was waltz in through the floo and Harry was an apologist for every murderer that ever lived. Maybe they did have a point in wanting to keep the filthy hands of another away from their loved ones.

He misses the man he was last month, before this Cat debacle occurred. 

Maybe it was the lack of sleep eroding his every sense of reason. Yes, that must be it. 

He had himself so convinced that he decided to snoop around and see what Draco was up to, because what was a Malfoy if they weren't nosing about anyway?

And then it happened. 

Draco in his arms, eyes widened and lips apart and Harry willed his insatiable cock to stay down even as he felt himself harden. Fuck, he wanted to bruise those sweet hips as he held them and he didn't know where he found the strength to pull away. 

He did head straight to his room, dropping back on his mattress, thick cock in hand as he stroked it roughly, just the way he liked it. His eyes squeezed tight as the image of Draco’s beautiful face played behind his lids and his arm was over his mouth, biting down on it to muffle his moans as he worked his cock faster till it splurted, hot and greedy. 

This was about to be one hell of a night, Harry was sure. 

Chapter Text

Harry Potter was breathing down his neck as they peered into the kitchen, watching the ghost form of the cat licking the milk that Draco had added a few potions to, to illuminate it with the same power that radiated from Harry's wound.

Draco was struggling.

So very much.

This was perhaps the most interesting case he had encountered as a junior Unspeakable, but with Harry's warmth radianting on his back, all he could think of was pouncing the devil of a man.

And in the process, ruin the life he had worked so hard to build.

Sometimes, Draco thought to himself, the universe found joy if fucking his life up entirely and watching his squirm.

"Well, what are we gonna do now?" Harry's warm whisper tickled the back of Draco’s neck and Draco sucked in a shuddering breath.

"Em. I'm going to shift."

"Shift?"

"Shut up and let me do my job, Potter," Draco hissed, trying to concentrate on his job and not think about bouncing on the Chosen Cock like the absolute whore he was.

How embarrassing.

He heard Harry gasp as he began to change and it made him smile. Draco was shrinking quickly, all white fur and gray eyes and he stretched his fullest and shook himself into being as he completed his animagus transformation.

"You're... a cat." But Draco had no time now to delay with Harry's very obvious thoughts as he hopped onto a counter and then the pantry where the ghost cat eyed him, hissing as he came close.

So he stopped and sat down.

And asked the cat what was wrong.

The cat didn't hesitate to rant about how it's peace had been disturbed by the same dog that delighted in chasing him around the garden of the house of Blacks back when he was alive. The cat said that the dog had disappeared a long time ago and the cat had its own family, before it's time had ended.

A the month ago, however, he had been aroused from his eternal sleep by the dog. And he was angry. 

Draco purred back in understanding and answered that while Harry had awful hair that he was most certainly not a dog. 

The cat was annoyed, hissing at Draco, but Draco stood his ground and announced that the milk was poisoned because the ghost cat continued to haunt the house.

The cat, not quite understanding the concept of death, wailed and Draco pawed at a vial on the table, toppling the contents out and told the cat to drink it to save himself.

The cat, fooled by the intelligence of man, obliged and promptly vanished in a ball of the glowing dust, courtesy the potion. But before Draco could turn back into himself, he was picked up gently and cuddled in the arms of the muscular man who had been watching.

"Thank you," Harry whispered to the beautiful white cat. "I have no idea what you did, but my face doesn't hurt anymore."

Draco dug his claws into Harry's arm and Harry dropped him with a yelp. Finally changing back to himself, Draco smirked, standing up to his full height. "Just doing my job, Potter. The cat said he had been troubled by a dog that had been a prick to him when he was alive."

"Oh," Harry grinned. "Makes sense. Sirius was a black dog animagus and I managed to turn into a similar one last month."

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

It was done now. His job was done and it was time to leave. But Harry was staring at him now. And fondly too.

Draco looked away as heat prickled the back of his neck, threatening a blush across his face.

"Draco," Harry said softly, moving to where Draco was looking away to. "Look at me."

Blushing harder still, Draco looked at him.

"What is it, Potter?"

"I want to thank you properly."

"For doing my job?"

"For fixing my problem."

Draco tried to scoff, opening his mouth to retort, but Harry beat him to it.

"Have dinner with me," Harry said softly, reaching up to tuck Draco’s hair behind his ear and Draco blinked with a fierce blush.

"When? Why?"

Harry sucked in a breath and said as quickly as he could.

"BecauseIthinkyou'refuckinghotandIreallywanttotakeyououtonadate."

"What?! " Draco flinched, obviously having heard none of the train of words that Harry sort of yelled at his face.

Harry tried to calm his racing heart as he stammered. "A date. With me. Tonight?"

A moment passed. Harry willed the floor to swallow him because Draco just stared blankly at him.

Then Draco asked slowly. "You want to date me? Tonight."

Harry nodded.

Then Draco smirked. "Well, I have a better idea."

Before Harry could understand what he meant, Draco's mouth was on his, cold hands under his jumper feeling his body and Draco groaned into his mouth. Harry wasted no time, shoving his hands into Draco’s hair and kissing back with equal ferocity.

There was no beginning and no end.
Not to them.
Not after this.

And Harry soon discovered that while Draco’s mouth tasted like honey, the rest of him was just as sweet.