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Chapter Text

"Absolutely not" Harry leans back into his chair and crosses his arms. Hermione frowns and collects her papers into a pile to leave. "I'm afraid 'absolutely not' isn't an option here, Harry. Robards wants us to take leave while the backup teams fill in for a week and there's not much to say about that."

Harry sputters and sits back up, "I don't need a break! Neither does Ron, Seamus, Dean, and even—and I cannot believe I'm saying this—but even Malfoy seems to be doing his job just fine too. Whatever he does..." He mumbles out that last bit hoping Hermione won't catch it. She does. 

"You don't even know what Draco does for this department, do you? Take this as a bonding experience and not just as a vacation. Get to know this team a bit better because I'm afraid you'll not only be stuck with them for the holiday, but for most of your career" Somehow that just makes everything ten times worse in Harry's mind.

Bonding was truly the last thing Harry could need on his plate right now, never mind forced bonding with Malfoy and his friends. He'd made peace with Malfoy after the war trials where he testified in defence of him. Sure, Malfoy was a bully and a right git, but he wasn't a villain. He did what he had to do to protect himself and his family despite being stuck on the wrong side of things. That's something Harry has come to terms with. 

But the git part? That seems to have stuck around. And unbelievably, after the letters of apologies and forgiveness, Hermione and Malfoy have begun to get along swimmingly in their respective parts of the ministry. Turns out that oddly enough, their work ethics align perfectly and make them a good team on the occasion they work together. Malfoy even sometimes extends their meetings for a cup of tea and bloody biscuits during his reports back to her on a curse case.

He has to admit, when Malfoy slithers into one of the auror cases involving curses or ancient magic, whatever he does usually helps make their jobs a hell of a lot easier. He'll show up to the scene in billowing custom green robes and those stupid reading glasses that he forgets to take off in the rush that makes his face look criminally sharp. But that doesn't change the fact that he's still a poncy twat.

Hermione gives him a small smile from the door, "We leave tomorrow Harry, I'd suggest you start packing" And with that, she hugs the papers to her chest and reaches for the knob, sneaking out before more protest. Harry was so frustrated with the situation that he entirely forgot to ask exactly where they would be going. He'll just have to pack a little bit of everything. 

"I know it's bonkers mate, but at least we get paid time off. Not much to complain about there I'm afraid" Ron echoes over the firecall. 

Harry rolls his eyes and calls back to the fireplace "You're just saying that because you and Hermione will get a room together to do whatever you please". He pushes the wardrobe shut with his hip and tosses a few more shirts into his suitcase. "Where are we even going anyway?"

"Mione didn't tell you? We're staying at this posh villa in France. Sounds like great fun to me!" Since when did Ron get so bloody happy-go-lucky about being stuck in a house with their past rivals? Harry sighs and bends over to take out the winter coat he chucked into the case.

"Cheer up Harry, it's not like you're gonna be stuck there for your whole life. It's a week of stuffing your face with baguettes along the bloody French coast. I think you'll make it out alive." Harry supposes that's true. "Anyway, gotta go. Mione says she needs help with something or other. See you at the portkey tomorrow" Ron's face fades from the fireplace and the room settles into calm silence.

Harry flicks his hand over to the turntable to see what vinyl he left lying there last. Frank Sinatra's ' Somethin' Stupid' slowly judders to a start. It's a good song. Suitable enough as background. He packs (and dances) until the needle sputters on the run-out groove and he has to start the record over again. By the time he's finished, it's about quarter past nine. No better time for a glass of wine and to perch in front of the telly for a football match.

Sitting in the warmly lit room, Harry feels forever glad that he decided that Grimmauld Place truly wasn't for him. Although it was part of his and Sirius' past, It was far too big and much too dark for someone who needed a little bit of light to get him going after the war. Living in a small flat in Central London by Russell Square Station was the solution he needed. There are plenty of windows and a perfect amount of places for his grouchy friend Ozzy to perch.

When his glass is drained and the match is over Harry feels a bit better. Maybe France for a week won't be as horrible as he's chalked it up to be. Ozzy slinks around the corner and takes a wobbly hop up to the sofa to sit by him. Harry scratches behind his ears and makes little kissing noises. The calico purrs and Harry realises now he'll have to get someone to watch him while he's away.

He ponders for a moment about maybe setting charms on the food bowl and litter box for a moment. Ozzy meows from the cushions and Harry decides that he would probably much rather have some human company for Ozzy while he's away. He stands to fire call Luna—who has had a special bond with the creature ever since she helped care for Ozzy in the early weeks after his adoption.

"I would love to, Harry!" Luna says cheerily from the other end after a short amount of convincing on Harry's part. They talk for another few minutes about his unfortunate trip and just like everyone so far, she tries to tell him to look on the bright side.

"Just try to make the most out of it if you're going to be there. Who knows! Maybe you'll even figure out some new things about Draco and his friends while you're there" She chimes in after an enthusiastic praise over Ozzy. Harry scoffs and shakes his head. 

"I'll come by often to care for Ozzy, and I want to hear back about anything that happens in France!" Luna ends the call after a few repeated goodbyes and Harry sits in the silence of the flat. He stands to give Ozzy a treat before finally stripping to his boxers and crawling under the cool sheets of his bed. His body sinks into the plump mattress and Harry tries not to think about France.

He does anyway though, drifting off wondering what the villa will be like and what they'll get up to, even how Malfoy and his friends will act around Harry's group. Will he make trouble and jab like he used to do in school? Will his calm and collected work form melt away and reveal his true self? Harry finally slips into sleep much too late, his dreams blurring with even more Malfoy scenarios.

"Looking sharp Harry" Ron laughs as Harry slumps through the door of Robards' office, bumping his shoulder on the way in. "Shove off" he rubs his arm and blinks slowly. Despite it being eleven in the morning (a perfectly generous amount of time to feel energized), Harry’s dark circles and curly hair were even more scruffy when he looked in the mirror this morning. That's what you get after a horrible night's sleep and far too many thoughts of Malfoy getting up to no good in fucking France.

Hermione walks through the door chatting to Pansy, who manages one of the branches connected to the Aurors. Harry suddenly realises while watching them chat that this is a bit of an odd bunch. It's a medley of Aurors, curse breakers, heads of departments and other people who do merlin knows what around the office building.

Neville comes in with Ginny who's tying her hair back into a ponytail, shrunken luggage in hand. "Who's ready for France?" She cheers happily, and Hermione and Pansy both whoop from the corner. Harry rubs his temples and truly doesn't know how this could get worse.

Malfoy walks in a moment later and Harry clicks his tongue. That’s how.   He's wearing a black suit and a silver ring on his hand. It's not an engagement ring, Harry discovered a few weeks ago after noticing it on a case. He was curious about it, that was all, and after a bit of light research, he figured out Malfoy was single. No prior engagements.

Harry registers he's staring at Malfoy's right hand and turns his head up to his face because that's a much better idea than just looking away. He catches his eyes briefly and receives an almost puzzled look from Malfoy.

"Potter" Malfoy says, almost a question. Harry can smell his sharp cologne from where he's standing before him. All teakwood and cedar notes filled his nose and his mind with confusion. He almost forgets to reply. "Hm?" Harry raises a brow and watches Malfoy straighten his jacket.

"You were just.... staring" He looks Harry up and down, face still slightly confused before making his way over to Pansy and Hermione for a chat.

"Wasn't staring" Harry mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat up from the confrontation. He turns back to glance at Malfoy briefly. His suit is not black, but a dark green upon further inspection. The cufflinks are another shimmering silver accent that simply screams ' Look at me! I'm a rich prat'.

Harry converses with Ron and Dean to pass the time waiting for Robards. Seamus stumbles in late but is not exactly fashionable. He's sporting a pair of trousers that are far too small—evident with the ankle skin that he's showing in the gap between his socks—and a band t-shirt that Harry doesn't recognize.

"Seamus!" Ron calls over Harry and the group turns to the door. Seamus is flushed and by the looks of him, it seems to have taken a toll on him to simply arrive at the office on time. "You can breathe, Robards isn't even here yet" Ron laughs. Seamus audibly exhales and places his regular-sized luggage down on the floor.

"No shrinking charms today?" Harry smiles. Seamus scoffs and waves him off, too tired to respond. "Shhh" he manages and Dean lets out a chuckle.

"I had to leave without him. Wouldn't get out of bed in time even after I reminded him four times so I just left him to fend for himself". It's Ron's turn to laugh and Seamus finally shrinks his luggage out of spite, giving Harry the bird.

"Mind your manners, Mr. Finnigan, none of that in the workplace" Robards' deep voice calls across the room. Seamus shoots his hand to his side and goes tense. "I'm only joking," He laughs. Seamus' shoulders stay tense for another few seconds before relaxing. 

"So I imagine Mrs. Granger has filled you in on the majority of the details, but I understand there may be a few questions about why you all are taking this holiday in the first place". Harry hums with an eye roll from the corner and Ron nudges his side with an elbow.

"The Ministry knows how hard this branch works and all those who connect to it, and upon investigation, we have discovered that the whole lot of you have managed to sneak past the recommended paid absence and somehow haven't taken even one day of leave in over..." He taps his wand on a stack of papers, one rustling free from the pile to display a data chart to the crowd, "Ten months".

The group looks around at each other. "I bet Seamus is only here because he forgets to clock out. His hours are absolute bollocks" Ron whispers. Harry snickers into his hand and stops himself when Robards turns to look at him.

"I'm not sure what is a laughing matter here, Mr. Potter. Out of everyone here, you are the one with the most clocked hours for the whole year. You're on the brink of breaking a department record if you're not careful" Harry falls silent. With Hermione in the room, that truly shows how little Harry actually rests from work. It's something he finds keeps his life in order. A nice day-to-day schedule and showing up to serve the community is the perfect situation for him. It gives him control and purpose and has done so ever since those first few months after the war.

Robards clears his throat to continue, "You all play a vital part in this field, but in order to have you working your best it is important to take a break and rest our skills for even a few days. This holiday is not meant to be a punishment," He turns toward Harry and lifts a brow, "And you shall take it as an actual holiday. Relax, get a horrible sunburn, drink an Aperol Spritz, and then get back to work in a week's time."

From across the room, Pansy and Hermione nod at the mention of a nice cocktail as Robards finishes his speech. "Now I know you all have worked together before, but I highly suggest you also take the time to actually get to know your colleagues. It won't do any harm to befriend the people who are already on your side". He goes on to explain the portkey and the instructions on magic use while they're away, and soon enough everyone is wrapping a hand around the sunhat in the center of the desk.

Harry grabs the rim and a slender pale hand joins him, a silver ring brushing briefly against his pinky finger before retracting. "Sorry," Malfoy says awkwardly, giving a small smile. Harry doesn't respond but studies Malfoy's face briefly. Relaxed with a slight flush, jawline sharp yet soft enough to not intimidate Harry as much as it would a stranger. He knows this face, the light freckles that have blossomed from the summer rays, and the grey eyes that change in the light.

Harry gets a pulling feeling in his gut, similar to his first time trying apparition with Dumbledore. His hair blows briefly in the wind as they spin quickly and he looks up to see Malfoy's face again, the usual calm complexion morphed into drawn eyebrows and anxious eyes. They touch down before Harry can think more of it.

The sun hits him immediately, giving no mercy as it beats down on his back and a layer of sweat materializes on his forehead. "Right," Hermione dusts off her work pants and turns in a circle looking around, "If I'm not mistaken the villa should be just up this hill here" She points with her instruction paper to a cobblestone path bordered by blossoming plants and fruit trees.

Someone in the back of the group groans, probably Seamus, and Draco laughs from the side as Blaise hauls Pansy over his shoulder to carry her up. "Oh come on, it's not that steep" Harry calls over, and Blaise smiles over at him shaking his head, "Tell that to Her Majesty up here" He tips her just enough to make her squeal a bit before securing her back into position.

Blaise is a very tolerable person, Harry has learned. Working with him occasionally as a partner makes for some of the best work Harry does when they combine Harry's focus and Blaise's attention to detail. He chuckles lightly when Pansy passes him and does a queen wave, mouthing peasant down to him from her perch.

Harry makes a point to pat his pockets to make sure his luggage is still secure, and when he feels the lump he begins the trek up the hill. It truly isn't that steep, but his legs still burn by the time they reach the top when the light work combines with the relentless heat. He sighs loudly and rests his hands on his hips to catch his breath.

"I thought the Aurors had a strict workout regimen, Potter? Looks like a lot of huffing and puffing over there" Malfoy’s lips curl into a smirk. Harry rolls his eyes and lifts his sweaty shirt to reveal a toned chest and defined abs, flipping Malfoy off.

Malfoy stares for a few seconds before meeting his eyes, only to give another smirk and walk up to the house leaving Harry stranded and confused. "Come on mate" Ron smacks him on the bum and Harry yelps before following him into the villa.

It's even hotter inside than out if possible, as the villa doesn't even have muggle air conditioning. Hermione quickly spans the house with cooling charms and the relief is almost instantaneous. The group lets out a collective sigh, silently thanking Hermione for her near-perfect performance of statis charms.

Once he can think straight, Harry takes time to appreciate the thoughtfully decorated entrance area that continues into the wide sitting room. Harry walks to tour the sizable kitchen, admiring the classic tiling along the walls, bearing an array of photos that each tell a story of their own.

There's a deck that overlooks the houses below and shows a sliver of the ocean waves crashing to the shore. Maybe this won't be so bad. When Harry makes his way up the spiral staircase, almost everyone has already picked out their rooms. Hermione and Ron together obviously, Dean and Seamus, Pansy and Ginny in the next one over, and Blaise and Neville roomed together as well. Perhaps they gained quite the friendship after a week of being partners just before the trip was announced.

Harry stops at the top step and turns slowly to the left to the only open door. Malfoy is unpacking his luggage with his wand, neatly folded clothes flying into the cupboard effortlessly. "No way" Harry speaks, dodging a flying pair of swim trunks on his way over to confront Malfoy.

"Oh grow up Potter. It's not like I picked to have you as my vacation buddy" His eyes flick to his wand and he lifts it to shut the navy suitcase on the bed. "Don't call me your vacation buddy" Harry takes a breath, "Can't you ask Blaise to switch with me?"

"Oh I think Blaise and Neville are very adamant about staying in the same room" Draco chuckles to himself. "What is that supposed to mean?" Harry takes the tiny case from his pocket and resizes it quickly before turning to await a response. Malfoy doesn't say a word, but raises both of his hands and pokes his index finger through the hole made by his other hand in a lewd gesture.

Harry flushes a deep red in a state of slight shock "They're..." he trails off. "Fucking?" Malfoy suggests, and Harry nods quickly. "Yep, that" he scratches the back of his neck and distracts himself with the task of sorting his clothes into drawers. "I guess that's what one week on a stakeout mission does to people," Malfoy says. Harry doesn't look up to respond.

"Just promise me you'll be civil if we have to share this room" Harry announces, trying to lay down ground rules. "When have I not been civil this whole time?" Malfoy asks, genuinely looking for an answer. Harry opens his mouth to respond then shuts it. Malfoy nods pointedly and shrinks the empty case back down to tuck into the bedside drawer.

"I think you're the one who needs to relax, Potter" He quips, walking out of the room before Harry can say anything in return. He's really beginning to hate that Malfoy always gets the last word.

Suddenly, Harry hears music abruptly turn on in the kitchen. Slowly moving out of the room and down the stairs, he watches as Pansy and Malfoy have a mini freak-out session over the song that starts playing. "Blaise, do you remember?" Pansy smiles, turning to the rest of the group, "We used to dance to this song all the time during our school's dance class before Hogwarts" She explains.

"Of course, your school had bloody dance class" Ginny huffs from the corner amused, though it lacks any venom. Pansy shrugs and turns around to find Malfoy holding his hand out in a bowed position. Harry watches closely, moving to sit beside Ron at the kitchen island.

"Mrs. Parkinson" He dips his head gesturing to the open palm, and Pansy touches her heart dramatically before taking his hand. "You remember it all?" She asks him, taking his left hand in hers and resting her other arm along his.

He snakes a hand around her waist and leads her gracefully around the kitchen to the beat of J'adore Venise. "How could I forget? Madam Auclair drilled it into us so hard that I can still feel the ruler on my back from when I slouched" He laughs, easily keeping step and releasing his grip on Pansy to twirl her around. Pansy giggles and her face goes stern in an impression of their old teacher, "Garde le dos droit monsieur Malefoy" Pansy says.

The rest of the group looks at each other briefly, impressed by her French. "I'm surprised you even remember that much French based on how little you paid attention" He shakes his head and pulls her close to his body, swaying quickly and finally dipping her at the end of the song. "I don't know how you stuck with it after all these years" Pansy retorts.

"Wait- so you three all went to French primary school together? Wicked!" Seamus calls from the bar followed by a few hums in agreement. "Well Pansy and I were always kind of shit, Dray is the only one who ever actually kept speaking after school. Almost fluent, the prat" Blaise laughs shutting the fridge and tossing a raspberry into his mouth.

Malfoy waves him off shaking his head "That's not true, stop with the false praise" He smiles and takes a seat beside Ron at the island. "Mate I've heard you sleep talk in French" Blaise stares with a brow cocked. Harry—intrigued, looks past Ron and over to Malfoy, who is flushed a rosy pink from the spotlight. Their eyes meet briefly before Harry finally looks away. 

Dean comes walking over with a cocktail shaker, glasses floating behind him and falling into line on the counter space. "Who's up for a drink?" He calls, and everyone cheers and crowds to inspect his concoction. "What's in it?" Hermione peers into the first glass Dean has poured bearing an iridescent yellow and pink gradient. "Vodka, Lemonade, and grapefruit juice! Super basic but you can't go wrong with a greyhound can you?"

"I have no idea what that is, but you had me at vodka" Seamus lurches for the drink and swipes it before anyone could even think of stopping him. The rest are poured out and garnished with fresh lemons from the new stock-replenishing fridge—thanks again to Hermione's charm work. Everyone grabs their own drink by the time Seamus has downed half of his second and they fall into light chatter over their plans for the trip. 

For the array of people, the group mainly gets along really well. Harry hadn't realized before, but his friend's lives and the Malfoy crew had intertwined far more than he had thought. Between cases, late work nights, celebrations at the pub, and, with disturbing recent discoveries, even stake-out case rendezvous, they've been brought to more of a solid group than expected.

Even Ron and Malfoy have been getting along recently. A shared love for chess and eager competition has led to the repeated conjuring of a chess set each instance they have time to spare. Over time their quick games have developed the ground for a friendship.

He has to admit that Malfoy's efforts to make amends after the war were very well thought out and meaningful despite how out of character they were. Harry kept the letter Mafloy had sent all that time ago. Just thinking about it sends him down a spiral of thoughts. He recalls the apology and the explanations, though no excuses for his actions. Harry appreciated that especially, the honesty of it all and the recognition that he was a total prick. It made it a lot easier to forgive him.

But what he remembers best was the loopy signature at the bottom of the parchment, neat cursive and tight letters plotted down with deep blue ink. "Harry?" A voice calls. Harry blinks and straightens his back, realizing all eyes are on him expectantly.

"Erm, what?" He clears his throat and blushes. "We were just wondering how you feel about the beach tomorrow?" Seamus asks, taking the last sip of his second drink. "Oh yeah, sure," Harry says nodding, thinking nothing of it.

"Splendid!" Ginny calls out and the conversation continues. Harry is glad to have kept her as a friend despite their romantic relationship not exactly working out. There was nothing really to be upset about when they broke things off. Ginny just wasn't right for Harry and, well, Harry was a bit too much of a man for Ginny. Somehow through it all, sexuality being the issue was less of a surprise to everyone than Ginny and Harry had expected. 

In fact, he remembers that when they shared the news with the rest of the Weasleys, Fred and George thought Harry was the one with the sexual realizations. It was a bit of a blur explaining it all, but in the end, it was as though nothing had changed. Harry and Ginny knew they'd always stay friends because it was the main thing their relationship was built around. When they broke up, all they took away was the romantic elements. The strong bond they'd made over the years never shifted or faltered.

He catches her eye from across the room and smiles at her tipping his drink in a 'cheers' motion. She winks back at him, and Harry watches from afar as she resumes her conversation, twisting a bit of her strawberry hair between her fingers as she listens to Pansy with an admiring smile. Harry knows that look in her eyes from when they dated. They may have broken up, but her body language is something Harry will always notice. The elbow kneeling on the countertop and subtle fluttering eyelashes mean one thing only. He'll have to talk to her about that later.

A hand lays to rest on Harry's shoulder as he admires the scene. He turns his head to find Blaise standing beside him. Harry watches the other man drop the hand to his waist and clear his throat before taking a long sip of his drink. He smiles at Blaise and turns back to the scene to eye Malfoy and Neville enjoying their drinks at the kitchen island.

"Y'alright?" Blaise asks, brow cocking looking to see what has grasped Harry's attention. He glances down at Harry with sly eyes. Harry nods and tips back his drink, swirling the sweet and bitter taste in his mouth before swallowing. “What’s so interesting about Draco, hm?” Blaise’s gaze doesn’t leave Harry, prying for a response.

“Nothing,” Harry shrugs, feeling hot all of a sudden despite the cooling charms around them. It was Blaise’s hot glare down and the fact that he was far too tall for Harry’s comfort.

“You know he’s not the boy he was before,” Blaise starts, swirling his glass and looking up to see Draco, head tipped back in laughter at a comment from Pansy. “He’s made a life for himself after the war. Made amends where they were due and donated more than his share to charity. He even volunteers at St. Mungos on the weekends in the children’s ward” 

Harry’s brows draw close as he stares harder at Malfoy, trying to see the man who donates and the man who plays with sick children in his free time. Malfoy smiles in a way that makes Harry think maybe Blaise is right. 

“He’s still a twat sometimes” Harry contradicts, thinking over their conversation earlier in the bedroom. 

“You’re a twat sometimes, Harry, but that doesn’t make you an awful person the rest of the time does it?” Harry closes his mouth and thinks. “Sometimes it seems that maybe you chose not to see him in a different light than you’re used to. Almost like it scares you”. 

Harry freezes then, knuckles tight around the glass and throat scratchy. Harry isn’t afraid of Malfoy or the way he has changed. And he certainly isn’t scared of his crackling laugh and the way everyone else seems to be getting on with him just fine. 

What does Harry do around Malfoy now that he is good? Harry recalls Hermione’s words from earlier yesterday. Bonding wasn’t the word Harry would use even still, but maybe a bit of light getting to know him wouldn’t hurt. 

By the time dinner rolls around, everyone is very tipsy and Harry isn’t entirely sure if they will even be allowed into the restaurant they’re queued outside of. A slim young woman calls out Malfoy’s name for the reservation they had made earlier before the drinks got to their heads. 

“Par ici, Monsieur” She smiles, bright red lips contrasting her pale cheeks. The group follows the hostess to the table like ducklings, claiming their seats around the stretched white tablecloth.

Seamus and Pansy cheekily order a few bottles of wine for the table and their earlier conversations resume over the dim candlelight. Harry is seated between Ginny and Hermione and has a nice chat about Dean’s cocktail success. 

But when Ginny turns to Neville about another important matter, Harry lets his gaze pull back to Malfoy. His hair has become more ruffled in the humid air and his shirt has been unbuttoned thrice over to the point where it’s a bit scandalous.  

He watches intently as Malfoy folds his cuffs up his forearm and takes a sip of the aged wine, throat bobbing as he swallows. When the waitress comes around to take their orders, Blaise Pansy, and Malfoy all take turns translating for the group. 

Harry, of course, has been preoccupied and hasn’t even glanced at the options yet. He quickly picks a pasta choice that seems decent and tucks the menu into the pile the group had created. 

Malfoy looks away from the waitress and meets his eyes suddenly. “Et toi, Harry?” Draco asks, though he’d forgotten to switch from his French and Harry is caught far off guard hearing him. “I- erm” his hand jets for the stack of menus as his mind blanks on whatever he had chosen, and in the process he manages to knock over a glass of water and push Neville’s silverware to the floor. 

“He’ll have the Pasta Pissaladière” Hermione interjects before Harry can make more of a fool of himself. Ginny snorts beside him and he shoots her a pointed glare. The table waves off the disruption and resumes their chatter, but Harry sinks even lower into his seat trying his best to disappear. When he’s about halfway considering slipping under the table, Harry decides that he’s had enough wine for the night.                             

Chapter Text

When they finally stumble back to the villa, Harry’s table incident is muddled by the alcohol and practically forgotten. He walks slightly behind the group as they pile through the door, a cool breeze rippling his collar as it brushes over his exposed neck. 

The air is still warm but has slowly become increasingly more comfortable as the hours of the night pass. Now, at 10 o'clock, the wind provides less ease from the heat than it did with the afternoon sun, and instead, it chills Harry’s spine as he files into the house.  

Blaise and Pansy are sprawled out on the lush sofa, and she hums as he toys lightly with her hair.

“Anyone up for a game?” Seamus falters to a plump chair sloshing his drink along the way. Most of the group nods, and the rest either aren’t paying attention or are too drunk to process it. 

 “That’s enough of this for tonight” Dean smiles, sneakily stealing the drink from Seamus as he flounders in protest.

“When you say game,” Malfoy drawls, sauntering over to a pouf beside Harry with a glass of whiskey in hand, “What do you have in mind?”

“Like a party game,” Seamus waves his hand around expecting the group to make something of it, “you know, spin the bottle, truth or dare and such”. Harry shifts in his seat, listening more intently than before.

Malfoy nods curtly, swirling his glass absent-mindedly. Harry watches the alcohol swish along the side before Mafloy’s slender hand stills and he lifts the drink to his lips. Harry turns away. 

“I haven’t played truth or dare since fifth year,” Neville laughs.

“Yeah, but you always backed out of the dares or tried to change the rules on us mate” Dean responds, and the other Gryffindors chuckle at the memory. 

“Right then,” Ginny crosses her legs, “Truth or dare it is”. Those who were listening from the kitchen gathered into the empty seats and onto the floor. 

“Who’s up first?” She calls to the group looking around “Seamus,” he perks from his slump and turns to look at her, “You might as well, it was your idea”. 

“Alright then,” he surveys the group, smirking as he spies for his first victim. Seamus always played dirty at every party game, but this was one of the worst. You could never escape a bad outcome when he picked you, and whether you chose the truth or to take a dare it was a setup. 

“Blaise,” He selects. Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d kept, smiling and turning to watch Blaise with amusement. Seamus smirks as he eyes Blaise, clearly enjoying the power he has.

“Truth or Dare?”

Blaise, leaning back with his usual confident air, doesn’t hesitate.

“Dare,” He replies, his voice smooth, but his eyes are alert, waiting for whatever Seamus has in mind. 

“I dare you to…” Seamus pauses, savoring the tension in the air. “I dare you to do your best impression of a chicken for one full minute”. 

Drunken laughter erupts from the group almost immediately. Blaise, however, seems mildly phased. “Seriously?” He chuckles, “That’s the best you’ve got?”.

“Hey I’m keeping it light, it’s the first round,” Seamus puts his hands up and smiles. “Alright then,” Blaise sighs dramatically, making a show of standing up as he cracks his neck and looks at his peers. Suddenly, he clucks loudly, flapping his arms at his sides as he makes his way around the room. 

It’s tortuous, Harry thinks, and he can’t contain himself as he joins the rest of the group in their laughter. Finally, after what seems like an eternity of clucking and flapping, Blaise stops, chest heaving with exaggerated breaths. “Well done” Seamus claps slowly, and the laughter dies down. “Who’s next?”.

Harry leans back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches the strange group interact.

“Dean,” Blaise calls out, the focus shifting to the next victim, “Truth or dare?”. 

Dean ponders for a moment before answering, “Truth”.

The group oohs like they’re teenagers again, courtesy of the drinks, and the room fizzles with suspense.

“What is something you’ve lied about to Seamus that he never found out?”. 

Dean covers his face with his hands, groaning.

“Come on, love. What have you been hiding” Seamus wiggles his brows and Dean laughs. “Remember the time you lost those tickets to the Cannons game?” Dean starts slowly as if he’s bracing for impact. “Yes…” Seamus squints. 

“Well…” Dean pauses for a moment, “I may or may not have torn them up so that you would stay home and I could cheer you up with sex”. The group falls silent before Blaise cackles, tossing his head back. 

“Those were like 50 galleons!” Seamus sobers up and throws his hands in the air. “I was horny! You’d been away for three weeks before that and you just expected me to let you run off and get sloshed with your mates while I pathetically wanked at home?”. Ginny falls into laughter, slapping the arm of the sofa as Pansy and Neville soon catch on as well. 

Harry sits shocked at how open this conversation has become in such a short period, but he huffs a suppressed laugh into his hand as he watches the scene.

“Okay love birds, you can settle this elsewhere,” Ginny calls, “Pick someone else, Dean”. 

Dean lets out a breath and looks around the room. It takes a moment for his blush to die down, but when it does he makes his selection.

“Hermione,” he begins. She straightens in her seat. “Truth or dare?”

Hermione thinks for a moment, unsure. She would either be subject to a foolish action or an embarrassing truth.

“Dare” She decides. “That’s my Gryffindor” Ron kisses her cheek and pushes her slightly to stand in front of the group.  

“Right,” Dean smirks, “I dare you to try and lick your elbow”. Hermione pauses, clearly confused. “That’s too easy”. 

“Go on then, have a go” Dean sits forward, laying his elbows on his knees.

Hermione raises a brow along with her elbow, glancing at her arm. She sticks her tongue out cautiously, using her left hand to pull the elbow as close to her mouth as she can. With as much force as she can muster, she leans to lick her elbow, twisting her face in the effort. 

Harry laughs “Go on Mione, isn’t this one supposed to be ‘too easy’”.

She gives him a sharp glare and shakes her body out, reaching for her elbow once more. She sticks her tongue out as far as it can go and pulls the arm in again but to no avail. 

“You can give up now, you gave it a go” Dean chuckles, and the rest of the group slowly turns to his direction. If there is one thing that lights a fire under stubborn Hermione Granger, it’s someone telling her she can’t do something. 

This leads to another five whole minutes of strained efforts that almost lead to Hermione pulling her shoulder until Ron finally calls it off and leads his disappointed girlfriend back to the sofa. 

“My turn” She huffs, disappointed in herself from the failure to perform. “Draco,” her eyes narrow. Malfoy turns to look at her, draining the last of his whiskey. He holds it in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and raising a brow before swallowing. Harry watches Malfoy’s throat bob before looking down at his own lap.

“Dare,” He says cooly. Hermione doesn’t hesitate, “I dare you to swap clothes with Harry”.

At the sound of his name, Harry glances back up from his lap.

“What?” he meekly protests. Malfoy pushes off the arms of his chair and his hands move toward his shirt buttons. 

“What are you doing?” Harry presses on, standing to face Malfoy. He meets Harry’s eyes and looks him up and down.

“Not up for the challenge?” He smirks, slowly unbuttoning the cotton shirt one tiny button by one. Harry freezes, caught staring at the veiny hands as they work their way down the shirt. They halt at the last button and Harry meets Malfoy’s eyes again. 

“Scared, Potter?” He asks sternly, though his lip curls into a small smile as he kicks off his loafers.

Something in Harry shifts, and he locks eyes with Malfoy before stripping off his cashmere sweater.

“You wish”. 

Harry slides off his shoes and moves his hands to his collar. He watches as Malfoy toys with the zip on his sleek pants, waiting for him to slide them off. Instead, Malfoy pauses and watches Harry slip his shirt off one shoulder and down his arm. His bicep becomes riddled with goosebumps as he remembers the group watching them intently. 

“This isn’t a strip tease, lads, get a move on!” Someone shouts, but Harry doesn’t turn to see who it is. He unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall down his legs. This all becomes more embarrassing than Harry imagined as wolf whistles and whoops follow him kicking the jeans off.

Malfoy does the same, standing clad in only black boxers as he steps toward Harry. His hand brushes Harry’s as they exchange clothes, and Harry heats up. The whole interaction has become much more intimate than he would have preferred. 

Harry wishes he could crawl into bed before he realises that he wouldn’t even be able to escape Malfoy in their shared room. Harry hurriedly unbunches Malfoy’s pants and pulls them up slowly. Malfoy’s legs are slimmer than Harry’s but he’s also taller than him, meaning the trousers pool at his feet and squeeze his thighs among other parts very uncomfortably. 

“Nice arse Harry” Blaise calls from his perch.

Pansy hums in agreement. Harry rolls his eyes and turns away from Malfoy to give them a fake smile and the finger. When he turns back, Harry has missed most of Malfoy’s dressing as he has begun to slip the sweater over his head. It’s slightly baggy over his slim torso, but of course, the prat somehow pulls it off. 

Harry, on the other hand, begins to feel claustrophobic as he buttons up Malfoy’s dress shirt. Every time he breathes he feels a button will pop, and his hands shake as he fiddles with the last button. The group cheers, some clapping and others heaving with laughter at the sight of them. 

Hermione pulls out the muggle telephone they had all been provided with and snaps a photo. Harry takes a deep breath to scold her, but one of the buttons gives out and pops off the shirt to hit Neville in the eye. 

Malfoy watches the scene, bursting out into rich laughter. Harry whips around to yell at him too and yet another button launches off the shirt.

“That’s my favourite dress shirt, Potter” He manages through stupid giggles. Harry flushes, straining back his own laugh.

“This is funny to you, huh?” Harry shakes his head, unbuttoning the shirt before another deadly plastic weapon can shoot off and blind someone. 

He bunches up the ruined cloth and trips over the pants on his way to return it. Falling flat on his back, Harry finally breaks and lets the laughter envelop him. Malfoy goes red watching, taking in a deep breath before another round of laughs flows from him. He looks down at Harry, pointing down at him and smacking his leg. 

“Stop being a twat,” Harry complains, trying to sound ticked off. It only makes Malfoy laugh harder. Harry grabs Malfoy’s leg from the floor and pulls him down with a thud. “Who’s laughing now?” He asks. 

Malfoy is the one who is still laughing, seeming to never stop until Harry finally smacks him with the shirt and shucks the too-long pants off to toss on top of him as well.

“I’m off to bed” he huffs, flustered and hair more tousled than usual. 

“Goodnight, Harry” The ones who aren’t still laughing call as he drags himself up the spiral stairs. When he reaches their room, Harry plops down onto the bed and finally catches his breath. Faintly, he can smell Malfoy’s cologne on his skin as he runs his hands over his collarbone. 

It’s mostly made up of expensive cologne and moisturizer, but there is a subtle undertone that Harry can’t quite place. Something that isn’t from a bottle but is just Malfoy. 

While everyone is downstairs, Harry figures he might as well take the time to shower. The bathroom tile is cool under his feet, and he lunges to turn the shower knob without getting wet. Harry looks in the mirror as the water heats up, breaking down his appearance. 

His hair is scruffy and his glasses sit disordered and wonky on his face. He pulls the specks off and watches the mirror steam up before turning the fan on and stepping into the hot stream. The night’s events replay in his head as he lathers the minty soap over his chest. 

He cringes as he recalls the dinner table mishap and the strange feeling in his stomach hearing Malfoy speak to him in French. He keeps scrubbing, working the soap down his legs, and massaging his right calf. Then he runs over their dare in his mind, Malfoy’s unsuitably tight clothes on his skin and Harry’s outfit loosely hanging off Malfoy’s lissome stature. He shakes the thought away as he rinses off, turning the water cold to get himself in check. 

Harry towels himself dry and hangs the fluffy wrap over his hips before stepping back into the bedroom. He pads over to his chest of drawers and picks a pair of linen pajama pants to dress in. The door bursts open just as Harry begins to lower his towel. He scrambles to cover himself but Malfoy simply ambles past him toward the bathroom.

He turns to Harry, “Relax, Potter, I didn’t see anything”. 

​​ The door to the toilet clicks shut and Harry lets out a breath. What the fuck was that? Harry slips the pants on and climbs into bed trying to forget the whole interaction. He flicks his hand and the lights dim to nothing. The only light Harry can see is the glow creeping out from the bathroom door. 

He relaxes into the soft pillow, trying to put the day behind him. Harry can hear the water of Malfoy’s shower hitting the floor, the sibilance serving as white noise to finally push him into sleep.

When Harry stirs to the sound of crashing waves and light chirping, Malfoy’s bed is vacant. The smells of the ocean waft through the open French doors out to the deck where Malfoy sits with a cappuccino in one hand and a French newspaper in the other.

Harry traipses toward the deck, rubbing one eye and almost knocking into the foot of Malfoy’s neatly made bed.

“Morning, Potter” Malfoy says before even seeing him, sipping his coffee slowly.

“Morning,” Harry takes the seat beside him and takes in the scenery below them. 

Markets and stalls begin to set up and the bustle of the morning streets chorus with the chirping of nightingales.

“Sleep well?” Malfoy turns to look at Harry, grey eyes squinting in the sunlight.

Harry takes a moment to respond. “I guess so,”

Malfoy maintains eye contact for a second too long, finally breaking the comfortable silence with the shuffle of his chair as he stands. 

“Are the others awake?” Harry asks, rising from his seat.

“Not yet,” Malfoy replies, and Harry follows him downstairs.

“They stayed up quite late. By the time I was getting into bed, they were still in the sitting room,” Malfoy searches for the kettle, huffing in satisfaction when he finds it in the cabinet over the sink. “You fell asleep quick,” He says, voice raised over the flowing tap as he fills the kettle. 

“Don’t really remember,” Harry shrugs.

“Did you know you snore?” Malfoy asks, a smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, sorry usually I put a silencing charm on myself but I guess I haven’t been used to sharing a room with someone in a while,” Harry explains, but he cringes right as he realizes what that insinuates. 

“It’s been that long eh?” Malfoy laughs. Harry hides his face in his hands, a blush seeping down his neck. “Not what I meant,” He groans. Malfoy sets out two tea cups and leans against the counter as he waits for the water to boil. 

The early morning sun filters through the wall of windows spanning the sitting room, warming Harry’s golden skin as the light passes over his back. They sit in silence as Malfoy pours the tea, adding lots of milk and skipping over the sugar cubes.

“I like my tea-”

“I know” Malfoy calmly interrupts, pouring a small bit of milk and a generous amount of cubes into Harry’s cup. Just how he likes it. “We work together, Potter, I see you make tea in the break room about 3 times a day”. 

“Oh,” Harry says awkwardly.

“Besides, I probably would have guessed anyway. It suits you, y’know? Strong but sweet,” Malfoy places the cup in front of Harry and takes the seat next to him at the kitchen island. Harry hesitates before grabbing the cup. Did Malfoy just suggest that he sees Harry as strong and sweet?

What does that make Malfoy then? Bitter and pale? Harry lets out a suppressed laugh. He supposes that is a pretty good way to describe him.

“What’s so funny?” Malfoys slurps his milky tea, which only makes Harry laugh more.

“Nothing,” Harry waves him off, hiding his face in his cup as he laughs silently. 

“You’re an arse you know,” Malfoy smiles, shaking his head as he brings the cup to his lips. They drink in silence for the most part, and when Harry collects their cups to put into the sink he reflects on how easy it’s been to act civil with Malfoy. 

“I’m going to go for a run. Be back in an hour or so,” Harry declares, walking toward the staircase.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Malfoy asks, trying to hide his concern.

“Not really,” Harry scratches his neck.  “S’pose I’ll just figure it out along the way,” He shrugs, beginning the ascent up to their room.

“Hold on,” Malfoy stops him, pulling out his wand. Harry turns to face him, trying to make out what he’s saying under his breath. 

“There,” Malfoy says after the mysterious incantation.

“What was that?” Harry reaches up to feel his face to make sure Mafloy hasn’t spelled him ugly. 

“Just a locator charm. That way if you get lost, we can track you down,” Malfoy goes back to tinkering in the kitchen, but Harry stays standing on the steps. 

“Thanks,” he says, but Malfoy doesn’t even turn around, acting like this is a normal occurrence. Harry changes into gym shorts and a t-shirt, slipping on his running trainers and casting a quick vision charm. 

When Harry re-enters the kitchen, Malfoy seems taken aback by seeing him without glasses.

“What?” Harry asks, confused.

“Nothing,” Malfoy looks back down to the book he’s reading. Just as Harry opens the door, he feels another spell wave over him. 

He turns to the culprit, and Malfoy shrinks into an awkward smile.

“Sun protection charm,” he blurts. Harry just smiles and shakes his head.

“Goodbye, Malfoy”. 

Draco decides to take a walk down to the markets while the rest of the group wakes up. He slips on a pair of sandals and carefully shuts the door behind him. The heat hits immediately, and Draco casts cooling and protection charms over himself before stepping out from under the awning. 

He walks for quite a while, taking in the welcoming environment of the small town and basking in the sea air before stopping at a market stall.

“Bonjour Monsieur,” Draco begins.

The man smiles back at him. “Bonjour! Qu’est-ce que tu voudrais?”. Draco assesses the baguettes and baskets of bǎtards. 

"Je voudrais un Pain de Campagne au Levain et deux baguettes, s'il vous plaît." He decides.

The man nods, bags the bread for him, and looks up again “Autre chose?". 

Draco eyes the sweet section. “Oui, et dix madeleines, s'il vous plaît.”

The man adds those to the order and Draco takes out his coin pouch to pay him.

"Treize francs, s'il vous plaît." Draco takes out the coins and leaves an extra three francs in the jar on the counter. 

“Merci beaucoup,” he waves and moves on to continue his walk.

A bike whizzes past him, the rider shouting “ désolé!” with an apologetic wave backward. Malfoy just laughs and puts a hand up in return.

He’s missed France. The buzzing early streets and quiet air bring him back to summers as a boy. Careless and free, using pocket money to purchase sweets and toys before supper under the stars on the terrace.

As he walks, Draco buys a postcard to send to his mother and a touristy ashtray for a laugh. Walking out of the small shop, he barely has time to flinch back when Potter appears before him.

“Hi,” Draco says, backing up to avoid Potter’s sweat dripping onto him.

“I’m glad I found you, I was beginning to get lost”. Potter peers into the bag of baked goods and hums. 

“Smells good,” He reaches into the bag before Draco swats his hand away.

“Ah ah ah, you’re all sweaty and disgusting,” Draco fusses, looking down at Harry’s bare chest, shirt abandoned and tucked into his shorts. 

“Besides, you wouldn’t want any of this plain,” Draco points out. Potter sighs, and Draco almost feels guilty. “I do have something for you,” He caves, remembering Harry’s sweet tooth. Draco pulls out one of the madeleines from the wrapping and Harry almost drools. 

“Down, boy,” Draco laughs, watching Harry flush under the sun before giving him the spongy cake. They walk back to the house in silence, spare Harry’s chewing, and when the air conditioning greets them at the door so does the group. 

“Where were you guys?” Pansy asks. 

“Running,” Harry says, while, at the same time, Draco states “Shopping.” He holds up the bag of goodies.

“That about sums you two up,” Blaise laughs, “What’s in the bag?”

“Breakfast,” Draco smiles, laying the bag on the counter to pull out the contents. As the group begins their breakfast feast, Draco watches as Potter slips out the back door to explore the outside. 

“Beautiful day out, but don’t forget your sun protection charms,” Draco warns. The group nods, then continues wolfing down the baguettes and spreads Draco had bought. 

When Potter comes back in through the glass door, his hair is wet and a towel hangs low on his waist. Draco watches, his fork missing his mouth and jabbing into his cheek instead. Pansy, of course, sees this all play out and laughs. 

He glares at her in annoyance, and Potter’s wet hair drips onto the counter as he sneaks another madeleine. “Did you know this place has an outdoor shower? Brilliant,” he mumbles around the bite.

No one shares his excitement but Ron and Seamus, who beam at the discovery.

“We best get going soon if we want to get a good spot,” Hermione mentions. 

“That’s true. Whenever we stayed at Draco’s in the summer the beaches would be packed by noon,” Pansy brings up. 

“Wait, beach?” Potter questions dumbly.

“You know, the beach? You agreed yesterday with the rest of us before dinner, remember?” Neville tries to get Potter to recall anything, but eventually, he gives up. 

“Yeah, sure, the beach sounds great” Potter waves off, heading for the stairs to change. Draco takes a seat next to Pansy at the counter and starts spreading butter over a slice of baguette.

“So,” she begins slyly, “Potter?”

“What about him?” Draco says after swallowing the bread and marmalade. 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the way you just went googly-eyed at his dripping torso?” 

Draco chokes on the bite. “Please,” he rolls his eyes, “I’m more concerned with someone slipping on the puddle he left after scoffing down the madeleines I bought him.” 

“See? You even bought him something special from the bakery.” Pansy states. “And the only puddle is the one you were melting into at the sight of Potter’s washboard abs.”

Draco flushes and smacks Pansy with the baguette as she cackles up the stairs to change. Everyone returns to their respective rooms to gather their belongings for the beach day, but Potter is already ready on the terrace when Draco arrives at the room. 

He’s wearing deep green swimming trunks that make Draco think of his eyes. He reaches an arm over his back and pulls off his shirt and shorts.

“Let me know when you’re done,” Potter calls from outside. 

“Please Potter,” Draco bends to slip his trunks up his legs, “We’ve seen each other change about a million times in the Quidditch changing rooms.”

“Just saying,” Potter mumbles back. “I’m done you tosser,” Draco laughs, slipping a sun shirt over his chest. 

“Aw, you’re wearing a sun shirt,” Potter looks Draco up and down. 

“And what’s wrong with that?” Draco stands, hands on hips as he assesses Potter’s outfit for anything to critique. 

“You’re just an English rose, that’s all,” Potter laughs, plucking a cap from the top of his dresser and turning to look at Draco once more before leaving for the stairs.

Draco stands there, baffled, before finally moving to follow him out of the room. Downstairs, Hermione has packed a bag filled to the top with all the necessities, and that’s with the extended room of her charms. 

Pansy adjusts her sunglasses, a bit of a statement in Draco’s eyes, but she makes them work. The rest of the group trickles down the steps with chatter and laughs, and Hermione turns to them all. 

“Now everyone. Remember your sun protection charms, I don’t want anyone complaining about a sunburn later, Alright?”

“Don’t worry about Malfoy here, his sun shirt’s got him covered,” Potter chuckles. Draco smacks him with a towel, muttering ‘ prat’ under his breath. 

With Hermione’s public service announcement in the air, they begin the walk to the beach. Seamus complains about the walk about three minutes into the journey, prompting ridicule from those in front of him telling him to keep up. 

When they arrive, a set of wooden steps leads them down towards the sand.

“Plage Nudiste?” Potter squints at the sign, “What does that mean?”

“It just means it’s a newer beach so tourists can see why it’s not on their maps,” Draco explains. 

“Got it,” Potter nods.

Blaise and Dean snicker at the back of the group, but Draco quickly turns to silence them. Potter leads the way down the stairs, mindlessly chatting to Hermione and Ron as he descends onto the fluffy dunes of pale sand. 

“The sand here is like a-,” Potter’s mouth zips when he looks up to the beachgoers around him. Sprawled around towels and playing games in the water. He turns to the group in horror. 

“Why has nobody got any clothes on?” He says sheepishly, flushing at the scene before him. 

“You did agree to this last night, mate. Right guys?” Ron asks around to the group, and everyone nods in agreement. 

Potter stands shell-shocked as the rest of the group walks past him to get a good spot on the beach. When Draco moves to pass him, he bends to bring his mouth to Potter’s ear.

“Nudiste,” he whispers in French, “moyens nude en anglais”. 

“Yeah, I got it,” Potter huffs out a breath and collects himself before following Draco down the steps.