FIC: Not Even Malfoys Wear Silk to Work (Harry/Draco - 14000 - NC-17)

[mini_fest_mod]

Title: Not Even Malfoys Wear Silk to Work
Author: ???
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Prompt: It’s Harry’s first Christmas as a vampire.
Word Count: 14000
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Vampire Harry, Veela Draco, First Dates, Christmas Eve, Explicit Sexual Content
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This was the best prompt ever, really! Thanks to my alphas and betas Kelsey and Mars! You guys saved me from having to submit a story I wasn't happy with. Your suggestions made this fic so much better. Love you loads!
Summary: Harry invites Draco, his new boss, who also happens to be a Veela, to spend Christmas Eve with him. It is supposed to be their first date and Harry wants it to be perfect. However, with him being a new vampire and not knowing a thing about Veelas, problems are bound to occur.

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Harry had a secret. It wasn't that he had recently been turned into a vampire. No, everyone knew about that, thanks to one Rita Skeeter shoving her nose in his business like always.

The Prophet

had published the details about his attack the following morning, in an article titled "The Tragic Story of the Boy Who Will Never Find Happiness."

Everyone knew that nine months ago, Harry and his Auror partner Susan Bones had been assigned a new case. An abandoned amusement park in Aryshire had recently made the Muggle news when some kids alerted the police after finding a puddle of blood. This, in combination with the recent emergence of a new, dangerous vampire tribe in the south-west of Scotland had immediately alarmed the Ministry of Magic. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been put to the task of finding out whether the abandoned amusement park was the new tribe's hideout. Harry and Susan had been patrolling the area every night fruitlessly for weeks, when one fateful night, they’d been jumped by the vampires in question.

They’d been caught off guard. Susan had escaped with her life, barely. Harry had not.

Four pairs of fangs had shredded his neck, and Harry had been turned into a vampire. It was a devastating blow of fate because after the war, Harry had started to think that maybe he’d finally be able to be happy, maybe it was finally his turn to find his rightful place in the world, with a partner by his side. Maybe even children of his own. But vampires couldn’t have children. They didn’t have family.

During that time of depression and loneliness, Draco Malfoy had come into Harry’s life.

And

that

was precisely Harry’s secret: Draco Malfoy. Or rather, his feelings for Draco Malfoy.

“Are you sure, Harry? The ferret?” Ron asked him for the hundredth time, his usually red hair shimmering green in the flames of Harry’s Floo. “I mean, I guess he’s not a complete shite anymore, but, mate, that doesn’t mean you have to canoodle him.”

Ok, maybe it wasn’t a very

well kept

secret.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to

canoodle

him, Ron. It’s our first date. I’ll be lucky if I get to kiss him.”

Ron’s face showed his disgust, but before he could say anything else, Hermione’s head appeared next to his, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“Harry, don’t listen to Ron. You and Draco will make a lovely couple. We’re all rooting for you,” she said, after which Harry could hear supportive cheers from a few other Weasleys who were all assembled at The Burrow for Christmas Eve.

“Thanks, ‘Mione.”

Even before there was a knock on his door, Harry could smell him, a familiar shiver running through his body.

“Fuck, he’s here,” Harry said to his friends before there was a sudden rap against his front door. Harry immediately felt nervous, like he’d forgotten something. Had he used the cologne Hermione had owled him for his birthday that she’d said she was sure would smell good on him? Had he taken the sauce off the stove so it didn’t get too thick? “I have to go, guys.”

“Good luck, Harry. And Merry Christmas,” Hermione said, giving him another encouraging smile.

Ron looked a little less happy when he said, “Merry Christmas, mate. You’ll be missed here.”

His words hit Harry harder than he had thought possible, a lump forming in his throat that made him unable to say anything back.

Truth be told, Christmas hadn’t meant anything to Harry for a long time. The Dursleys had done their best to exclude Harry from their extravagant celebrations, and during his years at Hogwarts, though Harry had started to understand what people liked to call ‘

Christmas spirit

’, it never occurred to him that Christmas was something that had anything to do with

him

. Like birthdays and other joyful celebrations, Christmas had always felt like it was something that belonged to other people. Everyone

but

Harry.

Harry had never felt

jolly

or missed the holidays as soon as they were over, like Ron, who sorrowed after cookies, gingerbread and other holiday treats, or Hermione, who wore her reindeer-printed scarf, hat, and gloves well into February. No, to Harry, Christmas had always been just another day, at least until school and the war ended. The Weasleys had insisted he join them for Christmas every year after, and for the first time in his life, Harry had the opportunity to really experience the holiday. After spending a few worry-free—or rather, Voldemort-free—Christmases with the Weasleys, Harry had come to refer to himself as an

admirer

of the holiday. Which was why Harry had been devastated to find out that he wouldn’t be able to spend this Christmas with the Weasleys.

New

vampires, Harry had learned, could not be around humans. For the first few years, they tended to be very sensitive to the smell of blood. A small cut on one’s finger or even a tiny wound on the gums would be enough for Harry to go feral. Whenever he was around humans, even after nine months, Harry’s instincts still screamed he’d starve to death if he didn’t get to drink from one of them. He had a constant urge to bite, an infinite thirst for blood. This consequently meant that spending a whole day with the Weasleys was out of the question in his current state.

It also meant that he hadn’t seen most of them since early spring, when he’d been turned. It meant that Harry missed them so much, his heart felt like it was breaking a little more every day he couldn’t be with them.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, worry in her voice.

“Yes. Sorry,” he replied, fighting back the tears. “I miss you too. Merry Christmas.”

There were shouts coming from the Weasleys, wishing Harry good luck, wonderful holidays, and a nice satisfying shag, but before Harry could shout back at them, the connection was broken and Hermione and Ron’s faces were gone.

Another knock sounded, this time louder, and Harry ran to the door. After drying the tears from the corners of his eyes and inhaling and exhaling deeply once more, he reached for the doorknob and opened it.

Before Harry saw the figure standing on his doorstep, he felt frosty wind tickle his face. Snow had fallen on this very special day.

Draco’s brows were already arched in question, though Harry hadn’t even said anything yet.

“For a second there, I thought you weren’t home.” Draco eyed Harry up and down, probably taking in that he’d dressed up for the occasion. After all, Harry never usually wore dress shirts, not to mention a pair of red braces with a matching bowtie. Draco was obviously checking him out, and Harry felt a bit nervous until his guest’s lips curled into an amused smile and Draco asked, “Are you not going to invite me in?”

“Right!” Harry stammered, exited that Draco had really come. Not that he’d thought that Draco would go back on his word, but it still felt unreal to have him over for Christmas Eve when Harry knew for a fact that Draco usually did not date. As far as Harry knew, Draco had never dated after that floozy Parkinson at Hogwarts. Because, like Harry, Draco also had a secret. “Please, come in! Let me take your coat.”

Draco Malfoy, much to Harry’s surprise, was part-Veela.

It wasn’t a secret per sé, Harry realised, but very few people knew, and Draco tried to keep it that way. After all, it had taken Harry months to find out about it even though they’d been closely working together the whole time as Draco taught Harry how to do his new job.

It hadn’t come as a shock to Harry when Kingsley visited him in the hospital after he’d been turned and told him that vampires were not allowed to be Aurors. “You’re being transferred to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Kingsley had said with a sad smile. Harry assumed he’d been trying to hide the fact that he was angry about losing one of his best men, that he knew how devastated Harry would be too lose the one thing in his life that he’d felt he was doing right.

But what could Harry have done at that point?

Hermione had made a whole fit about it, of course, threatened to

read into it

and do everything in her power to change the Ministry’s backwards rules, but Harry had been too tired, too devastated, too depressed to even put up a fight. So he started working at the DRCMC after his month spent in the hospital and two more at home for further recovery. And to Harry’s surprise, his boss had turned out to be none other than Draco Malfoy.

And, unbelievably, Draco Malfoy had turned out to be

pleasant

. Friendly even. On Harry’s first day, Draco had welcomed Harry to the team with a professional smile. He’d personally showed Harry around the department and introduced him to his new coworkers. He’d given Harry his daily blood substitutes, provided him with his personal joke-of-the-day calendar that everyone in the department kept on their desks, and brought Harry a cup of tea.

The whole day, Draco hadn’t made a single comment or snarky remark about their past. Draco had been perfectly courteous, which is why Harry, feeling utterly confused, had stopped by his office on the way home that day and asked, “So, Malfoy, are we just going to keep pretending to be all chummy chummy?”

He could have phrased it less feistily, Harry realised that now. Draco, being the pointy git he was, had just raised his brows and said, “We could. Or we could just leave the past behind us and act like adults. We are going to be spending a lot of time together, Harry. I would think it’d be much more comfortable for the both of us if we buried the hatchet and agreed to be friendly towards each other. Don’t you think?” He’d extended his hand then, waiting for Harry to take it. It reminded Harry of one of their first encounters where he’d made the decision to not take his hand, a decision he sometimes regretted.

At a loss of what to say, Harry had stared at him, dumbstruck, for a few seconds before he decided that with his new identity, his new job, and losing contact with all of his friends, Harry really didn’t have the energy to keep their childish rivalry going. So, with unsure fingers, he’d taken Draco’s hand. “To a new start.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Draco said as he stepped into Harry’s home for the first time. Something about Draco taking that step, the door closing behind him, made Harry feel like this was a huge moment for the two of them. It made him feel like Draco trusted him.

“I hope you’re hungry. I’ve cooked enough to feed a small army.”

Harry hung Draco’s coat and then gestured for Draco to lead the way into the eat-in kitchen where Harry had set the table. He’d gone all out, ordered a bunch of Christmas decorations as well as a new set of holiday china, which had an overall white design, its edges adorned with illustrations of delicate mistletoe and Christmas berries. It was the kind of design the Dursleys would have hated because it was too childish, and the kind of dishware the Weasleys would never purchase because one could never trust the twins with expensive china. But they were perfect for Harry, and he watched Draco nervously for any kind of reaction concerning his choice of table decoration.

Draco didn’t look at the china or at any of the decorations Harry had spent too much time placing around his house when he entered the kitchen. Instead, he looked at the kitchen stove with its various sized pots and pans bubbling and sizzling. His eyebrows arched again, which Harry had learned to read as rather a sign of surprise or confusion than contempt or judgement as he’d initially thought.

“You cooked?” Draco asked finally, his mouth forming a confused ‘

o

.’

“Of course,” Harry replied, wondering why Draco was so surprised—especially given that he had literally just told Draco that he’d cooked.“It’s Christmas Eve. One usually eats goose on Christmas Eve.”

Draco turned to him then, pointedly. “You made a whole goose? Just for me?”

“Well, and myself,” Harry said as he patted his own stomach, but it wasn’t like he didn’t get what Draco was playing at. Vampires didn’t usually eat because they didn’t have to, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t. Harry’s tastebuds were perfectly intact, and he still enjoyed the occasional piece of treacle tart or cup of strong espresso, even if he didn’t need to eat or drink anything except blood substitutes to survive. The existence of blood substitutes was one of the only reasons why Harry wasn’t going completely mad about having been turned into a vampire, because as much as his instincts told him to drink blood, Harry

the person

could never do that to another person. Treat them as food, that was. So when the healers at St Mungos had told Harry that he would be able to get all his necessary nutrients from those tiny red capsules, it had been a huge relief, a ray of hope after his horrible attack.

“Nothing is going to stop me from enjoying food, Malfoy,” Harry said with a smirk. Harry knew that whenever he called Draco by his surname, they would fall back into the familiar pattern of exchanging snarky remarks and challenging banter—just like those they’d thrown at each other in the corridors or across the Great Hall at Hogwarts. But now, compared to the bitter aftertaste such encounters had left during their adolescence, Harry felt they meant something completely different.

Just as expected, a tiny smirk appeared on Draco's lips when he said, "Of course, how could I think the boy who spent every meal in the Great Hall shoveling food into his mouth like a starving lion would ever stop eating. My apologies, Potter."

Harry barked out a laugh before he concluded, a slight purr to his voice, "This only proves that even back in school you couldn't take your eyes off me, Malfoy."

And then there was silence, except for the soft music Harry had put on. It played quietly in the background, not drowning out the sizzle from the saucepan that Harry realised he

had

forgotten to take off the burner, which he definitely needed to. As he did, he wondered whether Draco was going to break the silence with another flirty comment.

Draco did that a lot. Flirt with Harry, that was. Of course at first, when Harry had just started working at the DRCMC, Draco’d been completely professional, and even if he’d invited Harry to have tea with him every now and then, he had never come on to him or made any remarks that Harry might have taken as flirtation. However, since being transferred, Draco had been a pillar of emotional support for Harry. Harry’s struggles with his new identity must have been obvious to his former classmate; he’d reassured Harry from day one that just because he was a vampire, it didn’t mean he’d not be able to enjoy his life anymore. Draco had taught him a lot besides how to do his new job. He'd saved Harry from reading the dozens of vampire books Hermione had owled over to Grimmauld Place by teaching him about the creatures over a cup of tea. Harry had found it strange at first, that Draco, a pureblood who had grown up with the belief that magical creatures were beneath wizards, knew so much about them and was so keen to help him out.

However, it had all made sense when Harry had figured out Draco was part-Veela. Only one eighth to be precise, but there was still enough Veela blood in him to make his life more difficult than that of a

normal

wizard. It had forced him to register as part-creature with the Ministry when he’d come into his Veela-inheritance at age 18.

It was the reason Draco didn't casually date, Harry had been told by Draco himself over a cuppa just a couple months back. "Veelas, you see, aren't really interested in having relations with anyone but their one true love," Draco had phrased it carefully but then shrugged his shoulders, feigning disinterest, and changed the subject. Harry hadn't asked him about it again that day, but Draco's words did prove to be true when Harry witnessed not one, not two, but three people over the course of the following two weeks ask Draco out and be rejected.

"Aren't you at least a tiny bit interested in getting to know them?" Harry had asked after witnessing the third failed proposition and wondering why he suddenly didn't like Stuard from pay-roll anymore. Harry had watched the man with angry eyes as he walked back into his office with slumped shoulders.

"I don't date Harry, I think I already told you that." Draco had sounded a bit annoyed which Harry knew didn't mean much because Draco felt annoyed a lot. Especially when he had to repeat himself. "Victor Krum or Oliver Wood could confess their feelings to me and it wouldn't change a thing. I'm just not interested in anybody but my true love, no matter how good looking they are."

Harry had felt that weird tingle in his chest for the first time then, felt like it had to mean something that Draco had chosen to name two guys instead of girls. Harry still never really thought about the consequences of his words, so he'd said, while wiggling his eyebrows, "Krum and Wood, huh? You got a thing for Quidditch players?"

Draco hadn't stopped walking but he'd been surprised by Harry talking to him like that. Actually, Harry had been surprised as well the moments those words left his lips. Up until then, Draco and Harry might have been friendly, but they'd not been…

that

friendly.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Draco had said, from next to Harry, "Only the hot ones," and then he'd eyed Harry up and down before turning away with a smirk. It had left Harry wondering why in the world his heart was suddenly beating hard in his chest.

After that, their relationship had started to change. First slowly, only making itself noticeable by the occasional smirk or inappropriate double entendre. But soon, they had started to exchange stolen glances and smiles, went out of their way to visit each other’s offices, and even initiated physical contact of fingers while passing documents or cups to each other or by resting hands on shoulders while looking over each other’s work. Or at least, Harry had done all of these things, and whenever Draco did them, they felt intentional to Harry, definitely not like something he had ever seen him do with anybody but him.

At the same time, in some situations Harry felt like Draco deliberately tried to

not

flirt with him, held himself back. Harry couldn't really say why that was, but he suspected that Draco didn't want to give off the wrong signal or make Harry think his flirting had a deeper meaning than it actually had. The last two employees of their department who'd fallen for Draco had both quit after being rejected, and as a boss, Draco probably didn't want to be responsible for losing any more of his employees.

But Harry and Draco still flirted a lot.

If

this even was flirting. Harry had been told by a number of friends that he was rather oblivious when it came to that stuff. Which was why despite Draco having agreed to spend Christmas Eve with him, Harry had no idea what it actually meant.

But he hoped it meant

something

.

The silence lasted too long, and Harry would have thought he'd made Draco uncomfortable if it wasn't for the twitch at the side of Draco's mouth that told Harry he was trying to suppress a smirk.

“That’s an interesting selection of Christmas music.” Draco finally broke the silence after the song had changed, referring to the mix tape of Celestina Warbeck, Blodwyn Bludd, and traditional as well as modern Muggle holiday songs.

Draco had one hand in his long blond hair, fingers running through the ends of his braided ponytail. He looked around the rest of the room, noticing the Christmas decorations and touching one of the pinecones Harry had put between the plates. “I’m guessing you really like Christmas?”

With a smile, Harry replied, “It’s my favourite holiday. What about you?”

Harry motioned for Draco to sit down at the table and he did, though not before swishing his robes to the side in a flashy fashion, as if he was trying to catch Harry’s attention on purpose. After having taken his seat, Draco pulled at the fabric a few times so that it lay wrinkle-free on his body.

“We never really celebrated Christmas at the Manor,” Draco said shortly and Harry was unable to hide the surprise from his face. Without Harry even having to ask why that was, Draco went on. “We celebrated New Years, you see. Like most proper pretend-purebloods,” he added that with a small smirk. “I would have hardly been able to meet you today if there was a big Malfoy tradition around Christmas.”

True as that was, Harry hadn’t even thought about Draco being otherwise occupied. After all, his father was in Azkaban and his mother had died years ago. He’d thought that Draco would be free for sure since he didn’t have a significant other to spend the holiday with.

Harry noticed that Draco was looking up at him a little pointedly, probably waiting for him to sit down as well. Before he could do that, Harry said, “Let me get you some mulled wine. I made it myself.”

Harry moved towards the stove where he scooped wine spiced with cinnamon, cloves, and oranges into two festive goblets that had come with the china set. He handed one to Draco and finally sat down himself, wine in hand. He watched Draco take a long sniff from his own goblet and moan, “It smells heavenly.”

Draco took a sip and his face flushed. His eyes closed, and Harry imagined Draco moving the liquid around in his mouth to spread the warmth and spicy flavour.

“Is this your first time drinking mulled wine?”

Draco swallowed and said, “Yes, it is. But I can assure you, it won’t be my last.” He took another sip and spoke with wine in his mouth. “This is exquisite.”

Harry told him he was glad he’d assumed correctly that Draco would love the sweet beverage. After all, he had recently found out that Veelas as a group had a huge sweet tooth, and Draco adored red wine. Thus, the combination of the two was bound to be a hit.

“Wow, logical thinking. Who would have thought that you were good for more than just brute strength and looking pretty,” Draco said in his serious voice, however, his flirty smirk was back and Harry’s heart started to beat a bit faster. Only ten minutes into the date but Harry thought it was already going quite well.

“Are you hungry yet?” Harry asked nervously, though he knew it would have been a good opportunity to keep flirting and maybe get closer to his goal for the night: to kiss Draco. But they hadn’t even started eating yet, maybe he should slow it down a bit.

“To be honest, I ate before I came over because I didn’t expect you’d be serving me a meal,” Draco admitted then and Harry, who had already stood and walked towards the oven, turned around in shock.

“But it’s Christmas Eve.” For Harry that meant eating, together.

“It is. But when you invited me you said we’d go over the Newborn Werewolf Project together. I didn’t expect that we'd be—” Draco gestured around the kitchen, “—

celebrating

together.”

Only then did Harry notice Draco’s briefcase by the side of the table. He also remembered how nervous he’d been when he had asked Draco out a week ago during their department’s Christmas party. He’d been awkward around Draco the whole day because he’d planned to ask him out for weeks but had been too chicken to do it up until then. And with the party being the last time he’d see Draco before taking his Christmas vacation, Harry hadn’t had much time left to make his move if he wanted to see Draco again before the New Year—which Harry really really did. After Draco had approached him for conversation for the third time that evening, Harry had finally mustered up the courage to ask him out. Only he hadn’t exactly said ‘

Hey Draco, do you want to go on a date with me on Christmas Eve?’

Instead, he’d babbled on about how he didn’t have any plans for the holiday yet and added in nervous laughter ‘

So why don’t you join me on Christmas Eve?’

and then, after seeing Draco’s stunned expression, he’d said, like a fucking idiot, ‘

I have some questions regarding the new project

.’

It finally sunk in then. Draco thought he was here for work. He didn’t know that this was a date. Of course, he wouldn't have come if he had known. Draco didn't date after all.

It was hard for Harry not to show his emotions on his face, but he tried not to look as disappointed and stupid as he felt, because Draco was still sitting there, looking at him with his annoyingly perfect brows drawn up, waiting for Harry to say something.

“Right. The, er, Mermaid project.”

“Werewolf,” Draco corrected.

“Werewolf project. Yes. I do have some questions for you concerning, er, that,” Harry said, thinking how smooth he was and that this was probably exactly what Hermione meant every time she made a comment about Harry not being able to express himself very well.

“We can discuss it after dinner, then. Don’t worry, Potter. I’ll eat,” Draco said and the way his whole face barely moved, expect for the wrinkle between this brows, reminded Harry of Draco's concerned expression, a rather rare occurrence for his former school rival.

Whatever it meant, though, Harry didn't trust himself to make a guess anymore. Because apparently, he’d been wrong about what this day meant as well. If Harry couldn't even tell a date from a work-meeting, maybe Draco being friendly had just been for the sake of being… friendly. Maybe none of it had been flirting or meant anything. After all, the one thing Harry knew for sure was that Draco didn't date…

He'd been cooking for hours. Decorated his place so carefully. Gone crazy over what outfit to wear. Lain awake anxious about today. For a person who

didn't date

. What the hell had Harry been thinking?

Harry realised he hadn’t moved or said anything in way too long for it to not be weird and Draco was starting to tap the tip of his boot against the ground nervously. So, to ease the tension, despite feeling like anything he could say would sound either stupid, nervous, or ridiculous, Harry forced the words out.

“I’m a great cook, Draco. I’m sure you won’t regret it.” Harry smiled, forced as well, of course, because the only thing Harry felt like doing was giving up.

He turned around, facing the stove and stretching his hands out to make Draco’s empty plate fly into his open palm. Harry knew then that he'd ruined the mood because Draco didn’t say anything; he usually always made fun of Harry for doing wandless and wordless magic. During work, he'd say something along the lines of ‘

Showing off again, are we, Potter?’

Sometimes, when they were alone, he'd even lean against the wall, hold the back of his hand against his forehead while saying, like a damsel in distress, ‘

Oh my hero, your powerful magic makes me shiver all over!’

after which he'd burst out laughing, and Harry would stare at him, trying to save that memory in his head because he'd never seen something more beautiful.

When Draco didn’t say anything this time, though, Harry felt like crying.

Nevertheless, he tried to make the best of it, giving Draco only the best parts of the meat and adding some brussel sprouts, roasted chestnuts, and cranberry sauce on the side. He covered everything in the perfectly thick and meaty sauce that made his mouth water at the sight of it.

This time without magic, Harry walked over to put the plate down in front of Draco. As much as he didn’t want Draco to see his devastated expression, he still wanted to see Draco’s reaction. Harry knew his cooking skills were rather impressive and it was the first time he was showing them off to Draco. He wanted to know what kind of face he’d make upon realising that Harry was good for much more than just

brute strength and being pretty

—as Draco had put it.

At first, Draco didn’t look at the plate. He was staring at Harry intensely, and the way he opened and closed his mouth made Harry think he was about to say something, but he must have thought twice of it. When Draco finally looked at his plate, his eyes went wide.

“This looks spectacular.” Like he’d done with the wine, Draco bent down a little to take a sniff first, his nostrils flaring as he took in the different spices Harry had added. “Do I smell liquorice?”

“It’s in the filling.” Harry knew that Draco loved liquorice so he’d spent days perfecting the filing even though, to be quite honest, Harry wasn’t the biggest fan of the salty black treat. “It’s rather subtle though. I’m surprised you can tell from just the smell.”

“Oh, Harry,” Draco smirked then, tilting his head, “don’t you know Veelas have an extraordinary sense of smell? Especially when it comes to scents that attract them.” Draco’s nostrils flared once again before his eyes wandered down Harry’s body and up again. He was smirking, still.

Only then did Harry realise, as Draco was looking him up and down, that he was smelling

him

.

“And do you like it?” Harry asked. It wasn’t clear what he meant, the liquorish or something else, but the way that they were looking at each other, Draco pausing for effect, made Harry want to bet all of the gold in his vaults that they were talking about the same thing.

“I do. But it’s different than usual, isn’t it?”

For a moment Harry didn’t know what he meant, until he remembered having put on his new cologne and he blushed hard. So Draco was really talking about Harry.

Scents that attract them,

he’d said.

Alright, so maybe Draco hadn’t come here thinking this was a date, but they were still flirting. This

was

flirting, wasn't it? Harry didn't think he was

that

oblivious.

“It’s supposed to be the same for vampires, actually,” Draco added before Harry had even had the chance to think of a flirty comeback, a chance to figure out what to do now and where this night was leading. “Haven’t you noticed that scents are more prominent now than before? It’s the creature part of you. Your eyesight should be better as well, which is why you’ve stopped wearing glasses, isn't it?”

“Right!” Harry said then, remembering what his healer had told him when he’d visited him a few months ago, complaining about his old glasses giving him headaches. “But my heightened sense of smell only applies to blood, unfortunately.” And then Harry did it—sniffed the air that was filled with the delicious scent of his cooking. It was overpowered by the sweet and fruity smell of Draco, though, something that Harry smelled all the time when Draco was close to him. In the beginning, Harry thought it must be the cologne Draco wore, but after a while, Harry had realised that it was just very specifically Draco that smelled this delicious. Unlike other people or creatures, the scent of Draco’s blood was always strong, always made Harry a little weak in the knees whenever he smelled it for the first time that day.

Finally, Draco gestured to Harry’s still-empty plate and asked him to fetch himself some food as well so they could start eating.

At first, they ate in silence, the only sounds filling the air the soft Christmas music, the sounds of silverware on plates or scraping against each other. From time to time Draco let out a small moan to show how much he liked the food. Harry could hardly concentrate on his food at all, completely focused on the way Draco was devouring his. He’d said that he’d already eaten but Harry couldn’t tell at all. The way that Draco was digging into his plate gave the impression that he’d been starving. And the smile on his face...

Harry stopped eating, still a bit of chestnut on his tongue as he watched Draco intensely. He had never seen him eat like this, though he’d seen him eat often, whenever they’d shared some tea and biscuits in Draco’s office.

Draco was practically inhaling the food, even after he was done, making sure to get every drop, every tiny piece of meat from his fork and knife, sucking on them in a rather sloppy fashion. His pink tongue poked out to lick at the dirty knife and then—Harry made a sound in disbelief—he picked up the plate and started licking it clean.

Completely scandalised, though not specifically in a bad way, just in a very confused way, Harry watched him. He’d seen people do this, in the Great Hall or every now and then at the Burrow when he was invited over for dinner, but he’d never seen Draco Malfoy do it. Hell, he’d never seen Draco Malfoy do

anything

that could be considered impolite. But Harry wasn’t imagining it; Draco was licking his plate with gusto.

It seemed like forever before Draco was done and put down the plate again, licking his smiling lips before he looked up at Harry.

They stared at each other, Harry with wide eyes, Draco smiling. At first. But Harry could see the moment that Draco realised what he’d been caught doing.

“Oh no,” Draco breathed and then his face went from pale white to bright red in only a few embarrassing seconds. “Wait. I—” he stammered, and if it was even possible, Harry’s eyes went wider at this other unexpected side of Draco. “That wasn’t me. It was the Veela. You know that, right? I would never—” he paused, inhaling and then almost shouting, “—never behave like that.”

“It’s okay, Draco,” Harry said, though he was still in disbelief at what he had just witnessed. “I’m glad you like my cooking.”

“No, that’s not it,” Draco said with a strong voice, putting a hand to his forehead. “Not that I didn’t like your food. It was delicious! But I wouldn’t do something like that. It was the Veela, you realise, don’t you? I’m usually very well-controlled, it’s just that you made me a home-cooked meal and the Veela part of me just felt like it was—” Draco was stammering again, “—a sign of love. Of course

I

, Draco Malfoy, realise that it wasn’t

that

.

We

are not like that.” And then, as if he’d finally noticed that he was making an arse out of himself again, Draco pressed his mouth closed, biting his bottom lip to shut himself up.

Harry still only stared at him, completely dumbstruck, flabbergasted at what he had just witnessed. Draco Malfoy losing his cool. Something Harry would have bet a lot of money on, the other man would never let him witness. He’d have thought Hermione claiming books were boring was more likely.

Feelings of surprise were suddenly replaced by a starving hunger when Harry smelled something, something he shouldn’t be smelling. His fangs extended and he flinched in shock as as an unintentional growl sounded in the back of his throat.

At the sound, Draco looked puzzled, though of course the blush hadn’t left his cheeks. Harry had to act fast, say something to prevent an awful accident. Thankfully, Draco licked his lips before anything worse could happen, tasting the blood he had drawn from biting his lip too hard. He seemed to understand immediately why Harry was reacting the way he was and moved into action. He rushed towards the sink to wash away the blood and used his fingertip to cast some healing magic on the small cut to close it. Instantly, Harry could relax again, his fangs retracting, leaving just the shame such loss of self control brought with it.

“Sorry about that,” he started. This time it was him who wouldn’t dare to look his opposite in the eyes. “It’s still really hard for me sometimes,” Harry explained. Though he knew Draco would understand, wouldn’t judge or be afraid of him, it still felt like he’d done something wrong, made an already uncomfortable situation even more uncomfortable.

Unexpectedly, Draco snorted and Harry dared to look up at him. “After what I just did, you really don’t have to apologise for not being able to control your instincts, Harry,” Draco said in a drawl from where he was leaning against the sink with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked smaller than usual, embarrassed, but a little less so than earlier. His complexion was back to milky pale, a relaxed expression on his face.

They shared a glance and Harry opened his mouth to apologise again, when Draco burst into laughter, letting his head fall back. For a second, Harry thought that he his face must have looked funny but it didn’t take him long to understand that what Draco was laughing about was their situation. About how ridiculous they were being.

As he watched Draco laugh, loud and free, Harry couldn’t help but join in. He recalled Draco’s happy face as he had licked his plate, like a small boy tasting ice cream for the first time.

“I swear, Potter, if you ever tell anybody about this,” Draco managed to say amidst laughter and dried tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. He didn’t finish the sentence but his threat had been communicated successfully. Harry moved his fingers like a zip in front of his mouth and gestured tossing a key away to promise eternal silence.

After they had both calmed down, Draco made his way to the table again, sitting down in front of Harry, the corner of his mouth twitching at the sight of his shiny clean plate. “This day has not been going how I imagined at all,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Harry, before bringing his mulled wine to his lips.

“Right, you came here for

work

,” Harry reacted and couldn’t help but snort at the misunderstanding. How stupid he’d been.

Draco swallowed and then moved the goblet in a circular motion to swirl the wine around it. He was back to his usual self, Harry could tell. All sophisticated and pretentiously

proper

. In full control of his appearance.

“Not really,” Draco finally said and then looked at Harry pointedly. “I knew that this was supposed to be a date. I’m not

stupid

, Potter.”

If there was a good way to react to this confession, Harry didn’t know it. So he barked, “What?” His heart was back to beating much too fast. This time not because of the smell of blood but because of the sudden realisation that no, he hadn’t been stupid after all. He hadn’t been an idiot. The only idiot here was Draco for playing with his feelings. “But you said that—”

“I wanted to tease you. You look cute when you’re confused.” He took another sip, eyeing Harry from the side, probably taking in his shocked expression. “I apologise, I didn’t think you would take it so hard,” he explained.

His apology didn’t really sound sincere, though Harry could see that he meant it in the way that Draco was suddenly trying to prevent eye-contact again. Draco might have become a much better person over the past few years, but he was still rubbish at apologies, completely useless at owning up to shit he’d done. Draco was an utter git. A cunning Slytherin from head to toe. And still, Harry’s heart was threatening to beat out of his chest because Draco found him cute and he’d agreed to go on a date with Harry—on purpose!

“I mean, Harry, please,” Draco said then, his lips twitching as if he knew what Harry was thinking. As if he knew how fucking crazy Harry was about him. So crazy that he wouldn’t even get angry at him having lied. “Didn’t you notice that I’m wearing silk robes? Not even Malfoys wear silk to work.”

“Like I would notice the fabric of your fucking robes, Draco,” Harry said in a laugh, pointing at Draco’s body. Harry was too excited to hide his feelings and he didn’t care. “You could literally be wearing Death Eater robes, and I wouldn’t have noticed and

still

wanted to bend you over this table and have my wicked way with you.”

Draco didn’t reply while he looked at Harry, his jaw suddenly tense and eyes harsh. Only then did Harry realise what he had said. He blushed, trying to correct his mistake.

“Or you can bend

me

over the table. I’m not picky like that.”

There was another small pause in which Draco seemed to try to read Harry’s expression, but then, unexpectedly, a snort came from his opposite before he sighed and rubbed his forehead. “That’s really not what bothered me about what you just said, Potter, but alright. Good to know.” He looked a little relieved as Harry gave him a crooked smile, thankful that Draco wasn’t going to pick on Harry for his confession that he wanted to do very naughty things to him.

Harry was starting to calm a little from the initial excitement of Draco’s confession and now wanting to go on with the date—though he realised that he still didn’t know what this meant, as Draco didn’t date—he asked, “Another round, or are you ready for dessert?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the double meaning of his question.

Draco said, “Dessert sounds marvellous,” using the same fake, husky voice that Harry had, and Harry felt his gaze follow him as he went to open the fridge to retrieve two plates with two individual Christmas puddings.

---

CONTINUE TO PART 2 ON LJ