[fic] the residue of design; harry potter, harry/draco

[delacourtings]

Title: the residue of design
Author/Artist: delacourtings
Prompt: #17: The Prophet posts an embarrassingly long article about Harry Potter's ideal boyfriend. Draco thinks it might just be his lucky day.
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Word Count/Art Medium: 4146
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s) (Highlight to view): *language, blowjobs, evasive and meddling friends*
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: All my love to L for looking this over and providing me with endless words of encouragement/yelling at me to get this finished. Title taken from the quote "Luck is the residue of design," by Branch Rickey. I hope you like it!<3
Summary: Rita Skeeter temporarily comes out of retirement to do an exclusive interview with The Chosen One. For some reason, Draco's friends think this has something to do with him.

Draco rushed around his flat, tucking in his dress shirt as he raced around attempting to find where he’d laid down his wand.  He was late for a meeting with the head of his department, he’d burnt his tongue on his morning cuppa, and now, to top it all off, he couldn’t even find his wand to heal it. He shuffled through the living room on one leg in an attempt to put on his trousers.

“Tighty whities, still? Draco, please.” Draco spun round, still hobbling on one foot, to find Pansy’s face peeking at him from his fireplace. She’d chopped off her hair into a stylish bob once again and her face had gotten decidedly less pug-like over the years. Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

“It’s laundry day and you have got to stop Flooing in unannounced,” he said without heat as he looked down to slip his belt around his waist. “It’s unbecoming.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, Draco, but coming is the one department in which I have never received a single complaint.”

Draco halted in dressing himself just long enough to throw her an unamused glance. “You’re horrid.”

“And you’re a twat,” she replied, in the same tone she would use to talk about the weather. “And I’m not Flooing in, besides, I’m just popping my head in to inform you you might find the Prophet of particular interest today.”

“Feeling particularly elusive today, are we?” Draco questioned as he began searching about the room in a futile attempt to find where’d he’d placed his robes when he’d gotten in the night before. “Not going to tell me what, exactly, is relevant to my potential interest?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

Draco smiled sweetly, all teeth. “Thank you, Parkinson, as always it has been a delight. But some of us actually have work to attend to and can’t just waste away our days dropping in on people unannounced and passing along cryptic messages.”

“First of all,” Pansy shot back, “I do have a job, thank you.”

“Yes,” Draco interrupted, “My apologies. How is penning the sex tips column for Witch Weekly going, by the way? Are you in need of my assistance again? Was this whole ‘read the Prophet’ business all just a ploy?

Pansy glared at him. “That was one time and I’d had an entire bottle of Campbell’s.”

Draco grinned, remembering Pansy drunkenly hanging over him and unabashedly questioning him about his tactics in the bedroom. She’d even come up with a points system.

“And make fun of my job all you want, which is coming off rather misogynistic and classist, I hope you realise, but meanwhile I am able to work from wherever I please and reside in what essentially amounts to a mansion while you’re living in a shabby flat in central London.”

Draco’s mouth parted in offence. “My flat is not shabby!”

“Oh, look at the time,” Pansy’s eyes moved downwards and to the left and Draco knew she was miming looking at a watch. “I really must be going, my extremely well paying job is calling.”

Draco knelt down on his knees in front of the fireplace. “I really hate you, you know. Honestly.”

Pansy smiled. “No, you don’t.”

“Goodbye, Pansy,” Draco said, firmly, reaching for the fire iron.

“Goodbye, dear!” Pansy disappeared, her sickly sweet farewell echoing behind her.

---

Draco sighed as he collapsed into the chair across the table from Blaise. He unwrapped his scarf from around his neck, peering at the cafe and its’ inhabitants curiously. He and Blaise had been having weekly lunches together for a while now, testing out the various locations in search of the best jacket potato (Blaise) or one’s preferred brand of tea (Draco). Draco wasn’t entirely impressed at first glance, an opinion that only grew as a bubble gum popping waitress placed a chicken sandwich and order of chips in front of Blaise. That was Blaise’s consolation order, the one he settled for if his usual wasn’t offered. Draco frowned down at the plate.

“Lovely place you’ve picked here, Zabini.”

"Piss off," Blaise responded. "How's your day then?"

"Alright, I suppose, except everyone keeps looking at me funny and I don't think anyone has said anything to me since I walked in this morning!"

Blaise leaned back, clutching his stomach as he laughed.

"What is the matter with you?" Draco whispered harshly, looking around the restaurant as Blaise was starting to draw unwanted attention to their table. "Have you gone mad? Do I need to take you to St. Mungo's?"

"Nothing," Blaise said, blinking innocently, before taking a sip of his Cola. "Have you read the Prophet today, perchance?"

"No, but Pansy invaded my fireplace this morning to order me to. I ignored her, naturally."

"Naturally," Blaise tipped his head in agreement.

"Why?" Draco stopped to smile, all fictitiously polite, at the waitress who was bringing him the drink he'd ordered when he'd first come in. "What does it matter? Has someone died or something?"

Blaise smirked. "No. You might when you read it though."

"What on earth for?"

"Let's just say it's relevant to your interests."

Draco glared. "I have many interests, Zabini."

"You've held this interest for a while, going on ten years or so. You might even work in the same capacity with this interest."

Draco's mind immediately supplied him with flashes of Potter throughout the Ministry. The uneasy awkwardness between them when Draco had first started working there, the day Potter had cornered him and said the past was the past and offered a fresh start, the fragile acquaintanceship that had struck up between them after that. The tension that seemed palpable whenever they were alone together, like in the lifts, where all Draco could think about was Potter breaking the silence by grabbing him and kissing him, turning Draco round and taking him right then and there.

"I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about," Draco said coolly, shifting in his seat.

"'Course you don't," said Blaise and Draco cursed his fair complexion for giving away how flushed he was now feeling.

"Right, well, I've got to get going, but just be sure to pick up a copy, alright, mate? And cover this for me, yeah?" He nodded towards his plate of half-eaten food. "Cheers."

"I don't know why I'm friends with any of you. You're all wankers," Draco called, but Blaise only grinned as he walked backwards out the door.

---

Draco didn’t even get a copy of the Prophet until he got home that evening. He’d tried all throughout the day, but everyone at the Ministry seemed to be avoiding him and the ones who weren’t claimed they didn’t have a copy even if Draco had clearly seen them avidly reading it minutes earlier. Truth be told, he'd completely forgotten about it by the time he's sat in the middle of the couch with a glass of butterbeer in hand. He’s drifting off when a sharp tap-tap-tap against the window startles him into waking up and drawing his wand to ward off any potential intruder. It was only Pansy’s owl at the window, however. He sighed, making his way over to the window where the owl hovered, impatiently.

Draco had never put much faith into the old adage that people began to look like their owners, but there was no doubt that this owl belonged to Pansy. It was dark as night and it’s eyes seemed to stare directly into the soul of anyone they made contact with. Pansy loved it, (“Her,” Pansy would object with a glare.) Draco reached his hand out, hesitantly, and snatched the papers from it’s grasp. The owl appeared to narrow it’s eyes at Draco before flying away, blending into the dark night sky.


He looked down at the papers in hand, a copy of the Prophet with a note from Pansy attached to the front page. “Went ahead and took care of things myself, as always, as I figured you would be your generally useless self and forget. Pansy,” it read. Draco rolled his eyes, tearing off the note and glancing down at the paper. When he did, his heart almost stopped. He slowly walked back to the couch, never taking his eyes off of the front page. He continued staring at the bold letters as he felt around for his drink. When his fingers finally found the edge of the glass he looked up, downed what was left of the drink, and began to read.

BOY WHO LIVED LOOKING FOR BOY TO RIDE HIS BROOMSTICK

Harry Potter, aged twelve, “Funny,” said Potter interrupts, though he’s smiling and his tone lacks the aggression it used to. Perhaps the boy who lived has mellowed out over the years? One would think becoming an Auror would have the opposite effect, yet Potter seems to have taken to the Ministry position perfectly. Almost too perfectly.

“So,” I cross my legs, leaning forward. Potter’s eyes glance down at the movement, but do not gaze upon my legs with interest, a foreshadowing of what was about to follow. “I must say it was quite the surprise when I received your owl. After all, why would the Golden One request an exclusive interview with me? Especially when I have been retired for years and for some indeterminable reason you have never been my biggest fan?”

He shrugs, “Old time’s sake, I suppose,” he smiles, “and I know for fact that I’m about to reveal something so, what’s that word you journalists are so fond of? Juicy? That not even Rita Skeeter can twist it into something it’s not.”

I lean forward eagerly. “Ministry secrets? Tales from the war?” The possibilities are endless.

Potter smiles. “No, bit more...personal that that.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Potter is known for not being a fan of the media, a fact that the Wizarding World learned when Potter split, supposedly amicably, from then-girlfriend Ginny Weasley over a year ago. When The Prophet penned an article claiming the youngest Weasley to be at fault for the split, enraging many female fans of the Chosen One’s and causing them to boycott and harass the fiery redhead at her various matches for the Holyhead Harpies, Potter immediately jumped to her defence, claiming himself as the reason for the “amicable decision to terminate the relationship,” and boycotting The Prophet by cancelling his subscription and granting interviews to every publication but The Prophet, including but not limited to the eccentric Quibbler and Witch Weekly. Given Potter’s history with the publication, it’s curious as to why he chose to grant the paper this self-proclaimed “exclusive.” When asked, Potter simply replies, “It’s the most widely read. And I’d like this information to reach as many people as possible.” He continues on before I even have a chance to respond. “I’m gay. And no, not as in happy. As in I like people of the same gender as I am. Men.”

I gasp at the news, taken aback, but immediately begin to question him, as I am a professional, after all.

RS: Why now? Why the sudden need to inform the world of his personal life?

HP: I’ve come to terms that people will always be concerned with my personal life, just the price of being ‘Harry Potter,’ I suppose. I figure it’s better to just be open and honest instead of essentially lying. Everyone close to me already knew and was extremely supportive. It gave me the extra bit of courage I needed to tell everyone else.

RS: So, this was the reason for the split between you and Ginevra Weasley, then? Tell me, was the entire relationship a lie? Is their bad blood between the two of you now? How about you and the rest of the family? Ron Weasley was once considered your best friend, after all.

HP: He still is. I remain as close to the Weasleys as I always have been, maybe even closer. There was nothing pretend about my relationship with Ginny. What I felt for her, affection, admiration, love, it was all real. It just didn’t translate romantically.

RS: Have those feelings translated romantically somewhere else then? A boyfriend, perhaps? Is the Boy Who Lived off the market?

HP: Not currently, no.

RS: Would you like to be?

HP: Doesn’t everyone?

RS: What do you look for in a partner? Is red hair a requirement?

HP: No, looks aren’t important, really. Though I do have a tendency to learn towards blonds. Truthfully, I just want someone who would treat me like a normal person instead of the “Boy Who Lived” or the “Chosen One.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for all of the opportunities I’ve had come about because of those things but sometimes it’s nice to know that someone sees you as you and not the image of you that’s presented on paper. I want someone who isn’t afraid to push me to do better and I could do the same for them. Ideally someone who understands my profession and understands that there are certain things I’m required to keep from them and that my hours can be quite unconventional. Maybe someone who works within the same field or even just at the Ministry, I reckon. [Laughs.]

RS: Have you got your eye on someone then? Will we be seeing an interoffice romance in the near future?

HP: I may have my eye on someone, though I’m not sure they feel the same. Hopefully this’ll clear things up. I’ve known them for quite a while now. We were even in school together, though we weren’t exactly friends at the time. We’ve grown closer as we’ve gotten older and I’d like to become something more.

Potter clams up after this, blushing after unintentionally spilling so much new information about his potential beau. Potter, who… [continued on pg. 12]

"Merlin's beard," Draco whispered once he finished reading. It couldn't possibly be about him, could it? There’s something about it, though, the way Potter spoke, it reminds him of a conversation they once had.

They’d happened to collide into one another in the hall and Draco had apologised with a sarcastic, “Forgive me, O Chosen One.” Draco had expected Potter to just narrow his eyes at Draco and continue on his way, which is what normally happened on the rare instances they conversed with one another. However, Potter had snapped on Draco, ranting and raving about everyone always treating him as some sort of celebrity, as if he were something special. Draco had sighed, put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes as he said, “You’ll always be a regular ole prat to me, Potter. I’d never treat you any differently.”  Potter had looked at him sort of strangely, but Draco had simply brushed it off. Until now.

Suddenly, he was bombarded with memories of him and Potter. Like the time Draco had been working into the early hours of the morning, fixing himself some tea in what essentially amounted to a break room, and Potter had come in with a frown on his face and in a talkative mood.

“This...person I’ve been seeing just broke it off because I work too much. And they’re a Healer! They should know what unconventional schedules are like!”

Draco had hummed noncommittally into his cup, unsure as to why Potter was telling him this. They were friendlier these days, sure, he might even go as far to see they were friends, at the very least acquaintances. But surely Potter had closer friends than he to talk about his relationship with. It was silent for a moment as Potter looked glumly into the coffee he’d been fixing during his rant. Draco sighed, rolling his eyes, and said, “Maybe you should just go after someone around here, then. They’d understand your hours at least.”

Potter had looked at him with that thoughtful gaze again, the one he had worn during their conversation in the halls of the Ministry that one time. Draco wasn’t particularly fond of that gaze being fixed on him and attempted to cover up his uneasiness with humour. “I wouldn’t though, seeing as half the employees in this place are bloody useless,” he’d said, smirking at the small grin that graced Potter’s face as he walked out the door.

There was also the time, not too long ago, when Draco had said, offhandedly, “You should go for Head Auror, since you practically are anyway.”

They had been in the lifts and Potter had drawn his wand, pulling them to a stop, and rounding on Draco. He’d narrowed his eyes at Draco, almost into slits, and practically hissed the words, “Piss. Off.” It was times like these Draco could see the Slytherin traits in him. It made Draco like him just that bit more.

“Maybe,” Potter started, “Maybe I don’t want to be Head Auror, has anyone thought of that?”

Draco raised an eyebrow at his sudden outburst. “Nice to see you’re your usual, charming self, Potter.”

Harry only continued further. “Maybe I don’t want to be Head Auror! Maybe I’m not good enough to be Head Auror. How am I supposed to know all of this,” Harry waved his hands around, quite frantically, “isn’t just because I’m Harry bloody Potter? How do I know this isn’t any different?” Harry collapsed onto the floor, his back resting against the wall of the lift.  It was silent but for the sound of Harry’s harsh breathing, while Draco studied him curiously.

“You’re a tosser,” Draco said, causing Potter’s eyes to fling open.

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, incredulously.

Draco rolled his eyes, an action he did quite often whenever in Potter’s presence, and leaned back against the wall opposite Potter, folding his arms.

“You want to know why people telling you that you should be Head Auror?” Draco asked. Potter looked hesitant, but nodded yes anyway. “Because it’s the truth.” Potter had opened his mouth to object here but a glare from Draco shut him down.

“You’re a good Auror, Potter. Best there is, as much as that pains me to admit,” Draco grimaced, eliciting a smile from Potter.

“If this is about you not wanting to do it because you don’t think you’re good enough, that’s crap. If you truly don’t want to do it, which I highly doubt as that profession is practically tailored to you Gryffindor lot, then don’t. But don’t not try because you’re too busy being a git with an unfounded insecurity complex.”

Harry had glared at that, but it was one without any heat behind it, and the next words of out his mouth were kind. “Thanks, Malfoy.”

“Don’t thank me,” Draco replied, “I fully expect some sort of repayment in the near future.”

“Twat,” Harry muttered, but he was smiling and the look on his face was almost fond as he started the lift back up again.

Looking back at it all now, it has to be about Draco himself. Doesn’t it? He quickly Apparated to Harry’s flat, paper still clenched in one hand. He started pounding on the door with his fist as soon it came into view. Draco wasn't sure what he was going to say, exactly, but it needn’t matter because as soon as Harry opened the door, standing there with his rumpled hair and that damn smirk, everything he'd been thinking went flying right out the window.

“Is this a fucking joke, Potter?” is what ended up being the first thing to come out of his mouth.

Harry smiled. “Nice to see you too, Malfoy.”

“You can’t just go around pulling stunts like this, are you mad? Honestly, I don’t know even know why I like in you this first place. You’re an absolute --- mmph,” Draco cut off, his mouth finding itself covered by Harry’s.

Draco pulled back to glare at him. “I wasn’t finished.”

Harry only smiled, placing one arm around Draco’s neck and bringing their lips together once more. Harry walked backwards a few paces, bringing them inside, and Draco closed the door, never once opening his eyes or removing his lips from Harry’s mouth. Harry’s lips were soft, albeit a bit chapped, Draco made a mental note to harass him about not hydrating and moisturising them properly later. He tasted of mint and slightly of Firewhisky. He only pulled away when he felt like he could no longer breathe.

“I,” Harry panted, resting his forehead against Draco’s, “have been dropping hints for months.”

Draco pulled back. “Hints? Why didn’t you just snog the hell out of me in the lifts? We could’ve been doing this for ages!”

Harry shook his head, smiling fondly, “Shut up,” and kissed him again.

Draco slid his arms around Harry’s waist and bringing him forward so their bodies were pressed against each other.

“Fuck, Potter, already?" Draco gasped as he felt a distinct bulge press against him.

"Shut," Harry started, kissing up Draco's neck, "up," he continued, tugging on Draco's ear with his teeth.

"Make me."

Harry pulled back, smirking when Draco whined at the loss of contact. "Is that a challenge? Because I've got something that could your mouth occupied." Harry glanced down and Draco's eyes followed the movement. His mouth watered as he took in the outline of Harry's cock through his jeans.

"If you're up for it, that is," Harry raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Draco, never one to back down, put his hands on Harry's waist, spinning them around until Harry's back was against the door. He kissed Harry, biting on his bottom lip and tugging as he pulled off. "You sure you're up for it, Potter?"

Draco smiled as Harry swallowed audibly. "I don't think that will be a problem," he said, glancing down to where a tent was forming in his trousers.

Draco sunk down to his knees, pushing Harry's shirt up and pressing a kiss just above Harry's navel before beginning to rid Harry's legs of any clothing.

"Malfoy," Harry moaned, lifting up his hips as Draco pulled his trousers down to mid-thigh, not even bothering to pull them off all the way. Draco mouths him through his pants, delighting in the way Harry gasped at the contact.

"Draco," Harry moaned, "please."

Draco smirked, sliding his pants down and releasing Harry's cock. It was long, and thick, and Draco couldn't wait to have it in his mouth. He wrapped his hands around the shaft and leaned forward, swirling his tongue around the tip. Harry moaned, breathily, and Draco took him into his mouth, wrapping his lips around Harry's cock, swiping his tongue along the underside of the shaft. Draco hummed, causing Harry to thrust into his mouth.

"Sorry! Sorry," Harry gasped, groaning when Draco grabbed his thighs and yanked him closer, hollowing his cheeks and taking even more of Harry into his mouth.

"Fuck," Harry moaned, placing a hand into Draco's hair. "Draco."

Draco, his hands still positioned on the back of Harry's thighs, pushed him forward so that we thrusting into Draco's mouth again. Harry's grip tightened in Draco's hair and Draco moaned around Harry's cock. Harry started really thrusting then, his fingers tightening in Draco's hair with each thrust.

"You're so good at this," he whispered, and Draco looked up at the tone in his voice and found Harry looking down at him with awe.

"Like you were made for it," Harry groaned, closing his eyes and knocking his head back against the door. Draco smirked up at him, and took one hand off Harry's shaft to fondle his balls lightly.

"Fuck, Draco," Harry cried. "I'm gonna," he started, trying to push Draco off but Draco stopped him, pushing Harry's cock into his mouth as far as it would go.

"Draco," Harry moaned and then he was coming in Draco's mouth. Draco lapped it up eagerly, swallowing every last drop.

"Fuck," Harry said, pulling Draco back up to full height and kissing him. His hand travelled down Draco's body, stopping only when Draco pulled back, gasping, "Not necessary."

Harry frowned, looking down, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he noticed the distinct wet spot on Draco's trousers.

"You already...?"

"I like giving head, Potter. That a problem?"

Harry grinned. "Definitely not.”

They made their way to Harry’s bedroom, stopping every few steps to kiss each other along the way.

“Hey,” Harry said, noticing the date and time as they climbed into bed, “It’s St. Paddy’s day. Guess I got lucky after all.”

“It only just turned midnight, Potter, meaning it’s only just now the seventeenth. You haven’t gotten lucky, yet.”

Harry grinned. “Guess that means we’ll have to go for round two, then.”

“Good,” Draco said, “Because I want you to fuck me.”

“That can be arranged,” Harry said, smiling slyly as he kissed Draco’s grinning mouth.

*Crossposted to hp_getlucky