Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The evenings were Harry’s favourite part of the day. After most of the shops closed, and the various Londoners had finished their shopping and were headed home, the streets were washed with the golden light of pre-sunset. It was also the time his own shop, Lily’s Bakery had closed its doors for the day, allowing him to wind down after a day of handling customers. 

Not that he had anything against them - he loved interacting with different people, and especially when they were Muggles who didn’t give him a second thought - but it could be draining. Especially since business was good. Ron said that his little bakery – located in a side street, but in a relatively busy area of Muggle London – attracted customers because of the little bits of magic Harry infused in all his cakes. It was his little secret; something that always made his clients smile in awe at the way his chocolate statues stay put, or the way his fondant covers perfectly mimicked reality. Hermione called that cheating, to which Ron agreed but claimed cheating isn’t bad if no one finds out (which resulted in a prolonged fight that even a red velvet cupcake didn’t solve, although Ron and Hermione figured it out eventually, as they always do). In Hermione’s opinion, infusing magic into Muggle baked goods was cheating and dangerous. She repeated time and time again what could happen if the Muggles figured out that their pastries were charmed, citing the Statute of Secrecy and pointing out the risk of the Ministry finding out about his little breaches. She kept insisting that the secret to his success was that his work was genuinely good - a statement that always made Harry feel just a little embarrassed but also very happy.

Harry insisted that the Muggles would never find out, and that they liked his pastries and cakes a little bit because they tasted good and a little bit because the magic made them feel good. But if he were honest, he didn’t care. His shop was more of a hobby that paid his Muggle bills at his Muggle flat than anything else. But it was a nice pat to his ego when he saw the line in the morning or at the afternoon tea, or when he received a call for a custom order. It was a true honour, he thought, to be chosen to make a cake for a special occasion, whether it was a graduation, a bar mitzvah or just a regular birthday. Wedding cakes, however, were his favourite. It was his chance to pull out all the stops, to be extravagant and experiment. 

He put the last chair in its place and glanced at the clock. It was nearly 6pm – which would typically mean it was time to head home, or to one of the pubs in Diagon Alley to have a drink with Ron after he’d finished his day at the Auror office. But today it meant that it was time for his appointment. Harry gave his shop a last glance to make sure that everything was in order. He knew that first impression was the most important thing, and the couple that had scheduled the meeting gave him the feeling that they will be very particular and meticulous. He wasn't exactly excited about that - he preferred to be creative and have his freedom - but as a custom cake maker, his first priority was to make his clients happy, whatever that may entail. 

The shop was, at least in his eyes, in perfect shape: all the tables and chairs were organised, the shelves were charmed spotless, and he had his portfolio ready at hand to show off his previous works to impress and inspire.

Whenever Harry had a private booking he liked to imagine his clients. It was a little game he played with himself, and a childish part of him was a little proud every time the picture he had in his head matched the client. The name Greengrass had him thinking about wide meadows and sunny summers. He imagined a beautiful young woman, probably in her early 20s, with flowing brown hair. He could picture the flavours that would match her personality – and hopefully, also of her groom. Probably something light and fruity. Maybe blueberries, or strawberries. Definitely strawberries, he thought. With a lot of buttercream. He could also offer a classic vanilla flavour, maybe with a touch of rum just to make things a little more interesting.

His clock - an ornate cuckoo clock he'd taken from Grimmauld Place - chimed six at exactly the same moment that the little bell over his shop's door rang to announce the arrival of his customer. With a thrill of excitement, Harry glanced down at his apron and straightened a crease before lifting his gaze up to the door with a smile.

A lady walked in. The first thought that crossed Harry’s mind was that he had never, in his life, been more wrong about his image of a client. She was nothing like the airy elegance he had pictured. Not a wavy brunette, but a sophisticated tight blond bun, without a single stray strand which Harry thought only magic – or a significant amount of styling gel – could achieve. Her face, though young and beautiful, had a severe, almost cold expression. She wore what Harry could only describe as a century’s worth of styles: a ruffled Victorian pink blouse tucked into a pair of flared jeans straight out of Aunt Petunia’s teenage pictures. Even to his unfashionable eye, it was a strange sight – and completely the opposite of the boho-style woman he’d pictured.

She glanced around, as if surveying the shop, gauging whether it was up to her standards or not.

Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling somewhat inadequate. He forced himself to keep his smile plastered to his face. She might be a little bit eccentric, and quite possibly a little stuck-up – but she was his client, and she was a bride-to-be. “Miss Greengrass?” he ventured.

She turned, looking at him as if just noticing his presence – despite the fact that he was the only other person in the shop, and was standing right in front of her. She paused for a second.

Harry glanced down at himself, thinking that maybe he’d accidentally pulled on a dirty apron - rather than one of the clean ones he used mainly for this type of meeting. It was perfectly clean. 

She smiled politely at him. “Yes. I have a meeting with you, I believe?”

Harry nodded, and offered his hand. “Yes, certainly. I was waiting for you, Miss.” 

She walked closer and raised her hand to take his, a strange expression on her face. Then her eyes widened and just before their hands touched she brought her hand up to her mouth. “You - aren’t you Harry Potter?”

Harry’s own eyes widened at that, and he used his offered hand, left abandoned in the air, to ruffle his hair and hide his scar. The last thing he expected to happen was to be recognised at his own bakery shop. All of his clients so far had been Muggles who knew nothing about him, and he loved that. He loved being away from fame and recognition. He loved being just him - just Harry. That was why he opened his shop in Muggle London. Risked getting in trouble with the Ministry for catering to a Muggle audience.

She kept staring, and Harry knew that his scar wasn’t the only thing making him recognisable anymore. Not after living in the Wizarding World since he was eleven, and definitely not since the War. That first year after defeating Voldemort had Harry’s face plastered on nearly every edition of the Prophet , not to mention posters, and of course, the many books written about the War and Harry himself.

It was a nightmare, and therefore, Harry limited his contact with the Magical World  to his circle of friends, and the occasional trip to Diagon Alley when he needed supplies. But he always did those rounds under a Glamour to hide his identity.

And now the Magical World had penetrated his life, his little Muggle-centred shop, and there was no escaping it. He cleared his throat. “Yes.” There was no point in trying to hide it now. His mind was racing, spiralling. If she were to talk to her friends, or worse - the tabloids - he might have to close his little shop. He might have to move to a different city. He really didn’t want to do that. Trying to break the spiral he forced himself to try and not think about the worst-case scenario. She could be a Muggle, someone he’d met somewhere and gave his name to and he simply did not remember. It was a feeble hope, he knew: her attire, the way she held herself, the way she was looking at him, even her name; it all pointed to her being a witch, and most likely, a pure-blood one. He had no idea what such a person would be doing in his little Muggle shop. He coughed shortly again. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“No - I don’t think so. You…” she squinted, and Harry recognised the look. He reached up to flatten his hair again, although he knew the gesture was useless. “You are him, are you not?”

“My name is Harry Potter, yes.” Harry felt his heart beating hard in his chest. “Miss, would you like to take a seat?”

She tilted her head, studying him. “I cannot believe this. Why would Harry Potter, of all people, work at a Muggle shop?”

Underneath the surge of panic that his little bubble was collapsing he felt the tang of annoyance that she assumed he was working there. “Miss Greengrass, er, please, take a seat.”

“You haven’t lost your magic, have you? Since you left the magical world there’s been rumours flying about. Is that why you work at a Muggle shop?”

Harry felt his nails dig into the palms of his hands. “No - nothing like that. Miss Greengrass, please. We’re in a Muggle area, we cannot discuss… It’s…” he didn’t even know what to say. He thought he was in for counselling a couple regarding their cakes - not being insulted and defending his decision to withdraw from magic to someone he didn’t even know. He had enough of that from Ron. 

“There’s nothing to worry about, we’re inside, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but…” Harry started, but then Miss Greengrass waved her hand, dismissing his feeble attempt at an excuse. There was something about the way she moved her hand, the way her mouth twitched slightly, that made Harry think about this one chatty old lady - Mrs Herrington -  that liked to drop by right at rush hour and occupy him with endless questions (and attempts to set him up with her granddaughter, which he refused every time to no avail). There was only one way to stop Mrs Herrington from prying into his personal life. He cleared his throat again, and offered a smile. “Your husband to be, will he be joining us today?”

She paused for a second, and Harry’s heart beat hard in his chest. Mrs Herrington might’ve been chatty, and a little nosy, but she did not know he was Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, and she did not pose a threat to his quiet life. Unlike the woman currently standing in front of him.

Miss Greengrass then offered him a polite smile. “Yes. He will be here shortly. I hope that this is not an issue?”

The shift away from his identity and back into business helped ease the anxiety in him, shifting his focus instead to the couple and his purpose. Granted, he hasn’t been in the wedding cake business for all that long, but in his limited experience the couples who didn’t show up together and treated cake tasting as a chore rather than a fun, bonding experience did not last very long. But he wasn’t here to judge. There could’ve been any number of reasons for the groom-to-be to be late, and not all of them taletelling. 

“Would you like to start telling me what it is you are looking for, Miss Greengrass? Or do you prefer to wait?”

“Please, call me Astoria,” she offered a smile, and then waved her hand shortly. “I’ve already discussed it all with him, so -”

The sound of the store’s bell ringing cut into her words, making both of them look up at the door.

Harry watched as the door swung open, trying not to let panic wash him again as he was certain he would have to go through being recognised again. He wiped his hand on his apron in preparation to greet the newcomer, but the man walking in made him stop mid-movement. 

For when, out of all the people in the world, Draco Malfoy stepped into his shop, the world stopped still.

It was beyond the shock of a pure-blood wizard like Malfoy stepping into a Muggle shop, especially for something as intimate and important as cake tastings for his upcoming wedding. 

It was also that the sight of him brought back old memories of mean banter and late night stalking, waiting for him to stumble so he could finally get him for who he really was. Of years-long obsession, sometimes so severe that his own friends begged him to stop talking about Draco Malfoy and what he might be up to. Of a pounding heart and sweat drops as he waited for the inevitable, moments from being exposed to Voldemort, only to hear his shaky voice claim he does not recognise him and cannot confirm his identity. Of conflicted need to go back into the Fiendfyre and save him from certain death, a life for a life, despite their animosity. Of pity and righteousness when he testified on his behalf in front of the Wizengamot, effectively setting him free and relieving him from the consequences of the role he played in the war that changed the Wizarding world - and Harry’s life - forever.

The door closed gently behind Malfoy, and he spared it only a second before he glanced about the room. It took a mere second for his eyes to land on Harry, and Harry watched as his eyebrows came together in a slight frown, as if he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing.

Harry’s heart beat hard in his chest as a mix of emotions swirled in him. Malfoy had certainly cleaned up since the last time Harry had seen him at the trials. He was no longer beat down and unhealthily thin. He resembled more of his younger self, back in fifth year when he was at his peak; only now he didn't have the same air of arrogance he had back then, and no spark of spite in his eyes. He was confident, holding himself tall and graceful, and while his features were all still sharp like a knife, there was also a certain gentleness to them. 

He was, beyond any doubt, a very attractive man.

“Darling! You’ve made it!”

Astoria’s call broke the spell that held their gazes - and Harry’s breath. He let the air out and looked away when Malfoy moved his eyes to his fiance. 

“Of course. I apologise for my tardiness. I had important business to tend to.” He took a step farther into the shop, and then looked up again, his grey eyes once again meeting Harry’s. “Potter. Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. He swallowed, and forced back his professional smile. “This is my shop,” he said, slightly irritated. He watched Malfoy’s eyebrow arching up. Next to him, Astoria’s jaw parted slightly, and she muttered an apology - which Harry dismissed. “Take a seat. Please.” He tried really hard for that to not sound like he was begging, but Malfoy’s stare made that be a very difficult task. 

Astoria took the offered seat, settling herself. Malfoy, however, remained standing for another minute, his stare fixated on Harry as if he was trying to strip him to the core. It was only a few extra seconds, Harry knew that, but they felt as if they stretched for eternity, before Malfoy finally moved his gaze and sat down. 

Harry, witholding a sigh of relief, joined them on the third chair he'd prepared.

He cleared his throat, but before he could start his typical speech about the different types of cakes he could make, popular trends and the best combination of flavours, Malfoy spoke again.

“What are you doing with a Muggle shop, Potter?”

“That’s… well…” Harry moved his hands over his apron, smoothing out the creases caused when he sat down. “I…” he really did not want to go into it, not now, and definitely not with Malfoy and his fiance. Malfoy had already proven once before that he’d be willing to sell Harry’s secrets - he did not want to give him a chance to do that again. At least, not more than he already had. Harry really didn’t want to move, or close his shop, or lose his regular clientele mere months after he’d finally managed to gain a reputation. 

But then, a thought flashed through his mind, it was just as unlikely for Draco Malfoy to be here, too.

“I could ask you the very same question.”

He watched Malfoy’s lip twitch into a small, barely visible smirk.

“Oh, I know, so strange, isn’t it?” 

Astoria’s voice made him look away from Malfoy. She grinned, and moved her hand to hold onto Malfoy’s arm. 

“But you know how Muggle culture has been trending ever since they passed all these laws about being more… accepting, or whatever,” she waved her hand dismissively, then let it rest on Malfoy’s arm again. “I don’t quite get it, myself, but when Draco and I decided to get married, I knew my wedding would have to be on top of all the trends, and I just thought - a cake would be such a harmless way to get that Muggle culture into our wedding. Is it not, darling?”

“It’s your day, Astoria. If you want a Muggle cake, I do not see the harm.”

“It’s our day, darling.” Her smile faltered, but she didn’t allow it to drop. “Oh, but I am so glad we chose this place! Can you imagine our luck, Draco? Not only is this shop run by a wizard, but it’s Harry Potter! Oh, our wedding will be the talk of the year! Nay, century!”

Harry felt his chest tightening. This was becoming more like a nightmare with each passing moment. 

“You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself.”

Astoria looked like she was about to say something more, but Harry cleared his throat. The couple turned from each other, their attention back on him. “Actually - er - if you could keep my identity… I mean… I don’t really want Wizarding Britain to know I’m here. That this is my shop.” Harry didn’t have much hope that his request would be respected, whether they hire him or not. He hadn’t been this tempted to break the law since he was seventeen and fighting the meanest dark wizard of all times (minor breaches to the Statute aside). “I’m sorry if that’s… if I’m hindering your plans, or anything…”

A glance up showed Malfoy's eyebrow raised in question, but his features relaxed a second later. “It is perfectly understandable,” he said instead. “We will keep your secret. Won’t we, Astoria?”

“Oh, but imagine what people will say -”

“If they knew you purchased your cake from Harry Potter you cannot say you bought your cake from a Muggle shop, dear.”

Astoria’s eyes widened for a second, and she paused, giving Harry the hope that Malfoy’s notion was enough to ease her mind. But she then shook her head lightly, her hand, once again, placed on Malfoy’s arm. “We could do something else that’s Muggle - this is an opportunity that will not return!”

“We have to be respectful.”

Harry’s eyes shot back to Malfoy. He did not expect this from him. Malfoy was never known to sacrifice his convenience and gain for someone else’s comfort. Harry studied him, unable not to wonder what else has changed.

Astoria’s resigned sigh made Harry tear his eyes from him and regain his professional posture. “Well… At least we can still say the cake is from a Muggle shop,” she said, and Harry noticed the squeeze she gave Malfoy’s arm before she turned her attention back to Harry. “But you could probably do some magic to make it especially spectacular, can you not?”

Astoria looked a little disappointed, but nothing about her posture told Harry she might be lying. “If you choose me as your baker, I will of course do everything I can to make sure you have the cake of your dreams.” Returning to his more typical business talk had put him more at ease. He shifted back to his pitch, the same as he did with every couple, explaining the process of his work. “So… I typically start with the technical details, so I can offer the most fitting suggestions for your cake. Do you already know how many guests you’re expecting? And how many of those would have cake?”

“Well, as you know, the Malfoys are very respectable… I think we were talking about maybe sixty? Are we inviting the Minister, dear?”

“Of course. I think somewhere between fifty and eighty guests is the number, give or take. Depending on how many Ministry officials will come.”

Harry nodded, and took out his little notepad to write that down. He probably should’ve expected, when he asked, that Draco Malfoy’s wedding will be over the top.

“And do you have a date set already?”

“The ninth of May.”

“So we have about six months. Okay, that’s great.” Harry smiled, finally feeling in the rhythm of his work. “What about a budget? Do you have a preference?”

“Please, Potter,” Malfoy drawled. Harry felt his face get hotter at the familiar tone. But there was, somehow, something different about hearing him speak that way now. Harry’s hold on the pen tightened. “Don’t be ridiculous. The only limit here is your imagination. I do hope you’ve improved since our time at Hogwarts, yes?”

Harry let out a short, dry chuckle. “Don’t worry, Malfoy. I am sure my current level of creativity will be to your liking.” He forced himself not to falter under the silvery stare.

“Don’t be silly,” Astoria’s voice cut through. Malfoy looked sideways at her, and Harry couldn’t help but notice the sharpness of his jaw. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. What was he doing, thinking about Malfoy’s jaw? While he was consulting with him about his wedding cake, no less! “I’m sure Harry Potter can create the most amazing cake for us.”

“Please, Astoria, you can call me just… Harry.”

That comment seemed to have delighted Astoria, as her eyes lit up and a broad smile spread on her lips. “Of course, Harry.” She seemed to enjoy saying his name.

Harry nodded once in appreciation, and moved on with the intake. “At what kind of a venue are you planning to hold the event? I mean… is it going to be indoors? Outdoors?”

“May is such a beautiful month. We’re going to have it outdoors.”

“Outdoors… great, okay. Do you have a colour palette yet?”

“Oh… no, not yet. We can’t agree on it. I want lilac and silver and Draco wants light blue… just because of a dress robe he found. Isn’t he silly?” Harry did not picture Malfoy in a fancy, fitting light-blue dress robe that accented his eyes. And he most definitely did not think that the colour would look stunning on him, and he did not wish he could see him in his formal wear. “But that just doesn’t work. So we’re still working on it.”

Harry made the mistake of looking up. Malfoy was staring at him again. Harry shook his head lightly. “That’s… really okay. We don’t have to start there. What about flavours? Do you know what you want?”

The rest of the meeting continued in about the same lines. Astoria, Harry noticed, was the leader of the conversation. But throughout the whole meeting Harry found himself repeatedly drawn to Malfoy. He’d caught himself lingering with his stare, and had to, more than once, push inappropriate images out of his mind. But if he disregarded this minor interference, he ended up getting all the information he needed. 

And what’s more - it seemed that the couple were pleased not only with his identity, but also with what he had to offer, as they agreed to schedule a tasting of their chosen flavours for the following week. They all got up, and Harry offered his hand. Astoria took it first, thanking him. She, at least, seemed to have gotten over the excitement over the possibility of having Harry Potter as a vendor at her wedding, and was back to being her polite self.

When she let go, Harry turned to Malfoy. His breath hitched slightly when Malfoy took the offered hand and looked directly at him. The spark was still there, shimmering in the grey fog of his irises, and Harry had to force himself not to get lost in it.

“It was nice seeing you again, Potter,” he said. It was completely professional, but there was still something about the way he said his name that tied Harry’s insides in a knot.

He smiled back. “You, too.” 

Malfoy’s hold lingered a second longer before he let go, and reached for his belongings. 

“We will schedule the tasting meeting soon.”

Harry nodded and said he would be looking forward to seeing them the following week, and then the couple left his shop. It felt incredibly empty without their presence, and Harry was left with a hollow feeling in his chest. 

-

Harry did not, by any means, spend the whole week thinking about Malfoy. It would be inappropriate, after all. 

When it was time for the next meeting Harry was prepared. He’d set his mind on being completely professional. He’d mulled over the previous meeting, and knew that any thought other than what flavours to prepare for the Malfoy couple and what decorations would fit their colour scheme was completely inappropriate. Not only was it bad business  - but Malfoy was getting married. To a witch . There must have been some other reason for the way his hand lingered on Harry’s when they shook goodbye. There must have been a different reason for why his eyes were set on Harry more so than Astoria.

Probably the surprise of discovering Harry at a Muggle cake shop. Lingering resentment from their childhood. Gratefulness for Harry’s testimonial at the trial.

No other reason, and Harry should not entertain even a budding thought in that direction.

He set his cake samples on the table, arranging them and rearranging them, mulling over the order of the flavours to make sure the couple will be able to experience each one and fully understand the differences and nuances. 

He looked at his creations and nodded in satisfaction. He felt that the previous meeting with the Malfoy couple didn’t quite go in the ideal way. He attributed it to the surprise from both sides: he would never expect Malfoy, out of all people, to show up at a Muggle shop; and it was clear that neither Astoria or Malfoy expected to see Harry there. Harry was confident that this time will not be the same. That this time they will be over the awkwardness.

Besides - this was the part where couples had the most fun. Showing up at a shop and tasting delicious cakes was always the highlight of the process, after talking about the daunting technical details, and before the negotiations and pre-wedding stress. Harry loved that part. He loved seeing people enjoying his work, being happy together. The fact that this time the happy couple included Harry’s exceptionally good-looking former enemy shouldn’t change that.

The bell over the door rang, and Harry turned towards it, ready to greet the couple.

But it was only Malfoy who walked in. Harry swallowed, feeling how the walls of his resolution were already starting to crack.

“Hello again, Potter.”

Harry pushed any inappropriate thought to the back of his mind. “Hey.”

Malfoy crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. 

“Will Miss Greengrass join us soon?”

Malfoy walked about the room until he reached the table Harry had set, the same as the last time. But today Malfoy did not wait for an invitation before he sat down. Harry followed. “Not today. She had other commitments today.”

“Oh - er, would you like to reschedule?” Astoria’s absence had thrown him off balance. It had happened before, of course, but it wasn’t something he recommended. And the fact that this time it was Malfoy had made it that much worse. “The samples are ready, but I wouldn’t mind if you need to come another time.” He actually would. Preparing several cupcakes, all in different flavours and textures, was a feat that cost both time and money. But good customer service was to allow for some leeway, make the couple feel welcomed and cared for.

He also wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone with Malfoy, but that had little to do with work ethics.

“There will be no need. I will sample first. We might schedule another meeting, if she wants. Don’t worry, Potter,” Malfoy looked up at him, smirking, “we will pay for the additional meeting. That is not an issue.”

Harry cleared his throat. That was not the problem. Money was not a problem. “Don’t… I mean, that’s okay. It’s perfectly fine. If that’s what you want. Okay.” He glanced at the cupcakes. One of them was slightly askew. He reached over to move it slightly, perfecting the line up. “So, er, shall we start?” Malfoy nodded. "This one," he gestured to the first cupcake, its soft lavender frosting swirled with cream in delicate silver and lilac, matching the couple’s chosen colour scheme. He thought it might suit them the most. A little bit of magic gave the cream a touch of iridescence - enough to notice and make it extra pretty, but not enough so that a Muggle might notice. “Is a London Fog cake, with a touch of lavender.”

Malfoy’s eyebrow arched up as he picked up the cupcake, his long, elegant fingers wrapping around the cup, careful not to touch the cream swirl on top. “Cheers.” He brought it to his mouth, and took a bite. 

Harry’s mouth went dry when Malfoy closed his eyes and let out a pleasured moan. The crack in Harry’s resolution deepened, parts of the wall coming down like the piece of the cupcake that was torn by Malfoy’s teeth. Harry should not be reacting this way. Besides how incredibly inappropriate it was, what with Malfoy being a customer and engaged, it was Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. 

At least, Harry thought, it made one thing clear. Ginny was right after all. Harry wasn’t sure if he was thrilled with that realisation - but whatever he was feeling about his ex knowing about his sexual preferences without him figuring it out by himself first would have to wait for a more appropriate time.

Malfoy placed the cupcake back on the table, swallowed, and then moved his fingers over his lips. Harry’s stare lingered a second at the light tug on Malfoy’s lower lip. Harry’s breath hitched.

“Merlin, Potter,” Malfoy said. “I did not know you could bake so well.”

Harry fought the warmth that threatened to spread through his face. “Thank you.” Determined not to steer from being strictly professional, he gestured at the next cupcake. It was a plain light one, but decorated with a swirl of white and light-blue cream. On the blue part of it there were white sugar pearls, nestled carefully between the creases of the cream. “This one is a vanilla blueberry cupcake. There is fruit inside.”

Malfoy picked it up, and for a moment seemed to be just examining the decorations. “Your work is impeccable,” he said, and Harry couldn’t help a small smile, a bubble of pride forming in his chest, momentarily taking his mind off the fact that it was Malfoy who was eating his cupcakes. It didn’t last long, as Malfoy then bit into the cupcake, pink lips closing on the white cream. He let out another moan that should be absolutely illegal to produce in public.

Harry was mesmerised. What on earth was wrong with him?!

He cleared his throat. “What did you think about this one?”

Malfoy’s jaw moved as he was chewing. He opened his eyes and carefully looked at the cupcake again. He was examining it, as if appraising a rare gem. “You used real fruit here,” he said once he’d swallowed. It was a statement, rather than a question.

Harry shuffled in his place a bit. “Fresh ones, yes. I think they have the richest flavour, and the tang of sourness I think compliments the sweet vanilla. Of course, if you prefer sweeter, I can use sugared ones. Or a different fruit. One of the best things about vanilla flavour is that you can pair it with almost anything and it works.”

“No, it wasn’t a complaint.” Malfoy took another small bite before placing the partially eaten cupcake back on the table. “It’s quite amazing. It has some sort of…”

Harry smirked. The bubble in his chest expanded slightly. “Refreshing effect?”

Malfoy’s eyes shot up. “Precisely.” The word dragged a little. For a moment, Malfoy stared at him, but then he picked up the cupcake again and moved it in his hand, twisting it back and forth. He then placed it back, and grabbed the London Fog cupcake, and did the same. He let out a low humming sound, bringing his eyebrows together. “Is that Iridencia?”

Harry bit his lip. “Er. Yes, it is.”

“And in the other one. Is that Purgo?”

“Er.” He felt his face heating up again, and raised his hand up to his head, letting his fingers brush through his messy hair. 

“I thought this was a Muggle shop.” Malfoy’s words drawled in the room. He lifted his eyes from the cupcake, his silvery gaze landing on Harry, an amused smirk playing at his lips. “Are you cheating, Potter?” His teasing tone lightened the air in the room, taking away their past animosity. He leaned back in his chair, his teasing tone making it look like he was savouring this little moment. 

Harry scratched his head. “Well… I wouldn’t call it cheating, per se…”

Malfoy’s smirk broadened. “And the Muggles, they have no idea?”

Harry smiled sheepishly. He moved his hair backwards and then moved his hands to the back of the chair in front of him, leaning slightly. He had been standing all day, after all. “I tell them it’s a secret recipe.” 

Malfoy’s eyebrow shot up, making him look impressed. “I thought you were a Gryffindor all these years, and here we are, finding out that you are, in fact, a Slytherin after all.”

Harry couldn’t help a chuckle. “Not that I think you’re right, but I did almost get sorted into Slytherin.”

Malfoy’s second eyebrow shot up. “Is that so? I would’ve never imagined. Although, after knowing you for so many years, perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised.” He shrugged, and then glanced downwards before meeting Harry’s eyes again. “You can sit down, you know. If you want to.”

Harry pulled the chair out and sat down, stifling a relieved sigh as he could finally lift his weight off his feet. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve always had some very Slytherin qualities. But nevermind that. So magic, heh? And no one from the Ministry has said anything?”

Harry leaned back in his chair. “I’m not breaking the Statute. No one knows,” he shrugged, “I never use magic in an obvious way. They never suspect anything. They just… think I’m a really good baker. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Malfoy’s second eyebrow arched up as he kept examining the cupcake. “Based on what I’ve tried so far, they aren’t wrong. I suppose if no one ever suspects there really isn’t anything fundamentally wrong with cheating with a little magic. But had it been anyone but you…”

Harry frowned. “Whatever does that supposed to mean?”

“You’re Harry Potter. They wouldn’t dare touch you unless you did something truly drastic. It’s not a bad thing. Anyway,” Malfoy’s voice indicated the end of that discussion, and his eyes moved away from Harry, lowering instead back to the cupcakes. “What’s the next one?”

Harry turned his attention back to the table, and the task at hand. He inhaled deeply. “The next one,” he said, letting all the air out as he pushed the next sample in Malfoy’s direction, “is a lemon cake. You weren’t clear about what your preferences are, if you want a traditional cake, or a cupcake tower, or something else. Of course, all flavours can come in both, but I also wanted to show you an example of a more traditional take, and the lemon flavour was the best for it.” 

Malfoy picked it up and examined it. 

Harry gestured, pointing at the frosting. “You see, this one is a regular sponge cake, and it is covered in lemon flavoured frosting. You’ll… er, you might feel a little bit of lemon zest in it. It might be a bit too much for some people, so I can definitely tone it down, if you would like. Of course everything is customisable and it’s just to give you an idea.”

“I see. Why lemon? We never mentioned lemon.” Draco twisted the cup back and forth, and then raised his other hand and swabbed the side of the cake, his finger picking up the frosting as he did. He then put his finger in his mouth, sucking on the sugary coating.

Heat - familiar, and incredibly uncomfortable - spread in Harry’s stomach. He swallowed, and looked away, pretending that he was very interested in perfecting the line in which the cake samples stood on the table. 

“I know you didn’t. But in my line of job, I sometimes need to… er… read people. See what might fit them without them even knowing. I thought something fresh and a little zesty might work. Especially in summer, you know… when everyone wants to feel more refreshed.” He looked up, and found Malfoy’s grey eyes locked on him. His finger was still on his mouth, glistening lightly with saliva as it pulled on his lower lip, almost absentmindedly. Harry swallowed down and looked away. “I fully understand if it’s not quite your vibe. I have many other flavours for you.”

“My vibe.” Malfoy tapped on his lips, as if tasting the word. “My, my, Potter. Lemon, hmm? Subtle, yet bold. I wonder if you’re trying to tell me something.”

“What?” Harry nearly choked. “I’m… no, of course not. I meant… I mean…”

“Relax, Potter. I was just impressed. I’ve never mentioned it to you, because, well,” he let out a short chuckle, “why would I? But lemon cakes are my favourite. Astoria, though, she hates them.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s perfectly fine. Like I said, there are many other flavours here for you to try. We’ll just cross off the lemon one.”

Malfoy brought the lemon cake to his mouth and took a bite. When he brought it back down Harry noticed a spot of frosting on his nose. “It’s a shame, really,” Malfoy looked at the cake again. “This one is really good. Astoria is great, you know,” he trailed. “She’s a very clever witch. Very successful, too. A good match for the Malfoy heir.”

Harry glanced down, fumbling with the hem of his apron resting on his knees. He fought the urge to reach over and remove the frosting from Malfoy’s nose. “That’s great, Malfoy. I’m happy for you.”

“She’s not too bad to look at, either.”

His nail found a hardened spot on the apron’s fabric. He scratched at it, attempting to remove it. “She is beautiful. Though she needs to work on her Muggle fashion.” Harry let go of the hard spot and instead looked up at Malfoy, offering a weak smile. The atmosphere was different now. Heavy and thick. Confusing. It was normal for partners to talk fondly about one another, but there was nothing fond about the way Malfoy was talking about her. It felt, rather, almost businesslike. 

Malfoy’s lip twitched upwards. “You might be right. I’ll inform her.” He took another bite from the lemon cake. The dot of frosting was still on his nose when he lowered the now halfway gone cake. “Are you involved with anyone?”

The question took Harry by surprise. “Er. No, I’m not.”

“Is that so? The great Harry Potter, single?” Malfoy chuckled shortly. “How intriguing. No one strikes your fancy?”

Harry felt his face heating up. “Uhm. No, not at the moment.” He had no intention of letting Malfoy delve into his personal life, especially not in its current messy state. “Would you like to try the next one? It’s -”

“Intriguing, indeed. Last I heard you were to marry the Weasley girl.”

“Yeah, but, er, it didn’t… it didn’t quite work out.” His fingers scratched at the hard spot again. He felt the fabric breaking apart under the insistent scratching. Frowning, he let go, flattening it over his knees before bringing his hands up.

Malfoy’s eyes rested on him, a silvery spark playing at his pupils as he toyed with the lemon cupcake. “How sad.”

His tone reflected anything but sadness. Harry cleared his throat, his tone final when he spoke next. “It’s quite alright.” He gestured at the next cupcake. “This one’s white-chocolate matcha - green tea -  cake. A little bit like the London Fog one, it has a hint of bitterness - ”

“I know what matcha is, Potter.” Malfoy picked up the matcha cupcake. Much to Harry’s relief, his eyes shifted to examine it instead of Harry. “Did she find out you’re flying for other team and call it off?”

Harry choked. “I… I have no idea… what?”

Malfoy’s lip twitched upwards, and Harry felt his skin burning under the scorch of his eyes when they were directed at him again. “I noticed the way you look at me.”

Harry's mind raced, trying to process Malfoy’s words. There was no way he was being that obvious, was there? His throat went dry, and he could feel the heat rising up his neck. “I don’t… I didn’t…”

“Come on, Potter. Lying and pretence were never your strong suit. You’re not that much of a Slytherin.”

“I’m not lying…” 

Malfoy placed the cupcake back on the table and shrugged. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re both adults. Besides,” he shifted slightly, leaning forward and looking directly at Harry. Harry swallowed, trying to force the lump that had formed at the base of his throat to go away. “If I were to judge you for it, that’d make me quite a hypocrite, wouldn’t it. And I’ve worked too hard all these years to better myself to allow myself to sink that low again.”

Harry’s head jumped up, no longer attempting to avoid Malfoy’s stare, but looking directly at him. “W… what?”

“Don’t look quite so shocked. Pansy has always told me I was being quite obvious. Honestly, Potter. Have you got no observation skills?”

Harry shook his head, ignoring Malfoy’s little jab. He had much more important things to focus on. “Did you just…”

“Take myself out of the metaphorical closet? Why, Potter, I knew your brain was as thick as a Troll, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

The insult was nothing but background noise now. “But you’re getting married.”

“Once again I am impressed by your observation skills.”

Harry frowned. “You’re marrying a woman.”

“What gave her away? Was it the ruffly pink blouse? Or the breasts under it?”

“Malfoy - I’m serious!”

“Hmm.” Malfoy leaned back in his chair. His expression changed, eyebrows brought together in a scowl. “Alright. Yes, I am getting married to a witch. What does that have to do with my preferences?”

Harry scoffed. Malfoy could not possibly be serious? “Usually people get married because they love each other. Because they want to spend the rest of their lives together.”

“Not necessarily,” Malfoy mused. “My personal situation is not what we’re discussing.”

“Then what -”

“A very simple matter, really. You find me attractive. I find you attractive. See what I’m getting at?”

Harry did. He felt it in the heat that was gathering in his stomach, in the way his heart was beating hard in his chest. After Ginny broke up with him and told him he should figure out what he actually wanted, he swore off relationships until he did. But he could not deny the way Malfoy was making him feel. “You’re getting married,” he repeated, frowning at how weak the argument sounded. He had a selection of other reasons, too: Malfoy was a customer; Harry wasn’t sure this was something he wanted; and even if he did, he had no idea how it would work. He’d only ever been with Ginny before. 

And it was Malfoy, for crying out loud!

“It’s a contract, nothing more, nothing less. I need an heir. She needs a husband. She is well aware that I am incapable of giving her anything more than that. So,” he leaned forward. The light caught on the frosting spot on his nose, drawing Harry’s attention back to it. His fingers itched to reach over and wipe it off. “The only question left is whether you want it, or not.” 

“I…” Harry started. Malfoy’s offer was tempting, especially when he was looking at him like that, with his stormy eyes and his pink, inviting mouth. Harry swallowed. “I can’t. It’s wrong.” He forced himself to look up and meet Malfoy’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Very well.” Malfoy’s tone was business-like. He straightened up in his chair, turning his attention back to the cupcakes. “So this one is green tea and white chocolate, you said?”

Harry cleared his throat. Malfoy’s ability to switch from a rather direct lewd offer to business was unsettling. “Yeah,” he said, and watched as Malfoy picked up the green cupcake. “If you choose to go with a blue, or purple, colour palette, I can use food colouring or magic to make it a fitting colour, so please don’t worry about that.”

Malfoy nodded once, and then took a bite. “This one is also very good,” he said. “But I think this is not quite the flavour we’re looking for.”

Harry nodded, reaching to take the matcha cupcake from Malfoy. Their fingers brushed, and Harry’s breath hitched; but they both pretended it didn’t happen as Harry placed the rejected cake back on the table. There was one remaining cake sample on the table. Harry gestured at it. “The last one is a classic fruit cake. It’s the most traditional type of cake for a wedding. You have a layer of marzipan on top of it, and the white layer you see is a simple glaze icing.”

Malfoy examined it shortly before taking a bite. “I like this one,” he said. 

Malfoy’s natural slip back into professionalism, strange as it was, helped the tension that weighed on Harry. He even managed a small, polite smile. “Great. Alright, so that’s all of them,” he said. “Which were your favourites? And which do you think Astoria might appreciate?”

“My personal favourite was the lemon cake,” Malfoy said with a smile, and brought his fingers up to his mouth, presumably cleaning cake residue. Harry forced his eyes away, overly aware that Malfoy had noticed his inappropriate stares. “But that one is not an option, as I’ve told you Astoria will not approve. I found the London Fog one a bit too bitter, much like the green tea one. I did find the blueberry one especially delightful, and the colour palette would fit Astoria’s vision perfectly. The purple one, too, and I think Astoria would love the traditional one. It’s a Muggle tradition, is it not?”

“Yes, yes it is. And like I said, don’t worry about the colours, I will ensure that any flavour you pick will suit your theme, once you settle on one.”

“That is very good to know.” Malfoy pushed himself away from the table and stood up. 

Harry hastened to follow suit. “Of course. I want your event to be perfect.” It was a line he always said. And usually, he meant it. But this time it felt robotic. Fake. A force of habit. “How would you like to proceed?” He asked. “Would you like to schedule another tasting, one where Astoria can attend? Would you like any flavours to be adjusted for that meeting? Try any others?”

Malfoy paused and turned to look at him. “I will need to discuss this with Astoria and inform you later on. Can you receive owl mail, or Muggle only?”

“You can owl me, that’s okay,” his smile turned genuine. Of course Malfoy would prefer owl mail over the convenient Muggle internet. 

Malfoy nodded once and headed towards the door. Harry followed, making sure to remain a respectful distance away. Malfoy reached the door and paused. “I would like to apologise for making you uncomfortable.”

Harry paused too. “I never thought I’d live to see the day Draco Malfoy apologised.” He couldn’t help a chuckle. 

Malfoy didn’t seem to bite. “Things change, Potter.” There was a hint of a smile on Malfoy’s lips. 

“So they do.” Harry lowered his head, and then looked back up. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the, er, staring. I was being unprofessional. It will not happen again.”

Malfoy held his stare for a moment longer. Harry’s skin tingled. Malfoy lowered his head, nodding once. The light caught on the frosting spot again. “Well then, we shall be in touch. Goodbye, Potter.”

“Yeah. We…” Harry moved slightly. Was he really going to let Malfoy leave his shop with frosting on his nose? 

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. 

He couldn’t stand it. “Hold on, you have something…” he took a step further and reached over. Malfoy’s eyes widened when Harry placed his thumb on his nose, and he felt a puff of warm air brushing against his palm as he wiped the frosting off. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt through Harry. He lifted his hand, showing Malfoy the white smear. “Frosting.” The word came out breathy and low, barely over a whisper. 

Malfoy’s eyes lowered to Harry’s thumb, lingering for a second before he met Harry’s gaze. His eyes were dark, intense. “I see.” His voice was low, vibrating through Harry’s spine and sending shivers through his body. He could feel his warm breath on his face. “Thank you.”

Harry felt his heart beating hard in his chest. Malfoy was so close he could feel the heat radiating from him, fogging his thoughts, blurring the line between right and wrong. All he had to do was lean a little bit forward; Malfoy, he knew, would not resist. He explicitly expressed his desires, shameless and bold as Malfoy always was. “You’re welcome,” he managed to say. His throat felt dry. He swallowed. 

He could see Malfoy’s eyes following him, lowering down to his lips before moving back up, the grey even darker now. 

The moment stretched, each second feeling like a torturous eternity. Harry’s body was aching to close the distance. To throw all caution, every bit of his moral compass out through the window and ravish Malfoy’s mouth. But there was still a little bit of dignity left in him, holding him back. Harry had never compromised the integrity of his business, except, perhaps, enhancing his cakes with a little bit of magic; so faint there was no way the Muggles could detect it. But this…

This was completely different. This went against everything he believed in.

And he wanted it so bad.

Malfoy shifted, and Harry felt his hand closing on his arm. Sparks lit up where skin touched skin, and his breath hitched. He briefly closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he could see Malfoy’s lips twisted up in a small smirk. As if he’d noticed Harry’s stare, Malfoy opened his mouth slightly, and Harry saw his tongue slipping out, moving slowly over his lower lips, leaving a wet trail in its wake. Malfoy leaned a little bit closer, moving his hand up Harry’s arm, over his shoulder, fluttering over the sensitive skin of his neck. “No one has to know.” 

The words were whispered, barely audible over Harry’s beating heart, fluttering over his lips and his neck and breaking the last of his restraint. He tilted his head, searching and finding Malfoy’s lips. They were every bit as warm and soft as they looked. His skin tingled when Malfoy slid his hand over his neck to grab his nape, gently, but firmly, holding him in place. He couldn’t help a small moan. Malfoy’s lips parted, and Harry responded in kind, welcoming him. It no longer mattered that the sweetness of Malfoy’s mouth was a remnant of the glazing from the cake samples Harry had made for his wedding. All that mattered was how wonderful it felt to kiss him. 

It was nothing like Harry’s previous kisses. He’d only kissed two people before, and he could barely count the wet, teary experience with Cho Chang as a kiss. Ginny was good, and he enjoyed what they shared - but Malfoy was inherently different. He asserted his dominance as soon as Harry let go of his inhibitions, tongue darting out to explore Harry’s mouth and hand placed on Harry’s waist, holding him in his place. 

There was something incredibly hot, intoxicating, about the way Malfoy made Harry feel that he could just let go. Let someone else be in charge, for a change. He let himself give in to Malfoy’s touch, let him pull him closer, moaned when he felt the obvious bulge pressing against his thigh. He moved his hips, instinctively searching for more contact.

Malfoy’s groan vibrated against Harry’s lips, low and primal. “Greedy,” he purred against Harry’s lips. “I like that.”

Harry didn’t have time to register the words - let alone react - before he felt Malfoy’s hand sliding over his back. Long fingers found the knot of his apron, and Harry felt the apron go loose on him when Malfoy untied it. He then slid his hand upwards, causing shivers through Harry’s body before reaching the upper knot. His fingers tickled at Harry’s nape as he fumbled with that knot. This one took a little bit longer, but soon enough Harry felt its weight lifted from him and a thud confirmed that it’d found its way down to the floor.  

Suddenly, Harry felt the edge of one of the tables digging into the back of his thighs. He didn’t even realise Malfoy was moving, or that he was moving along with him. The impact caused the air in his lungs to come out in a gasp. This was all going fast, almost overwhelmingly so. But Harry didn't want to stop. It all felt too good: Malfoy's lips, his tongue exploring, his hands over his body. Rather, he wanted more. Remaining passive was no longer enough, and he found himself placing his hand on Malfoy's nape, pulling him closer. Merlin, Malfoy felt good.

It seemed that Malfoy took that as encouragement, as Harry felt his hand sliding back down his body, over his back and his stomach and oh god, he shivered when Malfoy's fingers found the place where his shirt was tucked into his trousers, when he felt the pressure of them when he grabbed at the shirt and shamelessly pulled it out. Malfoy moved his hand over Harry's stomach, making Harry’s muscles tense and his breath hitch until he found his belt buckle. One swift motion and the belt was undone, quickly followed by the buttons of his jeans. It only took another second for Malfoy's hand to slide into Harry's pants and erase any remaining coherent thought from his brain.

Harry let out a moan and tilted his hand back when Malfoy closed his hand over his already hard cock. 

"Fuck, Malfoy..." the words came out breathy and desperate. It seemed to have spurred Malfoy on, as Harry felt his hand starting to move along his shaft. Harry was grateful now for the table behind him, and moved his hands backwards to lean on it, feeling that he might fall without the support.

"You like it, don't you?" Malfoy growled. 

"Y... yeah..." Harry managed. Merlin, it was hard holding still and not coming right there and then in Malfoy's skilled hand.

It felt good. So good, Harry didn’t know something as simple a wank could feel this good. 

And it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel more. More of Malfoy. He wanted to make him feel as good as Harry felt. Harry lifted his hand from the table and reached for Malfoy's belt. Slowly, hesitantly, he undid it. Malfoy's moan encouraged him when he fumbled with the button of his trousers, and he heard him moan in relief when he pulled the zip down. 

Malfoy's stroking grew a little bit faster, making Harry's breath turn more rapid. He slithered his hand under the elastic of Malfoy's pants, struggling a little with how tight it felt, but it was all worth it when his hand finally met with the hardness inside. He let his hand close around Malfoy's cock, which had pulled an especially beautiful moan from Malfoy's throat. It was Harry’s first time touching another man's cock, and no amount of self-care had prepared him for how thrilling it could feel. He started moving his hand, but quickly realised that Malfoy's clothes were too tight to allow him to move as he wanted. He let go - much to Malfoy's displeasure, if he were to judge by the noises he was making - and pulled on his pants to lower them. No longer confined by fabric, Malfoy's cock jumped, briefly brushing against Harry's and sending a jolt of pleasure through his body before standing at attention almost flat against Malfoy's stomach. Harry couldn't help himself when he opened his eyes (when had he even closed them? He wasn't sure) and looked down. He almost gasped at the sight - Malfoy's cock was beautiful. Pink and long, it stood hard and begged for attention - and Harry’s excitement overtook the significance of the discovery, and all he could do was oblige. He grasped it again, and let his hand move up and down, slowly, feeling every inch. As he reached the top he moved his thumb over the tip. It was already wet and smooth, and oh, fuck, how come he never realised how good this could all feel?

Malfoy’s movements grew faster, and with them, Harry’s breaths. He was getting close. His hand tightened on the edge of the table for support, and he leaned his forehead against Malfoy's neck, which stretched up in response. His scent - an intoxicating cocktail of sweat and his citrusy, almost spicy perfume and something that was so uniquely Draco filled his nose, his lungs, his consciousness. How could he smell so good?

He felt Malfoy's breaths, just as fast and shallow as his own, and the sound of his moans filled his ears. He had never heard something sexier in his life. 

“Fuck, Potter,” Malfoy breathed, and the way he said his name was all it took to drive Harry over the edge.

He didn’t even have the sense to warn Malfoy before the heat inside him exploded and pleasure filled his every cell. It took all of his remaining self control to keep upright and not stop his hand from sliding up and down Malfoy’s cock when Malfoy kept pumping him, helping him ride his climax. A few seconds later Malfoy tensed, and let out a loud moan, and Harry’s hand was covered in his warm cum.

They remained still - leaning against each other, holding each other’s wet, softening cocks - for a moment as they were catching their breaths.

Soon enough, though, the high of the orgasm started fading away. Harry's breath was slowly getting back to normal, and the blissful fog was lifted from his brain. 

He looked up, and saw Malfoy's face, still flushed, still close enough to kiss. He wanted to - Malfoy's lips were so soft, so tempting - but he could now remember why he said no in the first place.

Malfoy was not available. Not according to Harry's standards.

Guilt washed over him, casting a heavy shadow on the last remnants of his high. He let go of Malfoy immediately. "Shit.” The word came out breathy, raspy.

Malfoy’s thumb moved over him in a single, slow movement before he let go of him.

"Mmhm," Malfoy's voice hummed, the hot air fluttering over Harry’s skin. But it was no longer pleasurable; it felt more like a torture. “I agree. That was great.”

“No.” Harry’s throat was closing up. This was not good. What was he thinking?! He could blame the lack of sexual encounters for the past year all he wanted - it was no excuse to get involved with an engaged man.

“‘No’?” Malfoy’s voice was still painted by post-orgasm laziness. “It wasn’t enjoyable for you? It certainly didn’t feel that way.” He leaned forward to kiss Harry’s lips.

It took too much of Harry’s self-restraint to move his head. It seemed like Malfoy was starting to pick on Harry’s change of mood. He straightened up and took half a step back. Harry glanced up to see him starting to get his clothes back on. Shame filling him, Harry did the same. 

“You’re engaged, Malfoy.” There was nothing dignified about stuffing his messy cock back into his pants. He felt tainted. How could he have been so stupid as to give in to simple lust? He didn’t believe in any sort of religion, but he could see why it was considered a deadly sin, now.

"That I am." Malfoy's tone changed; it was colder now, almost business-like. He moved a little bit farther back. He moved his arm and pulled his wand from the back-pocket of his trousers. A simple wave of it, and they were both clean. It didn’t help the vile lump that had settled in Harry’s throat. "I thought I made it clear that my engagement should not be an issue." He put the wand back in its place and moved his hands back to the front instead, zipping up his trousers and popping the button back into its place.

“It is an issue for me,” Harry said. With fumbling fingers he did his own jeans, button after button. “It’s wrong. What we did…” He pulled his shirt out of his jeans, letting it fall over it, moving it only so slightly back to its place. “It's wrong.”

“Why?” Malfoy’s question sounded genuine, which made Harry look up. Malfoy’s shirt was still untucked, hanging loose over his trousers. 

“W - why? You’re asking me why it’s wrong for you to be with someone else while you’re engaged?”

“It might be wrong for me, but I have my reasons. I’m asking why are you getting so worked up about it.” Malfoy lifted his arm to comb his fingers through his hair.

“Because I - I participated. I… helped you cheat.”

“You were merely enjoying the company of another man. If you were to meet me under any other circumstances, you probably wouldn’t even know I was engaged. It makes no difference to you.”

“But I do know! I know, and I…”

Malfoy let out a sigh. “You think you have the moral ground, don’t you?” he sounded almost angry now. “You think you have a moral obligation to prevent me from cheating on my fiance.”

Harry blinked. “No - I didn’t say that -”

“You didn’t need to. But it doesn’t matter. You are really clueless, aren’t you?” 

Harry dared looking at him. Malfoy’s expression was almost - sad. 

“My marriage to Astoria is a mere business agreement.” Malfoy rearranged his shirt, tucking it back into his trousers. If it wasn’t for the rosy hue of his cheeks, the ruffle in his hair and the swollenness of his lips, Harry thought, no one could’ve guessed what had just happened between them. Harry felt that his own guilt was plastered on his face, like an Azkaban wanted poster. “Nothing more. I am in need of an heir. Astoria is in need of a husband. And it’s probably no surprise to you that the Malfoy name has taken quite a hit after the war. The Greengrass family are respectable. They never took the Dark Lord’s side, so their name is unstained. But they’re still pure-blood. Ancient. Much like my own family. Astoria is a fine match. A perfect match for me, if it wasn’t for a minor thing, really insignificant. I am gay. I could never love her. Not like a husband loves his wife.”

Harry knew all of that. Malfoy had already said it. Before. When Harry still had his wits about him. When Harry said no.

“You’re marrying her,” he said. “Whatever the reason is, it does not matter. It’s a choice you made. Live with it.”

“It’s a mere business agreement. Surely you can understand that. You have a business.” Malfoy gestured around them.

“It’s not like - my contracts with my suppliers! It’s not like… if I buy pearl sprinkles from one company, but now I want edible glitter from another. Marriage is an exclusive contract! If you chose someone you don’t love, well, that… sucks, but it’s not an excuse.”

“Marriage is only exclusive if both parties agree it is so,” Malfoy pointed out. It was something Harry had never thought about, accepting the sanctity of marriage as it was. “It’s a social construct. Do you believe that because of society’s expectations of me I do not deserve happiness? I must live my life in loneliness? In denial of my identity?”

Harry was taken aback. Of course, he did not believe any of that. Everyone has a right for happiness, don’t they? Of being true to themselves? “That… no, of course not. But it doesn’t make cheating right. You could just… not get married. It’s not that complicated.”

“It is, in my world.” Malfoy’s tone was cold, factual. “As an heir, I have to get married. I have to have my own heir. It’s not a choice. Happy, love-marriages are rare when you have so many expectations of you. Almost everyone ends up being married to one person, but finding their emotional and physical needs met elsewhere. It’s expected, almost.”

Harry’s mind couldn’t quite wrap around it. He knew such things happened - but they were a thing of the past, when monarchs and lordships meant something. Kings had concubines - the more, the better. 

The world has thankfully progressed since then.

He shook his head. “It’s still not right.”

Malfoy sighed. “You cannot judge me until you understand where I’m coming from,” he said. “We have a mutual understanding, Astoria and I. She’s well aware of my standing. No matter what you might think of me, I would not let an innocent woman enter a marriage with me without knowing about my preferences and my expectations. I can provide her with certain things she cannot obtain on her own. She can provide me with an heir. That’s really all there is to it,” he shrugged, “but I am not going to try and persuade you into something you’re feeling this uncomfortable with - no matter how fun what we just did was. It’s a shame, I won’t lie. But it’s okay.”

Harry frowned. He still didn’t agree. He was still mad at Malfoy for seducing him and putting him in this situation. 

“You should not feel guilty about what we did, Potter. You did nothing wrong.” Malfoy made a final arrangement in his clothing, and turned towards the door. “I will owl you regarding the next tasting. Astoria will be present to finalise our choices.” 

Malfoy’s words hang in the room even after he closed the door behind him, heavy and confusing. Harry was, above everything else, mad at himself.

He shouldn’t have given in - no matter what Malfoy said, it was wrong.