Drarry Oneshots (𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆)

Harry and Draco's Little Talk

Top!Harry

Bottom!Draco

Author:  Anonymous ( on ao3)

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Harry Potter looked down at the files littering his desk.

He'd been sat there most of the afternoon, but the pile didn't seem to be lessening. If anything, the parchment folders seemed only to be growing in number. He sighed and sipped his coffee. It was already stone cold, but Harry drank it anyway and didn't bother with a warming charm. Cold and sour suited his current mood only too well.

The truth was, Harry Potter – idol of the wizarding world, holder of a First-Class Order of Merlin and well known Saviour – was hiding away, pretending to himself a DMLE case audit was a necessary part of his day.

It wasn't.

Really, Harry was avoiding leaving the office. He was sidestepping going home.

Harry was dodging Draco.

Harry knew that if he left the office, he'd have no choice but to walk down to the Ministry Atrium and make his way to the nearest Floo Point. When he arrived there, he'd have no choice except to go to Draco's Artemisia Lane Apartment. Draco was making him dinner and – in boyfriend's words – they were going to have 'a little talk.'

The Deputy Lead Auror snorted derisively. In his experience, 'little talks' never meant anything good.

Little talks meant Robards telling him to calm his Gryffindor recklessness. They meant the Healers at St Mungos telling him that his luck wouldn't hold out forever. They meant Hermione complaining that she hadn't seen him in an age. Little talks only meant bad news, and Harry wasn't an idiot. He knew the real reason that Draco had invited him over for dinner.

His boyfriend – of over a year, no less! – was going to leave him.

Harry shook his head, trying to stop the swirl of his thoughts dancing around in his mind but that didn't help him a Sickle. Draco was going to wine him, dine him and then he was going to tell him to fuck off. No doubt he'd dress up his excuses; use some of those fancy words that always sounded so fantastic coming out of Draco's plush, aristocratic lips. No doubt Draco would make their split seem terribly reasonable and sensible.

None of that would matter though. Harry knew he'd be left heartbroken. For some irrational, bizarre reason he loved Draco. Loved the very bones of the wizard. Good Godric, Harry felt heartbroken already and right now – five-fifteen pm – they were still officially an item.

Harry looked down as the elegantly quilled words written in the file in front of him. The words swam on the parchment and Harry shoved the folder closed. He must have done in it more of a temper than he'd realised, because his mug tipped over and the last dregs of his coffee spilled, staining the case notes. He watched the coffee wicking its way through the parchment, smudging and spreading the ink, but his head was a million miles away.

If he were being candid with himself, Harry had known this 'little talk' was coming.

Draco moods had been shocking for weeks. He had always been a little temperamental – that was just the way Draco was made – but it felt like nothing Harry did satisfied the blond wizard any longer. When Harry had turned up at Artemisia Lane, a big bunch of flowers clutched in his hand, Draco had wrinkled his brow and complained the scent of them gave him a migraine. When Harry had casually mentioned his upcoming Quidditch trip to France – he, Ron and Oliver went every year – Draco had hit the roof. He'd accused Harry of preferring his mates to him. It was an out-and-out nonsense, but they'd had a horrible quarrel. The two of them had even gone to bed without making up, which had been a very unusual and unpleasant state of affairs.