𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

Chapter 1

      Harry rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up, then cracked his neck. He looked at the clock on his desk. Eleven. Another hour, then he'd go home.

      It wasn't that he had reports due the next day. It was just--he'd stopped rushing home at a decent hour months ago, when Draco had started visiting his father, wasting away in Azkaban. And his mother, faring little better in St. Mungo's.

      Draco always went late, to avoid other visitors. Harry understood.

      Draco always returned tired, to avoid his lover's gaze. Harry didn't look.

      But when Draco started avoiding Harry's touch, Harry refused to let him. Draco took to sleeping in the guest room.

      Until Harry took to working longer. Five, six extra hours at the Ministry meant Harry could come home and slip into their darkened house, into their darkened bedroom, and find Draco there, curled to the wall on one side of the mattress, already asleep. The silence held its comforts. When Draco was asleep, Harry could look all he wanted. Even touch. If he was careful. Just the strands of silver, rumpled against the pillow. A bare upper arm, no stroking. Once, early in their new routine, he'd made the mistake of stroking all the way down the lovely pale skin, down to the wrist. He'd leaned close to kiss the cool shoulder.

      The mattress had shifted under his weight, giving him away.

      Draco's eyes had shot open--a reflex from war--and focused on Harry's face. For a split second, some strange fury, fragmented in the dimness, passed through the startled grey. Then Draco had turned to his side, away from Harry, and pulled the sheet up. "I can't," he'd said evenly, a bit raspy from sleep.

      Harry hadn't woken his lover again.

      Harry wouldn't wake him tonight, either. He blinked tiredly at the parchment before him and picked up his quill. A knock on the door stopped his hand.

      "Come in!" It would be Kieran, another workaholic who had the office across the hall. Sometimes they shared complaints about paperwork, just to break the monotony.

      "Hey Harry." Kieran came in and slumped into a chair. "Why do we do this?" he groaned. "It's a fucking Friday night."

      "Because we're wholly committed to the welfare of our citizenry and strive to make their lives brighter, safer and more fulfilling."

      "Ha. No, really. Why?"

      Harry shrugged. "Okay. Because I just can't get enough of Form S-482." He waved the parchment he'd been staring at. "It's a thing of beauty, it is. Can't stay away."

      Kieran laughed and groaned at the same time. "Speak for yourself then. I know why I'm here. I'm a loser. I've got no life." He leaned his elbows onto his knees and rubbed at his eyes. "You know, they say being single is the greatest thing, but it's really not. It just means there's no reason to leave the office. Except maybe to shower."

      Harry smiled wryly. Yeah, I know, was at the tip of his tongue.

      But he didn't. He couldn't. He bit it back and cracked his neck.

      "God, did you just break a bone? That can't be safe!" Kieran rose from his seat and circled behind Harry's chair. "Lemme see that."

      "No, it's fine, it's always that way--" Harry protested hastily, scooting forward on his chair as Kieran reached out.

      "Stop moving, I know what I'm doing." He held Harry in place by one shoulder and placed firm, sure fingers at the bottom of Harry's neck, and pressed.