HP One-shots (Drarry & More)

Conflict of Interest

***AN: Okay sooo... I know! I know! I was supposed to be exhausting all my brain cells finishing up Scattered Pieces, BUT I was suddenly hit and run over by overwhelming inspiration like the fucking Hogwarts Express and I just HAD TO put it into writing! So, here it is! Enjoy all the fluffy, smutty goodness!

~oOo~

Harry closes the last of his case files and tosses it with relish into his outgoing bin, beaming with absolute satisfaction when it vanishes, knowing that it's already reappeared on Robards' inbox. Just the thought of the Head Auror's desk heaving under the weight of countless file folders from equally overworked and vindictive Aurors makes Harry chuckle darkly. 

He leans back into his chair, stretching like a cat, groaning when his bones pop. He casts a quick Tempus and sighs when he sees its already half past eight. Ron had left hours ago, with Harry offering to finish up the rest of their case files by himself. Harry couldn't really blame him, especially with Hermione due to pop out their firstborn at any given moment. 

Sometimes, Harry misses the early days of their careers when they could just head straight to the Leaky after a long day at work and drink until they were too sozzled to Apparate home without splinching themselves. Nowadays, simply finding the time to get together for lunch or dinner is almost as difficult as searching for a sodding Horcrux. Most of his close circle of friends are already married with kids or married and about to have kids. Not that Harry's bitter or anything, after all, he's happily married as well, insanely so. No children yet though. Maybe its about time he considers having one, or two, maybe even three. That's certainly a conversation for later; over a romantic dinner for two at the most expensive restaurant his Galleons can afford.

Harry smiles contentedly. He's never been happier than he is now. Seven years after the War and he can finally say that with absolute confidence. 

He grabs his satchel, humming to himself. He can't wait to get home, where he knows a warm dinner and a warmer body is waiting for him. He bites his lip; his body heating up as the first stirrings of arousal wash over him. He hurriedly packs his things; his mind already wandering to the wide variety of delightfully filthy activities that he and his beloved—

His office door suddenly flying open and slamming against the wall jolts Harry from his decidedly work-inappropriate musings. Blinking in confusion, he stares at the pale, blond vision descending upon him like a murderous Veela. Confusion gives way to mild irritation as Harry rises from his seat, drawing himself up to his full height (thank Merlin and Godric for his late growth spurt) and meets the accusation in Draco Malfoy's blazing eyes.

Malfoy is a sight to behold in his fury. The blond's usually pale cheeks are splotched pink, the colour running all the way down to his slender neck; his usually perfectly coiffed white-blond hair is in disarray, silky strands falling all around his face like a halo; his pale eyes are the cloudy gray of an oncoming storm; his lips are slightly parted and his chest is heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, making Harry wonder is he's ran over here from his own office.

Harry frowns, crossing his arms over his chest and stares Malfoy down, slipping into full Auror mode. He certainly doesn't appreciate the accusing look that Malfoy is pinning him with. Harry opens his mouth to speak but the blond beats him to it.

Malfoy throws down a case file onto Harry's desk as he snarls under his breath, "What is the meaning of this, Potter?!"

"Why are you still even at work, Barrister Malfoy?" Harry sighs, pushing his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose.