Despite having just stated the opposite, the moment Harry closed the office door behind him, he showed no signs of being either in a hurry nor particularly worried about wasting Malfoy’s time.
Harry had been in this office before, back when it had been Malfoy’s predecessor’s, and he allowed himself a moment to take in the small changes, and how the office compared to Malfoy’s bareboned flat.
“We’ve had more potions come in,” Harry said without urgency, his gaze finally resettling on Malfoy at his desk; first to his face, then briefly towards the desktop, as though looking through it.
It became abundantly clear that Harry only ever really was alone in a room with Malfoy in very specific situations, immediately hooking its claws into the pit of Harry’s stomach.
Having no illusions that Malfoy either didn’t know or couldn’t tell, Harry’s smile widened slightly when his eyes resettled on Malfoy’s face. “I’d like to borrow one of your staff to help out for the week, Head Potioneer.”

It was abundantly clear to Draco that Potter really was just here to waste his time, absolutely not needing Draco’s direct permission to borrow one of his staff for work like that. After all, Draco knew very well that he already had an employee attached to the case and that was thought into the planning.
“I assume that you will want Smythe as she is already attached to case,” he stated, gingerly placing his quill back into the inkwell and took a moment to take Potter in.
“Her direct supervisor is already aware of the agreement and will know that she will occasionally indispensable,” he added, finding that talking to Potter with such professionalism helped keep his head clear.
“And I don’t think I got to say the other night, but congratulations,” Draco added, nodding towards Harry’s hand which was curiously lacking a ring.

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Harry’s smile changed slightly, boyish and caught in something Malfoy alone had borne witness to that evening, but above all not opposed to the subtle shift away from shop talk. Not one ounce of Harry cared about Malfoy’s opinion regarding his intent to marry Kate, but it had occupied his mind whether or not Malfoy cared, sorry to possibly lose out on his company over it.
Harry watched him with great attention, trying to get a gauge of what Malfoy made of it.
“We’re getting old, Malfoy,” Harry said, but the words weren’t his own, just a faux-reverent repetition of something people had been telling him for ages. Relaxing his posture slightly, he put his hands in the pockets of his trousers, out of sight. “About time we settled down.”

“Are we?” Draco found himself asking, finding that the more he heard of Potter’s new engagement the less believed in the sincerity of it, not that he actually knew anything of Potter’s fiancée and their relationship.
He did know a lot about his and Potter’s though, and he could see right through those reused phrases that Potter was currently slinging his way.
“I forgot what a romantic you are Potter,” he stated in a dry tone, as he got up from his seat, trying to figure out exactly what Potter was actually telling him. When he had rounded his table and stood face to face with Potter, he had already decided and grabbed his collar to pull him up to kiss him.

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While Malfoy had left plenty of things for Harry to comment on, none of it felt genuine enough to warrant a response. Instead, Harry’s attention was glued to Malfoy as he got up from his chair. Anticipation immediately surged within him, though he made a point of keeping steady, refusing to give Malfoy the opportunity of seeing him disappointed if he decided to be an arse about it.
Mercifully, that wasn’t the case. As soon as Malfoy’s hands were on him, Harry’s grin widened, pleased.
Harry met the kiss with his hands still in his pockets, and for a moment it was a balance act of restraint and greed; he kissed Malfoy like he hadn’t truly worried that he couldn’t have this, too. Untangling his hands, he grabbed Malfoy's hips, pushing him back towards his desk.

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While Draco really didn’t want to to admit to it, he couldn’t deny that he found a certain freedom in having hooked up with Potter again, even after going public with his engagement. It wasn’t that Draco thought they shared something special, or hoped that he would be able to replace the fiancée, but he couldn’t deny that there was some kind of sweet irony in being part of Potter’s midlife crisis.
Draco had just arrived at yet another tedious gala event, making an immediate beeline for the bar, trying to get rid of thoughts of illicit potions before deciding with whom to smalltalk.

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