an·i·mos·i·ty (noun)
strong hostility between two or more entities

dedicated to _tbh_im_tired_ get well soon my love <3

"I guess this is our Portkey," Malfoy murmured, studying the bottle on the table. He picked up the folder next to it. "And our reports. This is a thin folder."

Harry nodded tightly. "Right."

Malfoy frowned. "I understand that Theodore is your partner-"

"They go by Theo," Harry said sharply. Malfoy paused, giving him an odd look.

"Right. I understand that Theo is your partner, but you need to stay focused on this case. Other people are at stake as well."

Harry felt like shit. He had barely had time to grab everything he needed, and hadn't even said goodbye to anyone. He could be gone for months. Theo was constantly on his mind. What could the Death Eaters be doing to them?

"Ready?"

Malfoy's voice was surprisingly soft. His eyes were focused on Harry, studying him.

Harry wrapped his hand around the old bottle. "Ready."

Malfoy grabbed the bottle as well, and they had about four seconds of awkward waiting before there was a pulling sensation and they were gone.

They stumbled into a street, dropping the bottle. It smashed to the ground.

Malfoy stared at it wistfully. "I guess we're Apparating home when we're done."

Harry's laugh was bitter. "Where to, Curse Breaker Malfoy?"

"You gonna say that every time you talk to me? It's kinda a mouthful." Malfoy's grin was teasing, easy.

Harry was stunned at the playful tone of his voice. Malfoy hadn't really spoken to him much since they both started working in the Ministry, besides annoying jabs about his hair or attire.

"Although, I suppose you're used to mouthfuls, from what I've heard," Malfoy continued, that easy grin still on his face.

Harry's head shot up, and he stared at Malfoy in irritation. "Do you have a problem with me being queer, Malfoy?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I have a problem with everyone being queer, Potter. It's just especially you, because, well, you're you."

"Why?"

"Because you're-"

"No, why do you have a problem with queer people?"

"Because it's weird."

"You have a problem with queer people because we're weird?"

"It's unnatural. You can't produce any heirs if you're a homosexual, and how can you carry on the family name if you don't have heirs." The statement was not a question, and it sounded oddly as though Draco was reciting it from memory.

Harry immediately felt just that more disconnected from Malfoy, instinctively taking a step back from him. "We should find our hotel. Kingsley mentioned where we're staying, and we need to put our things away if we're going to put full focus into this case."

"You're not gonna be all pissy because I don't like you, are you? You don't like me either, if I may remind you."

Harry turned toward him, glaring. "You don't like me because I'm bisexual. I don't like you because you're you."

And he grabbed his bag and marched toward the direction of their hotel.

*

"What name would you like to put the room under?" the secretary asked in a dull voice.

Of course Kingsley would only get them one room. 'Better for research' he would say. Fuck that man.

"Evans," he said. Malfoy wasn't even looking at him, glaring at the ground. Harry sighed and shoved his hands into his sweatshirt pocket.

"Evans and..." the woman asked, glancing at Malfoy. He still didn't look up.

Harry felt an evil, evil idea fall into his head. It could blow their cover immediately if Malfoy reacted wrong. But it was beautiful, and he was twisting the ring on his index finger off of his hand in his pocket as he spoke. "And Evans."

The woman blinked, and Malfoy's head snapped up as Harry lifted his left hand to show the ring on his fourth finger.

"Oh. Oh!" The woman's eyes widened significantly, and she seemed to relax, a smile slipping onto her face. Harry took note of the small bisexual flag sitting on her desk. "Well, welcome to the Wire Hotel, Mr. and Mr. Evans. We hope you enjoy your stay." She reached out, two keys laying in her palm, and Harry took them with a smile.

"Thank you, Miss..." he glanced at her nametag. "Tentin."

She gave him a bright smile in return, and Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm, dragging him toward the lift. "Come along, love! We have a room to break in," he said, just loud enough for the secretary to hear him, and soft giggles rang through the room as the lift doors shut.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Malfoy hissed. "Our covers are in our files! We're not marked as married! You didn't even give the right name!"

"But I came up with a cover, which is more than I can say for you, because you had the files with our covers and didn't tell her shit," Harry snapped back as the doors opened. His hand still around Malfoy's wrist, he stormed down the hall, the blonde boy pulling against his stronger grip.

"I'm telling Kingsley about this, he's going to have a fucking field day-"

"And risk getting a harassment lawsuit?" Harry asked, and Malfoy's mouth slammed shut. "Prejudice in the workplace isn't allowed, Malfoy, and if you'll remember correctly, last year Hermione put down very strict rules against any and all discrimination." He unlocked the door, shoving it open and leaving Malfoy behind.

"You suck," Malfoy said, trailing after him. "You're literally the worst Auror in the world and I hate you."

"Sucks. Give me the file."

"Fuck you," Malfoy hissed, trying to hold it out of reach.

"Are you twelve, Malfoy?" Harry said irritably, slamming the door shut and grabbing Malfoy's free hand, yanking him forward and grabbing the file out of his other, outstretched hand.

Malfoy's mouth was open, and Harry noted the fact that they were inches away from each other. He glared at the slightly taller boy and shoved him back. "Unpack our shit. We need the whiteboard to write down ideas."

"Eat shit," Malfoy responded weakly, but started doing exactly that. Harry opened the file and started reading through their information.

He also did his best to ignore the bright red flush on Malfoy's cheeks.

*

317 hours to midnight

"It doesn't make sense," Malfoy groaned, throwing his head back. The swivel chair he was perched on creaked in warning. "Why only those three? They don't even see each other that often. There's no correlation."

"Why the fuck did we have to be in Glasgow to determine that there's no correlation?" Harry huffed, slamming the file shut. He had read it over until his eyes went blurry, and still, none of the information meant anything.

"Nobody even went missing in Glasgow," Malfoy agreed, leaning back even further. The swivel chair tipped back onto two wheels and squeaked dangerously.

"For all we know," Harry reminded him. "We don't even know where they went missing! We have the when, but a timeline of three is nothing. We have nothing."

"Figures," Malfoy muttered irritably. "I leave my very busy schedule to come to fucking Glasgow with the person I like the least in the world, and he goes and pretends we're a gay fucking couple so we can sit in a hotel room with nothing but an empty whiteboard and a bed we're going to fight over."

"Why do you have such a problem with me being gay?" Harry said, voice rising. "It doesn't affect you."

"The hell it doesn't! I don't need you trying to touch me in my sleep or some creepy shit!"

"Like I would want to touch you! I'm not going to fucking molest you Malfoy, I just want to finish this case, find Theo, and go fucking home!"

"Go home to who?" Malfoy taunted. "You have no gay little boyfriend sitting there in a pink apron waiting for you to come back, do you?"

"What the fuck is your problem?" Harry shouted. "I got enough of this from my relatives, and when I finally get away from that awful place, I turn around there you fucking are, being a homophobic prick! I just want to fucking live my life, Malfoy, and you haven't let me since I was fucking eleven! You ruined my high school years enough, do you have ruin it after, too?"

Malfoy reared his head back. "It's not my fucking fault you're a little fucking fairy, Potter."

Harry stood abruptly. His chair crashed to the ground. "You can take the fucking bed. I hope you feel fucking good about yourself."

He marched into the bathroom and slammed the door, locking and silencing it. He didn't want to hear anything Malfoy had to shout through the wood.

He sat on the cold tile away from the mirror, breathing shaky breaths. Malfoy was not Vernon. Harry wasn't ten anymore. Malfoy couldn't hurt Harry.

The cold tile hurt already, and he knew he would be sore, but he was tired from shouting and traveling and reading the same paper for three hours, and his eyes slipped shut without his permission.