Harry made a face at that interpretation, ready to argue that there had to be an intrinsic difference between having been granted special access and going through the proper channels faster than others. He had often found himself to be caught in a cycle of wanting to prove his worth as an Auror and being rightfully but excessively rewarded, something which only seemed to perpetuate Harry’s own fears of being dismissed as a figurehead hire.<br/>Looking over at Malfoy, Harry seemed ready to challenge that assumption. However, all that washed away when Malfoy spoke of Harry in terms, he was certain he hadn’t heard in a decade when Malfoy had last sneered it at him. It surprised him to such an extent that it made him laugh, caught off guard.<br/>“Fuck me,” Harry lamented with a smile, speaking it into his wineglass as he raised it to his lips. “<span style="font-style: italic">Golden boy</span>.”<br/>He took another generous drink, scoffing a chuckle as he swallowed it. For all it was worth, Harry’s expression was bright, humoured despite the misery this line of conversation inflicted upon him. His eyes returned to Malfoy, eyebrows quirking.<br/>“Is that how you think of me, still?” There was a genuine sense of interest in his eyes, finding no bile in Malfoy’s voice; nothing compared to their youth, anyway, and it was hard to make sense of. “’Cause that came out with practiced ease.”