Harry Potter: Precious (ch. 1)
Title: Precious
Author: Reyn
Rating: M, will go up in later chapters
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: master/slave, EWE, dark elves
Word Count: ~4000
X-Posted: AO3
Summary: Harry knew he was the "Savior of the Wizarding World". He just wasn't aware that title was known across every magical realm in Great Britain. Combine that with Draco Malfoy's renowned expertise in magical beings, and, much to their mutual displeasure, they find themselves teaming up for a risky diplomatic mission deep underground in Dark Elf territory.
To further complicate matters, Malfoy must pose as Harry's slave if they hope to stand even the slightest chance of success and get out of this in one piece.
Chapter 1
The Ministry elevator dinged, and the majority of its occupants shuffled out. Several paper planes, one origami helicopter, and a rather disgruntled goblin filed in.
“Maybe there’s been a breakthrough on the illegal market for gryphons?”
“Oh, go on, Harry. You’re thinking too logically again,” Ron chastised, feet moving him in a small arch to avoid being shoved aside by the goblin as she grumbled and made her way to the back of the lift. “Maybe The Quibbler is filing for a newly-discovered species and the Lovegoods want you to back up their claim.”
The problem Harry saw with that guess was that it was just as likely as his own as to why the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would summon them so early in the day. But to keep things upbeat, he decided to play along.
“Maybe your fiancée got too carried away with another civil rights campaign and you have to bail her out again.”
Ron let out a bark of laughter. “That was years ago!” he defended. “And she was completely smashed at the time!”
“It happened just last year, Ron.” Harry was honestly surprised his best friend had managed to wait another four months before asking Hermione to marry him. He had remained speechlessly in awe of her actions for weeks.
“Yeah, well, I’d be a bit worried if she was off getting smashed before ten in the morning.” The lift came to a jarring halt, eliciting an outraged shriek from the goblin as her feet gave out from under her.
Both aurors helped her to stand, ignoring her attempts at batting their hands away. As the elevator doors opened, she ran out, squawking about “handsy government officials” and “caged death traps.”
For courtesy’s sake, Ron and Harry gave her a moment’s head start before following her out onto the floor.
“Maybe!” Harry nearly jumped at Ron’s exclamation. “Maybe someone’s discovered that you’re not entirely human and your long lost troll side of the family has come to claim their familial ties.”
Harry laughed at the image that procured - a family of mountain trolls, precariously balanced on tiny waiting room chairs, all weeping into even tinier handkerchiefs - and shook his head. “If that’s the case, why’s your name listed on that paper, too?”
Pulling out the crumpled memo from his pocket, Ron shrugged. “Moral support?” he offered as they approached the main reception desk for the Magical Creature Department.
Ron stopped short of handing over the summons, though. Instead, his smile froze on his face and he stared.
Behind the desk wasn’t a witch, but a-
“What?” the mouse adjusted its horn-rimmed glasses and glared. “I’m having a bad week, alright?”
It darted up, snatched the paper out of Ron’s hands, and ran across the desk to the large stamp pad. Both men exchanged a glance as they watched the creature struggle to lift up the stamp and slam it down on the paper with enough force to matter.
“Do you nee-”
“No!”
Harry drew back, lips pressing together at Ron’s snort of amusement.
“There we go,” the receptionist mouse huffed out, taking the stamped memo and spearing it with all the other memos. “Whew! Once this curse wears off, my figure is going to look great with all this core work!” A small paw rubbed at a furred stomach. “Beings Division. Conference Room Four. They’re only somewhat expecting you.”
Nodding their thanks, Harry and Ron continued on their way, earlier joking put aside for more serious inquiries as to why someone from the Beings Division took the time to summon them specifically.
“Couldn’t be a riot or anything - they’d just grab one of the aurors circling on security detail,” Ron muttered. “You don’t suppose Kreacher’s got himself into any kind of trouble, do you?”
Harry shook his head. It was possible, but even more unlikely than him discovering he was part-troll. House-elves had a knack for flying under every radar, including the Ministry’s. If Kreacher ever got himself into trouble, Harry would only find out about it once he got home.
The door to Conference Room Four was unlocked, leaving Harry to hastily knock as Ron made this discovery, causing the two of them to get a bit stuck in the entrance while following the door’s inward movement.
Harry’s first thought was that he hoped there weren’t any magical beings present to witness this, because they were doing wonders for mankind’s image. The pointed ears on two of the room’s occupants immediately dashed that hope. The second was that blond head near the potted plant looked awfully familiar. The third was that Director Viknish Singh, head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, looked entirely too happy to see them stumbling through his door and landing face first on the entrance rug.
“Ah, excellent! Now that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are here, we can get started on envoy details.”
“Excuse me?” The polite disbelief that was set off by the sneer encompassed Malfoy’s personality so completely that if Harry had any doubts about his identity before, they were gone now. “What do you mean ‘now that they’re here’ - this is my mission!! You told me this was my mission!!”
“It is, but-”
“I’m the field expert! How dare you go behind my back and undermine my authority-”
“Mr. Malfoy, I promise you I did not do this to undermine anyone’s authority.” From his seat at the head of the conference table, Director Singh calmly raised his hand to stop any further protest. “But based on what has been explained to me, we are going to need someone like them if we wish to even stand a chance in helping those who have asked for our aid.” His hand moved to encompass two elegantly dressed elves who were seated with their backs to the doors, heads tilted towards one another as they held a private conversation that came off as nothing short of melodious when Harry tried to listen in.
Malfoy responded to Singh’s words with a snarl, a sound Harry had only heard emerge from Draco Malfoy’s mouth during fist fights back at Hogwarts.
Following Ron’s nudge, Harry shuffled along the wall, moving to a better location that physically put them in the conversation without having to deal with the brunt of that fury.
“We are sorry, Young Master Malfoy,” one of the elves addressed in English with an apologetic nod, her voice tinkling with regret. “Through our conversations, we have determined you truly are an expert on elven races, but your past reputation, sadly, will not work to our favor.”
Malfoy ‘s eyes narrowed. “Oh, and of course Potter’s would.” Eyes remaining on the two across from him, he barked out, “Weasley! Do you know what dark elves worship?”
Ron, who had been smiling at Harry, thinking they had made it in without incurring any misplaced wrath blinked in surprise. “What?”
Malfoy twisted his entire body so that he was now facing the aurors. “Elves, Weasley. The Drow. The Elusive Elven of the Caves. Dark. Elves. What do they worship?”
Ron exchanged a look with Harry, who was just as clueless. There were cave-elves?
“Er…”
“Spiders.”
“…Spiders?”
The distinct lack of bravado in Ron’s echo encouraged Director Singh to cut in. “Malfoy…”
“Yes, Weasley.” Malfoy went on, ignoring the warning. “Giant ones. Bigger than the likes you’ve ever seen.”
Speech completely failed Ron at that point, as he was no doubt recalling the last group of giant spiders they had encountered and was now imagining bigger. He paled considerably.
“Sir,” Harry stepped forward, coming to stand directly behind one of the room’s chairs. “If giant spiders are involved - especially live ones - I’m afraid we can’t accept this mission. Er, that is, assuming we were called here for a mission debriefing?”
“Please, Harry Potter,” the other elf implored, leaning forward in his chair. He turned to look directly at Harry, giving him his first full look ever at an elf.
His immediate impression was that normal elves looked nothing like house-elves, which he assumed were some sort of distant cousin. For one, their heads were perfectly proportioned to the rest of their bodies, and from their seated position, they didn’t seem to be much shorter than the average human.
The eerie thing about them was their almost doll-like features. Their skin was perfect with spots of rouge tinting their cheeks. Their mouths were disconcertingly small, and set off by pale amber eyes that were large, bright, and far too serious. Then there was their silvery hair. It was at complete odds with their elegant clothing, and defied gravity in its swept-up style, starting off straight and ending in wild curls. And finally, there were their ears. Their ears which, while remaining close to their head, shot up in long, thin points that looked almost lethal.
“You are quite possibly our last hope in this matter!”
The elf sounded quite indigent, but that was most likely because of Harry’s wandering gaze.
Both elves were wrapped in cloaks of deep purple, the material of which looked so exquisite, that Harry couldn’t help but glance over at Malfoy to use his clothes as a basis for comparison on just how high class these elves might be.
As a result, he caught the sudden stiffening in Malfoy’s shoulders before his previous anger vanished behind an impassive mask. Malfoy made a show of standing to roll and gather up the assorted parchments that had been scattered around him on the table.
“Since I can no longer recall the reason as to why I’m here, I shall just be taking my leave, then.”
The potted plant was large enough to prevent a smooth escape from what was probably the preferred route, forcing Malfoy to squeeze between the aurors with as much dignity as possible on his way to the doors. Unfortunately, his dignity couldn’t do much when Harry’s hand shot out to grab him by the arm.
If asked, Harry’s excuse would be that the Auror Department had constant memos flying about, practically pleading for all the aurors to please try harder to not offend anyone of notable influence, especially if they had ties to the Ministry.
Harry was one of the many guilty of refusing to give respect where it wasn’t due, but seeing as how he still had no reason to like Malfoy after all these years, he allowed professionalism to dictate his actions.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit rude to your guests?”
In his defense, whatever material the purple cloaks were made out of far outshone Malfoy’s robes.
Malfoy’s sneer formed after eyeing Harry’s grip long enough to realize the man wasn’t about to let go. “No more rude than it was to call me here under painfully false pretenses,” he responded, meeting Harry’s glare with a defiant one of his own.
Harry was ready to argue. Elf rights were still practically nonexistent, and standing up for the beings was a small step in the right direction of a very long journey. It would give Hermione reason to be proud of him when they all met up for dinner. But before he could even open his mouth to start what would surely make for an excellent tale over pot roast, the first elf spoke up.
“Draco Malfoy is correct. While the nature of this mission is genuine, Ellm and I have decided upon a means of success that would work best without bothering to reveal the details to all parties involved.”
None of the wizards moved.
“And for that we apologize,” the elf said with a very put upon sigh. “But before any of you choose to leave, we would be very grateful if you would all at least stay long enough to hear our story.”
Harry looked over at Ron who shrugged and stepped forward to pull out a chair. This placement put him in Malfoy’s path, who yanked his arm free and begrudgingly returned to his previous seat now that he could no longer make a smooth escape.
Harry debated on remaining standing, but when he noticed both elves staring at him, he found himself sliding into a chair.
“Harry Potter, son of Lily and James Potter.” The elves bowed their heads. “Ronald Weasley, child of the Weasley clan.” They bowed again. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I am Fyrhe, daughter of Cedere and Hymlic. My companion here is Ellm, child of the Ulmtre family.”
Both Harry’s and Ron’s heads awkwardly bobbed in greeting.
“Before we begin, if you please, Harry Potter, what do you know of the drow?”
Harry’s eyes widened with slight panic. He’d never even heard of the race before today. He had no idea how to admit such a thing without running the risk of insulting the elves before him, seeing as how they so clearly knew so much about him. His gaze flitted between the two elves, trying to piece together physical facts he could make up based on observation, when a folded piece of parchment skidded across the table and into his arm.
He looked over in the direction it came from and scowled at Malfoy, whose hard stare refused to waver as his eyes darted from Harry to the note and back to Harry several times over.
Taking the hint, Harry picked up the note and opened it, ignoring the groan and muttered Punjabi curses coming from Director Singh.
‘These are high elves, NOT DROW. And don’t you dare compare the two races together. You’ll only embarrass yourself.’
Harry mentally cringed. His first planned words were almost, “I know you guys worship spiders.” It seemed like a different approach was needed.
Folding the note back up, Harry took his time tucking it into the chest pocket of his robe before resting his arms on the conference table.
“Unfortunately,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “not much. Our resident ‘field expert’ over here tends to keep his research close to his wand.”
“I see.” Fyrhe’s head tilted to the side, her amber eyes sparkling with innocent inquiry. “You did not learn of the different elf races in your education?”
Harry winced. He probably wouldn’t even know much about house-elves if not for his personal encounters and Hermione’s extensive research on the subject.
“His schooling was sorely lacking when it came to properly teaching its students about magical creatures,” Malfoy put in, oh-so helpfully. “So you can hardly blame them for that. Every school has its strengths and weaknesses.”
Outrage flooded through Harry on Hagrid’s behalf, but before he could properly defend his friend, Ron was leaning forward.
“Oi! It was your schooling, too, you know!”
“Yes, and despite the shortcoming we all suffered through, which one of us has a Certificate of Expertise hanging on their wall?”
Ron’s mouth hovered open for a moment, obviously going through and discarding numerous comebacks until he simply gave up and slouched back in his chair, his face red, and his arms petulantly crossed before him.
Fyrhe, recognizing the short argument was finished, continued on. “Very well. I shall share with you their tale. Many, many equinoxes ago, before even the birth of the tallest oak, back when the stars were still new in their current alignments, there were-”
“With all due respect, Lady Fyrhe,” Singh interrupted, his smile nothing short of benign politeness, “I don’t think they have time for the full history. Perhaps focusing on more recent events would be best.”
“But how are they to learn about the inherently evil nature of the dark elves if they know not of their history?” Ellm demanded at Fyrhe’s hesitance.
“They’re aurors,” Malfoy pointed out, as if that held all the answers. “They’re trained to recognize evil through current actions more than historical ones.”
Ron shifted in his seat so that he was leaning towards Harry. “Why did that sound like an insult?” he muttered.
“Because everything that comes from a Malfoy’s mouth is intended to be demeaning,” Harry whispered back before straightening to address the crowd at large. “We’re also really good at spotting evil on written reports. Especially short ones. Or if you’d rather, we can head out now, and you can owl us Quick Quill Notes on what to expect for when we get there.”
The dark glares from both Malfoy and Director Singh let Harry know his less than sincere suggestions were unappreciated.
“We’re big on efficiency,” he said in way of explanation, kicking Ron under the table when a snort sounded to his right.
“Would that truly be best?” Fyrhe asked, eyes wide with hope as she turned to Singh for his input.
“You two,” a dark threatening finger pointed between Malfoy and Harry, “are lucky that sarcasm is a trait only recognized by humans and leprechauns.”
Malfoy’s eyes glittered with malice. “Oh, but just think, Viknish. It could be so much more fun if we did things Potter’s way.”
“Ha! Fun. Yes. Right up until I have Minister Shacklebolt personally pounding down my door, demanding to know why his favorite aurors are dead because they failed to take the threat of dark elves seriously!” That wiped the smirks off everyone’s faces. But Singh wasn’t done. “And, oh, what’s this? An official investigation into what went wrong!” He held up a blank piece of parchment and pointed at it. “Look, Draco. Your name is down for questioning. And you’re even special enough to have several notations next to it. Let’s see what they say, shall we?” The paper was held up to the light. “Field Expert on Magical Beings - consulted Harry Potter and Ron Weasley before-”
“Viknish, you’re embarrassing yourself. Again.” The bored drawl in Malfoy’s voice failed to match his angry scowl.
Harry found himself idly noting that Malfoy must never have been able to match his father’s skill in hiding his emotions for long behind a blank façade.
“Right, so, all joking and laughs aside, why don’t you tell us what exactly is going on with these drow?” Harry’s eyes flickered to Singh to make sure he had the name correct.
Ellm’s lip curled in scorn, picking up on the overall lack of respect in the room. “My Lady, are you sure it is still a wise choice to turn to these humans for assistance?”
“His mere existence as a child improved the livelihood of our distant cousins,” Fyrhe responded, a small smile playing across her face. “Even if the stories of his conquests since then prove to be false, that alone is enough to give us hope.”
Ellm’s sneer fell away in disbelief. “Who? The drudge elves? But they are such a simple folk! Give them a spoon to polish and they consider themselves lucky! You can hardly compare-”
Fyrhe silenced him with a wave of her hand. “Be that as it may, Harry Potter is the one who single-handedly stopped a war amongst his own people at the very height of battle. Think of the wonders he could do before the battles have even begun.”
“Uhm,” Harry cleared his throat and fought down his bright blush. “It was hardly single-”
“Harry Potter, my clan are the last of the high elves in all of Albion,” Fyrhe continued sharply. “We are a peaceful race who care little for interacting with the outside world. The fact that you have two of our kind before you today is a mark of how desperate we truly are.”
“Great. Sooo what’s this got to do with dark elves?” Ron asked, placing his hands on the table. He could always be relied on to bring things back on track when Flattery Hour started - especially when people had the facts incorrect.
“They are threatening to erase our existence, Ronald Weasley.” Fyrhe shook her head sadly. “Normally, they, too, keep to themselves; too busy warring with one another to bother with the world outside their caverns. But there are prophesized events approaching, and rather than letting them play out, the drow are choosing to take action and change the course of their written futures.”
Ron’s gaze switched between the two elves. “Well, what’s the prophecy say?”
“We do not share such a twisted religion with the drow,” Ellm scoffed. “All that we know of it is merely from the boastings of the few dark ones we have in captivity after they tried attacking us.”
Harry didn’t bother suppressing an explosive sigh. “Lovely. Do we have any record of this prophecy in the Department of Mysteries?”
“Presuming they carry prophecies,” Director Singh pointed out with a shrug, reminding Harry how most people - including department heads - didn’t have a clue about what went on down on level nine.
“They do, but it’s hardly likely they care enough to include predictions from Elven Folklore,” Malfoy put in.
Harry frowned. “Why not?”
Malfoy’s eyebrows went up, as if surprised by the question. “Because believe it or not, Potter, care for magical beings and creatures begins, and ends, with this department.”
“Okay, so what would our roll be in all of this?” Harry asked, waving a finger between himself and Ron.
“You-”
“Wait!” Ron interrupted. “Sorry, but we also want to know what Malfoy’s roll is as well.”
“He’s a field expert,” Harry reminded, turning his head to address his friend directly.
“Yeah, ‘field’,” Ron agreed, crossing his arms. “That puts him out on location more often than not.”
The exact meaning of the terminology had not occurred to Harry. He turned back to find Malfoy looking more than a little smug.
Harry was unable to contain his disbelief. “You’re expecting us to go on a mission with him?”
“Will that be a problem?” Fyrhe asked.
“We have irreconcilable differences,” Malfoy explained, his self-satisfied smirk morphing into something more accusatory. “It’s an extremely valid problem, but I have a feeling that’s what you were hoping for if you’re planning what I think you’re planning.”
Both elves raised their heads defiantly, making it obvious that they were unashamed of their scheming.
“Great. So there is a plan.” Harry could feel his patience for their magical guests rapidly evaporating. “Care to fill in the aurors you called in to carry out this plan? Only try not to leave out any details as I’m guessing you’ve been doing with each new bit of information you’ve gleaned from our society.”
At this, the elves did look abashed.
After a moment of silence, it was Ellm who spoke. “As was said before in different words, dark elves often fight amongst themselves. They are an extremely prideful race who holds strong beliefs in power and their own twisted views of beauty. Differentiating opinions are a concept beyond their understanding. How they have managed to stay united all these years is anyone’s guess.”
“Regardless, they have managed to keep up a strong front for quite some time.” Fyrhe dismissed Ellm’s derisive description with the same cool indifference she had carried throughout most of the meeting. “Many creatures, of all races, choose to avoid the drow completely due to their reputation. But it is the stories that we tell our young ones that truly strike terror into our hearts.”
Ron raised his hand. “Is it the giant spiders? Because they certainly struck terror into my young heart.”
“The spiders are only to be feared if you wander into their territory.” Fyrhe explained with a shake of her head. “The stories tell of how the drow gain immense pleasure in taking prizes after their battles.”
“So, what?” Ron asked, failing to catch on. “We should check our pockets after every duel?”
Fyrhe’s attention was suddenly on Malfoy. “No, Ronald Weasley. The prize they prefer to take is the freedom of those who are unfortunate enough to lose against them.”
“What, like slaves? Is that even legal?”
Singh let out a cough. “As an auror, Mr. Weasley, we really shouldn’t be hearing that question come from you.”
“Well, obviously we have laws against that, but, I mean, don’t elves have some sort of set rules that you all follow?”
Whatever the answer was, Harry didn’t hear it. He was too busy looking between Fyrhe and Malfoy, whose eyes were stubbornly fixed on his small pile of scrolls.
Despite the epiphany being slow in coming, it didn’t lessen the shock for Harry once the pieces all connected.
“Oh my God!” Next to him, Ron jumped at the shouted exclamation, which Harry decided warranted repeating. “Oh my God! You want us to send Malfoy in as a slave?”
Ron’s jaw dropped.
“Not just any slave.” Fyrhe finally pulled her gaze away from Malfoy to look at Harry. “Your slave.”
Jaw still hanging open, Ron’s eyes lit up like Christmas had just come early.
Chapter 2 >>