-Fic, Challenge #68 (How did the Malfoys fare after the war?); Where in the World is Lucius malfoy?
Title: Where in the World is Lucius Malfoy?
Summary: Lucius Malfoy stops appearing for community service, and many in the wizarding world are out for blood. It is up to Harry to find Lucius Malfoy and get an explanation - or else many more might also get sent to Azkaban. But the other Malfoys refuse to help.
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron, Narcissa, Kingsley, et minor appearances.
Genre: Mystery, Romance
Beta: who_la_hoop was woooonderful
Rating/Warnings: PG-13. Little to warn about...
Word Count: 10568
Wednesday, 6 June 2001
“I just received your note, sir,” Harry said as soon as he entered Kingsley’s office. Rubbing his eyes and pushing his glasses back up, he held his eyes open with great effort. His eyelids felt heavy, having been held open for three days in the hopes of spotting Avery. This meeting was the first break in the dull monotony.
“Lucius Malfoy did not show up for community service yesterday,” Kingsley said.
“It’s the first time in three years.” Harry closed his eyes for a second. A fifteen minute nap was more important at this point than parole meetings. That was why they had parole officers right? “Certainly there is a reason,” Harry added when Shacklebolt stood silently, watching him.
“I hope you are right, Potter.” Shacklebolt lifted up a letter from his desk. “There are still people out for blood…and jail time. I already have three requests to throw Mr Malfoy in jail for violating the terms of his house arrest.”
“We’re still chasing some Death Eaters on the run, and people care whether or not Lucius Malfoy - who did not fight the last two years of the war and helped deliver over ten Death Eaters into custody - is in Azkaban?” Harry raised his voice. “They aren’t even doing any real work to make the world safer!”
“The law is the law,” Shacklebolt pointed out, “so if you wish for the deal you made for him to hold, you need to find out why he did not show up.”
“He isn’t a threat to anyone,” Harry growled. “Treating people like people is the only way we’ll recover from this.”
“For your sake, I hope you’re right about Lucius Malfoy,” Kingsley warned. “Or justice may become revenge, like it did before.”
Saturday, 9 June 2001
A white peacock scavenged the grounds, looking for something to eat. The gates needed polishing, but the manor looked as daunting as the first time Harry had seen it. A stone sank in his stomach. Too much of importance had happened at Malfoy Manor for Harry’s liking.
The drive was empty as Harry walked, and the place felt desolate. But he knocked all the same. Lucius Malfoy had to be at home - it was the only place he legally could be. That wizard was not one Harry pictured as the type to hide in the Muggle World, and the blond hair and sharp features were difficult to hide in the Wizarding World. Lucius Malfoy had not been sighted - the papers even lacked the usual ludicrous reports of moving rubbish bins and tree shadows.
He knocked three times.
The door creaked open, and a small creature looked up at him, sharply. “Harry Potter?” it asked.
“Yes.” Harry even motioned to the scar.
A blast of magic hit him. His glasses fell to the ground, and he whipped out his wand. “Oi,” Harry shouted, “I am an Auror from the Ministry of Magic. What do you think you are doing?”
“Making sure Harry Potter is who he says he is,” the house elf said and bowed. “Come this way.”
Summoning his glasses, Harry felt the adrenalin pumping through his system. The magic had been silent and invisible until it had hit him. He hadn’t felt like he’d been caught with his trousers down in a couple years.
“Mistress will see you in a few minutes,” the house elf said, motioning to a chair. The creature promptly left, abandoning Harry in an unknown room of a mostly empty house. He kept his wand in hand. Mistress? Why mistress and not master?”
A door on the other side of the room opened. Harry lifted his wand. But only Narcissa Malfoy, dressed lightly in blue, entered. Her face was thin, but everything was clean and tidy. No messes surrounded her. “Mr Potter,” she greeted him.
“I assume you know why I’m here,” Harry stated, lowering his wand, but he did not sit until she did. Her eyes were cool yet made him feel like a young boy.
“Why are you here?” Narcissa Malfoy asked. “Don’t you have Death Eaters to catch?”
“I do,” Harry replied, “but Lucius didn’t go to his community service on Tuesday. So I have to take time for him.”
“I do not see why you would stop searching for fugitive Death Eaters when my husband has no reason or means to hurt anyone,” Narcissa said, speaking coldly.
“Well, people care whether or not he shows up, and I get stuck with the job of finding out why. So, if I could just speak to him that would be great.” Harry wanted to get it over with. He had better things to do on Saturday afternoon.
“My husband is not in a state to speak to you right now,” Narcissa said, stonewalling him. “I suggest you talk to my son, Draco.”
“How is talking to Draco going to get me answers about Lucius?” Harry asked.
“Ask him that,” Narcissa replied. She stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I am going to return to my quarters. You may show yourself out.”
“But I -” Harry sighed as the door closed behind her - “don’t have any answers yet.”
Monday, 11 June 2001
A stack of papers reaching nigh the ceiling began to tilt in Harry’s direction as he stepped into the domain of Ministry Records. Waving his wand, he stabilized the pile. Harry stopped, still as a statue, so as not to topple any paper. At least the hours of not moving on watch proved useful somewhere. Carefully, Harry stepped as though through a minefield.
The world went white and black as paper enveloped him, and his glasses hit the floor.
“If you don’t know how to be down here, why are you down here?” said a sharp voice that Harry recognized.
Paper flew back into piles, and Harry’s eyes met the angry face of Draco Malfoy as he crouched to pick up his glasses. “Er, hello Draco,” Harry said with a wave.
“Oh look, after three years, the hero of us all has finally found the time to come and see my glorious condition,” Draco said.
“Er, actually I’m still quite busy,” Harry corrected. “Still have some Death Eaters to catch.”
Draco leaned back over his desk and picked up his quill “So go and catch them, hero boy. “I’ll still be here when you finish.”
“But I came to talk to you,” Harry pointed out.
“To me?” Draco looked up at him in mock shock. “If I am so important to talk to, what took you so long?”
“You just became important for me to talk to,” Harry said.
“Finally got tired of everyone worshipping the light coming out of your arse?” Draco inquired, as his quill wrote down some new words on a page. Waving his wand, the quill began to copy a piece of parchment beside it.
“They don’t-”
“I read the memos, Potter -” Draco motioned to the paper around them - “I know they do.”
“So do you know why I’m visiting you?” Harry asked. “The paperwork has been filed.”
“I don’t read every memo, Potter,” Draco said, laughing sharply, “but I don’t need to read them all to understand how they wax poetical about your poor handwriting.”
“Your father missed community service last week,” Harry said.
“I haven’t visited my parents at the manor in more than a week,” Draco replied, his attention again going to his work. “You will need to talk to them about that.”
“I’ve already been to the manor,” Harry said with a sigh. “Your mother told me to talk to you.”
“The fact I had to attend classes with you for years does not mean I can tolerate you any greater,” Draco retorted.
“Your mother seems to think you’ll talk to me,” Harry said, pointing out the obvious.
“And we have been talking,” Draco looked up for a moment, “My, she was right. We have conversed.”
Harry turned, only to hit his head against something, and paper almost came down again. Quick action at Draco’s hand saved the towers. “Tsk tsk,” Draco muttered.
“We haven’t talked about your father at all,” Harry began, but a paper airplane hit him in the head. “Ow!”
He unfolded it. “I’ll talk to you again, Malfoy,” he said, beginning to sprint off and causing the stacks to fall like dominoes. “Avery’s been spotted!”
Thursday, 14 June 2001
“Malfoy, I’m back!” Harry shouted through the stacks.
“And what is that - fair warning to have my wand at the ready to save the paper, Potter?” the sarcastic voice retorted.
“Er, sure,” Harry replied and made his way through the maze.
“So, hello…Draco.” Harry stood close to the desk. If possible, there was more paper than before. The towers went endless - as if the walls did not exist, only more stacks of paper.
“Avery and all the other Death Eaters done away with?” Draco asked.
“Er, no. Avery got away with some chickens, and there aren’t any new leads on the others,” Harry explained. All that paperwork had been turned in though. It was somewhere - around.
“Then I do not understand how you have room in your busy schedule to make your way down here.” Draco gave him a quizzical look and returned to his work.
“Well, as I said before, I came to talk about your father,” Harry said, repeating the point from Monday.
“And as I still have not talked to him, I fail to know his thoughts,” Draco replied. “If you want to know about him, go and talk to him.”
Harry sighed, “I’m not welcome at the manor.”
“How surprising,” Draco said.
“I am an Auror from the Ministry of Magic!” Harry thumped his foot.
Paper landed on his head. Harry reached for it, but Draco snatched it out of his hand. “Yes, and I suppose we ought to have every reason to love a visit from an Auror.”
“I was the one who got Lucius the house arrest and community service,” Harry said, hitting his fist on the desk. “No time in Azkaban, on my account.”
“For which my parents thanked you,” Draco pointed out.
“And he missed two days, and it’s on me,” Harry growled.
Draco turned in his chair and looked up. “So, this conversation is not about my father but how to save one righteous hero’s arse?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said, sighing.
“If you want to talk to me, it has to be about something or someone besides yourself.” Draco turned back to his desk and meticulously continued his work.
“Malfoy…” Harry started. “DRACO!” he shouted. Some paper fell down. Draco fixed it and continued to ignore Harry.
Tuesday, 19 June 2001
“It’s not about me,” Harry said, beginning the conversation.
“Oh goody, who is it about?” Draco asked. “Weasley? Granger? The She-Weasel?”
“It’s about people like your father, people like you.” Harry felt his anger rising to the limits of his patience, and they had been talking all of fifteen seconds.
“Oh, so people who cannot be associated with you?” Draco arched an eyebrow.
“People who are associated with me because I helped them gain lighter, fairer sentences.” Harry tried to keep his voice from rising. “People who will get that taken from them if even one of them is proven undeserving in the court of public appeal.”
“Oh, so your opinion isn’t good enough on its own any more?” Draco laughed.
“No, it’s not -” Harry took a deep breath - “and that’s not good for your father because some people want him in prison - and for a long time too. And if I don’t come up with an awfully good reason for him to have missed two - three after today - community service days, he goes to Azkaban.”
“Do you not think my father would be able to give you a very good answer?” Draco asked. “He is not a fool.”
“If I could talk to him, I am sure he would,” Harry replied. “He’s always had a smooth tongue.”
“So, clearly, all you have to do is talk to him,” Draco pointed out.
“If it were so simple, do you think I would keep coming down here every few days to get verbally lashed by you?” Harry asked.
Draco lifted his quill up, letting the feather rub against his cheek, as his grey eyes took Harry in. “I am not certain,” Draco replied. “Are you into that sort of thing?”
“What? No! How could you ask!” Harry felt his face flush warm.
“You can never assume.” Draco’s lips curved up into a smirk, and he brushed the quill against his cheek in a suggestive manner.
“I, er, am going to leave,” Harry told Draco, promptly doing so.
Tuesday, 26 June 2001
Harry slammed the door to No. 12 Grimmauld Place in a sour mood as he came home after work. Some ‘activists’ had chosen to camp outside his house and harass him every time he came home. The Floo Network made him sneeze, but at least there weren’t any bothersome folk in his living room.
Kreacher had a steaming pie waiting for him in the kitchen, which made Harry grin. “Oh, you are an excellent house elf, Kreacher,” he praised, sitting down and digging in - minted lamb.
“Master can have some chips with his pie, if he wants.” Kreacher waved over a bowl of them.
“Thank you, Kreacher, you’re a godsend.” Harry chewed silently over dinner. He had made no progress in the Lucius Malfoy case. Narcissa refused to open the door to him, and Draco…Harry had no idea what to make of Draco’s banter with him. At any rate, no one told him anything. And Lucius was not to be found.
“Master looks tired. Can Kreacher help?” The house elf stood a few feet away, pouring a pint of ale.
“No, you can’t. It’s work-” Harry stopped. “Wait, maybe you can help. Do you still know how to get into Malfoy Manor?”
“Yes, master,” Kreacher replied.
“I need to find Lucius Malfoy,” Harry told him. “He is on house arrest, so he ought to be somewhere in the manor or on the grounds. I want you to sneak in and find him, so I can demand to speak to him next time I go to the manor.”
“So only look at Malfoy Manor, master?” Kreacher asked.
“Yes, he has to be there,” Harry replied, “Don’t come back until you’ve found him or…I don’t know. If he’s there find him. If he’s not…tell me.”
“Yes, master.” Kreacher bowed, set the dishes to clean themselves, and left with a pop.
Harry sat back, remembering a similar situation during the war. This was much easier. Kreacher would be back in no time.
Thursday, 28 June 2001
Harry dug through an Indian takeaway as he continued to wait for Kreacher to return. It had been two days, and Lucius Malfoy was not Mundungus Fletcher. Stabbing some curry, Harry wondered why they had not caught a Death Eater in three months.
There was a pop. Kreacher!
“Did you find him?” Harry dropped the piece of lamb in a hurry to go over and find out the news. Admittedly, that probably did not save time, but he couldn’t help it.
“Lucius Malfoy is not at home, master.” Kreacher bowed.
“You’re sure?” Harry demanded.
“Very certain, master,” Kreacher looked up. “He is not to be found there.”
Harry slumped in front of his food. No one had seen Lucius Malfoy in a month. “Then where in the world is Lucius Malfoy?” he asked.
Saturday, 30 June 2001
“Potter, the Lestrange brothers have been sighted near Nottingham. Come at once,” a silver lynx said, speaking barely above a whisper, though its message ran through Harry like a bolt of electricity.
Hopping out of bed, Harry pulled on two socks, threw on a work robe - oh, it stank - and slipped into the first shoes he found: trainers. Running down the stairs, he threw open the front door.
“BLOOD TRAITORS. MUDBLOODS!”
He slammed the door shut again, muffling the shouts. Staying close enough to avoid being seen by muggles, Harry Apparated to the closest safety spot to Nottingham. They always gathered to those first.
“What took you so long?” Kingsley had six other Aurors already gathered about him.
“I was sleeping.” Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “It’s Saturday.”
“The brothers were spotted near the outskirts of this village. We think they may be after food.” Kingsley starred the main food sources on the map, besides private homes.
“Have the residents been evacuated?” Harry asked.
“No time. And it would alert them to our presence, but we must be careful not to hurt any civilians.” Kingsley looked around the circle. “We are to split into pairs and will go in from these locations. Be on your guard.” The map smouldered where Kingsley’s wand had touched it.
Everyone nodded and moved out. The weather was nice, but there was some glare. Harry led his partner, messing up his hair in an attempt to cover his forehead. If the Lestrange brothers saw him, they would run - or, worse, kill someone nearby.
Everyday people went about their lives - laughing, playing, walking along. A shadow with a hooded cloak whipped around a corner. Harry motioned to his partner. They went into a dark alley, then another, neither of which fit with the bright nature of the village. But after many turns, the shape and anyone else with it was gone. A phantom.
Turning up last to the centre of town, Harry shook his head. “Saw a shadowy figure, but he got away,” he shared. “Right height, though I don’t know what the build was.”
“Bloody hell,” Kingsley swore. “We need to react faster. You’re free to go.”
Aurors Apparated home one at a time, until Harry was the last one there. His stomach growled, and he hated Apparating on an empty stomach. It made him feel sick. He headed off toward the first place that looked promising for food.
An old witch approached him. Her wrinkled hands and filthy robes spoke of poverty, so Harry assumed it was for alms or to talk to him. As such, he waved her off. “You came looking for those boys didn’t you?” she said.
Harry froze in his step. “The Lestrange brothers,” he said. “They were spotted.”
“I know they were spotted, boy,” she said, shaming him. “I saw them. Took you boys long enough to get here, too.” She crossed her arms.
“I’m sorry.” Harry apologized. They had to be long gone, which left him just wanting something to eat. “I got here as soon as I could. But they escaped. So now I, like them, would like something to eat.”
“Food?” The woman laughed. “They were not here for food. Those two could live off the land until Merlin comes back. I ought to know. They came here as boys.”
Harry’s stomach stopped growling and he stared at her hard. “You know Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange?”
“I knew them.” She shook her head. “I don’t know the horrible men they grew up to be. They were such nice boys.”
“If they weren’t here for food, then why were they here?” Harry watched her suspiciously.
“It had something to do with the third person with them,” she said, speaking calmly. “He walked between them, slouching, and his hood dropped over his entire face.”
“There was a third person?” Harry felt confounded.
“I just said so, boy,” she chided him. “Are you hard on hearing? Did the war addle your ears?”
“No, no,” Harry replied, his mind travelling to other places. “Thank you for your time,” he told her. There were things to check on Monday.
Monday, 2 July 2001
“I can’t find the files on the Lestrange brothers.” Harry slouched in front of Ron’s desk with a groan.
“Well, good luck finding them here,” Ron laughed, “I don’t think I have them, but my desk is a mess.”
“I can’t find them anywhere,” Harry repeated. “I put in a request for them. I checked the history. No one has signed to take out the originals. The Ministry cares about that kind of red tape.”
“And none of us do.” Ron shrugged and held out a sandwich. “Want half?”
“I thought your mum was going to stop packing your lunches,” Harry said with a laugh, reaching out.
The redhead withdrew it. “None for you, then. And mum didn’t make it. Hermione did.”
“That is so much better,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.
“Just check tomorrow for the files or bugger off to bother someone else,” Ron told him. “I am having a guilt-free lunch.”
Tuesday, 3 July 2001
Harry stared at the files in his hands. They had been nowhere the day before - Harry had annoyed everyone associated with the Lestranges’ case. But they had arrived bright and early the next morning - waiting for him on his desk when he’d arrived. He’d read every page on the Lestranges, but nothing spoke to him. No clues. No hints. Harry hated those files. They were a search in futility after a futile search to find them. But why?
He picked up his wand-
“Harry, what are you doing?” Ron stood in the doorway, looking amused. “I thought you wanted those files.”
“They’re bothering me.” Harry dropped them onto the desk, “They aren’t telling me anything.”
“They haven’t told anyone anything in over a year.” Ron threw a Bertie Botts Bean into the air and caught it in his mouth, “Ick. Grass. I thought it was going to be apple.”
“Something just isn’t right,” Harry insisted. There was no good reason for them to have disappeared for an entire day. “I know it.”
“Like you knew the man in the Indian restaurant was a stalker?” Ron laughed.
“He was always there when I was there,” Harry grumbled.
“Besides, if you want to burn them, make a copy,” Ron suggested, “then Kingsley won’t have your head on a platter. Bertie Bott’s Bean?”
“No.” Harry shook his head.
“Ew -” Ron gagged - “smart choice. This white one tasted like pompous waste. - do you think they got Malfoy to take a dump for them? Just like your Lucius Malfoy case, right?”
“Lucius Malfoy, that’s it!” Harry exclaimed.
“It’s what?” Ron looked up from picking his next bean carefully.
“I’m not sure, but that’s it.” Harry jumped up from his desk and ran down toward Records.
“Malfoy! Malfoy!” Harry shouted, making his way through the maze. Stacks exploded, and his hands became covered in paper cuts, but he did not care. “Malfoy, you here?”
“Yes,” Draco drawled. “Thank you for destroying my organizational system. That makes me even further behind on my work. To what do I owe this needless work?”
“I think I figured it out!” Harry exclaimed.
“You will have to be more specific if you want me to have any clue as to what you are talking about.” Malfoy glanced away.
“I’m not exactly sure how it adds up,” Harry began, “but I know it does. Lucius Malfoy goes missing. The Lestrange brothers are seen with a third person. The paperwork never tells us anything, and it’s been copied. Not to mention, you’ve been a real arse to me, even more than you need to be.”
“Trust you never to see what’s standing right in front of you,” Malfoy grumbled.
“The Lestranges…your father, they are connected.” Harry grinned. There was a long pause. “Somehow.”
Draco sat very still, his hand squeezing his quill tightly.
“Is that why you’ve been refusing to tell me anything?” Harry asked.
“No, you moron,” Draco Malfoy snapped, looking up at him. “You are so blind, it’s pathetic. I’m hiding something from you? Well, you are right about that. But you are so far off the mark, it’s painful.”
“What do you mean?” Harry wondered what Malfoy was talking about.
“Me -” Draco motioned towards himself - “Me. How about you actually see me when you come down here? How about you talk to me? I am a person, and you never see that.”
“I know you’re a person, Malfoy.” Harry scratched his head in thought.
“Then call me Draco,” the young man sneered. “You’re proud, self-entitled, and only pay attention to the few around you who managed to get you to call them friend. Everyone else worships the ground you walk upon and glorifies the light that comes out of your arse.”
“Er…Draco, what’s your point?” Harry asked.
“You’re a self-involved arse, but I like you!” Draco practically shouted, “I can’t stand you, but I’ve fallen for you. So stop treating me like a bouncing board. Treat me as a person or don’t come back!”
Draco turned away and continued to copy paperwork while visibly shaking.
What? “I, er, have to…go.” Harry backed away, tripping over his feet.
Thursday, 5 July 2001
Harry tiptoed into records, taking care not to knock over any of the towers around him. “Draco?” he called out quietly. “Draco?”
Draco sat hunched over his desk, transcribing what must be facts about files and storage. Harry did not want to…disturb him. But he wanted to talk. He had thought a lot about what Draco said. And Draco was right. Harry wondered how he hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t treated Draco like a person, and so Draco did not tell him anything about Lucius. And it was only fair to give him a chance - while figuring out more about Lucius.
“Draco.” Harry tapped the other wizard on the shoulder. Draco dropped the quill, staining the paper in front of him and nearly hopped out of his seat.
“Merlin, you gave me a fright,” Draco said. The grey eyes settled on Harry’s face. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought about what you said -” Harry tried to keep his hands from acting nervously - “and you really are a decent bloke. You were a pompous ass at first, but you’ve grown, and you’ve really changed. And it’s been a long time since anyone liked me for…me, and well, with you I’ll know it’s never hero worship. And, er, so I was thinking…”
“Are you simply going to ramble, or do you have a point, Pot- Harry,” Draco replied.
“I want to take you out to dinner tomorrow,” Harry declared.
“What?”
“Somewhere Muggle,” Harry added, “you know, so it’s really a date between just us, and no gossip has to get involved. I hate it when they try to write about my love life.” The last bit was barely above a murmur.
Draco stared at him, mouth agape.
“Er, do you have an answer?” Harry asked. feeling his face heat up. Oh, this was going to go -
“I can only say yes,” Draco said, gesticulating with his hands as he answered. “Harry.”
“Great,” Harry said, grinning. “Can I pick you up at…seven? Where do you live?”
“Seven is…good -” Draco gave a small smile - “but I’ll meet you at the restaurant. I can navigate around Muggles.”
“Really? Great. I’ll have to ask you more about that at dinner.” Harry grabbed a blank sheet of paper. “Here’s the address and name. I’ll see you at seven then.”
“Yes you will,” Draco agreed, grinning.
Harry turned and went back to work.
Friday, 6 July 2001
Harry stood in front of the restaurant, checking his clothes. He had rushed home as quickly as he could after work, showered, struggled with his hair, and pulled on clothes he hoped were half-decent enough for a bloke like Malfoy - Draco. Harry was not dating the family.
Draco walked up in grey trousers and a white shirt. “Hello Harry,” he said, nodding his head in greeting.
Despite the OK jeans and somewhat decent T-shirt, Harry felt remarkably underdressed. He ran a hand through his hair. But that probably messed it up. Oh bugger. “Hello, Draco,” Harry greeted him, unsure whether to hug, kiss, or something else. “Hungry?”
“I am.” Draco clapped his hands together and looked at the door.
“Er, right,” Harry mumbled, “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date.” He held the door open for Draco, who walked in ahead. The clothes fitted Draco really well, Harry noticed.
“Dim lighting,” Draco commented, “but it smells quite good.”
“I thought it would be…romantic,” Harry muttered as they were seated.
“Can I bring you any drinks to get you started?” their waiter asked.
“Er, water is fine for me,” Harry said.
“Some tea would be excellent,” Draco ordered smoothly.
“So, er, you know your way around Muggle London?” Harry said, starting the conversation.
“I am not exactly…wanted everywhere,” Draco pointed out. There was little sting in his voice. The words were fact, nothing more.
“I suppose that’s easy to believe,” Harry said with a sigh, “at least, judging by all the hate mail I get regarding your father.” He subtly brought up Lucius Malfoy.
“Could we not talk about how much people dislike my family?” Draco asked.
“Of course, sorry,” Harry back-pedalled. “I didn’t, er, mean to offend you or upset you or anything.”
“This is a date, Harry, not work,” Draco reminded.
“Of course, sorry.” Harry felt slight relief when the waiter came over. He hadn’t eaten a thing yet, and he was already bungling it up. Trust Draco to be better at this kind of thing than him. “Do you like Muggle...clothes?” Harry asked.
“Some of them,” Draco commented. “These trousers fit me quite well. I can move faster than when I’m in robes.”
“They look very good on you,” Harry complimented, feeling his face turn slightly red.
Draco smirked, taking a sip of tea before speaking. “I think you checked out my arse on the way in,” he declared with a smug look.
“Perhaps, er -” Harry rushed to find words - “only a little bit.”
Draco smiled. And Harry relaxed.
“What do you do in your spare time?” Harry asked.
“Similar activities to most people I believe.” Draco paused to eat a bite of food. “I get together with friends. In nice weather, I frequent some of the parks. I probably read more newspapers than you, though. You take the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler, no?”
“How do you know that?” Harry asked, mouth agape.
“For a while, it was thought someone might try to kill you through your mail. Records had to check it first.” Draco shrugged.
“You read my mail?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Simply checked it for curses is all,” Draco said, smiling. “There’s little I don’t know about you. The entire world is obsessed with you after all.”
“But they hardly know anything,” Harry said, stabbing a piece of chicken. “They only think they do.”
“You’re easy to read, Harry,” Draco said with a laugh. “You’re an open book.”
“Well, you’re…not,” Harry said, trying for a witty retort, “so can I, er…”
“Open me up?” Draco finished the sentence in a voice that made Harry feel slightly uncomfortable. “Never after a first date.”
“I, er, um,” Harry groped for words.
Draco laughed. “You get your knickers in a twist far too easily.” There was a glint in his eyes, as if it had all been for fun.
At least the date went well.
Monday, 9 July 2001
Harry whistled as he walked toward the lifts, holding a packet of large Muggle sandwiches against his chest with one hand, and two water bottles in his other.
Kingsley stepped out of the lift Harry was waiting for and looked at him funny. “Where are you off to, Potter?” he asked.
“Lunch,” Harry said, grinning.
“With whom?” the minister asked.
“Draco Malfoy,” Harry declared happily, watching the grating slowly push the older man’s confused face out of sight.
The towers of paper were a friendly sight this time, as Harry manoeuvred between them. “Oh, Draco!” he called out. “I brought lunch!”
“Let me clear some space,” Draco called back, pushing some paper out of sight. “Last thing I need is mustard on an important file.”
“Everyone could use some condiments,” Harry replied without thinking. Looking after the messy stack of papers glaringly out of place from the neat stacks, he wondered if the papers were actually official or…something else.
Draco gave him a quizzical look. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It was the first thing that came to mind.” Harry held out the water. Draco took a bottle and motioned to the second chair.
“And of course you had to say it.” Draco shook his head. “You have no brain-to-mouth filter at all, Harry.”
“Well, no,” Harry admitted. “Not much of one, anyway, when I’m with people I trust.”
Draco opened the bottle of water and took a sip before replying. “And I will always know what you’re thinking.”
“Indeed.” Harry laughed and said, “I hope you like lots of meat. There are three kinds in the sandwich.”
“What man who likes men doesn’t like meat?” Draco asked.
Harry went scarlet and almost coughed out his first bite.
Draco shook his head. “You are so easy to tease.”
Friday, 13 July 2001
“By Merlin, Harry, did you actually bring a blanket?” Draco asked, as they met at the entrance to Regent’s Park. Draco had brought little beside his person, though honestly that was enough for Harry.
“You said you liked parks,” Harry blustered out, “and so I thought that, with the nice weather, it could be a nice thing to, you know, have a picnic.”
“At least you found your point in that sentence,” Draco pointed out, his lips curling up.
“So you disagree with the idea?” Harry’s heart rate increased rapidly.
It must have shown in his face, judging by how Draco shook his head. But Harry continued to stare until Draco spoke.
“It’s a perfectly fine idea,” Draco said calmly, though something seemed hidden. “The weather is nice, and though there are people, there’s a distinctive lack of unsatisfied children.”
“Yes,” Harry sighed, “The woman two doors down had a baby a couple months ago-”
“You are a wizard, Harry,” Draco interrupted. “You are aware there are charms for that?”
“Yes, yes,” Harry sighed, “I don’t have to hear the baby cry, but every time I walk outside, I hear neighbours complaining about it to each other. After all this time, I wonder what is worse - the baby or the complaining.”
“You could move to a better place if you don’t like yours,” Draco pointed out. “You can afford it.”
“Yeah -” Harry shrugged - “but Sirius gave it to me, so it’s a piece of him.”
Draco’s eyebrows went up. “You still live in Grimmauld Place?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. “Where did you think I lived?”
“I’d have thought you would prefer not to live in a home that belonged to another family for so long,” Draco said. “After all, I think I’m right when I assume that Great Aunt Walburga hasn’t stopped yelling at you.”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Well, yes, but that’s just…part of the house. I like it…in a way.”
Draco gave him a weird look.
“It’s magical, a constant reminder of magic. After living with the Dursleys, that’s wonderful,” Harry pointed out. “I’m also not sure what Kreacher would think if I moved.’ Harry shrugged. He was not certain of his point.
“You care about what a house elf thinks?” Draco asked, taking the basket as Harry set up the blanket in front of the lake, where a pair of black swans bathed themselves.
“Well, yeah,” Harry said, grinning. “I do. Dobby saved my life. And Kreacher has been a great help. He even fought in the battle - led the house elves out.”
“You are an interesting person, Harry.” Draco sat and opened the basket. He held up sandwiches in boxes. “Really?”
“I’m not very good at making them,” Harry said, defending himself. “And these are from Pret, a Muggle place. They’re really good. There’s also soup, bread, and some drinks.” He picked up one of the sandwiches and opened it under Draco’s suspicious eye.
“I have a feeling Kreacher wouldn’t have minded preparing the food if you’d asked,” Draco pointed out. “Or do you do all the cooking?”
“I can cook,” Harry said, remembering all the days in Aunt Petunia’s kitchen, “but Kreacher is a lot better at it. And he enjoys cooking for me.”
“And here you are, depriving him of the pleasure,” Draco said, before biting into the sandwich. He finished swallowing before speaking, but his face lit up. “This is good.”
They fell silent for a short bit, eating food. But Harry did not feel awkward in the silence. He liked that. “What do you think of the swans?” Harry asked.
“I think they look more elegant when white than black.” Draco watched them intensely for a minute or so. “The one on the left has a superior mind. He is taking excellent care of himself.”
Harry laughed. “He’s been preening those feathers since before we started eating.”
“And the other one has already mussed his up,” Draco said.
“But he is having fun,” Harry looked at Draco directly. The sun lit up his date very nicely. And there was a shine on Draco’s lips from the water he’d drunk. It was tempting…
Draco looked back at the swans. Their necks curled together. “They seemed to have worked it out,” he said.
Harry grinned. Yes, they had.
Entering Grimmauld Place after parting ways in a safe Apparition spot for Draco to get home, Harry was ready to stretch back and sleep in. The problem was, the hair had gone up on the back of his neck.
Mrs Black was not screaming, despite his entrance causing some noise. He did not hear or see Kreacher. The wards were fine, but something felt wrong. Something felt off. Someone was in the house.
Harry walked into the living room and his mouth dropped open. “You - you’re, but?” he said, completely confused.
“My house arrest ended two weeks ago,” Narcissa Malfoy said crisply.
“You’re in my house!” Harry exclaimed.
“It’s the Black family house,” the woman pointed out. “Of course I could get in. Now, what have you done with my son?”
“I, uh, took him on a date - two,” Harry replied. “But-”
“Exactly,” Narcissa said, glaring at him. “I sent you to him to discuss my husband, not to…act improperly with him.”
“We haven’t done anything improper,” Harry defended himself. “We haven’t even kissed yet!”
“You are Harry Potter, and my son is already despised.” Narcissa’s fury felt hot, despite the way she calmly held herself.
“And I will do as I please, as long as the other party consents,” Harry said. He would give ground to no one about his love life.
“I did not send him to you for that,” Narcissa repeated. “If you and he wish to do such things, then do so another time. And focus. Focus!”
“On WHAT?” Harry finally shouted. “You won’t tell me anything. He hasn’t told me anything. I can’t find your husband, much less talk to him about why he is missing community service, and I have all those people who despise your family shouting, spitting, and sending me hate mail. What more can I do?!”
“You saved the world,” Narcissa pointed out coldly, “and with my help. The least you could do is help my family.” She turned around and left in a flash of green flames.
Harry sat down in an armchair and held his head. Why did no one talk like a normal person did about Lucius Malfoy?
Wednesday, 18 June 2001
“What do you think?” Harry licked his ice cream as they walked toward Draco’s flat, which was a bit of a walk from Harry’s but close enough, Harry noted.
“They have ridiculous names for flavours,” Draco replied, keeping his vanilla ice cream neat without drips.
“But wizards have all kinds of bizarre flavours - even unappetizing ones.” Harry crinkled his nose in memory of a particularly hideous snot flavoured Bertie Botts Bean.
“That’s part of the adventure,” Draco countered. “But moose tracks? I don’t want mud from any moose in my ice cream.”
“They don’t mean it literally.” Harry held out his ice cream. “Try some.”
“No, thank you,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I am certain the both of you taste disgusting. Moose tracks.” Harry thought he heard the word ‘nonsensical’ muttered under Draco’s breath.
“But it has chocolate, not mud,” Harry said, determined to prove his point. They stopped in front of an old wooden door. Draco pulled a key out of his pocket and opened it. Harry followed him up the stairs, to which Draco said nothing. Harry assumed it was okay.
Two black doors with brass numbers on them were on either side. Harry looked at both. “I am guessing you are in 1A,” he told Draco.
“Mmm hmm,” Draco replied.
Harry wished he had asked why. “Your door is neat, and if you get any mail, you’ve already picked it up. 1B has mail sticking out of his slot. You aren’t as sloppy as that,” Harry said, providing his reasoning anyway.
“I’m not,” Draco replied, but there was something off in his voice.
Once they were inside, Draco licked his ice cream one more time before looking at Harry very seriously. “Look, I-” Draco began.
But there was a drop of vanilla on the thin lips, and Harry resisted no longer. One hand held his ice cream while the other reached up for Draco’s face. It was smooth. And his lips - oh, kissing him felt incredible. Harry had thought that maybe kisses with men might be stronger, more…manly, than with women. But he felt the nervous tremor in Draco’s lips, and somehow, that made it all the better.
That was, it was better until Draco pushed Harry away, having dropped his ice cream. “No, I cannot do this,” Draco told him loudly. Draco looked down and Banished the ice cream.
“What do you mean?” Harry felt his ice cream drip onto his hand, but he did not care.
“I don’t like you,” Draco said coldly.
“But you said…” Harry grasped for straws.
“Yes!” Draco shrieked, “because I had to! And I never thought Harry Potter would like blokes! But you came back! And what could I do?”
“Er.” Harry didn’t know what to say.
“You were prattling on at first, and I was safe because you were clueless,” Draco continued. “But you just had to figure something out.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “And that would have been fine, but no, you came to me and you were seconds away from realizing everything. And then they would have killed him.”
“They? Your father?” Harry was barely getting up to speed.
“Is your brain really that dim that you have forgotten my father already?” Draco snapped.
Harry’s eyes went wide. “Oh!” he realized. “Your father was the third person the Lestranges had. They kidnapped him!”
“It took you long enough to figure it out,” Draco said grouchily. “It’s been nearly two weeks since you came close.”
“So why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asked.
“They would have killed him! They assured me they would if anything went wrong.” Draco waved his arms about frantically. “No Auror involvement! No crying for help to Harry Potter! They’re going to kill him if they think I did anything besides shag you tonight!”
“Wait,” Harry said. “That was you I saw, near Nottingham. You met with the Lestrange brothers. What did they want?”
“Papers,” Draco sighed. “All the papers from the Ministry about them. I couldn’t take the originals out forever, so I copied them.”
“That Monday!” Harry said.
Draco turned to a desk in the room and withdrew some papers in his neat handwriting. “These are the latest ones I have to give to them. But you can’t come when I meet with them. They’ll kill my father. I can’t tell you more than I have.” Draco’s eyes looked desperate.
Quickly, Harry duplicated them and grabbed a set. “I could just - well, I guess not. But I have to get going!”
“Go do your hero thing,” Draco leaned back against the desk.
Apparating from the hallway - not caring if the man across the hall was a Muggle or not - Harry sprinted up the Ministry stairs, breathing hard by the time he reached Kingsley’s office.
“Come in,” Kingsley said, slightly mocking Harry’s speed. “Excuse me, but my secretary did not catch the reason for your visit.”
“I found Lucius Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed.
“That is wonderful, Harry,” Shacklebolt said, tying his cloak around himself. “The paperwork can wait until morning.”
“No, you see, he’s been kidnapped!” Harry said. Throwing the sheets of paper he was holding down, he pointed at them. “The Lestranges have been making Draco copy all the information the Ministry holds about them, and they’re threatening to kill Lucius.”
Kingsley fingered through the sticky paperwork. “Harry, the Avery files are in here.”
“What?”
“This is your report on your last unsuccessful lead on Avery.” Shacklebolt held up the paper. Amid the Lestrange papers, Harry hadn’t noticed.
“Why do they care about that?” Harry wondered out loud.
“You are on both cases,” Kingsley said, removing his cloak and sitting down. “They fear you more than the others. You killed their master and keep catching their trail. They know their time will come if you live long enough.”
“They want…me.” Harry laughed. “Dead, as usual.”
“You find this humorous?” Kingsley asked.
“Actually I do.” Harry shook his head. “Look, if they want to find me alone, let them find me alone.”
“Harry, we’re not going to send you alone against two experienced Death Eaters.”
“Of course not,” Harry said, smiling, “but they don’t need to know that.
Thursday, 19 July 2001
“What you working on, Harry?” Ron said. He leaned in, eating more sweets.
“I have a lead on Avery,” Harry said with a grin.
“No, you don’t!” Ron exclaimed. “I would’ve been told. I am on that case with you, you know.”
“I know.” Harry motioned Ron to come in.
Ron sat down in the chair opposite Harry. “You have a look like you know something, mate,” Ron said, “and it better not have to do with Malfoy. Or anything to do with blokes and blokes together in general. Not my thing.”
Harry sighed. “You think that has anything to do with work? Besides, it’s over.”
“Over?” Ron asked, sounding just a little bit pleased.
“Yeah,” Harry said, sighing. “Turned out he didn’t like me. I was figuring it out, and he thought the Lestranges would suspect him since we were talking, so he just…pretended.”
“Sorry,” Ron said, sounding more sincere. “I’m not into blokes, and I think you could do better than Malfoy if you are, but that’s a harsh thing to do to anyone.”
“It’s a bit harsher for your dad to die,” Harry said, defending Draco. He wasn’t certain why. Even if Draco had been pretending, Harry still liked him. He hadn’t lied, in the end.
“All right, so how did the Lestranges fit into your fake love life?” Ron asked.
“They have Lucius,” Harry said, sighing. “And they want to kill me-”
“How original,” Ron interjected. “Why can’t they want me dead?”
“Are you wishing to have fake-dated Draco Malfoy now?” Harry asked.
“No, no, I am in a very real relationship with Hermione, but we did help. It’d be nice if sometime someone wanted us dead,” Ron pointed out. “Why should you have all the fun?”
“Anyway, this is just some paperwork about me discovering a lead on Avery - that he’s expected to appear in this village on Monday to buy some illegal goods.”
“That’s clever,” Ron said, grinning. “Did Malfoy suggest it?”
“No, but he’s going to copy it for them.”
“How is he going to make sure they get it in time?” Ron asked.
“The git can’t let the Lestranges know we aren’t really dating, so I’m the lucky hero who gets to have his heart smashed twice in a farce,” Harry said, leaving a smudge on the paper.
“You sounded a bit like Malfoy there,” Ron said.
“I don’t think he’s caring much for my heart in this matter,” Harry growled, standing. “Time for a fake lunch date for me!”
He grabbed a couple of sandwiches and the paperwork as he left Ron behind in his office. Everything moved slowly, as if to torture him. The lifts, the waiting for them - he was in molasses. Navigating the world of white and black with caution, Harry rested his charges on Draco’s desk.
“What a pleasant hello,” Draco greeted him sarcastically, again shoving papers into a messy pile to make room for two.
“I hate charades,” Harry said, “so eat your sandwich and make sure they get a copy of the paperwork. Okay?” Perhaps his tone was harsh, but Draco - Malfoy - deserved it.
Draco said nothing after that.
Monday, 23 July 2001
Standing under an archway, Harry watched everyone who went by. He was the ever-watchful Auror, though he moved around more than he usually did while waiting for a target. Slowly moving around to the other side of the square, keeping to the perimeter, Harry brushed his hair down with his hand, so as to cover the scar. If he were too obvious, the Lestranges would flee too soon.
Harry hated waiting. He always hated the waiting. It was so long and boring. Usually, he had a partner with him. Harry knew that other Aurors were around in disguise and more were just out of sight. But they were off limits for recognizing the existence of, much less talking to.
His internal monologue stopped. Two figures had entered the square. They were the right height, and there was a good size to them. They were definitely as strong as the Lestrange brothers had been a few years ago. That old witch was right about them.
Moving to get a closer look, Harry found it unneeded. A flash of green came at him loudly. “Protego!” Harry said, aiming to deflect the spell into the ground. People around him fled, including those that were Aurors. Harry felt the prickles of their spells - which would make it more difficult for him to leave, if he had to.
But he had no time. Ducking behind the fountain, the marble exploded above his head. “Diffindo!” Harry shouted, aiming at one of the men’s legs. The man turned aside, but it hit his arm, drawing blood.
The brothers split up, circling the lone Auror. Harry cast a shield charm at one and a powerful hex at the other. Harry sweated rapidly, adrenalin pumping as he barely stayed alive. They were strong. And they worked together well. Harry backed out of the centre to prevent them from getting too good an angle on him.
Deflection and curses - his mouth only stopped moving when he changed to silent spells. They didn’t hear him curse, and that gave him more time. But the other Aurors!
Harry backed against a wall, and one of the Lestranges was grinning. Harry glared, and the man dangled upside down. But thus engaged, Harry barely ducked another killing curse from the other.
Shouts flooded the scene. Ten Aurors ran into the square, which successfully diverted the attention of the one on his feet. The man growled and ran, as the other swore at him. Harry dropped him to the ground, knocking him unconscious as he ran past. But the other brother was gone.
“Bunch of help you lot were,” Harry grumbled to Ron as they tied up the Lestrange they had.
“We saved your life, mate,” Ron said, grinning.
“And took your bloody time doing so.” Harry was not truly angry any more. He had lived. And his body recovered to the usual timing.
“And you got one!” Ron patted him on the back. “I suppose we ought to thank Snape for making up that spell.”
“I never expected to use it in a duel,” Harry said, laughing. “Much less one against two opponents. But it just came to mind, to really take one out as they were distracted taunting me.”
“What’d they say?”
“I honestly can’t remember.” Harry shrugged. He looked up, where they were beginning to carry off the Lestrange they captured. “Hey, where’re they taking him?”
“We caught one,” the Auror taking the Lestrange brother away said. “He goes back to the Ministry with us now.”
“Not yet.” Harry ran over, Ron following. “We have to question him. Does anyone have Veritaserum on them?” He looked around. One by one they all shook their heads until only Ron was left, standing there looking guilty.
“I wasn’t going to do anything wrong with it,” Ron said, defending himself. “I was just going to make sure you weren’t pulling my leg the whole time about the Malfoy stuff.”
Harry sighed. “If I wanted to lie, I’d have not told you about it yet. Now, can we have it?”
Ron pulled it out of his pocket. Harry pulled out the cork from the vial and opened the unconscious man’s mouth. Pouring the clear liquid in, Harry looked around. “Is the area still secure?”
Kingsley nodded.
“Renneverate!” Harry cast on the bound Death Eater. The other Aurors had their wands out.
The Lestrange pulled at his bonds, like a wild animal.
“What is your name?” Harry asked first, a simple question.
“Rodolphus Lestrange,” the man answered, his eyes glazed over.
“Where have you been staying?” Harry asked. “Where are you keeping Lucius Malfoy?”
The man pulled at the bonds, mouth twitching. But the potion did not allow him to resist. “Barker’s fen,” he answered. “We built a cabin there.”
“How do you get in?” Harry asked.
“Have to be a Lestrange,” the drugged man said, grinning.
“Do the wards protect against Polyjuice?” Harry asked.
“No,” the man replied, unhappy to give it up.
“How do I get there?” Harry asked.
“Apparate next to the water. Cabin will be behind the trees.”
Harry left the man behind, pulling out a hair and looking at Kingsley. “Send someone to get the potion,” Harry said. “I know we have some.”
“You can’t go in alone, Harry,” Shacklebolt objected. “Look what nearly happened here. And Lucius Malfoy will not be able to defend himself.”
“I survived here, and Rabastan is injured,” Harry countered. “And I am not going to let him freak out and kill Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy deserves better. He’s innocent.”
Shacklebolt sighed. “You’re too stubborn.”
Harry shrugged. “I have to be.”
Ron tapped his fingers against a broken chunk of the fountain as they waited. He looked nervous. Harry glanced around at the other Aurors - they all looked nervous as well. “Does no one think I can do this?” he asked, shocked.
“You can,” Ron was quick to reply, “but there is also a chance that Lestrange gets in a lucky hit, and then you’re dead and Lucius is dead, and we can’t do a thing.”
“He won’t get it,” Harry replied, happy to see the nervous Auror bringing over the potion. Grabbing the potion out of the man’s hand, Harry stuck the hair in it and drank the disgusting potion, which had turned a nasty shade of brown.
His body started growing, and Harry thanked his loose robes for not ripping, as he rather liked them. His shoes were too small though. But Rodolphus was nearby to steal shoes and robes from.
Shacklebolt sighed. “What?” Harry asked in a low voice that belonged to Rodolphus Lestrange.
“This is reckless, Harry,” he said. “Even if you get out alive, you cannot guarantee Lucius Malfoy will.”
“He has a better chance of survival if I go,” Harry said, sticking to his guns.
“Perhaps.” Shacklebolt looked up at him, “But are you certain of why you are doing this? If this were any other-”
“There is an innocent person being held captive,” Harry said, in Rodolphus’s low voice. “And I will not leave innocent people to die. I’d go if it were you or Stan Shunpike or anyone else.” He glared and noted how in focus everyone was without glasses on.
Concentrating on where he wanted to go, Harry Apparated. Pop. When he landed, he looked around. He was standing in a few inches of water. Perhaps he had concentrated a little too well. But he stomped out, heading toward the trees, where he felt the magic protecting the cabin before he saw the small wooden structure. Hand-built indeed - the Lestrange brothers were very well trained.
Coming through the door, it was a sorry sight. Blood seeped through a bandage on Rabastan’s left arm. He limped as he walked around a convulsing body on the floor. “Rabastan!” Harry called out.
The younger Lestrange held out his wand, giving Lucius Malfoy a moment’s respite. “They had you,” he snarled.
“I got away,” Harry replied angrily. “No thanks to you.”
“How’d you do it?” Rabastan circled around Lucius to face the man who looked like his brother.
“Potter dropped me to chase you, and I ducked into a door off the plaza. Couldn’t Apparate, due to them bloody Aurors, so I found a way out back. Tried to cause as little noise as possible, and I just got away,” Harry said, speaking the first thing that came to mind.
“Oh yeah?” Rabastan asked. “If that’s so, who reported us to them bloody Aurors at the end of last month?”
“That damn woman has a good memory,” Harry commented, suddenly wishing he had asked her name.
“That damn woman, oh yeah?” Rabastan stepped closer.
“Yeah,” Harry replied. Quickly, he raised his wand. Rabastan looked down. It was not Rodolphus’s wand. “Serpensortia,” Harry said, and a large snake settled on the ground before them. Dodging a hex from Rabastan, Harry whispered in Parseltongue, “Capture him, hurt him, but do not kill him.”
Rabastan grew frantic, backing away from the snake, casting blasting spells, blocking spells, but the snake continued. Harry sent a stunner after him, it was blocked, but the snake bit into the man’s leg. He cried out, barely gripping his wand. Hatred grew in his eyes, and his killing curse hit the snake.
Harry fired another stunner, this one so powerful it broke Rabastan’s shield and sent him crumpled to the floor.
Harry settled down to breathe. Lucius Malfoy looked up at him. He appeared to be in an even worse state than he was in May, three years back. That was something.
Lucius’ eyes barely opened. “Who?” he asked weakly.
“It’s me,” Harry said, realizing he still looked like Rodolphus.
“Draco? How is Draco?” Lucius asked.
Harry gawked, impressed. “He’s…fine,” Harry answered. “He was worried for you, but that was all.”
Lucius made a face that appeared to be an attempt at a smile. “Good -” he nodded his head - “good.”
Tuesday, 24 July 2001
Someone knocked on Harry’s door. Harry had taken the day off work - to recover. And Kingsley had granted it. He resented having to go down the stairs.
“BLOOD TRAITORS. MUDBLOODS. FILTH DESTROYING MY HOUSE-” shouted out behind Harry as he opened the door.
“Narcissa,’ he said gloomily. “Why didn’t you let yourself in this time?”
“I did what I must,” she said tersely. “May I come in?”
Harry sighed and stepped aside, giving no answer. She stepped in and waited for him to close the door. Harry walked past the portrait, which had gone silent upon hearing Narcissa’s name, and into the living room. He said nothing. He was tired. His body hurt. His brain hurt. And his heart hurt.
“I wish to explain to you the situation with Draco,” Narcissa began.
Harry gave her no help.
“He was only worried for his father. That was why he lied to you about having those…feelings. It was to protect Lucius. I am certain you can understand,” she said succinctly.
“Is that all?” Harry asked.
“That, and I would like to thank you for saving my husband’s life,” she added.
“So go ahead,” Harry replied. He didn’t care if he sounded rude. She was rubbing salt into his wound.
“Thank you,” Narcissa said quietly.
“It’s what I do,” Harry muttered under his breath.
After a few moments, she stood and left.
Friday, 27 July 2001
Harry sat at his desk surrounded by paperwork, the mounds growing around him so that he did not have to feel the looks of anyone walking by. The capture had taken only a few hours of activity, but the paperwork was far from finished. But that gave him an excellent excuse to ignore his friends, who were realizing how much Draco Malfoy had hurt him (and only thought worse of the former Slytherin for it), and to forget about the world.
A folded sheet of paper slid into view. His name was written neatly across it.
“I’m busy,” Harry said.
“I would appreciate it if you would read it,” a familiar voice spoke - without any wit or barbs.
Harry glanced up, pushed his glasses up his nose, and stared. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I am bringing you this.” Draco motioned to the paper folded in half. He moved around the desk and sat down, out of Harry’s view.
Harry set down his quill and stared at the paper. After what felt like a long time, he opened it.
Harry,
I have treated you terribly. I lied to you when I said I liked you. And I lied to you again when I said I did not like you. I hadn’t wanted you to figure the puzzle out - I thought my father would die. But, I realized you would work it out. You always do. That is who you are. And I thought if you liked me, you would rush in and potentially get killed. I did not know what would happen to my father then - perhaps he would die. Perhaps he would continue to be held captive.
I could not stand to lose the both of you. I thought if you didn’t like me, or if you were angry with me, you would act differently. But you are Harry Potter, and you did no such thing. You rushed in. And you saved my father’s life. After everything I did to you, you still saved him.
I hate to admit it, but you are a hero. You are not the boy who saved the world to me. You are the man who saved my family. You are the man who saved me. But enough hero worship.
I like you. I like the way you stumble when embarrassed. I like the way you look when I tease you. I like the way you are honest with me.
I broke your trust, but if you decide you can trust me again, will you go out with me? No lies, no secrets.
Yours,
Draco Malfoy
Harry pushed the stacks of papers down and stared, grinning.
“So?” Draco asked nervously.
“Why couldn’t you have just said this before?” Harry asked.
Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Harry grabbed him and pulled him across the desk and papers, spilling a bottle of ink, which destroyed Harry’s work. And they kissed, letter in hand, on a sea of black and white.
-211 points + 21 points for challenge (1/500 y?) = 232 points
-Silyara, Slytherin
Summary: Lucius Malfoy stops appearing for community service, and many in the wizarding world are out for blood. It is up to Harry to find Lucius Malfoy and get an explanation - or else many more might also get sent to Azkaban. But the other Malfoys refuse to help.
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron, Narcissa, Kingsley, et minor appearances.
Genre: Mystery, Romance
Beta: who_la_hoop was woooonderful
Rating/Warnings: PG-13. Little to warn about...
Word Count: 10568
Wednesday, 6 June 2001
“I just received your note, sir,” Harry said as soon as he entered Kingsley’s office. Rubbing his eyes and pushing his glasses back up, he held his eyes open with great effort. His eyelids felt heavy, having been held open for three days in the hopes of spotting Avery. This meeting was the first break in the dull monotony.
“Lucius Malfoy did not show up for community service yesterday,” Kingsley said.
“It’s the first time in three years.” Harry closed his eyes for a second. A fifteen minute nap was more important at this point than parole meetings. That was why they had parole officers right? “Certainly there is a reason,” Harry added when Shacklebolt stood silently, watching him.
“I hope you are right, Potter.” Shacklebolt lifted up a letter from his desk. “There are still people out for blood…and jail time. I already have three requests to throw Mr Malfoy in jail for violating the terms of his house arrest.”
“We’re still chasing some Death Eaters on the run, and people care whether or not Lucius Malfoy - who did not fight the last two years of the war and helped deliver over ten Death Eaters into custody - is in Azkaban?” Harry raised his voice. “They aren’t even doing any real work to make the world safer!”
“The law is the law,” Shacklebolt pointed out, “so if you wish for the deal you made for him to hold, you need to find out why he did not show up.”
“He isn’t a threat to anyone,” Harry growled. “Treating people like people is the only way we’ll recover from this.”
“For your sake, I hope you’re right about Lucius Malfoy,” Kingsley warned. “Or justice may become revenge, like it did before.”
Saturday, 9 June 2001
A white peacock scavenged the grounds, looking for something to eat. The gates needed polishing, but the manor looked as daunting as the first time Harry had seen it. A stone sank in his stomach. Too much of importance had happened at Malfoy Manor for Harry’s liking.
The drive was empty as Harry walked, and the place felt desolate. But he knocked all the same. Lucius Malfoy had to be at home - it was the only place he legally could be. That wizard was not one Harry pictured as the type to hide in the Muggle World, and the blond hair and sharp features were difficult to hide in the Wizarding World. Lucius Malfoy had not been sighted - the papers even lacked the usual ludicrous reports of moving rubbish bins and tree shadows.
He knocked three times.
The door creaked open, and a small creature looked up at him, sharply. “Harry Potter?” it asked.
“Yes.” Harry even motioned to the scar.
A blast of magic hit him. His glasses fell to the ground, and he whipped out his wand. “Oi,” Harry shouted, “I am an Auror from the Ministry of Magic. What do you think you are doing?”
“Making sure Harry Potter is who he says he is,” the house elf said and bowed. “Come this way.”
Summoning his glasses, Harry felt the adrenalin pumping through his system. The magic had been silent and invisible until it had hit him. He hadn’t felt like he’d been caught with his trousers down in a couple years.
“Mistress will see you in a few minutes,” the house elf said, motioning to a chair. The creature promptly left, abandoning Harry in an unknown room of a mostly empty house. He kept his wand in hand. Mistress? Why mistress and not master?”
A door on the other side of the room opened. Harry lifted his wand. But only Narcissa Malfoy, dressed lightly in blue, entered. Her face was thin, but everything was clean and tidy. No messes surrounded her. “Mr Potter,” she greeted him.
“I assume you know why I’m here,” Harry stated, lowering his wand, but he did not sit until she did. Her eyes were cool yet made him feel like a young boy.
“Why are you here?” Narcissa Malfoy asked. “Don’t you have Death Eaters to catch?”
“I do,” Harry replied, “but Lucius didn’t go to his community service on Tuesday. So I have to take time for him.”
“I do not see why you would stop searching for fugitive Death Eaters when my husband has no reason or means to hurt anyone,” Narcissa said, speaking coldly.
“Well, people care whether or not he shows up, and I get stuck with the job of finding out why. So, if I could just speak to him that would be great.” Harry wanted to get it over with. He had better things to do on Saturday afternoon.
“My husband is not in a state to speak to you right now,” Narcissa said, stonewalling him. “I suggest you talk to my son, Draco.”
“How is talking to Draco going to get me answers about Lucius?” Harry asked.
“Ask him that,” Narcissa replied. She stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I am going to return to my quarters. You may show yourself out.”
“But I -” Harry sighed as the door closed behind her - “don’t have any answers yet.”
Monday, 11 June 2001
A stack of papers reaching nigh the ceiling began to tilt in Harry’s direction as he stepped into the domain of Ministry Records. Waving his wand, he stabilized the pile. Harry stopped, still as a statue, so as not to topple any paper. At least the hours of not moving on watch proved useful somewhere. Carefully, Harry stepped as though through a minefield.
The world went white and black as paper enveloped him, and his glasses hit the floor.
“If you don’t know how to be down here, why are you down here?” said a sharp voice that Harry recognized.
Paper flew back into piles, and Harry’s eyes met the angry face of Draco Malfoy as he crouched to pick up his glasses. “Er, hello Draco,” Harry said with a wave.
“Oh look, after three years, the hero of us all has finally found the time to come and see my glorious condition,” Draco said.
“Er, actually I’m still quite busy,” Harry corrected. “Still have some Death Eaters to catch.”
Draco leaned back over his desk and picked up his quill “So go and catch them, hero boy. “I’ll still be here when you finish.”
“But I came to talk to you,” Harry pointed out.
“To me?” Draco looked up at him in mock shock. “If I am so important to talk to, what took you so long?”
“You just became important for me to talk to,” Harry said.
“Finally got tired of everyone worshipping the light coming out of your arse?” Draco inquired, as his quill wrote down some new words on a page. Waving his wand, the quill began to copy a piece of parchment beside it.
“They don’t-”
“I read the memos, Potter -” Draco motioned to the paper around them - “I know they do.”
“So do you know why I’m visiting you?” Harry asked. “The paperwork has been filed.”
“I don’t read every memo, Potter,” Draco said, laughing sharply, “but I don’t need to read them all to understand how they wax poetical about your poor handwriting.”
“Your father missed community service last week,” Harry said.
“I haven’t visited my parents at the manor in more than a week,” Draco replied, his attention again going to his work. “You will need to talk to them about that.”
“I’ve already been to the manor,” Harry said with a sigh. “Your mother told me to talk to you.”
“The fact I had to attend classes with you for years does not mean I can tolerate you any greater,” Draco retorted.
“Your mother seems to think you’ll talk to me,” Harry said, pointing out the obvious.
“And we have been talking,” Draco looked up for a moment, “My, she was right. We have conversed.”
Harry turned, only to hit his head against something, and paper almost came down again. Quick action at Draco’s hand saved the towers. “Tsk tsk,” Draco muttered.
“We haven’t talked about your father at all,” Harry began, but a paper airplane hit him in the head. “Ow!”
He unfolded it. “I’ll talk to you again, Malfoy,” he said, beginning to sprint off and causing the stacks to fall like dominoes. “Avery’s been spotted!”
Thursday, 14 June 2001
“Malfoy, I’m back!” Harry shouted through the stacks.
“And what is that - fair warning to have my wand at the ready to save the paper, Potter?” the sarcastic voice retorted.
“Er, sure,” Harry replied and made his way through the maze.
“So, hello…Draco.” Harry stood close to the desk. If possible, there was more paper than before. The towers went endless - as if the walls did not exist, only more stacks of paper.
“Avery and all the other Death Eaters done away with?” Draco asked.
“Er, no. Avery got away with some chickens, and there aren’t any new leads on the others,” Harry explained. All that paperwork had been turned in though. It was somewhere - around.
“Then I do not understand how you have room in your busy schedule to make your way down here.” Draco gave him a quizzical look and returned to his work.
“Well, as I said before, I came to talk about your father,” Harry said, repeating the point from Monday.
“And as I still have not talked to him, I fail to know his thoughts,” Draco replied. “If you want to know about him, go and talk to him.”
Harry sighed, “I’m not welcome at the manor.”
“How surprising,” Draco said.
“I am an Auror from the Ministry of Magic!” Harry thumped his foot.
Paper landed on his head. Harry reached for it, but Draco snatched it out of his hand. “Yes, and I suppose we ought to have every reason to love a visit from an Auror.”
“I was the one who got Lucius the house arrest and community service,” Harry said, hitting his fist on the desk. “No time in Azkaban, on my account.”
“For which my parents thanked you,” Draco pointed out.
“And he missed two days, and it’s on me,” Harry growled.
Draco turned in his chair and looked up. “So, this conversation is not about my father but how to save one righteous hero’s arse?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said, sighing.
“If you want to talk to me, it has to be about something or someone besides yourself.” Draco turned back to his desk and meticulously continued his work.
“Malfoy…” Harry started. “DRACO!” he shouted. Some paper fell down. Draco fixed it and continued to ignore Harry.
Tuesday, 19 June 2001
“It’s not about me,” Harry said, beginning the conversation.
“Oh goody, who is it about?” Draco asked. “Weasley? Granger? The She-Weasel?”
“It’s about people like your father, people like you.” Harry felt his anger rising to the limits of his patience, and they had been talking all of fifteen seconds.
“Oh, so people who cannot be associated with you?” Draco arched an eyebrow.
“People who are associated with me because I helped them gain lighter, fairer sentences.” Harry tried to keep his voice from rising. “People who will get that taken from them if even one of them is proven undeserving in the court of public appeal.”
“Oh, so your opinion isn’t good enough on its own any more?” Draco laughed.
“No, it’s not -” Harry took a deep breath - “and that’s not good for your father because some people want him in prison - and for a long time too. And if I don’t come up with an awfully good reason for him to have missed two - three after today - community service days, he goes to Azkaban.”
“Do you not think my father would be able to give you a very good answer?” Draco asked. “He is not a fool.”
“If I could talk to him, I am sure he would,” Harry replied. “He’s always had a smooth tongue.”
“So, clearly, all you have to do is talk to him,” Draco pointed out.
“If it were so simple, do you think I would keep coming down here every few days to get verbally lashed by you?” Harry asked.
Draco lifted his quill up, letting the feather rub against his cheek, as his grey eyes took Harry in. “I am not certain,” Draco replied. “Are you into that sort of thing?”
“What? No! How could you ask!” Harry felt his face flush warm.
“You can never assume.” Draco’s lips curved up into a smirk, and he brushed the quill against his cheek in a suggestive manner.
“I, er, am going to leave,” Harry told Draco, promptly doing so.
Tuesday, 26 June 2001
Harry slammed the door to No. 12 Grimmauld Place in a sour mood as he came home after work. Some ‘activists’ had chosen to camp outside his house and harass him every time he came home. The Floo Network made him sneeze, but at least there weren’t any bothersome folk in his living room.
Kreacher had a steaming pie waiting for him in the kitchen, which made Harry grin. “Oh, you are an excellent house elf, Kreacher,” he praised, sitting down and digging in - minted lamb.
“Master can have some chips with his pie, if he wants.” Kreacher waved over a bowl of them.
“Thank you, Kreacher, you’re a godsend.” Harry chewed silently over dinner. He had made no progress in the Lucius Malfoy case. Narcissa refused to open the door to him, and Draco…Harry had no idea what to make of Draco’s banter with him. At any rate, no one told him anything. And Lucius was not to be found.
“Master looks tired. Can Kreacher help?” The house elf stood a few feet away, pouring a pint of ale.
“No, you can’t. It’s work-” Harry stopped. “Wait, maybe you can help. Do you still know how to get into Malfoy Manor?”
“Yes, master,” Kreacher replied.
“I need to find Lucius Malfoy,” Harry told him. “He is on house arrest, so he ought to be somewhere in the manor or on the grounds. I want you to sneak in and find him, so I can demand to speak to him next time I go to the manor.”
“So only look at Malfoy Manor, master?” Kreacher asked.
“Yes, he has to be there,” Harry replied, “Don’t come back until you’ve found him or…I don’t know. If he’s there find him. If he’s not…tell me.”
“Yes, master.” Kreacher bowed, set the dishes to clean themselves, and left with a pop.
Harry sat back, remembering a similar situation during the war. This was much easier. Kreacher would be back in no time.
Thursday, 28 June 2001
Harry dug through an Indian takeaway as he continued to wait for Kreacher to return. It had been two days, and Lucius Malfoy was not Mundungus Fletcher. Stabbing some curry, Harry wondered why they had not caught a Death Eater in three months.
There was a pop. Kreacher!
“Did you find him?” Harry dropped the piece of lamb in a hurry to go over and find out the news. Admittedly, that probably did not save time, but he couldn’t help it.
“Lucius Malfoy is not at home, master.” Kreacher bowed.
“You’re sure?” Harry demanded.
“Very certain, master,” Kreacher looked up. “He is not to be found there.”
Harry slumped in front of his food. No one had seen Lucius Malfoy in a month. “Then where in the world is Lucius Malfoy?” he asked.
Saturday, 30 June 2001
“Potter, the Lestrange brothers have been sighted near Nottingham. Come at once,” a silver lynx said, speaking barely above a whisper, though its message ran through Harry like a bolt of electricity.
Hopping out of bed, Harry pulled on two socks, threw on a work robe - oh, it stank - and slipped into the first shoes he found: trainers. Running down the stairs, he threw open the front door.
“BLOOD TRAITORS. MUDBLOODS!”
He slammed the door shut again, muffling the shouts. Staying close enough to avoid being seen by muggles, Harry Apparated to the closest safety spot to Nottingham. They always gathered to those first.
“What took you so long?” Kingsley had six other Aurors already gathered about him.
“I was sleeping.” Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “It’s Saturday.”
“The brothers were spotted near the outskirts of this village. We think they may be after food.” Kingsley starred the main food sources on the map, besides private homes.
“Have the residents been evacuated?” Harry asked.
“No time. And it would alert them to our presence, but we must be careful not to hurt any civilians.” Kingsley looked around the circle. “We are to split into pairs and will go in from these locations. Be on your guard.” The map smouldered where Kingsley’s wand had touched it.
Everyone nodded and moved out. The weather was nice, but there was some glare. Harry led his partner, messing up his hair in an attempt to cover his forehead. If the Lestrange brothers saw him, they would run - or, worse, kill someone nearby.
Everyday people went about their lives - laughing, playing, walking along. A shadow with a hooded cloak whipped around a corner. Harry motioned to his partner. They went into a dark alley, then another, neither of which fit with the bright nature of the village. But after many turns, the shape and anyone else with it was gone. A phantom.
Turning up last to the centre of town, Harry shook his head. “Saw a shadowy figure, but he got away,” he shared. “Right height, though I don’t know what the build was.”
“Bloody hell,” Kingsley swore. “We need to react faster. You’re free to go.”
Aurors Apparated home one at a time, until Harry was the last one there. His stomach growled, and he hated Apparating on an empty stomach. It made him feel sick. He headed off toward the first place that looked promising for food.
An old witch approached him. Her wrinkled hands and filthy robes spoke of poverty, so Harry assumed it was for alms or to talk to him. As such, he waved her off. “You came looking for those boys didn’t you?” she said.
Harry froze in his step. “The Lestrange brothers,” he said. “They were spotted.”
“I know they were spotted, boy,” she said, shaming him. “I saw them. Took you boys long enough to get here, too.” She crossed her arms.
“I’m sorry.” Harry apologized. They had to be long gone, which left him just wanting something to eat. “I got here as soon as I could. But they escaped. So now I, like them, would like something to eat.”
“Food?” The woman laughed. “They were not here for food. Those two could live off the land until Merlin comes back. I ought to know. They came here as boys.”
Harry’s stomach stopped growling and he stared at her hard. “You know Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange?”
“I knew them.” She shook her head. “I don’t know the horrible men they grew up to be. They were such nice boys.”
“If they weren’t here for food, then why were they here?” Harry watched her suspiciously.
“It had something to do with the third person with them,” she said, speaking calmly. “He walked between them, slouching, and his hood dropped over his entire face.”
“There was a third person?” Harry felt confounded.
“I just said so, boy,” she chided him. “Are you hard on hearing? Did the war addle your ears?”
“No, no,” Harry replied, his mind travelling to other places. “Thank you for your time,” he told her. There were things to check on Monday.
Monday, 2 July 2001
“I can’t find the files on the Lestrange brothers.” Harry slouched in front of Ron’s desk with a groan.
“Well, good luck finding them here,” Ron laughed, “I don’t think I have them, but my desk is a mess.”
“I can’t find them anywhere,” Harry repeated. “I put in a request for them. I checked the history. No one has signed to take out the originals. The Ministry cares about that kind of red tape.”
“And none of us do.” Ron shrugged and held out a sandwich. “Want half?”
“I thought your mum was going to stop packing your lunches,” Harry said with a laugh, reaching out.
The redhead withdrew it. “None for you, then. And mum didn’t make it. Hermione did.”
“That is so much better,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.
“Just check tomorrow for the files or bugger off to bother someone else,” Ron told him. “I am having a guilt-free lunch.”
Tuesday, 3 July 2001
Harry stared at the files in his hands. They had been nowhere the day before - Harry had annoyed everyone associated with the Lestranges’ case. But they had arrived bright and early the next morning - waiting for him on his desk when he’d arrived. He’d read every page on the Lestranges, but nothing spoke to him. No clues. No hints. Harry hated those files. They were a search in futility after a futile search to find them. But why?
He picked up his wand-
“Harry, what are you doing?” Ron stood in the doorway, looking amused. “I thought you wanted those files.”
“They’re bothering me.” Harry dropped them onto the desk, “They aren’t telling me anything.”
“They haven’t told anyone anything in over a year.” Ron threw a Bertie Botts Bean into the air and caught it in his mouth, “Ick. Grass. I thought it was going to be apple.”
“Something just isn’t right,” Harry insisted. There was no good reason for them to have disappeared for an entire day. “I know it.”
“Like you knew the man in the Indian restaurant was a stalker?” Ron laughed.
“He was always there when I was there,” Harry grumbled.
“Besides, if you want to burn them, make a copy,” Ron suggested, “then Kingsley won’t have your head on a platter. Bertie Bott’s Bean?”
“No.” Harry shook his head.
“Ew -” Ron gagged - “smart choice. This white one tasted like pompous waste. - do you think they got Malfoy to take a dump for them? Just like your Lucius Malfoy case, right?”
“Lucius Malfoy, that’s it!” Harry exclaimed.
“It’s what?” Ron looked up from picking his next bean carefully.
“I’m not sure, but that’s it.” Harry jumped up from his desk and ran down toward Records.
“Malfoy! Malfoy!” Harry shouted, making his way through the maze. Stacks exploded, and his hands became covered in paper cuts, but he did not care. “Malfoy, you here?”
“Yes,” Draco drawled. “Thank you for destroying my organizational system. That makes me even further behind on my work. To what do I owe this needless work?”
“I think I figured it out!” Harry exclaimed.
“You will have to be more specific if you want me to have any clue as to what you are talking about.” Malfoy glanced away.
“I’m not exactly sure how it adds up,” Harry began, “but I know it does. Lucius Malfoy goes missing. The Lestrange brothers are seen with a third person. The paperwork never tells us anything, and it’s been copied. Not to mention, you’ve been a real arse to me, even more than you need to be.”
“Trust you never to see what’s standing right in front of you,” Malfoy grumbled.
“The Lestranges…your father, they are connected.” Harry grinned. There was a long pause. “Somehow.”
Draco sat very still, his hand squeezing his quill tightly.
“Is that why you’ve been refusing to tell me anything?” Harry asked.
“No, you moron,” Draco Malfoy snapped, looking up at him. “You are so blind, it’s pathetic. I’m hiding something from you? Well, you are right about that. But you are so far off the mark, it’s painful.”
“What do you mean?” Harry wondered what Malfoy was talking about.
“Me -” Draco motioned towards himself - “Me. How about you actually see me when you come down here? How about you talk to me? I am a person, and you never see that.”
“I know you’re a person, Malfoy.” Harry scratched his head in thought.
“Then call me Draco,” the young man sneered. “You’re proud, self-entitled, and only pay attention to the few around you who managed to get you to call them friend. Everyone else worships the ground you walk upon and glorifies the light that comes out of your arse.”
“Er…Draco, what’s your point?” Harry asked.
“You’re a self-involved arse, but I like you!” Draco practically shouted, “I can’t stand you, but I’ve fallen for you. So stop treating me like a bouncing board. Treat me as a person or don’t come back!”
Draco turned away and continued to copy paperwork while visibly shaking.
What? “I, er, have to…go.” Harry backed away, tripping over his feet.
Thursday, 5 July 2001
Harry tiptoed into records, taking care not to knock over any of the towers around him. “Draco?” he called out quietly. “Draco?”
Draco sat hunched over his desk, transcribing what must be facts about files and storage. Harry did not want to…disturb him. But he wanted to talk. He had thought a lot about what Draco said. And Draco was right. Harry wondered how he hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t treated Draco like a person, and so Draco did not tell him anything about Lucius. And it was only fair to give him a chance - while figuring out more about Lucius.
“Draco.” Harry tapped the other wizard on the shoulder. Draco dropped the quill, staining the paper in front of him and nearly hopped out of his seat.
“Merlin, you gave me a fright,” Draco said. The grey eyes settled on Harry’s face. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought about what you said -” Harry tried to keep his hands from acting nervously - “and you really are a decent bloke. You were a pompous ass at first, but you’ve grown, and you’ve really changed. And it’s been a long time since anyone liked me for…me, and well, with you I’ll know it’s never hero worship. And, er, so I was thinking…”
“Are you simply going to ramble, or do you have a point, Pot- Harry,” Draco replied.
“I want to take you out to dinner tomorrow,” Harry declared.
“What?”
“Somewhere Muggle,” Harry added, “you know, so it’s really a date between just us, and no gossip has to get involved. I hate it when they try to write about my love life.” The last bit was barely above a murmur.
Draco stared at him, mouth agape.
“Er, do you have an answer?” Harry asked. feeling his face heat up. Oh, this was going to go -
“I can only say yes,” Draco said, gesticulating with his hands as he answered. “Harry.”
“Great,” Harry said, grinning. “Can I pick you up at…seven? Where do you live?”
“Seven is…good -” Draco gave a small smile - “but I’ll meet you at the restaurant. I can navigate around Muggles.”
“Really? Great. I’ll have to ask you more about that at dinner.” Harry grabbed a blank sheet of paper. “Here’s the address and name. I’ll see you at seven then.”
“Yes you will,” Draco agreed, grinning.
Harry turned and went back to work.
Friday, 6 July 2001
Harry stood in front of the restaurant, checking his clothes. He had rushed home as quickly as he could after work, showered, struggled with his hair, and pulled on clothes he hoped were half-decent enough for a bloke like Malfoy - Draco. Harry was not dating the family.
Draco walked up in grey trousers and a white shirt. “Hello Harry,” he said, nodding his head in greeting.
Despite the OK jeans and somewhat decent T-shirt, Harry felt remarkably underdressed. He ran a hand through his hair. But that probably messed it up. Oh bugger. “Hello, Draco,” Harry greeted him, unsure whether to hug, kiss, or something else. “Hungry?”
“I am.” Draco clapped his hands together and looked at the door.
“Er, right,” Harry mumbled, “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date.” He held the door open for Draco, who walked in ahead. The clothes fitted Draco really well, Harry noticed.
“Dim lighting,” Draco commented, “but it smells quite good.”
“I thought it would be…romantic,” Harry muttered as they were seated.
“Can I bring you any drinks to get you started?” their waiter asked.
“Er, water is fine for me,” Harry said.
“Some tea would be excellent,” Draco ordered smoothly.
“So, er, you know your way around Muggle London?” Harry said, starting the conversation.
“I am not exactly…wanted everywhere,” Draco pointed out. There was little sting in his voice. The words were fact, nothing more.
“I suppose that’s easy to believe,” Harry said with a sigh, “at least, judging by all the hate mail I get regarding your father.” He subtly brought up Lucius Malfoy.
“Could we not talk about how much people dislike my family?” Draco asked.
“Of course, sorry,” Harry back-pedalled. “I didn’t, er, mean to offend you or upset you or anything.”
“This is a date, Harry, not work,” Draco reminded.
“Of course, sorry.” Harry felt slight relief when the waiter came over. He hadn’t eaten a thing yet, and he was already bungling it up. Trust Draco to be better at this kind of thing than him. “Do you like Muggle...clothes?” Harry asked.
“Some of them,” Draco commented. “These trousers fit me quite well. I can move faster than when I’m in robes.”
“They look very good on you,” Harry complimented, feeling his face turn slightly red.
Draco smirked, taking a sip of tea before speaking. “I think you checked out my arse on the way in,” he declared with a smug look.
“Perhaps, er -” Harry rushed to find words - “only a little bit.”
Draco smiled. And Harry relaxed.
“What do you do in your spare time?” Harry asked.
“Similar activities to most people I believe.” Draco paused to eat a bite of food. “I get together with friends. In nice weather, I frequent some of the parks. I probably read more newspapers than you, though. You take the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler, no?”
“How do you know that?” Harry asked, mouth agape.
“For a while, it was thought someone might try to kill you through your mail. Records had to check it first.” Draco shrugged.
“You read my mail?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Simply checked it for curses is all,” Draco said, smiling. “There’s little I don’t know about you. The entire world is obsessed with you after all.”
“But they hardly know anything,” Harry said, stabbing a piece of chicken. “They only think they do.”
“You’re easy to read, Harry,” Draco said with a laugh. “You’re an open book.”
“Well, you’re…not,” Harry said, trying for a witty retort, “so can I, er…”
“Open me up?” Draco finished the sentence in a voice that made Harry feel slightly uncomfortable. “Never after a first date.”
“I, er, um,” Harry groped for words.
Draco laughed. “You get your knickers in a twist far too easily.” There was a glint in his eyes, as if it had all been for fun.
At least the date went well.
Monday, 9 July 2001
Harry whistled as he walked toward the lifts, holding a packet of large Muggle sandwiches against his chest with one hand, and two water bottles in his other.
Kingsley stepped out of the lift Harry was waiting for and looked at him funny. “Where are you off to, Potter?” he asked.
“Lunch,” Harry said, grinning.
“With whom?” the minister asked.
“Draco Malfoy,” Harry declared happily, watching the grating slowly push the older man’s confused face out of sight.
The towers of paper were a friendly sight this time, as Harry manoeuvred between them. “Oh, Draco!” he called out. “I brought lunch!”
“Let me clear some space,” Draco called back, pushing some paper out of sight. “Last thing I need is mustard on an important file.”
“Everyone could use some condiments,” Harry replied without thinking. Looking after the messy stack of papers glaringly out of place from the neat stacks, he wondered if the papers were actually official or…something else.
Draco gave him a quizzical look. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It was the first thing that came to mind.” Harry held out the water. Draco took a bottle and motioned to the second chair.
“And of course you had to say it.” Draco shook his head. “You have no brain-to-mouth filter at all, Harry.”
“Well, no,” Harry admitted. “Not much of one, anyway, when I’m with people I trust.”
Draco opened the bottle of water and took a sip before replying. “And I will always know what you’re thinking.”
“Indeed.” Harry laughed and said, “I hope you like lots of meat. There are three kinds in the sandwich.”
“What man who likes men doesn’t like meat?” Draco asked.
Harry went scarlet and almost coughed out his first bite.
Draco shook his head. “You are so easy to tease.”
Friday, 13 July 2001
“By Merlin, Harry, did you actually bring a blanket?” Draco asked, as they met at the entrance to Regent’s Park. Draco had brought little beside his person, though honestly that was enough for Harry.
“You said you liked parks,” Harry blustered out, “and so I thought that, with the nice weather, it could be a nice thing to, you know, have a picnic.”
“At least you found your point in that sentence,” Draco pointed out, his lips curling up.
“So you disagree with the idea?” Harry’s heart rate increased rapidly.
It must have shown in his face, judging by how Draco shook his head. But Harry continued to stare until Draco spoke.
“It’s a perfectly fine idea,” Draco said calmly, though something seemed hidden. “The weather is nice, and though there are people, there’s a distinctive lack of unsatisfied children.”
“Yes,” Harry sighed, “The woman two doors down had a baby a couple months ago-”
“You are a wizard, Harry,” Draco interrupted. “You are aware there are charms for that?”
“Yes, yes,” Harry sighed, “I don’t have to hear the baby cry, but every time I walk outside, I hear neighbours complaining about it to each other. After all this time, I wonder what is worse - the baby or the complaining.”
“You could move to a better place if you don’t like yours,” Draco pointed out. “You can afford it.”
“Yeah -” Harry shrugged - “but Sirius gave it to me, so it’s a piece of him.”
Draco’s eyebrows went up. “You still live in Grimmauld Place?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. “Where did you think I lived?”
“I’d have thought you would prefer not to live in a home that belonged to another family for so long,” Draco said. “After all, I think I’m right when I assume that Great Aunt Walburga hasn’t stopped yelling at you.”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Well, yes, but that’s just…part of the house. I like it…in a way.”
Draco gave him a weird look.
“It’s magical, a constant reminder of magic. After living with the Dursleys, that’s wonderful,” Harry pointed out. “I’m also not sure what Kreacher would think if I moved.’ Harry shrugged. He was not certain of his point.
“You care about what a house elf thinks?” Draco asked, taking the basket as Harry set up the blanket in front of the lake, where a pair of black swans bathed themselves.
“Well, yeah,” Harry said, grinning. “I do. Dobby saved my life. And Kreacher has been a great help. He even fought in the battle - led the house elves out.”
“You are an interesting person, Harry.” Draco sat and opened the basket. He held up sandwiches in boxes. “Really?”
“I’m not very good at making them,” Harry said, defending himself. “And these are from Pret, a Muggle place. They’re really good. There’s also soup, bread, and some drinks.” He picked up one of the sandwiches and opened it under Draco’s suspicious eye.
“I have a feeling Kreacher wouldn’t have minded preparing the food if you’d asked,” Draco pointed out. “Or do you do all the cooking?”
“I can cook,” Harry said, remembering all the days in Aunt Petunia’s kitchen, “but Kreacher is a lot better at it. And he enjoys cooking for me.”
“And here you are, depriving him of the pleasure,” Draco said, before biting into the sandwich. He finished swallowing before speaking, but his face lit up. “This is good.”
They fell silent for a short bit, eating food. But Harry did not feel awkward in the silence. He liked that. “What do you think of the swans?” Harry asked.
“I think they look more elegant when white than black.” Draco watched them intensely for a minute or so. “The one on the left has a superior mind. He is taking excellent care of himself.”
Harry laughed. “He’s been preening those feathers since before we started eating.”
“And the other one has already mussed his up,” Draco said.
“But he is having fun,” Harry looked at Draco directly. The sun lit up his date very nicely. And there was a shine on Draco’s lips from the water he’d drunk. It was tempting…
Draco looked back at the swans. Their necks curled together. “They seemed to have worked it out,” he said.
Harry grinned. Yes, they had.
Entering Grimmauld Place after parting ways in a safe Apparition spot for Draco to get home, Harry was ready to stretch back and sleep in. The problem was, the hair had gone up on the back of his neck.
Mrs Black was not screaming, despite his entrance causing some noise. He did not hear or see Kreacher. The wards were fine, but something felt wrong. Something felt off. Someone was in the house.
Harry walked into the living room and his mouth dropped open. “You - you’re, but?” he said, completely confused.
“My house arrest ended two weeks ago,” Narcissa Malfoy said crisply.
“You’re in my house!” Harry exclaimed.
“It’s the Black family house,” the woman pointed out. “Of course I could get in. Now, what have you done with my son?”
“I, uh, took him on a date - two,” Harry replied. “But-”
“Exactly,” Narcissa said, glaring at him. “I sent you to him to discuss my husband, not to…act improperly with him.”
“We haven’t done anything improper,” Harry defended himself. “We haven’t even kissed yet!”
“You are Harry Potter, and my son is already despised.” Narcissa’s fury felt hot, despite the way she calmly held herself.
“And I will do as I please, as long as the other party consents,” Harry said. He would give ground to no one about his love life.
“I did not send him to you for that,” Narcissa repeated. “If you and he wish to do such things, then do so another time. And focus. Focus!”
“On WHAT?” Harry finally shouted. “You won’t tell me anything. He hasn’t told me anything. I can’t find your husband, much less talk to him about why he is missing community service, and I have all those people who despise your family shouting, spitting, and sending me hate mail. What more can I do?!”
“You saved the world,” Narcissa pointed out coldly, “and with my help. The least you could do is help my family.” She turned around and left in a flash of green flames.
Harry sat down in an armchair and held his head. Why did no one talk like a normal person did about Lucius Malfoy?
Wednesday, 18 June 2001
“What do you think?” Harry licked his ice cream as they walked toward Draco’s flat, which was a bit of a walk from Harry’s but close enough, Harry noted.
“They have ridiculous names for flavours,” Draco replied, keeping his vanilla ice cream neat without drips.
“But wizards have all kinds of bizarre flavours - even unappetizing ones.” Harry crinkled his nose in memory of a particularly hideous snot flavoured Bertie Botts Bean.
“That’s part of the adventure,” Draco countered. “But moose tracks? I don’t want mud from any moose in my ice cream.”
“They don’t mean it literally.” Harry held out his ice cream. “Try some.”
“No, thank you,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I am certain the both of you taste disgusting. Moose tracks.” Harry thought he heard the word ‘nonsensical’ muttered under Draco’s breath.
“But it has chocolate, not mud,” Harry said, determined to prove his point. They stopped in front of an old wooden door. Draco pulled a key out of his pocket and opened it. Harry followed him up the stairs, to which Draco said nothing. Harry assumed it was okay.
Two black doors with brass numbers on them were on either side. Harry looked at both. “I am guessing you are in 1A,” he told Draco.
“Mmm hmm,” Draco replied.
Harry wished he had asked why. “Your door is neat, and if you get any mail, you’ve already picked it up. 1B has mail sticking out of his slot. You aren’t as sloppy as that,” Harry said, providing his reasoning anyway.
“I’m not,” Draco replied, but there was something off in his voice.
Once they were inside, Draco licked his ice cream one more time before looking at Harry very seriously. “Look, I-” Draco began.
But there was a drop of vanilla on the thin lips, and Harry resisted no longer. One hand held his ice cream while the other reached up for Draco’s face. It was smooth. And his lips - oh, kissing him felt incredible. Harry had thought that maybe kisses with men might be stronger, more…manly, than with women. But he felt the nervous tremor in Draco’s lips, and somehow, that made it all the better.
That was, it was better until Draco pushed Harry away, having dropped his ice cream. “No, I cannot do this,” Draco told him loudly. Draco looked down and Banished the ice cream.
“What do you mean?” Harry felt his ice cream drip onto his hand, but he did not care.
“I don’t like you,” Draco said coldly.
“But you said…” Harry grasped for straws.
“Yes!” Draco shrieked, “because I had to! And I never thought Harry Potter would like blokes! But you came back! And what could I do?”
“Er.” Harry didn’t know what to say.
“You were prattling on at first, and I was safe because you were clueless,” Draco continued. “But you just had to figure something out.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “And that would have been fine, but no, you came to me and you were seconds away from realizing everything. And then they would have killed him.”
“They? Your father?” Harry was barely getting up to speed.
“Is your brain really that dim that you have forgotten my father already?” Draco snapped.
Harry’s eyes went wide. “Oh!” he realized. “Your father was the third person the Lestranges had. They kidnapped him!”
“It took you long enough to figure it out,” Draco said grouchily. “It’s been nearly two weeks since you came close.”
“So why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asked.
“They would have killed him! They assured me they would if anything went wrong.” Draco waved his arms about frantically. “No Auror involvement! No crying for help to Harry Potter! They’re going to kill him if they think I did anything besides shag you tonight!”
“Wait,” Harry said. “That was you I saw, near Nottingham. You met with the Lestrange brothers. What did they want?”
“Papers,” Draco sighed. “All the papers from the Ministry about them. I couldn’t take the originals out forever, so I copied them.”
“That Monday!” Harry said.
Draco turned to a desk in the room and withdrew some papers in his neat handwriting. “These are the latest ones I have to give to them. But you can’t come when I meet with them. They’ll kill my father. I can’t tell you more than I have.” Draco’s eyes looked desperate.
Quickly, Harry duplicated them and grabbed a set. “I could just - well, I guess not. But I have to get going!”
“Go do your hero thing,” Draco leaned back against the desk.
Apparating from the hallway - not caring if the man across the hall was a Muggle or not - Harry sprinted up the Ministry stairs, breathing hard by the time he reached Kingsley’s office.
“Come in,” Kingsley said, slightly mocking Harry’s speed. “Excuse me, but my secretary did not catch the reason for your visit.”
“I found Lucius Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed.
“That is wonderful, Harry,” Shacklebolt said, tying his cloak around himself. “The paperwork can wait until morning.”
“No, you see, he’s been kidnapped!” Harry said. Throwing the sheets of paper he was holding down, he pointed at them. “The Lestranges have been making Draco copy all the information the Ministry holds about them, and they’re threatening to kill Lucius.”
Kingsley fingered through the sticky paperwork. “Harry, the Avery files are in here.”
“What?”
“This is your report on your last unsuccessful lead on Avery.” Shacklebolt held up the paper. Amid the Lestrange papers, Harry hadn’t noticed.
“Why do they care about that?” Harry wondered out loud.
“You are on both cases,” Kingsley said, removing his cloak and sitting down. “They fear you more than the others. You killed their master and keep catching their trail. They know their time will come if you live long enough.”
“They want…me.” Harry laughed. “Dead, as usual.”
“You find this humorous?” Kingsley asked.
“Actually I do.” Harry shook his head. “Look, if they want to find me alone, let them find me alone.”
“Harry, we’re not going to send you alone against two experienced Death Eaters.”
“Of course not,” Harry said, smiling, “but they don’t need to know that.
Thursday, 19 July 2001
“What you working on, Harry?” Ron said. He leaned in, eating more sweets.
“I have a lead on Avery,” Harry said with a grin.
“No, you don’t!” Ron exclaimed. “I would’ve been told. I am on that case with you, you know.”
“I know.” Harry motioned Ron to come in.
Ron sat down in the chair opposite Harry. “You have a look like you know something, mate,” Ron said, “and it better not have to do with Malfoy. Or anything to do with blokes and blokes together in general. Not my thing.”
Harry sighed. “You think that has anything to do with work? Besides, it’s over.”
“Over?” Ron asked, sounding just a little bit pleased.
“Yeah,” Harry said, sighing. “Turned out he didn’t like me. I was figuring it out, and he thought the Lestranges would suspect him since we were talking, so he just…pretended.”
“Sorry,” Ron said, sounding more sincere. “I’m not into blokes, and I think you could do better than Malfoy if you are, but that’s a harsh thing to do to anyone.”
“It’s a bit harsher for your dad to die,” Harry said, defending Draco. He wasn’t certain why. Even if Draco had been pretending, Harry still liked him. He hadn’t lied, in the end.
“All right, so how did the Lestranges fit into your fake love life?” Ron asked.
“They have Lucius,” Harry said, sighing. “And they want to kill me-”
“How original,” Ron interjected. “Why can’t they want me dead?”
“Are you wishing to have fake-dated Draco Malfoy now?” Harry asked.
“No, no, I am in a very real relationship with Hermione, but we did help. It’d be nice if sometime someone wanted us dead,” Ron pointed out. “Why should you have all the fun?”
“Anyway, this is just some paperwork about me discovering a lead on Avery - that he’s expected to appear in this village on Monday to buy some illegal goods.”
“That’s clever,” Ron said, grinning. “Did Malfoy suggest it?”
“No, but he’s going to copy it for them.”
“How is he going to make sure they get it in time?” Ron asked.
“The git can’t let the Lestranges know we aren’t really dating, so I’m the lucky hero who gets to have his heart smashed twice in a farce,” Harry said, leaving a smudge on the paper.
“You sounded a bit like Malfoy there,” Ron said.
“I don’t think he’s caring much for my heart in this matter,” Harry growled, standing. “Time for a fake lunch date for me!”
He grabbed a couple of sandwiches and the paperwork as he left Ron behind in his office. Everything moved slowly, as if to torture him. The lifts, the waiting for them - he was in molasses. Navigating the world of white and black with caution, Harry rested his charges on Draco’s desk.
“What a pleasant hello,” Draco greeted him sarcastically, again shoving papers into a messy pile to make room for two.
“I hate charades,” Harry said, “so eat your sandwich and make sure they get a copy of the paperwork. Okay?” Perhaps his tone was harsh, but Draco - Malfoy - deserved it.
Draco said nothing after that.
Monday, 23 July 2001
Standing under an archway, Harry watched everyone who went by. He was the ever-watchful Auror, though he moved around more than he usually did while waiting for a target. Slowly moving around to the other side of the square, keeping to the perimeter, Harry brushed his hair down with his hand, so as to cover the scar. If he were too obvious, the Lestranges would flee too soon.
Harry hated waiting. He always hated the waiting. It was so long and boring. Usually, he had a partner with him. Harry knew that other Aurors were around in disguise and more were just out of sight. But they were off limits for recognizing the existence of, much less talking to.
His internal monologue stopped. Two figures had entered the square. They were the right height, and there was a good size to them. They were definitely as strong as the Lestrange brothers had been a few years ago. That old witch was right about them.
Moving to get a closer look, Harry found it unneeded. A flash of green came at him loudly. “Protego!” Harry said, aiming to deflect the spell into the ground. People around him fled, including those that were Aurors. Harry felt the prickles of their spells - which would make it more difficult for him to leave, if he had to.
But he had no time. Ducking behind the fountain, the marble exploded above his head. “Diffindo!” Harry shouted, aiming at one of the men’s legs. The man turned aside, but it hit his arm, drawing blood.
The brothers split up, circling the lone Auror. Harry cast a shield charm at one and a powerful hex at the other. Harry sweated rapidly, adrenalin pumping as he barely stayed alive. They were strong. And they worked together well. Harry backed out of the centre to prevent them from getting too good an angle on him.
Deflection and curses - his mouth only stopped moving when he changed to silent spells. They didn’t hear him curse, and that gave him more time. But the other Aurors!
Harry backed against a wall, and one of the Lestranges was grinning. Harry glared, and the man dangled upside down. But thus engaged, Harry barely ducked another killing curse from the other.
Shouts flooded the scene. Ten Aurors ran into the square, which successfully diverted the attention of the one on his feet. The man growled and ran, as the other swore at him. Harry dropped him to the ground, knocking him unconscious as he ran past. But the other brother was gone.
“Bunch of help you lot were,” Harry grumbled to Ron as they tied up the Lestrange they had.
“We saved your life, mate,” Ron said, grinning.
“And took your bloody time doing so.” Harry was not truly angry any more. He had lived. And his body recovered to the usual timing.
“And you got one!” Ron patted him on the back. “I suppose we ought to thank Snape for making up that spell.”
“I never expected to use it in a duel,” Harry said, laughing. “Much less one against two opponents. But it just came to mind, to really take one out as they were distracted taunting me.”
“What’d they say?”
“I honestly can’t remember.” Harry shrugged. He looked up, where they were beginning to carry off the Lestrange they captured. “Hey, where’re they taking him?”
“We caught one,” the Auror taking the Lestrange brother away said. “He goes back to the Ministry with us now.”
“Not yet.” Harry ran over, Ron following. “We have to question him. Does anyone have Veritaserum on them?” He looked around. One by one they all shook their heads until only Ron was left, standing there looking guilty.
“I wasn’t going to do anything wrong with it,” Ron said, defending himself. “I was just going to make sure you weren’t pulling my leg the whole time about the Malfoy stuff.”
Harry sighed. “If I wanted to lie, I’d have not told you about it yet. Now, can we have it?”
Ron pulled it out of his pocket. Harry pulled out the cork from the vial and opened the unconscious man’s mouth. Pouring the clear liquid in, Harry looked around. “Is the area still secure?”
Kingsley nodded.
“Renneverate!” Harry cast on the bound Death Eater. The other Aurors had their wands out.
The Lestrange pulled at his bonds, like a wild animal.
“What is your name?” Harry asked first, a simple question.
“Rodolphus Lestrange,” the man answered, his eyes glazed over.
“Where have you been staying?” Harry asked. “Where are you keeping Lucius Malfoy?”
The man pulled at the bonds, mouth twitching. But the potion did not allow him to resist. “Barker’s fen,” he answered. “We built a cabin there.”
“How do you get in?” Harry asked.
“Have to be a Lestrange,” the drugged man said, grinning.
“Do the wards protect against Polyjuice?” Harry asked.
“No,” the man replied, unhappy to give it up.
“How do I get there?” Harry asked.
“Apparate next to the water. Cabin will be behind the trees.”
Harry left the man behind, pulling out a hair and looking at Kingsley. “Send someone to get the potion,” Harry said. “I know we have some.”
“You can’t go in alone, Harry,” Shacklebolt objected. “Look what nearly happened here. And Lucius Malfoy will not be able to defend himself.”
“I survived here, and Rabastan is injured,” Harry countered. “And I am not going to let him freak out and kill Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy deserves better. He’s innocent.”
Shacklebolt sighed. “You’re too stubborn.”
Harry shrugged. “I have to be.”
Ron tapped his fingers against a broken chunk of the fountain as they waited. He looked nervous. Harry glanced around at the other Aurors - they all looked nervous as well. “Does no one think I can do this?” he asked, shocked.
“You can,” Ron was quick to reply, “but there is also a chance that Lestrange gets in a lucky hit, and then you’re dead and Lucius is dead, and we can’t do a thing.”
“He won’t get it,” Harry replied, happy to see the nervous Auror bringing over the potion. Grabbing the potion out of the man’s hand, Harry stuck the hair in it and drank the disgusting potion, which had turned a nasty shade of brown.
His body started growing, and Harry thanked his loose robes for not ripping, as he rather liked them. His shoes were too small though. But Rodolphus was nearby to steal shoes and robes from.
Shacklebolt sighed. “What?” Harry asked in a low voice that belonged to Rodolphus Lestrange.
“This is reckless, Harry,” he said. “Even if you get out alive, you cannot guarantee Lucius Malfoy will.”
“He has a better chance of survival if I go,” Harry said, sticking to his guns.
“Perhaps.” Shacklebolt looked up at him, “But are you certain of why you are doing this? If this were any other-”
“There is an innocent person being held captive,” Harry said, in Rodolphus’s low voice. “And I will not leave innocent people to die. I’d go if it were you or Stan Shunpike or anyone else.” He glared and noted how in focus everyone was without glasses on.
Concentrating on where he wanted to go, Harry Apparated. Pop. When he landed, he looked around. He was standing in a few inches of water. Perhaps he had concentrated a little too well. But he stomped out, heading toward the trees, where he felt the magic protecting the cabin before he saw the small wooden structure. Hand-built indeed - the Lestrange brothers were very well trained.
Coming through the door, it was a sorry sight. Blood seeped through a bandage on Rabastan’s left arm. He limped as he walked around a convulsing body on the floor. “Rabastan!” Harry called out.
The younger Lestrange held out his wand, giving Lucius Malfoy a moment’s respite. “They had you,” he snarled.
“I got away,” Harry replied angrily. “No thanks to you.”
“How’d you do it?” Rabastan circled around Lucius to face the man who looked like his brother.
“Potter dropped me to chase you, and I ducked into a door off the plaza. Couldn’t Apparate, due to them bloody Aurors, so I found a way out back. Tried to cause as little noise as possible, and I just got away,” Harry said, speaking the first thing that came to mind.
“Oh yeah?” Rabastan asked. “If that’s so, who reported us to them bloody Aurors at the end of last month?”
“That damn woman has a good memory,” Harry commented, suddenly wishing he had asked her name.
“That damn woman, oh yeah?” Rabastan stepped closer.
“Yeah,” Harry replied. Quickly, he raised his wand. Rabastan looked down. It was not Rodolphus’s wand. “Serpensortia,” Harry said, and a large snake settled on the ground before them. Dodging a hex from Rabastan, Harry whispered in Parseltongue, “Capture him, hurt him, but do not kill him.”
Rabastan grew frantic, backing away from the snake, casting blasting spells, blocking spells, but the snake continued. Harry sent a stunner after him, it was blocked, but the snake bit into the man’s leg. He cried out, barely gripping his wand. Hatred grew in his eyes, and his killing curse hit the snake.
Harry fired another stunner, this one so powerful it broke Rabastan’s shield and sent him crumpled to the floor.
Harry settled down to breathe. Lucius Malfoy looked up at him. He appeared to be in an even worse state than he was in May, three years back. That was something.
Lucius’ eyes barely opened. “Who?” he asked weakly.
“It’s me,” Harry said, realizing he still looked like Rodolphus.
“Draco? How is Draco?” Lucius asked.
Harry gawked, impressed. “He’s…fine,” Harry answered. “He was worried for you, but that was all.”
Lucius made a face that appeared to be an attempt at a smile. “Good -” he nodded his head - “good.”
Tuesday, 24 July 2001
Someone knocked on Harry’s door. Harry had taken the day off work - to recover. And Kingsley had granted it. He resented having to go down the stairs.
“BLOOD TRAITORS. MUDBLOODS. FILTH DESTROYING MY HOUSE-” shouted out behind Harry as he opened the door.
“Narcissa,’ he said gloomily. “Why didn’t you let yourself in this time?”
“I did what I must,” she said tersely. “May I come in?”
Harry sighed and stepped aside, giving no answer. She stepped in and waited for him to close the door. Harry walked past the portrait, which had gone silent upon hearing Narcissa’s name, and into the living room. He said nothing. He was tired. His body hurt. His brain hurt. And his heart hurt.
“I wish to explain to you the situation with Draco,” Narcissa began.
Harry gave her no help.
“He was only worried for his father. That was why he lied to you about having those…feelings. It was to protect Lucius. I am certain you can understand,” she said succinctly.
“Is that all?” Harry asked.
“That, and I would like to thank you for saving my husband’s life,” she added.
“So go ahead,” Harry replied. He didn’t care if he sounded rude. She was rubbing salt into his wound.
“Thank you,” Narcissa said quietly.
“It’s what I do,” Harry muttered under his breath.
After a few moments, she stood and left.
Friday, 27 July 2001
Harry sat at his desk surrounded by paperwork, the mounds growing around him so that he did not have to feel the looks of anyone walking by. The capture had taken only a few hours of activity, but the paperwork was far from finished. But that gave him an excellent excuse to ignore his friends, who were realizing how much Draco Malfoy had hurt him (and only thought worse of the former Slytherin for it), and to forget about the world.
A folded sheet of paper slid into view. His name was written neatly across it.
“I’m busy,” Harry said.
“I would appreciate it if you would read it,” a familiar voice spoke - without any wit or barbs.
Harry glanced up, pushed his glasses up his nose, and stared. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I am bringing you this.” Draco motioned to the paper folded in half. He moved around the desk and sat down, out of Harry’s view.
Harry set down his quill and stared at the paper. After what felt like a long time, he opened it.
Harry,
I have treated you terribly. I lied to you when I said I liked you. And I lied to you again when I said I did not like you. I hadn’t wanted you to figure the puzzle out - I thought my father would die. But, I realized you would work it out. You always do. That is who you are. And I thought if you liked me, you would rush in and potentially get killed. I did not know what would happen to my father then - perhaps he would die. Perhaps he would continue to be held captive.
I could not stand to lose the both of you. I thought if you didn’t like me, or if you were angry with me, you would act differently. But you are Harry Potter, and you did no such thing. You rushed in. And you saved my father’s life. After everything I did to you, you still saved him.
I hate to admit it, but you are a hero. You are not the boy who saved the world to me. You are the man who saved my family. You are the man who saved me. But enough hero worship.
I like you. I like the way you stumble when embarrassed. I like the way you look when I tease you. I like the way you are honest with me.
I broke your trust, but if you decide you can trust me again, will you go out with me? No lies, no secrets.
Yours,
Draco Malfoy
Harry pushed the stacks of papers down and stared, grinning.
“So?” Draco asked nervously.
“Why couldn’t you have just said this before?” Harry asked.
Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Harry grabbed him and pulled him across the desk and papers, spilling a bottle of ink, which destroyed Harry’s work. And they kissed, letter in hand, on a sea of black and white.
-211 points + 21 points for challenge (1/500 y?) = 232 points
-Silyara, Slytherin