When in Venice...(Chap 13)
Title: When in Venice... (Chapter 13)
Beta: None - beta'd version up soon!
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Only the flesh wands are mine - Everything, including copyright is JKs! Lucky bwitch...
Warnings: Slightly Crack!fic, graphic scenes, angst, language, drinking habits, UST, other pairings, original character, hufflepuff bashing, AU I suppose, obsession, voyeurism, torture...and some other stuff.
Summary: Stationed in Venice, Harry is trying hard to stop Death Eaters from smuggling new weaponry back to England. He only wishes his partner would focus more on the case and less on his personal obsession...(Pre-DH)
Chapter Summary: Their first night back in England, Harry is missing Draco
Merry belated Christmas
Chapter Thirteen
“So what did your mum say about us?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “I don’t imagine ever telling my mother that the man who tried to imprison her husband many times is my new shag.”
Harry sulked. “He started it.”
The boardroom had a long mahogany table that seated thirty. Only twenty-five of the seats were filled, for the other twelve members that completed the Venetian sector were in another conference room held for administrative portion of the team. Ron was having Tonks morph into Hermione’s form so that he could endure her absence, but she was unable to pull off a good resemblance. Tonks had impersonated Hermione’s kind features well, but the overall affect was ruined because the sheer volume of Hermione’s hair defeated her.
They had all been given the morning to visit friends and family before heading to the ministry for briefing on the country’s situation. Harry had spent the morning having Mrs Weasley shove sausages down his throat and asking where his nice girlfriend, Justine, was. Malfoy had apparently spent the morning not talking about Harry.
“You failed.” This statement was Head Auror Shacklebolt’s first words as he stood at the head of the table. “Too late did this revelation about the effects of tea on Nifflers occur! You were all given carte blancs to achieve whatever end possible to stop the smuggling of the Flesh Wands, and instead I have the return on the Dark Lord’s army back on our shores, armed to the hilt! I know you all filled out reports but I am too busy to read them now. Tell me who is responsible for this oversight of knowledge!” Every single finger, including Harry’s, went to Draco. Shacklebolt, a man who had spent many months in the company of this particular Malfoy, sighed. “Hmm. Naturally.”
Draco smiled winningly and took another sip of the tea that had been provided. It tasted like irony.
Kingsley flicked his wand and the pile of folders flew about the room. Harry opened the file that settled in front of him and gritted his teeth. Looking to his left, Draco had turned a paler shade and tilted his chin up as he glared down at the pictures.
The mangled bodies and cold dead eyes looked up from the paper, demanding to know why Harry, their saviour had failed. Why the half the auror squad had failed them. Why they had failed their mission.
“Elphias Doge, retired elder of the Wizengamot, and his children and grandchildren were all murdered on the twenty second of August. They were found in the family home north of London, the message ‘day of reckoning’ written above their bodies.” Informed Shaklebolt. He turned the page of his own folder. Everyone copied and Draco made a noise in the back of his throat.
Turning to the next photo, Harry looked upon the picture of a young girl. Naked and no older than fourteen, her legs splayed and her grey skin peppered with lacerations.
“Daughter of Tiberius Ogden. Her father came home and found her body and…” he held up a photo to the rest of the boardroom. “promptly hung himself. Mrs Ogden took over his position on the wizengamot in early September, but was found dead in her office a fortnight later. Turn over to the next page.”
Harry didn’t want to turn over the next page, but reluctantly did so and was relieved to find a list instead. Names. A list of names, beside each name was a title of that person’s job title.
“This is the record of suspicious deaths since August.” Stated Shaklebolt. Harry felt sick. The list was long. “The Dark Lord is targeting the most influential members of society, knocking off the most powerful members of the Ministry more quickly than we can find people to replace them. News coverage has ensued mass panic and public morale is at an all time low.” Kingsley shifted and cast an eye around the room as Shaklebolt spoke. “We’ve been trying to locate the Dark Lord’s headquarters, but he is comfortably under fidelius. Our only choice is to wait for the next attack to capture and gain intelligence from prisoners.”
“So…what are we going to do in the meantime? I’m not planning to be a quill pusher until something interesting comes along.” Draco said, his cup of bitter irony pushed away from him. A drop of tea had spilled onto the picture of Elizabeth Ogden’s raped corpse.
Shaklebolt smiled cruelly. “Oh don’t worry Mr Malfoy. You wont be staying here.”
**
On the table in the small library, there was a large pile of newspapers. Harry had spent the first hour of their arrival going through the pile and reviewing the ‘mass panic’ that Shaklebolt had spoken of. He had been very surprised to see that it was not only copies of The Prophet, but also the Daily Mail, Evening Standard, London Lite and other Muggle newspapers, which were littered with theories and suspicious on the numerous unexplained cases of murders ranging throughout London.
‘The Death-Glare Murderer’ was an uninventive pseudonym in Harry’s opinion, but when he had to explain the alias to Draco, all he got was a blank stare. “Why not just call it the AK-Killer?” asked Draco. Harry spent the next twenty minutes explaining that guns didn’t shoot beams of green light like wands and that the victims had no bullet wounds.
Muggles, muggleborns, blood traitors, spies, high society, low society, impoverished and empowered. Looking at the full case reports, Harry could see no common demographic between the victims of the death eater attacks. The only common element, as perceived by the Muggles, was that each victim showed no physically reasons for their deaths. Bruised and beaten, but never to the point of expiration.
Sick of staring at pictures of dead bodies, Harry got up from the table in the library and stretched his fingers heavenwards. A lower vertebrae cracked pleasantly, easing his stiff form as he rose to the window. The safe house overlooked the columns of St Paul’s Church, rain splattering the stone monument, making it a darker shade that seemed to fit Harry’s heavy heart; sunny Venice seemed a long way away from the blurry streets of Covent Garden.
“It’s almost ten. Go to bed, Potter.”
Harry nodded, and turned towards the door. He glimpsed at the pictures one more time before following Draco upstairs.
**
Harry had to ask. He had sat patiently, watching the blonde, and finally curiosity had got the better of him. “Where on earth did you find them?” asked Harry.
“Under the bed.” Draco gestured to the bed Harry was sitting on. It was a single bed and plainly decorated, unlike the one in Venice, and belonged to some previous anonymous tenant of the building. The only thing that was not anonymous about the former owner of the room was that apparently he was a voyeur.
“But why are you using them?” Harry persisted.
Draco shrugged, the binoculars still pressed to his eyes. “Considering there is a murderer on the loose, you’d think the Muggles would tone down the nightlife a little.”
The way that Draco was trying to get the binoculars to zoom like omnioculars, Harry suspected that Draco had discovered the Muggle outfits of the clubbers. His eyebrows were bobbing up and down around the lenses as he tried to gain focus.
“What do Muggles do in nightclubs?” asked Draco, still looking out the window.
“Erm…drink. Dance.”
“Have you been to one of these clubs? Have you ever worn…corseted leather trousers?”
“The only time I have worn leather is when you made me.” Stated Harry. He pulled a bare thread from the quilt. Draco swung around a blinked down the lenses of the binoculars, then grinned.
“You look good in leather. You should make it part of your uniform when you become a superhero.”
“Superhero?” asked Harry, smirking. Draco finally put the binoculars down, red pressure rings circled his eyes and Harry wanted to throw him on the chipped floor and get splinters in his knees.
“Yes, superhero. You have already saved the world like twenty times over, and this time, when we get rid of the Dark Lord -”
“Voldemort.”
“- again, then you will be dubbed as not just a hero, but a superhero. A hero only saves anyone once.”
The thread came off and Harry wound it round his index finger tightly. “Do you think I am going to save everyone this time? You are the one who came up with the thing about the tea, it could be you. We could be heroes together.”
Draco seemed to ponder this idea, and then stood up. He placed the binoculars down on the chair and moved over to the bed, stepping over his suitcase that was still unpacked and emitting a strangled chirping noise.
“I think I would not like to be a hero.” Draco stood with his knees against the mattress and grabbed Harry’s hand. He unwound the string from Harry’s purple finger, then pulled the hand higher to lick a stripe down the centre of Harry’s palm. It tingled. “If I were a hero, then I would have to find myself a princess, and unfortunately, you are way too masculine to wear a dress.”
“Being a hero doesn’t mean you have to be straight.” Stated Harry. He could recall the letters from Daily Prophet readers, all telling him the contrary last year.
“I know…” Draco smirked and bit into Harry’s hand, his sharp teeth sunk into the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. “But you have to admit, you tend to pick men who could pull off a skirt.”
Harry was about to ask if Draco would demonstrate wearing a skirt, and what colour would the skirt be, when someone knocked at the door.
“What?” Snapped Harry.
There was a moment of silence while the person outside the door tried to figure out if they had come to the right room. “Err…Dinner.” Giggled Tonks. Draco smirked and nudged his knee against the mattress, making Harry wobble.
As Draco walked to the door to greet an amused Tonks, Harry briefly wished his hand was made of mash potato so that Draco would come back for another nibble. Then he decided that was crazy because Draco didn’t even like mash potato. Tea would be a much better option, even though liquid-hands would be very impractical. Plastic gloves only hold so much water, after all.
“C’mon, hero.” Draco patted his leg seam in the same way posh people beckoned a dog, and Harry smugly reminded himself that he was richer than Draco.
**
Harry had a little red spot that had blossomed between his thumb and finger. His first love bite at the grand age of twenty-three. Justin had been staring at the blemish whilst stabbing his chicken to death, and Draco had been shovelling his chicken into his mouth at grotesque speeds because he thought Justin was trying to engage him in some sort of competition. Harry took no notice of either of them as he looked at the love bite with a funny sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach, a bit like love only much naughtier. Being in lust with someone always left marks, Harry had thought. Now in the middle of the night, trying to see his lust bite in the darkness, Harry thought himself to be a closet romantic.
Honestly, how could bite marks ever be considered romantic? Thought Harry. He stuffed his hand firmly under his pillow and pinned it below his head. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.
Think nothing. Think nothing…think nothing…my hand itches…maybe he gave me rabies? I should go ask him if a dog has bitten him, or if Jessica was really a werewolf or - THINK NOTHING! How the hell is thinking about dogs thinking about nothing. Fuck sakes! Right, start again. Think nothing…be Zen…think nothing…
Harry huffed and pulled his hand out from under the pillow. He held it up to the neon glow coming from the window and tried to make out his lust bite. It was too dim.
Harry flung the covers back and hastily rummaged around at the end of the bed for some boxers and his wand. He was still pulling them over his hips as he stormed out the door to go to Draco’s room.
**
Harry knocked on the door again. “Get up, you lazy bastard. It is cold out here!” hissed Harry through the wood.
Who the hell was asleep at three in the morning?! Harry knocked again and waited. No one answered.
Folding his arms across his chest, Harry frowned at the door. Why wasn’t Draco answering? And why wasn’t Justin or Tonks storming out of their rooms, because yes, some people did sleep at three in the morning, and demand to know what all the ruckus was about? Harry’s frown deepened, then he cursed his own brain when he suddenly came up with the thought, what if Draco has invited them for the threesome?
He hates Justin! Harry thought, trying to consol himself.
He hates you, so what? Replied his brain.
Tonks is a girl.
She has powers, she could use them to morph into an ultra sexy boy. Like Tom Riddle.
Harry blinked. Eww. Scrubbing behind his glasses, he tried to rub away images of sexy Slytherins, for there was only one Slytherin for Harry and his one was blonde, goddamn it.
Harry decided that if he had seen Draco naked then there was no need to be waiting out in the corridor, and with that, he pulled out his wand from his elasticised waistband and spelled open the door.
Inside it looked as though Draco had battled with his suitcase. Franken-bird was hopping about madly among the spewed clothes, and the lid of the suitcase was no longer attached to the base, as though the owner had pulled the zipper too far round. The bed was still made and the binoculars were placed on the chair by the window in a lonely, haphazard fashion.
Thoughts of a blonde threesome ran through Harry’s head again, but this time happening in Justin’s room. Harry clenched his teeth and went across the room to the window. If Draco had succumb to Justin’s charms and Tonk’s morphing flexibility, then Harry had little chance of winning him back. He was not blonde after all, and dying his hair that colour was not an option because he’d glamoured it like that once before. Draco had told him that only pretty people could pull off being the colour of the sun.
Harry sighed and turned his hand over in the light coming from the streets below, where Muggles frolicked and partied mockingly in the face of the Death-Glare killer. The lust bite was still there. Harry stared at it for a while as he wondered where in the world Draco was. And as he stared, his gaze became unfocused a little due to tiredness. His eyelids felt heavy.
Shaking his head, Harry tried to discipline his pupils, and found himself focusing beyond his hand to the street below where a platinum blonde figure in illegally tight leather trousers was making his way through the crowd of Muggles. “Draco!” cried Harry, hitting the window. Draco didn’t hear, but instead ducked into the nearest doorway and spoke to the bouncer. The velvet rope was moved and as quick as a bat of his blonde eyelashes, Draco slipped inside the club.
Harry scowled and pounded his fist against the window again. While sneaking off to go clubbing was better than having a threesome with co-workers, Harry felt insulted that his…whatever Draco was, had not invited him along.
Glaring at the club below that had tempted his partner out of the safety of the house, Harry noticed another person in the crowd with blond hair.
Fuck. Lucius.
**
TBC