Chapter Five of 'The Auror Method'- Goblin Magic
Chapter Four.
Title: The Auror Method (5/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco (mostly pre-slash), mentions of past Draco/others
Warnings: Manipulation, slight angst, slight violence
Rating: R
Summary: Draco has constructed the perfect cover for his activities as a con-man specializing in thefts from a distance: Draco Malfoy, the redeemed Death Eater and Recluse of Malfoy Manor. But now there’s evidence that some people are onto him, and as a consequence of the death threats issued to him, he gets an assigned Auror guard. Maybe Harry Potter, their leader, could be a problem when it comes to Draco’s latest con. Although how could he, when he’s getting all distracted by Draco’s fluttering eyelashes?
Author’s Notes: This is a mostly humorous story that will probably be between twelve and fifteen chapters.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Five-Goblin Magic
“No one in the Ministry seems to know where Greengrass-Rosier has gone.” Potter leaned against the table in the dining room where Draco and Mytherian were eating, with a frown inscribed on his face. Mytherian seemed to have decided to ignore Potter in favor of the Prophet. If Potter cared, Draco couldn’t tell it from his face, body, or voice. “Not even people I thought were his friends.”
“Would his friends speak to you?” Mytherian muttered without lifting his eyes from the paper.
Potter acted as if he didn’t hear that, and maybe he didn’t. Draco had noticed that before, the intense concentration Potter could have for things that concerned him most, like the Snitch, to the point where he wasn’t distracted by the roars of the crowd in the stands. “So we’re back to square one.” He squinted at Draco. “You wouldn’t still have that letter Greengrass-Rosier wrote to you talking about that proposed crime?”
“I burned it,” said Draco, and shrank a little. “I never-I never would have thought it was important.”
“And yet when he gets threats later, he never thinks of it,” whispered Mytherian.
“I thought you probably would have,” said Potter. He touched the side of his right eye as though it burned from lack of sleep. Draco thought it probably did. Spending so long on his feet had to be murder on Potter. “Oh, well. We have to go on the evidence that we do have, for now. I’ll do double duty tonight.”
Draco opened his mouth to ask what double duty meant, but Mytherian inadvertently answered him with his next hiss. “Thinks he’s too good to work with me.”
Potter spun around, reached across the table, and snatched the Prophet from Mytherian, which left him wringing his hands. Draco had to admit to watching open-mouthed as Potter tore the paper across, into confetti, and tossed the confetti up into the air, smiling with a wide and unblinking focus on Mytherian the whole time.
“There,” said Potter. “Maybe now you’ll pay attention to what the hell I’m saying.”
“I already heard what you’re saying,” said Mytherian, and his eyes were ugly and relentless. “That you don’t trust me, and we don’t have a lead on this case because Malfoy stupidly burned it. So what do you want me to do about it?”
“Back me up.” Potter took a long step around the table. “The way that Auror partners are supposed to do.”
“We’re working on this case together,” said Mytherian, folding his arms and tilting his chair back from the table with one long leg. Draco wondered at his insouciance for a second, and then saw the way the position brought Mytherian’s hand low enough to brush his wand. He probably thought he would have to defend himself against Potter any second. “That doesn’t make us partners the way you were with Weasley.”
Were? That was another part of gossip that Draco hadn’t heard about.
“It means that I expect you to accept my decisions as lead Auror,” said Potter, voice lowering into a growl. “And defer to-”
“You’re not the fucking Head Auror!” Mytherian had bolted to his feet. He had his wand out now, but Draco didn’t even have to look around to know that Potter’s wand would already be out to match it. Maybe Mytherian knew how suicidal it would be to press the attack, although so far that hadn’t stopped him, and he didn’t do it. He stood there and flung mere words at Potter as if they were as deadly as spells. “We’re supposed to be working together. To listen to you is just a suggestion. And it wouldn’t even be a suggestion if you didn’t exaggerate the results that you get from cases in an effort to be a darling of the papers!”
“You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” Potter breathed. He had shifted his stance so that he was capable of springing in a number of different directions. A master of that same tactic himself, Draco appreciated it without liking it much, since it meant that Potter might be more of a threat even than he had anticipated. “I don’t exaggerate it. I downplay it, if anything-”
“No one would believe that who had listened to the way you brag.” Mytherian’s bitterness filled the room in an overwhelming tide.
“You’re an idiot,” said Potter, but without heat. His face was red, and he couldn’t meet Mytherian’s eyes. That made Draco blink. Were some of those accusations hitting home? Maybe they weren’t real, but Potter had such a sensitive conscience, and Mytherian might play on it without meaning to.
“Yes, a true and dignified lead Auror on a case would call his partners that,” said Mytherian.
Potter opened his mouth, probably to point out that Mytherian had just said they weren’t partners, but Mytherian turned and ran away from the dining room, down the corridor that led towards the outer wards. Potter cursed softly and dropped heavily into the chair beside Mytherian’s abandoned ones, leaning his forehead against his wrists.
Draco sat still, enthralled. He had known that Mytherian despised Potter, but he had thought Mytherian wanted praise for being a good Auror more than he wanted to defy Potter. He had no idea what would happen next.
Potter finally sighed and lifted his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, his voice thick. “It wasn’t professional.”
But it was entertaining, which is much better. Draco felt sorry for Potter, living in a world with such different priorities that wouldn’t let him believe that.
Potter swiveled around in the chair to face him, eyes a little desperate. “Is there anything I can do to make up for that?” he asked. “To reassure you that you’re safe with me around, in spite of what I just did?” He tried to smile, then seemed to realize it was a pathetic effort and abandoned it. “Anything at all.”
Draco seized the chance. He thought that he might not have the chance to exploit the tension between Mytherian and Potter after all; they were going to destroy themselves before he had anything to do with it. But one of his other plans needed a push. He bowed his head and looked at the table. “Kiss me?” he whispered.
Potter went so still that Draco thought for a moment he hadn’t heard Draco and was listening for more, but then he said, “You can’t want that. It’s not professional, either.”
“I saw the way you handled Greengrass-Rosier,” said Draco, and folded his hands on the table in front of him. “I don’t have any worries about the way you can fight. You don’t need to reassure me of that.”
“But what would kissing you gain you?”
That gave Draco an important clue about how Potter thought of him. As someone who only values people in a purely utilitarian way. Well, far be it from me to disabuse him of that notion in reality.
But Draco let his eyes fill with tears, something he had become good at doing during the war, when the Dark Lord liked to see a bit of sniveling. He looked away from Potter. “It wouldn’t gain me anything,” he whispered. “It would give me something I wanted. It would-never mind.” He let his head hang, and rose to his feet.
Potter jumped up to stop him, reaching out with one light hand. No one, Draco thought, feeling that hand settle on his shoulder, would have thought there was such strength in it unless they’d seen Potter fight. “It’s just that I was unprofessional now, with Mytherian, and kissing you would also be unprofessional. Do you see? I don’t want to do something that would endanger you.”
Draco shook his head. “I’m not that other person you slept with. I’m not asking you to sleep with me.” Good thing I learned to lie with a straight face. “I just want a kiss.”
Potter closed his eyes. “I couldn’t do that. It would go against everything I am.”
Draco sniffled and reached for his cane. “Then I reckon that line about being willing to do everything you could to make up for it was a lie,” he mumbled against his arm. “Thanks anyway.” He started to shove away from the table.
And then Potter was there, his eyes gleaming with a wild decision, and Draco held still as Potter reached out and took his jaw and carefully raised his face. A second later, he was kissing Draco hard enough to hurt.
Draco reeled back and clutched the table with one hand to sustain himself. It was what anyone would expect of him, when he was being kissed with that much passion and that much intensity. He couldn’t help it. It was the way things were.
Potter didn’t put his tongue in Draco’s mouth, unfortunately, but Draco could get a sense of the way he tasted from his lips, and it was wonderful. The heat, the panting breath raking his face, and the wetness of Potter’s jaw as he pulled back and stared at Draco were enough.
For now. Draco was fairly sure he would want this in the future, and the only way he wouldn’t get it was if he needed to maintain his distance from Potter for some reason.
For right now, he didn’t need to do that. He let his fingers move along Potter’s jaw, and his eyes and smile widen in appreciation. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“I don’t know if you should be thanking me.” Potter had already removed his hands, and stood over to the side, looking distressed. Of course he did, Draco thought, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. A Gryffindor always would. “I did that for you, not because-because it was professional or a good idea or anything like that.”
“I know that,” said Draco, and spent a moment looking at his hands. “But you still did it for me, because I asked, and for that, I have to thank you.”
He turned away and limped with some dignity towards the door of the room, conscious that Potter was still watching him. “Are you going to try and make peace with Mytherian?” he added over his shoulder.
“I have to.” Potter sounded weary. “I have to, unless I want to ask for someone else to come and replace him, and that-wouldn’t look good.”
No, would it? Draco thought, as he opened the door. You’ve sent away two people already, and now a third? Leaving me with one Auror where four were supposed to protect me? That wouldn’t look good at all.
He was starting to suspect that the reports from his spy network of Potter’s inefficiency and incompetence hadn’t been lies after all. They had merely emphasized the wrong things. Potter had problems working with other Aurors, but not all of those were his fault. And he wasn’t incompetent, but he might look that way if you were only studying the results of his cases and had no other gauge.
“I’m so sorry,” Potter was saying, coming up behind Draco. “I just-I’ll do what I have to. I’ll make up with Mytherian, and-”
A bright, consuming pain stabbed up Draco’s hand, making him cry out and shake it. It was a flare like white fire in the center of his palm, eating the skin, burning him, cutting into his fingers and up towards his arm.
Potter yelled something. Draco was in no mood to listen to. He drew his wand and stabbed it again and again at his hand, trying to cast a spell that would ease the pain. It seemed impossible. The flames were steadily wreathing his arm, and each moment that passed, they hurt more. Draco had no idea what this was, no idea how to counter it.
He knew he had dropped his wand, but he couldn’t really care. The pain was so intense. He leaned his head against Potter and sobbed. Potter had hold of his hand, but if Draco didn’t know the countercurse or charm for a spell this Dark, then he thought it unlikely Potter would-
And then the pain disappeared. Draco raised his head, blinking, and stared at his hand. There were strong cracks in the skin of his palm, trickling roast-red liquid that didn’t look like normal blood, but Potter’s wand traced the length of them, and they began to close and vanish. Draco started to shut his hand into a fist, but Potter shook his head and took out a length of soft silk.
“Best to clean it off like this,” he explained, and swirled the silk gently over the center of Draco’s palm. “It can cause damage if you put it in contact with uncontaminated skin.”
Draco shivered, and stared, and didn’t have to work fear into his voice to whisper, “What the hell was that?”
Potter hesitated, as if he thought that Draco would give up the question. Draco turned his head and stared at him commandingly. He thought that was okay. Even his persona would be angered and troubled at a moment such as this, and he would certainly want to know what the spell was. If Potter knew how to fight it, then he must know what had caused it.
“It’s goblin magic,” Potter finally said.
Draco shook his head, in a daze. “I thought the goblins paid wizards to protect their treasure.” That was certainly what Jared had told him, he thought. Draco had wanted to know the names of the spells on the vaults, and that was what Jared had given him. He hadn’t acted as if the request was strange, the way he might if it wasn’t spells at all but something else that guarded the Galleons. And none of the spells he had named were unfamiliar to Draco, the way this was.
Potter sighed. “We don’t know much about it. It can be cast from a distance, without a wand. The goblin has to have something of the target’s, but not hair or blood. It has to be knowledge. That’s not much of a problem for the goblins, since so many wizards have detailed vault information on file with Gringotts. They can reach across the miles between them, and only rare wards can defeat them.” He glanced at Draco with narrowed eyes. “What did you do to anger the goblins?”
“Nothing,” Draco whispered, and shook his head. “I was deprived of so much of my wealth after the war…do you think I would want to anger the people who still guard the greatest part of it?” He shivered and bowed his head. “Maybe Greengrass-Rosier was going to propose robbing Gringotts. I think it would be like his arrogance.”
Behind the façade, of course, his mind was racing, but there was no need to show Potter that. If goblin magic could reach out from a distance, past wards, that also explained how the owl had found him-although not why they had relied on an exploding scroll instead of something like this from the beginning. And that meant someone knew of his little talks with Jared, and maybe his plans.
No, wait. The countdown makes sense, now. They want to keep my money and me as a client. They were warning me to back off, and trying to use less lethal traps until they became sure I wouldn’t. Only then did they use lethal magic.
Draco had no doubt that particular goblin spell would have killed him. Which meant that he owed his life to Potter, again, after years of doing so. He sighed and shook his head.
“What is it? Have you thought of some reason?”
Potter’s voice sounded more penetrating than it had so far. Well, he might think that Draco was lying to him. Draco raised his head and let his limpid eyes and clear face do the work for him. Potter’s tone softened.
“The goblins do sometimes hire out to wizards who want to eliminate their enemies through them, although mostly that’s rogues, not goblins that work for Gringotts.” Potter rubbed gently at Draco’s hand, the way he had yesterday when they were sitting in the library. “We know where those rogues are; the law-abiding goblins help us keep track of them. We could go right now and start investigating them, with good cause, if you’ll tell me why you think that they want to harm you.”
But Draco wasn’t about to yield now. Not only did he stand to get some important amounts of money and magical artifacts out of Gringotts if he succeeded, he stood to get some payment from the goblins themselves, since he would take money from his own vault. And his name in the papers, and a good deal of sympathy, and more people who would realize the truth and want to trade with him contacting him. No way that he was going to tell Potter the truth, even when invited.
Even though his eyes were beautiful.
“I think you have to question Greengrass-Rosier,” Draco whispered, and shifted fretfully. His hand looked almost normal again, but he still remembered the incredible pain. “He’s the only one who could tell you what he was planning. I can’t tell you. I don’t know anything.”
Potter continued to regard him for a few minutes, intently enough that Draco wondered if he suspected the truth and would try threats next. But then he sighed, shook his head, and stepped back. “I hope you realize that the only one you’re hurting is yourself, if you keep something secret.”
Draco sniffled a little and looked up at him. “And I’m not hurting you? You don’t like me?”
Potter’s face went through a few complicated changes. Then he said, as if he was trying to get the message of those expressions across aloud, “It’s complex,” and gave Draco a weak smile. “Shall we go and find Mytherian? Maybe my negotiation with him will go better if you’re there and he hears about the goblin spell.”
No, you just have a miracle means of alienating other Aurors and you’re hoping that I can help you persuade him back around, Draco thought. He was coming to understand Potter far better than he had thought he would-or than would be required-both his strengths and weaknesses.
But once again, what his real self would do and what his persona would do diverged. He gave Potter a tremulous smile and gathered up his hand. “Yes. I’ll come with you.”
Sometimes, he did wish that he had chosen a different life, and the moment when Potter smiled at him with relief was one of those moments.
But then he thought, again, of what he stood to gain. And the moment, like all moments similar to it, passed.
Chapter Six.
This entry was originally posted at http://lomonaaeren.dreamwidth.org/676176.html. Comment wherever you like.