Friendly Advice; Gift for the Community!
Title: Friendly Advice
Author: vaysh11
Betas: liriaen and jamie2109
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: domestic violence, dubious morals
Length: ca. 6,000 words
Summary: When called to St. Mungo's in a case of suspected domestic violence, the last person Auror Harry Potter expected to see was a badly beaten-up Astoria Malfoy.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe - all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. They are used with love and respect for her original creations. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: My gratitude goes to my wonderful betas, whose invaluable help made this story so much better. Thank you, mods, for organising this wonderful fest with enviable patience and cool.
Friendly Advice
The woman's eyes seemed to be a gentle purple-veined blue, like some exotic breed of violets, perhaps, that did not take easily to the British soil. But their colour was hard to tell, with the swollen lids and the bleeding cut in her brow.
Beside Harry, Torwell gasped in shock, which had to be a first. The Auror was notorious for never showing emotions on a case. But it almost physically hurt to look at the damaged face, lip split painfully wide, clumps of dried blood clotted around the small nose, cheekbones red with fresh bruises, the imprints of her attacker's knuckles still visible on the pale skin.
But even more of a mystery than the beaten-up witch -- clearly from a rich, pure-blood family with her expensive wizarding clothes and the healer's fluttering attention -- was the presence of Narcissa Malfoy in the room. Impeccably dressed in dark blue robes, she stood beside the bed that the woman sat upon, one gloved hand reassuringly on her shoulder.
"Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, and she nodded and stepped away from the bed. Torwell got herself a chair to sit beside the witch, then started asking the routine questions. The woman answered in a voice too low for Harry to hear, but Torwell was good at this. His job was with Narcissa Malfoy.
"A friend?" he asked.
All four women in the room turned to him. Torwell squinted, but immediately continued with her questions. The healer stared a few seconds longer, then looked away.
"My daughter-in-law, Auror Potter," Mrs Malfoy said, voice perfectly composed and only the slightest reproach in her eyes. "Astoria Malfoy. I'm quite certain you've met. At the Minister's Yule Ball, perhaps?"
Harry remembered a slender, smiling beauty in a silver-white dress, dancing in Draco's arms. It was hard to discern that porcelain-puppet face underneath the battered features of the witch in front of him. He cleared his throat. Of course he should have recognised Draco's wife, but he'd banished her from his mind as fast as possible. Most days, Harry didn't think of Draco as a married man.
"Could you tell me what happened, Mrs Malfoy?"
Torwell's questions came faster and louder. Clearly not happy with the answers she was getting, she even put a hand on the woman's arm. Not Torwell's style at all; she was always talk, never touch. When St. Mungo's called the Aurors because of suspected domestic violence, Harry had chosen Torwell specifically to accompany him, for her level head. Eyes on her, in case he needed to intervene, Harry reminded himself to not jump to conclusions. Someone had beaten up Astoria Malfoy, violently, the injuries visible, for all to see. If this had happened within the walls of Malfoy Manor, it could only have been Lucius. Harry had never quite forgiven the man for what he had done to Ginny. And Harry still woke up sometimes, feeling Lucius Malfoy's wand jabbing into his ribs as Sirius fell slowly through a ragged, fluttering veil. But what could possibly have happened that made Lucius Malfoy hit his daughter-in-law like this? Bastard that he was, Lucius had always behaved like a gentleman. Astoria seemed a perfect wife for his son, from a pure-blood family, but without any affiliation to Voldemort's Dark cause in the war. Draco could count himself lucky to have found someone like her. They had a son Albus' age, if Harry remembered correctly. So what had gone wrong?
"She was attacked by a stranger."
"What?" Harry turned to face Narcissa Malfoy, his disbelief showing clearly in his voice. He could practically see Torwell roll her eyes. Quite different from her, Harry was not known for keeping a level head in emotional cases.
"She was attacked by a stranger," Mrs Malfoy repeated, "when we were shopping."
Torwell stood up and shrugged. "She says the same thing."
"Have you seen this stranger before? A man, I assume?"
"No, we were --"
"I didn't see him very well," Astoria interrupted, talking very quietly, as if she hadn't heard her mother-in-law starting to speak. "He was between thirty and forty, a wizard."
"Hair colour? Anything particular you noted about his clothing?" Torwell must have asked all of that already, but they needed to get the victim to contradict herself. No way was Harry accepting this blatant lie to cover up for whatever had happened at Malfoy Manor.
Astoria turned her head a bit, moving her lips slowly as if even that slight movement hurt. "Brown hair, as I've already told Miss Torwell here. He was wearing Muggle clothes, a blue jacket, a pair of light trousers. Sand, I think, the colour is called." Her words were slightly slurred from the split in her upper lip. "And there was an emblem on the jacket. From a school, I assume."
They had her well prepared. Harry'd bet his wand that this stranger really existed. Someone Astoria had seen in London, on the street or maybe in a store. But never -- and Harry would eat his wand if he was wrong -- had that man attacked her. He looked over to Torwell again, who kept her face blatantly non-committal. Harry knew she didn't believe one word the two Malfoy women were saying, either.
"Do you have any idea why this man, this stranger, would attack you so viciously, Mrs Malfoy?" he asked.
Absently Astoria stroked her forearms. The bright light in the room reflected off her wedding ring.
"Mrs Malfoy?" Harry stepped closer, trying to get her to look at him. Behind him, Narcissa took an audible breath but said nothing.
"Astoria?" Harry asked quietly.
She raised her head but he could make out nothing in her bruised and swollen face, not fear, not shame. What had Lucius told her to make her clam up so tightly? Without an accusation, they had nothing in their hands to haul him in for questioning.
"He called me a ... bitch," Astoria mumbled. "A pure-blood bitch." The slits of her eyes were closed, and underneath the bruises Harry could detect the pink of a blush.
So there was some truth in what she'd said just now -- but what was lie and what had the attacker really said? Harry exchanged another look with Torwell who shrugged.
"Were there any witnesses of the attack?" he asked.
Astoria shook her head with a tired sigh.
"No one? You were shopping. If this happened in a public place, there must have been people around." He turned to Narcissa, who'd moved back closer to the bed. "Did you see him?"
Both women shook their heads, then Narcissa started, "We had split --"
"I was looking for a present for my husband," Astoria said, again interrupting her mother-in-law. "It's Draco's birthday today. I was on my own when the man attacked me. He pushed me into an alley. Shoved me against the wall. It hurt. There was nobody around. I was all alone." An edge of exasperation crept into her voice, making the slur more pronounced. She sounded younger and desperate, defeated somehow. As if she was at her wits' end. Harry wondered where the despair came from. It seemed older, something that had nothing to do with the bruises in her face.
Narcissa put her hand back on Astoria's shoulder. "We had separated to visit different stores when it happened," she said as some kind of explanation.
"I was buying a present for my husband. It's his birthday, you know." Repeating what she'd just said, Astoria sounded even more like a petulant child. Narcissa pursed her lips, but kept quiet.
The fifth of June. Right. Harry'd heard rumours of a grand birthday party at the Fortress tonight.
"Has your son been informed, Mrs Malfoy?
For a moment, Narcissa stared at him with startled eyes. Had she been that pale just minutes ago, when Harry'd talked to her? She cleared her throat, quietly, almost elegantly. Harry could see so much of Draco in her.
"He's waiting outside."
"He is?" Harry hadn't seen anybody when they had arrived. He quickly stepped to the door and glanced up and down the corridor. At the other end he caught a glimpse of bright blond hair.
Torwell came up beside him, ostensibly searching the corridor as well. With a look at the women in the room, she whispered, "They're lying, both of them. The husband did it, is my guess. The wounds are too severe for an Episkey, that's why they brought her in. And they've concocted this sack of lies to keep the bastard's name spotless."
Harry looked towards the shadowy figure standing still at the end of the corridor. The husband was the first suspect in any domestic violence case. But Draco would never touch his wife. Not to beat her up; not to make love to her. It had to have been Lucius. "You know we can't do anything if the victim doesn't identify her attacker."
Torwell shrugged tensely. "Do you need help with Mister Malfoy there?" She pointed her chin towards the corridor.
"I know the family, Torwell," Harry said.
"I'm aware of that, Sir."
He was Torwell's senior officer, but it had been years since she'd called him Sir. Harry put his hand on her arm. "Let me talk to him before we decide anything."
*
Smoke was curling before the window -- grey wisps met the light of the setting sun, slanting onto the stone floor of St. Mungo's. Harry could make out the man' shadow, leaning against the wall, before he saw the smoker himself.
Draco turned towards him, a wild look in his eyes. Harry firmly clutched his wand that he'd drawn by instinct; you never knew what Draco Malfoy was up to. Harry took a quiet breath, trying to relax his features, trying to look less like an Auror. The red robes were lending him authority enough. Draco was a witness, perhaps a suspect, if Torwell was right. Harry was here to find out what had happened to Draco's wife. Nothing more.
Then Draco stepped into the dying light -- a move that took Harry entirely by surprise. Perhaps he meant to meet Harry face to face, perhaps he wanted the window to illuminate him from behind as a means of defence. Really, you never knew with him. Harry could see him clearly now, and he wasn't prepared for it, never was, for Draco's haughty beauty, so undeniable queer in his every gesture and feature, down to the blond arch of his brows. It left Harry breathless still, after months of ogling Draco's perfect arse like all the other blokes in the Fortress.
Cigarette in hand, Draco held both arms out towards Harry. He had his shirtsleeves pushed up like he always did, and not only in summer. The faded Dark Mark was clearly visible on his left wrist. There was an odd sense of pride in the display. As if everybody, and not just Draco Malfoy, had reason to not forget the war. Not once had Draco allowed him to touch the Mark. And Harry had been touching most every other part of Draco's body.
"Cast the Incarcerous, Potter. Let's get this over with."
If Harry hadn't known him so well, he wouldn't have noticed the faint tremor in Draco's voice. But the shaking cigarette between his fingers was a dead give-away. Draco was nervous and afraid.
"We're still trying to establish what happened." Against his better judgement Harry put his wand away. But he couldn't bear standing here with his wand drawn when Draco was offering to be arrested without a fight. "What happened?"
"What happened?" Draco scoffed. It wasn't a nice sound. "Didn't you see her? I beat my wife to a bloody pulp."
Idiots, all of them, the entire family. "Haven't you done enough arse-covering for your old man, Malfoy?"
Draco dropped his arms. "Arse-covering?" It would have been funny: Harry's oddly revealing choice of words, entirely unprofessional, and Draco echoing them in that incredulous, shaky voice. But one look into his wide eyes told Harry that Lucius Malfoy had nothing to do with this. Which meant that Torwell had been right to --
"Auror Potter, a word. Please."
They both spun around towards Narcissa Malfoy who had come up quietly, without either of them noticing.
"Stay out of this, Mother." Draco stepped so quickly in front of Narcissa, Harry had hardly seen him move. The cigarette was gone, with a just a hint of smoke left in the air.
Narcissa Malfoy was a tall woman, with Draco barely an inch taller. Their hair was exactly the same shade of blond, glinting silvery in the light of St. Mungo's magical globes. Neither said a word, but Harry felt the mounting tension between them. It was a struggle of wills, Narcissa fighting, as always, for her son, but this time Draco himself was fighting back at her.
Torwell was watching from the door. Harry nodded towards her, indicating that he had everything under control. He was willing to give Draco and his mother a few more minutes, to finish their wordless argument and come to some kind of agreement. It didn't look likely to happen soon, judging from their stony faces and tight lips. But Harry had learned that the Malfoys did things differently than he'd expect. As if on cue, Narcissa Malfoy raised her gloved hand and gently brushed a strand of hair out of Draco's face.
"Don't hurt her more than you already did," she said, then turned and walked back to the room.
*
The cigarette was back between Draco's fingers. Harry caught his hand and moved his thumb over the knuckles that were red and slightly bruised. These were the knuckles of someone who had recently made forceful contact with something hard. You wouldn't think cheekbones could offer that much resistance. Evidence, Harry thought as he kept brushing over the hurt knuckles and the soft dips between them. Draco didn't stop him, not even when the ash of the cigarette got too long, turning grey and cold at the tip.
"What are you going to do, Auror Potter?"
And that was it. With one forceful shove, Harry had Draco against the wall. The echo of his body slamming into the bricks rang along the corridor. Still, Harry felt he'd gone easy on him. Perhaps Draco felt the same because he didn't resist. Harry wished he would. He wanted to punch Draco in the face, just so he'd feel for himself what he'd done to the woman in the room.
"Don't count on any special favours from me, Malfoy." They were so close Harry could smell the woodsy clove in Draco's breath. Kretek, the cigarettes directly imported from Indonesia. He knew far too much about the man, his favourite smokes even.
"Who said I fucking want your bloody favours?" Draco hissed. He was trembling beneath Harry's hands. "Let go off me, Potter. Damn it!"
With a sharp jerk Draco pushed him away, and Harry stumbled but caught himself. The cigarette in Draco's hand was gleaming in the shadows. He brought it to his mouth, took a deep drag and exhaled slowly. Harry shivered at the sight of those pink lips. Draco's face was veiled in thin smoke. He'd often seen him like this, smoking in the alley behind the Fortress and three or four times in a bed they'd shared for the night. Cautiously he put his hand on Draco's hip, and Draco let him and leaned into it like he always did, with no weight at all, just a small shift towards Harry's palm.
"Why did you do this to her?" Harry whispered. He couldn't arrest Draco. Not for this, not for anything. He would call back Torwell and likely ruin their friendship forever. Somehow he'd deal with the aftermath in the Department. It would be messy, objectionable business. Domestic violence was not taken lightly among the Aurors, and favouritism of any kind was heavily frowned upon. A voice in the back of Harry's head, a voice that sounded very much like Kingsley's baritone, wondered loudly whether Draco Malfoy was worth all that. It was not something Harry wondered about, but he needed to know what had happened.
"It's my birthday today." Draco's gaze followed the smoke that vanished in the shadows of the high ceiling.
"Happy birthday, then. So what?"
Draco turned towards Harry, eyes bright with an unfamiliar emotion. Shame, was Harry's guess, for he hadn't seen Draco ashamed, not ever. But there was more.
"She," more a hiss than word, "wanted to make it special." Draco balled one hand into a fist. "I don't want special from her."
"God, Malfoy, a birthday cake and a peck on the cheek. It can't be that hard." Everybody knew the marriage was arranged, just like everybody knew that Malfoy was gay. For all practical purposes, the Fortress was his second home. Once Prince of Slytherin House, now the darling of wizarding London's gay scene. From what Harry'd heard, it had taken Draco not a month after returning from France to rise to notorious fame in the darkrooms of the Club. Beautiful, accommodating wife, a healthy son, heir to the Malfoy name, and a dance card that was longer than the Queen's official dinner list.
"A peck on the ... You have no bloody idea, do you, Potter?" Draco moved away, fast and with an air of disappointment. Harry let him go, watched him lean against the wall and smoke. From the corner of his eye he could see Torwell still standing in the door.
"Idea of what?" he asked louder than he needed, to make Torwell realise he was still questioning Draco.
"What did Astoria tell you?"
"She says she's been attacked by a stranger."
Draco hadn't known, Harry was certain of it. You didn't deliberately freeze and stare like this until your cigarette burned your skin. Or maybe some people did, even Draco at other times, but not now, in this corridor, gone so pale Harry for a second thought he might pass out.
"Careful with the fag," he muttered, and Draco blinked and flipped the cigarette away. It landed on St. Mungo's floor, where Draco ground it out under the heel of his polished shoe. That had been deliberate, a gesture to buy himself time. A gesture too, that told Harry Draco had made up his mind about something. No matter how casual the sex, no matter how distant Draco kept himself, Harry had learned some things about the way Draco's body betrayed his feelings.
"She came into my bedroom when I was getting ready for the Club. She knew I was going. I'm not sure I told her, but we've been married for four years now and I've never spent the night of my birthday in the Manor." He didn't look at Harry, just stared at the opposite wall. "She's been at me all day, about celebrating with the family. About Scorpius needing to have me spend my birthday at home. We had the cake and the unwrapping of the presents in the afternoon. I've had Scorpius all morning while Astoria was shopping with Mother. I take this family seriously, Potter. But the nights are mine." He looked at Harry, making sure he understood. And Harry did. He'd lived this double life for too many years himself; he knew all about being torn between responsibility towards one's family and towards oneself. It was something he and Draco shared, even if they never talked about it. Harry wanted to believe it meant something to Draco, meant something more than all those other blokes he fucked in the Fortress' darkrooms.
"What happened when she came into your bedroom?" All Auror, asking the right questions. Harry concentrated on the little things, the suspect's body language, the non-verbal clues he was giving away.
"We ..." Draco swallowed. Now they were getting to the hard stuff. "We, well, we don't share a bedroom, obviously. Astoria has her own suite of rooms. She never comes into mine. I've made it very clear that I don't want her there."
Harry nodded, thinking of Ginny and himself, sleeping in the same bed for so many years. They'd been close, in a physical way, long after they stopped having sex.
"She was all made-up, wore some flimsy set of robes." Draco swallowed again, biting his lips. "She hadn't given me a gift yet. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. That she was up to something. But, damn it, I didn't. I was about to leave. I wanted to be out of there. Merlin, I needed --" He stopped, searched the opposite wall again for that elusive spot to hold on to with his eyes. Harry thought he knew what Draco meant, that he'd needed to escape, needed to be himself. Harry had felt like this so often, until he couldn't live the lie anymore.
"She came on to me, Potter, wearing some ridiculous negligee outfit underneath the robes. A gift for you, she said, and that every man liked a woman dressed like this. We haven't had --" He shrugged in that lop-sided way he always did when a gesture was easier than words. "I don't know what she was thinking."
"I thought you had an arrangement. Your wife must know --"
"Of course she does! Salazar, do you think I'd marry a woman who didn't know?" Draco was getting loud, the strain showing in the way his fingers clenched.
"Easy, Draco. I'm just trying to understand what happened." For the report. In case this goes to trial, Harry didn't add. Draco took a deep breath, visibly trying to get himself under control. He knew what Harry wasn't saying.
Quieter, he continued, "I fucked her for a year or so, until she was pregnant with Scorpius. I haven't touched her since." He turned to Harry, grey eyes wide and imploring. "I know you don't approve, Potter, but this is the pure-blood way. There needs to be an heir. Of my blood, of my family's blood. It doesn't mean I like it, but I had no other choice."
"I understand that." And Harry did, or at least he understood how so much of Draco's life had been determined by choices that were not his own. "What about your wife?"
"She ... she just won't leave me alone. That I got it up for her apparently is proof enough that I'm not really gay. Did you not know, Potter, that I'm just using my sexuality to get back at my father, for the things he made me do during the war? If not for that I'd be a perfectly heterosexual male." Draco spoke with pursed lips, chin raised a fraction, nose tilted a bit to the left, voice pitched in perfect imitation of those posh society witches who had loved Harry when he'd been a bachelor and given him nothing but snotty looks since the divorce. He had never taken Astoria Malfoy for one of them.
"So she came into your room and was trying to seduce you?" Establishing hard facts.
Draco shrugged again. "She's always saying shit like that," he whispered, exasperation clear on his face. And something else, a bone-deep tiredness. It reminded Harry of the defeat in Astoria's voice.
"She loves you," he said before he could think, his Gryffindor nature getting the best of him. But he knew he was right. She loves you. She wants you.
Draco closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. A yes, then. And just looking at him, with the last orange rays of the sun on his face, his throat exposed and smooth and pale, Harry knew it could be him in Astoria's shoes. He rarely admitted to himself how much of his life revolved around Draco Malfoy, about getting close to him, about being with him, if just for another night. He reached out and touched Draco's throat; couldn't help himself. Couldn't help feeling pleased at the startled shiver that was running through Draco's body, couldn't help the sense of exhilaration that it was him who could do that to Draco. His bulging erection was the least of it. He loved Draco, and Draco knew, had always known since that first blowjob in the Fortress.
When Draco opened his eyes, Harry took his hand away. Draco looked at him like he sometimes did after sex; softly imploring him to do something, but Harry didn't know what.
"She came into my room, and we got into a huge fight. She's knows me well enough to push all of my buttons. This is not an excuse, I know, I don't mean it like that. Just -- she said those things again and -- and I lost it." Draco spoke haltingly, but clearly. Like he'd thought about what he was going to say, how he was going to explain.
"Do you remember how long you beat her?" A standard question. Domestic violence was less about motives, all about facts. How hard, how long, how dangerous to life and limb of the victim?
Draco blinked, obviously trying to remember. "A couple of minutes, perhaps. Astoria was ... she was screaming. Father came in and pulled me away." And there it was again, that unfamiliar emotion now in Draco's voice that trembled harder than ever. Shame.
"Your father stopped you? Not your mother?"
Draco shook his head. "My father's rooms are right beside mine. Mother was down in the living room."
"Where is he?"
For the first time tonight, Draco looked furious. "Merlin, what do you think? He's at the Manor with Scorpius. Give it up, Potter. My father has nothing to do with it. I told you what happened."
"All right, all right." Anger rose in Harry, matching Draco's. He hadn't asked for this shit. What did Draco expect him to do? "I need someone to officially report this. And your wife and your mother tell a different story. So what do you want me to do?"
"Let me talk to them." Draco pushed himself away from the wall.
"No way. My partner won't let you near your wife. It's common procedure." Harry moved his head towards the door, where Torwell was still standing, watching them. Draco seemed to become aware of the second Auror only now.
"I thought Weasley was your partner," he said offhandedly.
"Not for a domestics call. One of the Aurors needs to be female."
Draco nodded. "All right then." He started to walk towards Torwell. "I'll talk to my mother. That is allowed, isn't it?" He stopped, waiting for Harry to answer.
"It won't do any good, Draco. She's got her story all figured out. With Astoria corroborating what she says, she's already got the healer convinced. Not Torwell, but law enforcement officers cannot bring a domestic violence case to trial."
Draco stared at him for a long moment. "So what does that mean? You're going to let me go? Just like that?"
"We'll be giving you some friendly advice to not get caught red-handed again. That is all." Harry shrugged. It was wrong to feel like this, but there was none of the frustration he'd felt in similar cases. This was about Draco, and for once he was glad to have his hands bound by the limitations of wizarding law.
Draco stepped closer to Harry. The back of his hand was pressed against his mouth, stifling a sob. Harry could see relief sweep through his body, sheer, utter relief that nothing would come of this. Nothing official, at least. Harry had an inkling that it was far from over for Draco. Narcissa Malfoy had a way to deal with those who threatened her family.
But Harry was getting light-headed from Draco being close, allowing him to see him in a moment of such weakness. It might not mean anything. Draco might be too wrapped up in what he'd done and what it meant for his family to even register that Harry was not only his lover but also an Auror, one of the best. But then, Draco never forgot such things. Harry had learned that in pure-blood society there was no difference between the façade and the reality behind it. Every word, every gesture was calculated for effect, but it was also truly meant and truly felt. A contradiction that made the few times, when Draco had opened up to him all the more precious. Draco beating the shit out of his wife who loved him, Astoria ending up in St. Mungo's to have her face pieced back together by the healers -- there was protocol to be followed when reality and façade collapsed like this. Narcissa Malfoy was a master of protocol. And Draco, Harry understood as much, had followed her lead after the war, no longer his father's.
Harry must have made a noise, for Draco touched his arm. "I am not like this," he whispered. "You know me better than that."
And Harry did know Draco, who had made the Fortress his world, going down on his knees before Muggles and wizards alike to blow them. Draco, who had been so gentle with him, when they had fucked for the first time. If Harry'd had any doubts about Draco's sexual preference, that night at Claridge's would have dispelled them once and for all. Draco had touched him like Harry had never been touched before -- awed by the smothering of hair on Harry's chest, the muscles in his arms and thighs, so keenly aroused just from wrapping his fingers around Harry's balls. It had been Harry's first time to have a cock up his arse, and Draco had pulled him through the awkwardness and pain, without once making fun of him. Harry would remember forever the blue shadows of the hotel suite, Draco's slick fingers preparing him, and then his cock pushing into him slowly, waiting patiently for Harry to get used to the burning stretch, for his body to relax. Harry had come harder than ever, soaking the sheets with his spunk. He'd felt so unbelievably close to Draco that night.
Harry wanted to kiss Draco, to ease the tension away and smoothen the hard lines around his eyes. Then he remembered Torwell, who had to still be watching, and he pulled back, quickly squeezing Draco's hand before he let go.
A child's eager voice could be heard from the other end of the corridor. Draco turned around. Lucius Malfoy was standing there, tall and sombre in his black robes. At his side was a small boy, blond hair so like his father's. He was giggling and looking back towards the staircase. Then he discovered Draco and called out loudly with his high voice, "Daddy, Daddy," pulling at Lucius Malfoy's hand.
"Draco," Harry said. Torwell had noticed the newly arrived family members and was motioning for him to come over. "One word of friendly advice."
Draco watched Scorpius who had broken free and was stumbling towards them. "What? Not to get caught red-handed? I won't ever hit her again, I swear."
Not something Harry would bet his wand on. He'd heard such promises before. "Get a divorce, Draco. Times are changing, even for pure-blood society. You have your heir. Why make both of your lives miserable?"
"Get a divorce like you, you mean?" Draco's eyes were still on Scorpius who had stopped his stumbling run, distracted by Torwell's red Auror robes and her flashing badge. "I've read the articles in the Prophet. There was a picture of you and your little girl, all in tears. Crying for her mummy, the article said. Do you think I want that?"
The bloody picture! "God, Malfoy, you know the Prophet. That picture was taken after Lily scraped her knee on the pavement. I should have sued them for printing lies like that. Lily and the boys are happy, much happier than before. Don't tell me you believe all the shit Skeeter is writing?" He was getting angry again, at the Prophet, at the greedy lawyers, at Ginny's parents who still hadn't come to accept that the divorce was the best for all of them.
Draco looked at him curiously. Harry's fury had always seemed to attract him, like he thought Harry was hiding something behind his anger, something only he could see. But if he did see something, then Harry didn't know what it was.
"You are Harry Potter," Draco said with an air of finality, as if Harry's name explained anything.
"And you are Draco Malfoy. What's the big deal?"
"You can get away with anything, Potter. I can't." He touched Harry's arm again, quickly and gently, and Harry wondered whether those words were meant for them, too, whatever they were when they slept with each other.
"Daddy, Daddy, there's a woman who's an Auror! Did you see her?" The little boy was holding on to Draco's leg, jumping up and down excitedly. "I want to be an Auror, too. Can I?" He glanced at Harry and became shy all of a sudden, trying to hide behind his father.
Draco crouched down to Scorpius. "Yes, I saw her. And you can become an Auror if you want to. But first you need to grow up a little bit." He pulled the boy towards him and picked him up. Scorpius laughed, then hid his face in Draco's neck, as if he was embarrassed to have made such a loud noise.
Lucius Malfoy had come closer and stood just out of hearing distance, obviously waiting to have a word with his son.
"Happy birthday, Daddy," Scorpius sing-songed in an almost-whisper, "happy birthday, happy birthday."
Draco's eyes were shining too brightly when he looked at Harry.
"Get a divorce, Draco. I promise, you won't lose this." Harry was speaking softly, surprised at the urgency in his voice. He wondered whether Draco thought he was jealous. But he wasn't. He was getting all Draco could give him, married to Astoria or not. He knew that. Still, he repeated, low and insistent, "Get a divorce."
Lucius was still waiting a couple of yards away, watching them with cold eyes that betrayed nothing about how he felt about his son's actions.
"I can't." Draco shook his head and now Harry saw the tears running down his cheeks. "I can't."
He turned abruptly and walked towards his father, with Scorpius' little fingers stroking his hair.
*
Harry leaned against the closed door with Torwell at his side. They were watching three generations of Malfoys; the room was sparkling from all the blond. Narcissa talked softly to Scorpius in her lap, telling him a fairy tale, from the sounds of bits and pieces floating over to the door.
The healer had finished casting the last spells on Astoria's brow and was applying a salve. Pale like a ghost, Draco stood beside his wife, his hand lying lightly on her shoulder. Astoria had not once looked at him, but she hadn't moved away, either.
"I'll be watching him. And you." Torwell had her arms crossed in front of her chest, the Auror badge glinting through her fists. Her voice was low, showing none of the threat of her words. But Harry knew she'd never forgive him.
"I want you to watch," he said. "But you won't find anything."
Harry would make sure of it.
The End
Author: vaysh11
Betas: liriaen and jamie2109
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: domestic violence, dubious morals
Length: ca. 6,000 words
Summary: When called to St. Mungo's in a case of suspected domestic violence, the last person Auror Harry Potter expected to see was a badly beaten-up Astoria Malfoy.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe - all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. They are used with love and respect for her original creations. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: My gratitude goes to my wonderful betas, whose invaluable help made this story so much better. Thank you, mods, for organising this wonderful fest with enviable patience and cool.
Friendly Advice
The woman's eyes seemed to be a gentle purple-veined blue, like some exotic breed of violets, perhaps, that did not take easily to the British soil. But their colour was hard to tell, with the swollen lids and the bleeding cut in her brow.
Beside Harry, Torwell gasped in shock, which had to be a first. The Auror was notorious for never showing emotions on a case. But it almost physically hurt to look at the damaged face, lip split painfully wide, clumps of dried blood clotted around the small nose, cheekbones red with fresh bruises, the imprints of her attacker's knuckles still visible on the pale skin.
But even more of a mystery than the beaten-up witch -- clearly from a rich, pure-blood family with her expensive wizarding clothes and the healer's fluttering attention -- was the presence of Narcissa Malfoy in the room. Impeccably dressed in dark blue robes, she stood beside the bed that the woman sat upon, one gloved hand reassuringly on her shoulder.
"Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, and she nodded and stepped away from the bed. Torwell got herself a chair to sit beside the witch, then started asking the routine questions. The woman answered in a voice too low for Harry to hear, but Torwell was good at this. His job was with Narcissa Malfoy.
"A friend?" he asked.
All four women in the room turned to him. Torwell squinted, but immediately continued with her questions. The healer stared a few seconds longer, then looked away.
"My daughter-in-law, Auror Potter," Mrs Malfoy said, voice perfectly composed and only the slightest reproach in her eyes. "Astoria Malfoy. I'm quite certain you've met. At the Minister's Yule Ball, perhaps?"
Harry remembered a slender, smiling beauty in a silver-white dress, dancing in Draco's arms. It was hard to discern that porcelain-puppet face underneath the battered features of the witch in front of him. He cleared his throat. Of course he should have recognised Draco's wife, but he'd banished her from his mind as fast as possible. Most days, Harry didn't think of Draco as a married man.
"Could you tell me what happened, Mrs Malfoy?"
Torwell's questions came faster and louder. Clearly not happy with the answers she was getting, she even put a hand on the woman's arm. Not Torwell's style at all; she was always talk, never touch. When St. Mungo's called the Aurors because of suspected domestic violence, Harry had chosen Torwell specifically to accompany him, for her level head. Eyes on her, in case he needed to intervene, Harry reminded himself to not jump to conclusions. Someone had beaten up Astoria Malfoy, violently, the injuries visible, for all to see. If this had happened within the walls of Malfoy Manor, it could only have been Lucius. Harry had never quite forgiven the man for what he had done to Ginny. And Harry still woke up sometimes, feeling Lucius Malfoy's wand jabbing into his ribs as Sirius fell slowly through a ragged, fluttering veil. But what could possibly have happened that made Lucius Malfoy hit his daughter-in-law like this? Bastard that he was, Lucius had always behaved like a gentleman. Astoria seemed a perfect wife for his son, from a pure-blood family, but without any affiliation to Voldemort's Dark cause in the war. Draco could count himself lucky to have found someone like her. They had a son Albus' age, if Harry remembered correctly. So what had gone wrong?
"She was attacked by a stranger."
"What?" Harry turned to face Narcissa Malfoy, his disbelief showing clearly in his voice. He could practically see Torwell roll her eyes. Quite different from her, Harry was not known for keeping a level head in emotional cases.
"She was attacked by a stranger," Mrs Malfoy repeated, "when we were shopping."
Torwell stood up and shrugged. "She says the same thing."
"Have you seen this stranger before? A man, I assume?"
"No, we were --"
"I didn't see him very well," Astoria interrupted, talking very quietly, as if she hadn't heard her mother-in-law starting to speak. "He was between thirty and forty, a wizard."
"Hair colour? Anything particular you noted about his clothing?" Torwell must have asked all of that already, but they needed to get the victim to contradict herself. No way was Harry accepting this blatant lie to cover up for whatever had happened at Malfoy Manor.
Astoria turned her head a bit, moving her lips slowly as if even that slight movement hurt. "Brown hair, as I've already told Miss Torwell here. He was wearing Muggle clothes, a blue jacket, a pair of light trousers. Sand, I think, the colour is called." Her words were slightly slurred from the split in her upper lip. "And there was an emblem on the jacket. From a school, I assume."
They had her well prepared. Harry'd bet his wand that this stranger really existed. Someone Astoria had seen in London, on the street or maybe in a store. But never -- and Harry would eat his wand if he was wrong -- had that man attacked her. He looked over to Torwell again, who kept her face blatantly non-committal. Harry knew she didn't believe one word the two Malfoy women were saying, either.
"Do you have any idea why this man, this stranger, would attack you so viciously, Mrs Malfoy?" he asked.
Absently Astoria stroked her forearms. The bright light in the room reflected off her wedding ring.
"Mrs Malfoy?" Harry stepped closer, trying to get her to look at him. Behind him, Narcissa took an audible breath but said nothing.
"Astoria?" Harry asked quietly.
She raised her head but he could make out nothing in her bruised and swollen face, not fear, not shame. What had Lucius told her to make her clam up so tightly? Without an accusation, they had nothing in their hands to haul him in for questioning.
"He called me a ... bitch," Astoria mumbled. "A pure-blood bitch." The slits of her eyes were closed, and underneath the bruises Harry could detect the pink of a blush.
So there was some truth in what she'd said just now -- but what was lie and what had the attacker really said? Harry exchanged another look with Torwell who shrugged.
"Were there any witnesses of the attack?" he asked.
Astoria shook her head with a tired sigh.
"No one? You were shopping. If this happened in a public place, there must have been people around." He turned to Narcissa, who'd moved back closer to the bed. "Did you see him?"
Both women shook their heads, then Narcissa started, "We had split --"
"I was looking for a present for my husband," Astoria said, again interrupting her mother-in-law. "It's Draco's birthday today. I was on my own when the man attacked me. He pushed me into an alley. Shoved me against the wall. It hurt. There was nobody around. I was all alone." An edge of exasperation crept into her voice, making the slur more pronounced. She sounded younger and desperate, defeated somehow. As if she was at her wits' end. Harry wondered where the despair came from. It seemed older, something that had nothing to do with the bruises in her face.
Narcissa put her hand back on Astoria's shoulder. "We had separated to visit different stores when it happened," she said as some kind of explanation.
"I was buying a present for my husband. It's his birthday, you know." Repeating what she'd just said, Astoria sounded even more like a petulant child. Narcissa pursed her lips, but kept quiet.
The fifth of June. Right. Harry'd heard rumours of a grand birthday party at the Fortress tonight.
"Has your son been informed, Mrs Malfoy?
For a moment, Narcissa stared at him with startled eyes. Had she been that pale just minutes ago, when Harry'd talked to her? She cleared her throat, quietly, almost elegantly. Harry could see so much of Draco in her.
"He's waiting outside."
"He is?" Harry hadn't seen anybody when they had arrived. He quickly stepped to the door and glanced up and down the corridor. At the other end he caught a glimpse of bright blond hair.
Torwell came up beside him, ostensibly searching the corridor as well. With a look at the women in the room, she whispered, "They're lying, both of them. The husband did it, is my guess. The wounds are too severe for an Episkey, that's why they brought her in. And they've concocted this sack of lies to keep the bastard's name spotless."
Harry looked towards the shadowy figure standing still at the end of the corridor. The husband was the first suspect in any domestic violence case. But Draco would never touch his wife. Not to beat her up; not to make love to her. It had to have been Lucius. "You know we can't do anything if the victim doesn't identify her attacker."
Torwell shrugged tensely. "Do you need help with Mister Malfoy there?" She pointed her chin towards the corridor.
"I know the family, Torwell," Harry said.
"I'm aware of that, Sir."
He was Torwell's senior officer, but it had been years since she'd called him Sir. Harry put his hand on her arm. "Let me talk to him before we decide anything."
*
Smoke was curling before the window -- grey wisps met the light of the setting sun, slanting onto the stone floor of St. Mungo's. Harry could make out the man' shadow, leaning against the wall, before he saw the smoker himself.
Draco turned towards him, a wild look in his eyes. Harry firmly clutched his wand that he'd drawn by instinct; you never knew what Draco Malfoy was up to. Harry took a quiet breath, trying to relax his features, trying to look less like an Auror. The red robes were lending him authority enough. Draco was a witness, perhaps a suspect, if Torwell was right. Harry was here to find out what had happened to Draco's wife. Nothing more.
Then Draco stepped into the dying light -- a move that took Harry entirely by surprise. Perhaps he meant to meet Harry face to face, perhaps he wanted the window to illuminate him from behind as a means of defence. Really, you never knew with him. Harry could see him clearly now, and he wasn't prepared for it, never was, for Draco's haughty beauty, so undeniable queer in his every gesture and feature, down to the blond arch of his brows. It left Harry breathless still, after months of ogling Draco's perfect arse like all the other blokes in the Fortress.
Cigarette in hand, Draco held both arms out towards Harry. He had his shirtsleeves pushed up like he always did, and not only in summer. The faded Dark Mark was clearly visible on his left wrist. There was an odd sense of pride in the display. As if everybody, and not just Draco Malfoy, had reason to not forget the war. Not once had Draco allowed him to touch the Mark. And Harry had been touching most every other part of Draco's body.
"Cast the Incarcerous, Potter. Let's get this over with."
If Harry hadn't known him so well, he wouldn't have noticed the faint tremor in Draco's voice. But the shaking cigarette between his fingers was a dead give-away. Draco was nervous and afraid.
"We're still trying to establish what happened." Against his better judgement Harry put his wand away. But he couldn't bear standing here with his wand drawn when Draco was offering to be arrested without a fight. "What happened?"
"What happened?" Draco scoffed. It wasn't a nice sound. "Didn't you see her? I beat my wife to a bloody pulp."
Idiots, all of them, the entire family. "Haven't you done enough arse-covering for your old man, Malfoy?"
Draco dropped his arms. "Arse-covering?" It would have been funny: Harry's oddly revealing choice of words, entirely unprofessional, and Draco echoing them in that incredulous, shaky voice. But one look into his wide eyes told Harry that Lucius Malfoy had nothing to do with this. Which meant that Torwell had been right to --
"Auror Potter, a word. Please."
They both spun around towards Narcissa Malfoy who had come up quietly, without either of them noticing.
"Stay out of this, Mother." Draco stepped so quickly in front of Narcissa, Harry had hardly seen him move. The cigarette was gone, with a just a hint of smoke left in the air.
Narcissa Malfoy was a tall woman, with Draco barely an inch taller. Their hair was exactly the same shade of blond, glinting silvery in the light of St. Mungo's magical globes. Neither said a word, but Harry felt the mounting tension between them. It was a struggle of wills, Narcissa fighting, as always, for her son, but this time Draco himself was fighting back at her.
Torwell was watching from the door. Harry nodded towards her, indicating that he had everything under control. He was willing to give Draco and his mother a few more minutes, to finish their wordless argument and come to some kind of agreement. It didn't look likely to happen soon, judging from their stony faces and tight lips. But Harry had learned that the Malfoys did things differently than he'd expect. As if on cue, Narcissa Malfoy raised her gloved hand and gently brushed a strand of hair out of Draco's face.
"Don't hurt her more than you already did," she said, then turned and walked back to the room.
*
The cigarette was back between Draco's fingers. Harry caught his hand and moved his thumb over the knuckles that were red and slightly bruised. These were the knuckles of someone who had recently made forceful contact with something hard. You wouldn't think cheekbones could offer that much resistance. Evidence, Harry thought as he kept brushing over the hurt knuckles and the soft dips between them. Draco didn't stop him, not even when the ash of the cigarette got too long, turning grey and cold at the tip.
"What are you going to do, Auror Potter?"
And that was it. With one forceful shove, Harry had Draco against the wall. The echo of his body slamming into the bricks rang along the corridor. Still, Harry felt he'd gone easy on him. Perhaps Draco felt the same because he didn't resist. Harry wished he would. He wanted to punch Draco in the face, just so he'd feel for himself what he'd done to the woman in the room.
"Don't count on any special favours from me, Malfoy." They were so close Harry could smell the woodsy clove in Draco's breath. Kretek, the cigarettes directly imported from Indonesia. He knew far too much about the man, his favourite smokes even.
"Who said I fucking want your bloody favours?" Draco hissed. He was trembling beneath Harry's hands. "Let go off me, Potter. Damn it!"
With a sharp jerk Draco pushed him away, and Harry stumbled but caught himself. The cigarette in Draco's hand was gleaming in the shadows. He brought it to his mouth, took a deep drag and exhaled slowly. Harry shivered at the sight of those pink lips. Draco's face was veiled in thin smoke. He'd often seen him like this, smoking in the alley behind the Fortress and three or four times in a bed they'd shared for the night. Cautiously he put his hand on Draco's hip, and Draco let him and leaned into it like he always did, with no weight at all, just a small shift towards Harry's palm.
"Why did you do this to her?" Harry whispered. He couldn't arrest Draco. Not for this, not for anything. He would call back Torwell and likely ruin their friendship forever. Somehow he'd deal with the aftermath in the Department. It would be messy, objectionable business. Domestic violence was not taken lightly among the Aurors, and favouritism of any kind was heavily frowned upon. A voice in the back of Harry's head, a voice that sounded very much like Kingsley's baritone, wondered loudly whether Draco Malfoy was worth all that. It was not something Harry wondered about, but he needed to know what had happened.
"It's my birthday today." Draco's gaze followed the smoke that vanished in the shadows of the high ceiling.
"Happy birthday, then. So what?"
Draco turned towards Harry, eyes bright with an unfamiliar emotion. Shame, was Harry's guess, for he hadn't seen Draco ashamed, not ever. But there was more.
"She," more a hiss than word, "wanted to make it special." Draco balled one hand into a fist. "I don't want special from her."
"God, Malfoy, a birthday cake and a peck on the cheek. It can't be that hard." Everybody knew the marriage was arranged, just like everybody knew that Malfoy was gay. For all practical purposes, the Fortress was his second home. Once Prince of Slytherin House, now the darling of wizarding London's gay scene. From what Harry'd heard, it had taken Draco not a month after returning from France to rise to notorious fame in the darkrooms of the Club. Beautiful, accommodating wife, a healthy son, heir to the Malfoy name, and a dance card that was longer than the Queen's official dinner list.
"A peck on the ... You have no bloody idea, do you, Potter?" Draco moved away, fast and with an air of disappointment. Harry let him go, watched him lean against the wall and smoke. From the corner of his eye he could see Torwell still standing in the door.
"Idea of what?" he asked louder than he needed, to make Torwell realise he was still questioning Draco.
"What did Astoria tell you?"
"She says she's been attacked by a stranger."
Draco hadn't known, Harry was certain of it. You didn't deliberately freeze and stare like this until your cigarette burned your skin. Or maybe some people did, even Draco at other times, but not now, in this corridor, gone so pale Harry for a second thought he might pass out.
"Careful with the fag," he muttered, and Draco blinked and flipped the cigarette away. It landed on St. Mungo's floor, where Draco ground it out under the heel of his polished shoe. That had been deliberate, a gesture to buy himself time. A gesture too, that told Harry Draco had made up his mind about something. No matter how casual the sex, no matter how distant Draco kept himself, Harry had learned some things about the way Draco's body betrayed his feelings.
"She came into my bedroom when I was getting ready for the Club. She knew I was going. I'm not sure I told her, but we've been married for four years now and I've never spent the night of my birthday in the Manor." He didn't look at Harry, just stared at the opposite wall. "She's been at me all day, about celebrating with the family. About Scorpius needing to have me spend my birthday at home. We had the cake and the unwrapping of the presents in the afternoon. I've had Scorpius all morning while Astoria was shopping with Mother. I take this family seriously, Potter. But the nights are mine." He looked at Harry, making sure he understood. And Harry did. He'd lived this double life for too many years himself; he knew all about being torn between responsibility towards one's family and towards oneself. It was something he and Draco shared, even if they never talked about it. Harry wanted to believe it meant something to Draco, meant something more than all those other blokes he fucked in the Fortress' darkrooms.
"What happened when she came into your bedroom?" All Auror, asking the right questions. Harry concentrated on the little things, the suspect's body language, the non-verbal clues he was giving away.
"We ..." Draco swallowed. Now they were getting to the hard stuff. "We, well, we don't share a bedroom, obviously. Astoria has her own suite of rooms. She never comes into mine. I've made it very clear that I don't want her there."
Harry nodded, thinking of Ginny and himself, sleeping in the same bed for so many years. They'd been close, in a physical way, long after they stopped having sex.
"She was all made-up, wore some flimsy set of robes." Draco swallowed again, biting his lips. "She hadn't given me a gift yet. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. That she was up to something. But, damn it, I didn't. I was about to leave. I wanted to be out of there. Merlin, I needed --" He stopped, searched the opposite wall again for that elusive spot to hold on to with his eyes. Harry thought he knew what Draco meant, that he'd needed to escape, needed to be himself. Harry had felt like this so often, until he couldn't live the lie anymore.
"She came on to me, Potter, wearing some ridiculous negligee outfit underneath the robes. A gift for you, she said, and that every man liked a woman dressed like this. We haven't had --" He shrugged in that lop-sided way he always did when a gesture was easier than words. "I don't know what she was thinking."
"I thought you had an arrangement. Your wife must know --"
"Of course she does! Salazar, do you think I'd marry a woman who didn't know?" Draco was getting loud, the strain showing in the way his fingers clenched.
"Easy, Draco. I'm just trying to understand what happened." For the report. In case this goes to trial, Harry didn't add. Draco took a deep breath, visibly trying to get himself under control. He knew what Harry wasn't saying.
Quieter, he continued, "I fucked her for a year or so, until she was pregnant with Scorpius. I haven't touched her since." He turned to Harry, grey eyes wide and imploring. "I know you don't approve, Potter, but this is the pure-blood way. There needs to be an heir. Of my blood, of my family's blood. It doesn't mean I like it, but I had no other choice."
"I understand that." And Harry did, or at least he understood how so much of Draco's life had been determined by choices that were not his own. "What about your wife?"
"She ... she just won't leave me alone. That I got it up for her apparently is proof enough that I'm not really gay. Did you not know, Potter, that I'm just using my sexuality to get back at my father, for the things he made me do during the war? If not for that I'd be a perfectly heterosexual male." Draco spoke with pursed lips, chin raised a fraction, nose tilted a bit to the left, voice pitched in perfect imitation of those posh society witches who had loved Harry when he'd been a bachelor and given him nothing but snotty looks since the divorce. He had never taken Astoria Malfoy for one of them.
"So she came into your room and was trying to seduce you?" Establishing hard facts.
Draco shrugged again. "She's always saying shit like that," he whispered, exasperation clear on his face. And something else, a bone-deep tiredness. It reminded Harry of the defeat in Astoria's voice.
"She loves you," he said before he could think, his Gryffindor nature getting the best of him. But he knew he was right. She loves you. She wants you.
Draco closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. A yes, then. And just looking at him, with the last orange rays of the sun on his face, his throat exposed and smooth and pale, Harry knew it could be him in Astoria's shoes. He rarely admitted to himself how much of his life revolved around Draco Malfoy, about getting close to him, about being with him, if just for another night. He reached out and touched Draco's throat; couldn't help himself. Couldn't help feeling pleased at the startled shiver that was running through Draco's body, couldn't help the sense of exhilaration that it was him who could do that to Draco. His bulging erection was the least of it. He loved Draco, and Draco knew, had always known since that first blowjob in the Fortress.
When Draco opened his eyes, Harry took his hand away. Draco looked at him like he sometimes did after sex; softly imploring him to do something, but Harry didn't know what.
"She came into my room, and we got into a huge fight. She's knows me well enough to push all of my buttons. This is not an excuse, I know, I don't mean it like that. Just -- she said those things again and -- and I lost it." Draco spoke haltingly, but clearly. Like he'd thought about what he was going to say, how he was going to explain.
"Do you remember how long you beat her?" A standard question. Domestic violence was less about motives, all about facts. How hard, how long, how dangerous to life and limb of the victim?
Draco blinked, obviously trying to remember. "A couple of minutes, perhaps. Astoria was ... she was screaming. Father came in and pulled me away." And there it was again, that unfamiliar emotion now in Draco's voice that trembled harder than ever. Shame.
"Your father stopped you? Not your mother?"
Draco shook his head. "My father's rooms are right beside mine. Mother was down in the living room."
"Where is he?"
For the first time tonight, Draco looked furious. "Merlin, what do you think? He's at the Manor with Scorpius. Give it up, Potter. My father has nothing to do with it. I told you what happened."
"All right, all right." Anger rose in Harry, matching Draco's. He hadn't asked for this shit. What did Draco expect him to do? "I need someone to officially report this. And your wife and your mother tell a different story. So what do you want me to do?"
"Let me talk to them." Draco pushed himself away from the wall.
"No way. My partner won't let you near your wife. It's common procedure." Harry moved his head towards the door, where Torwell was still standing, watching them. Draco seemed to become aware of the second Auror only now.
"I thought Weasley was your partner," he said offhandedly.
"Not for a domestics call. One of the Aurors needs to be female."
Draco nodded. "All right then." He started to walk towards Torwell. "I'll talk to my mother. That is allowed, isn't it?" He stopped, waiting for Harry to answer.
"It won't do any good, Draco. She's got her story all figured out. With Astoria corroborating what she says, she's already got the healer convinced. Not Torwell, but law enforcement officers cannot bring a domestic violence case to trial."
Draco stared at him for a long moment. "So what does that mean? You're going to let me go? Just like that?"
"We'll be giving you some friendly advice to not get caught red-handed again. That is all." Harry shrugged. It was wrong to feel like this, but there was none of the frustration he'd felt in similar cases. This was about Draco, and for once he was glad to have his hands bound by the limitations of wizarding law.
Draco stepped closer to Harry. The back of his hand was pressed against his mouth, stifling a sob. Harry could see relief sweep through his body, sheer, utter relief that nothing would come of this. Nothing official, at least. Harry had an inkling that it was far from over for Draco. Narcissa Malfoy had a way to deal with those who threatened her family.
But Harry was getting light-headed from Draco being close, allowing him to see him in a moment of such weakness. It might not mean anything. Draco might be too wrapped up in what he'd done and what it meant for his family to even register that Harry was not only his lover but also an Auror, one of the best. But then, Draco never forgot such things. Harry had learned that in pure-blood society there was no difference between the façade and the reality behind it. Every word, every gesture was calculated for effect, but it was also truly meant and truly felt. A contradiction that made the few times, when Draco had opened up to him all the more precious. Draco beating the shit out of his wife who loved him, Astoria ending up in St. Mungo's to have her face pieced back together by the healers -- there was protocol to be followed when reality and façade collapsed like this. Narcissa Malfoy was a master of protocol. And Draco, Harry understood as much, had followed her lead after the war, no longer his father's.
Harry must have made a noise, for Draco touched his arm. "I am not like this," he whispered. "You know me better than that."
And Harry did know Draco, who had made the Fortress his world, going down on his knees before Muggles and wizards alike to blow them. Draco, who had been so gentle with him, when they had fucked for the first time. If Harry'd had any doubts about Draco's sexual preference, that night at Claridge's would have dispelled them once and for all. Draco had touched him like Harry had never been touched before -- awed by the smothering of hair on Harry's chest, the muscles in his arms and thighs, so keenly aroused just from wrapping his fingers around Harry's balls. It had been Harry's first time to have a cock up his arse, and Draco had pulled him through the awkwardness and pain, without once making fun of him. Harry would remember forever the blue shadows of the hotel suite, Draco's slick fingers preparing him, and then his cock pushing into him slowly, waiting patiently for Harry to get used to the burning stretch, for his body to relax. Harry had come harder than ever, soaking the sheets with his spunk. He'd felt so unbelievably close to Draco that night.
Harry wanted to kiss Draco, to ease the tension away and smoothen the hard lines around his eyes. Then he remembered Torwell, who had to still be watching, and he pulled back, quickly squeezing Draco's hand before he let go.
A child's eager voice could be heard from the other end of the corridor. Draco turned around. Lucius Malfoy was standing there, tall and sombre in his black robes. At his side was a small boy, blond hair so like his father's. He was giggling and looking back towards the staircase. Then he discovered Draco and called out loudly with his high voice, "Daddy, Daddy," pulling at Lucius Malfoy's hand.
"Draco," Harry said. Torwell had noticed the newly arrived family members and was motioning for him to come over. "One word of friendly advice."
Draco watched Scorpius who had broken free and was stumbling towards them. "What? Not to get caught red-handed? I won't ever hit her again, I swear."
Not something Harry would bet his wand on. He'd heard such promises before. "Get a divorce, Draco. Times are changing, even for pure-blood society. You have your heir. Why make both of your lives miserable?"
"Get a divorce like you, you mean?" Draco's eyes were still on Scorpius who had stopped his stumbling run, distracted by Torwell's red Auror robes and her flashing badge. "I've read the articles in the Prophet. There was a picture of you and your little girl, all in tears. Crying for her mummy, the article said. Do you think I want that?"
The bloody picture! "God, Malfoy, you know the Prophet. That picture was taken after Lily scraped her knee on the pavement. I should have sued them for printing lies like that. Lily and the boys are happy, much happier than before. Don't tell me you believe all the shit Skeeter is writing?" He was getting angry again, at the Prophet, at the greedy lawyers, at Ginny's parents who still hadn't come to accept that the divorce was the best for all of them.
Draco looked at him curiously. Harry's fury had always seemed to attract him, like he thought Harry was hiding something behind his anger, something only he could see. But if he did see something, then Harry didn't know what it was.
"You are Harry Potter," Draco said with an air of finality, as if Harry's name explained anything.
"And you are Draco Malfoy. What's the big deal?"
"You can get away with anything, Potter. I can't." He touched Harry's arm again, quickly and gently, and Harry wondered whether those words were meant for them, too, whatever they were when they slept with each other.
"Daddy, Daddy, there's a woman who's an Auror! Did you see her?" The little boy was holding on to Draco's leg, jumping up and down excitedly. "I want to be an Auror, too. Can I?" He glanced at Harry and became shy all of a sudden, trying to hide behind his father.
Draco crouched down to Scorpius. "Yes, I saw her. And you can become an Auror if you want to. But first you need to grow up a little bit." He pulled the boy towards him and picked him up. Scorpius laughed, then hid his face in Draco's neck, as if he was embarrassed to have made such a loud noise.
Lucius Malfoy had come closer and stood just out of hearing distance, obviously waiting to have a word with his son.
"Happy birthday, Daddy," Scorpius sing-songed in an almost-whisper, "happy birthday, happy birthday."
Draco's eyes were shining too brightly when he looked at Harry.
"Get a divorce, Draco. I promise, you won't lose this." Harry was speaking softly, surprised at the urgency in his voice. He wondered whether Draco thought he was jealous. But he wasn't. He was getting all Draco could give him, married to Astoria or not. He knew that. Still, he repeated, low and insistent, "Get a divorce."
Lucius was still waiting a couple of yards away, watching them with cold eyes that betrayed nothing about how he felt about his son's actions.
"I can't." Draco shook his head and now Harry saw the tears running down his cheeks. "I can't."
He turned abruptly and walked towards his father, with Scorpius' little fingers stroking his hair.
*
Harry leaned against the closed door with Torwell at his side. They were watching three generations of Malfoys; the room was sparkling from all the blond. Narcissa talked softly to Scorpius in her lap, telling him a fairy tale, from the sounds of bits and pieces floating over to the door.
The healer had finished casting the last spells on Astoria's brow and was applying a salve. Pale like a ghost, Draco stood beside his wife, his hand lying lightly on her shoulder. Astoria had not once looked at him, but she hadn't moved away, either.
"I'll be watching him. And you." Torwell had her arms crossed in front of her chest, the Auror badge glinting through her fists. Her voice was low, showing none of the threat of her words. But Harry knew she'd never forgive him.
"I want you to watch," he said. "But you won't find anything."
Harry would make sure of it.
The End