Renaissance

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! They are much appreciated!
Warning: gender neutral pronouns ahead... Sie=she/he Hir=her/him Hirself=herself/himself
And again thanks to Mamcita-san and refuz2luz for the beta!!
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2.
Harry Apparated to an alley that butted up against the large converted warehouse that was now the headquarters of the Renaissance Foundation. From the outside it looked like any of its counterparts, and through the large front windows Harry could see a single guard garbed in the uniform of a Muggle security guard at a desk in front of several huge fireplaces. He could feel the Notice-me-not spells and anti-Muggle wards layered over the glass doors. Likely, most Muggles saw only a uniform wall of paned glass rather than the doors where a heavy brass placard with the words “Renaissance Foundation” hung. If one were to somehow get inside, he was sure the grates for the Floo Network would be invisible and their interaction with the disguised security wizard wholly unnotable.

He’d waited over an hour before his Signatus, a device used to track magical signatures, among other things, chimed to alert him that his target had left the building. Seconds later the device, which looked like a Muggle PDA though it ran on magic, flashed the coordinates of Malfoy’s new location. According to his Signatus it was a public Wizarding locale with standard wards in effect, so Harry followed.

He was not surprised when he reappeared on the grounds of Malfoy Manor, now home of the Heritage Museum, Heritage House, and Heritage Academy. To the shock of many, Malfoy had managed to keep the entirety of hir inheritance upon the deaths of hir parents. Public sentiment was somewhat mollified, however, when sie announced shortly after the final escrow that the main house and its collections, minus the Dark artefacts confiscated by the Ministry, would become a museum, and that the largest outbuilding, a “guest cottage” nearly the size of a small mansion house, would be turned into a school. The lavish gardens and conservatory were now open to the public and maintained by a trust established through the museum.

Harry Disillusioned himself and followed the robed triarii, whose white-blond hair was like a beacon, down the wide gravel paths of a smaller side garden. Malfoy walked for nearly a mile, then disappeared through a well hidden door in a hedgerow.

Harry used his Signatus to check the door. It was heavily warded with some nasty, though legal hexes built in and was keyed to Malfoy’s magical signature. Luckily, the area behind the door was still under the Manor’s anti-Apparation wards, so Malfoy would have to come back through if sie left at any time during the night.

Frustrated because he had no way of knowing what sorts of things his boyhood rival was getting up to behind the door, Harry Transfigured a stone into a comfortable armchair and prepared for a long night.

He was lightly dozing when the door reopened around 11:30. Startled, Harry nearly fell out of his chair, breaking his cover. Luckily he righted himself in time and near silently, though Malfoy had looked around suspiciously before resetting the door’s wards and heading off down the path. Harry returned the stone to its original state and hurried along behind Malfoy, who was dressed very differently from the finely tailored business robes sie’d worn earlier in the day. When they reached the edge of the anti-Apparation wards, Malfoy Disapparated with a loud crack that echoed through the still night.

Checking his Signatus for the coordinates, Harry followed shortly after and was relieved, when he reached his destination, that he was still Disillusioned. Malfoy was in front of a stylish looking club. Transcendence, the fancy neon sign boasted to partygoers. And Malfoy was certainly dressed for it, Harry could see now that they were under the bright lights of the city. Black stack-heeled boots, tight black brushed leather trousers, and a clingy, iridescent frost-blue button-up of obvious high-quality material combined for incredible impact, but also subtly accentuated the incongruities of Malfoy’s figure.

Harry slipped inside while Malfoy engaged the club’s bouncer in a bit of harmless flirtation; it seemed sie was well known here and surprisingly, if the bouncer’s reaction was any indication, well-liked.

The interior was impressive, and someone with an eye for chic design had spent a lot of time and money on its layout. The gleaming glass and chrome bar was set up along one side of the large open space with a stage opposite the door. The area in front of the stage was bare of tables, perfect for dancing. And obviously Transcendence was a popular night spot. Every table was full, and the dance floor was crowded with writhing bodies. Between the smells of food, sweat, perfume, and alcohol, the air was thick, though enormous ceiling fans kept it from being too stifling.

The crowd was mixed: Muggle and magical, trendy straights, leather fetishists, drag queens and quite a few kings, stylish androgynes, and not a few who, like Malfoy, defied any sort of easy sex or gender classification, all there to mix and mingle, dance and have fun.

Harry followed his target at a discreet distance; Malfoy’s signature hair colour and distinctive carriage made it easy. Sie seemed to glide everywhere, tossing about small smiles, chatting with patrons and servers alike. Obviously sie was a well known fixture here. However, considering there was a maniac after hir somewhere, Harry found hir utter lack of concern for hir personal safety annoying.

He watched out for Malfoy carefully, making note of those in whose company sie lingered, those who touched hir with familiarity, those who moved a little too close while sie toured the nightspot.

Harry couldn’t deny that Malfoy was attractive; such a setting really showed off hir svelte form and impeccable style. And certainly others noticed, wanted to be near hir as though some of that ethereal beauty would rub off and enhance their own looks or appeal if they could capture hir for a moment or two. But Malfoy was elusive, never staying with any one or set of the club’s patrons for more than a few moments. And though sie oozed fluid movement and sensuality, sie never accepted any drinks or invitations to the dance floor, though Harry was sure sie’d move as confidently there, ensnaring men and women alike with hir lithe grace.

Harry shook his head at his musings. As attractive as he might find Malfoy physically—and an uncomfortable tightening in his trousers was testament to that—he knew the triarii possessed one of the ugliest personalities he’d ever come across. Besides, this was only a job; it wasn’t as though he’d ever seek Malfoy out socially, but it didn’t hurt to look when the view was nice, he convinced himself.

For over an hour he nursed his club soda and watched Malfoy finish hir circuit. When the blond retreated up the stairs to the private rooms Harry quickly followed and cast an eavesdropping charm just as sie closed the door to a room near the back of the club.

He checked his Signatus, which was spelled to record and transcribe the conversation between the room’s occupants, but Harry wasn’t taking any chances that he’d miscast the spell. Whatever was going on, he wanted to have a concrete record. He was sure that despite Malfoy’s being a target, sie was up to something illegal. After all, legality and Malfoy were two diametrically opposed concepts. And whatever he found, there’d be no edging around prosecution on a technicality with this case.

His Signatus was functioning at peak and he gave a moment’s thought to the irony that the little device, an incredible spying tool actually designed by Malfoy for the Ministry’s use during the war, would be key to hir downfall.

After a few moments Harry saw that his Signatus, while operational, was not recording anything and recast the eavesdropping spell at a higher level—Auror level. Evidently Malfoy had taken the now commercially available Signatus models into consideration and cast wards to ensure privacy from the less powerful devices.

Harry’s excitement that the more powerful privacy spells were meant to protect sensitive and suspect dealings quickly turned to disappointment as he discovered that the conversation was rather mundane, boring even. Malfoy evidently owned Transcendence sie and the club’s manager were just going over the accounts and discussing personnel issues.

Harry sat Disillusioned in a dark corner of the hallway for another hour, the most intriguing subject being a missing shipment of spirits the distributor insisted had been delivered earlier in the week. He felt his eyes glazing over when the conversation shifted and nabbed his attention.

“Are you sure, Draco? I’ve been hearing things. Chris says—” Harry heard, and he perked up immediately, blinking away the haze of boredom.

“Stop. This is exactly what they want, whoever ‘they’ are. They want us afraid, cowering in our homes—afraid to come to work, afraid to go out, afraid of our friends and families. The fear works to isolate us and makes it that much easier for them to pick us off. Trust me, Steph, I know all about inflicting terror.” Malfoy’s voice was wry. “Let’s not forget I had the finest education in these kinds of tactics with the most accomplished tutors.

“No one is going to run me off or keep triarii from living the full lives we deserve, from regaining the respect and status we once held in Wizarding society before all these damned Muggle-borns and their misguided champions started perverting Wizarding culture with their bias and skewed perceptions.”

Steph sighed and Harry clenched his fists. Damn Malfoy and hir pure-blood supremacy crap. Harry took a deep breath and released it slowly, reining in his temper and reminding himself that he couldn’t arrest someone for being a bigot. He shrugged; maybe he’d toss off a tripping jinx as Malfoy came out of the office. Seeing the high and mighty prat fall on hir face might make him feel better. Having restored his equilibrium, Harry focused again on Malfoy’s determined voice.

“—I want you to relax and tell your gossiping gaggle that things are in hand for now. I’m not waiting for those Ministry wanks to take their heads out of their arses while our people are slaughtered without restraint or retribution. I expanded the contract for the American security firm I hired through Renaissance Foundation this morning. A force of security wizards will be installing or strengthening wards at the homes and businesses of every known triarii in Britain, and providing secure transport and escorts. The Ministry may not give a niffler’s arse about us, but I’ll be damned if I’ll sit back and do nothing while people are being killed. So stop worrying, all right?”

Harry heard Steph sigh again and the rustle of cloth. If he didn’t know better he’d have said Malfoy was hugging the club manager, but that couldn’t be right. And damn the bastard for hir arrogance anyway. Sod it; who did sie think sie was to be undermining the Ministry’s authority by hiring a private security team? It was just the sort of the thing the Daily Prophet would eat up, and of course the spotlight-loving git would have them play up the whole concerned humanitarian and community activist angle while they crucified Arthur Weasley and the Ministry for being lax about the citizenry’s protection.

Harry scratched his head. There was an election coming this spring; were the murders part of an elaborate ploy orchestrated by Malfoy to damage the public’s confidence in Arthur Weasley? If the Renaissance Foundation backed another candidate, would that be enough to oust Arthur from office? Would this new Minister be in Malfoy’s pocket? Maybe sie was angling for greater influence or control at the Ministry?

His head spun at the idea that the murders could have been contracted to destabilise the bases of power in Britain’s Wizarding community. As much as he loathed Malfoy, he didn’t want to think that after all Malfoy had seen and done in the war, the triarii had been—could be—so utterly ruthless in hir machinations, so callous in hir disregard for human life. A great part of him doubted it; that had been real outrage and anger he’d heard in Malfoy’s voice. Despite the spiteful and suspicious bit of Harry that could believe the worst of Malfoy, if he were honest, in his heart he knew these murders affected the triarii deeply and sie wasn’t involved in that way. But it was too much to consider now; his thoughts and feelings were too muddled. They‘d consider every motive, every avenue of investigation. He’d get his team to look at the political implications of such a set-up in the morning; it might provide a lead even if it meant Malfoy would come off the suspect list. He had to keep his personal feelings for Malfoy from colouring the investigation, Harry reminded himself, while the young powerbroker again reassured the club manager.

As Malfoy promised to come round during the following week to check on the club and see how well the staff was getting by with the security wizards who would arrive the following afternoon, Harry realised the meeting was ending. He quickly broke the eavesdropping spell as Malfoy left Steph’s office, and followed the blond out of the club. Malfoy strolled as though sie hadn’t a care, as though sie owned the streets—and, as likely happened everywhere sie went, sie garnered appreciative looks from the passers-by. Harry shook his head at the blond’s audacity. What the hell had happened to hir Slytherin sense of self-preservation? Looking and acting as sie did, Malfoy was making hirself an even greater target. Harry made a note to chastise hir about being so high profile when they met in the morning.

He was some distance behind Malfoy as they approached an alley cleared for Apparation when he saw a group of four young men, heavily muscled and clearly cruising for trouble, follow Malfoy into the alley. Harry put on speed to close the distance but not quickly enough to stop one of the men from grabbing Malfoy’s arms behind hir and another from slamming his fist into hir face. “Faggot freak!” Harry heard him say as he pulled back his fist to strike Malfoy again.

Harry ended the Disillusionment charm and called out to Malfoy’s attackers. It caused the most cowardly of the gang to run off, but another stepped in front of his friends and their victim. “This is none of yer business,” he shouted, puffed up with bravado.

Harry saw surprise flash momentarily in the blond’s eyes as the gang’s attention shifted to the interloper. Sie used their distraction to hir advantage, viciously swinging hir foot forward into the groin of the man who’d hit hir and then backward into the one holding hir. Despite the low light Harry could see blood was rapidly staining the crotches of both whimpering men and caught the glint of metal points on the toe and heel of Malfoy’s boots.

The third man turned from Harry, saw his friends on the ground moaning, and slammed into Malfoy, taking them both to the ground. Furious that their prey dared to strike back, he managed to yank up a fistful of Malfoy’s trademark hair and slam hir head once into the dirty pavement before Harry shot off a sweeping Stupefy to catch all of the alley’s occupants. The struggling Muggle slumped over Malfoy’s crumpled body as soon as the red beam struck.

Harry rushed over and pushed the downed ox off Malfoy and gathered the slighter mage into his arms, jumping slightly at the shock of electricity that jolted through him as they touched. “Ennervate! Malfoy, are you all right?” He shook the blond carefully. “Malfoy!”

Slowly Malfoy’s eyes blinked open, revealing a dazed and dulled grey. “P’ter?” sie managed around hir swollen lip.

Gingerly Harry checked hir over. “Yeah, it’s me. You were hit pretty hard, Malfoy. I think you probably have a concussion. You’ll need a Healer.”

“N-no, ‘ome. Go ‘ome,” the blond finally slurred out after an abortive effort to shake hir head.

Concerned about hir slow responses and the blood matting Malfoy’s hair, Harry frowned and tried to argue. “No, Malfoy, you need a Healer. I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s. Understand?”

“No.” Malfoy scrunched up hir face and something in Harry wanted to laugh that as bruised and battered as the blond’s mouth was, sie was still attempting a pout.

Malfoy reached up, Harry thought to steady hirself on hir rescuer, but sie scrabbled at hir own chest instead. A moment later he watched as pale slender fingers gained purchase around something dangling from a silver chain. Harry was entranced as hir full sensuous lips formed a soundless word and he leaned closer to hear what Malfoy was obviously struggling to say clearly. “Home,” he heard finally. And before he could protest he felt the tell-tale hook behind his navel and was gone with Malfoy in a whoosh of swirling colour.

They landed with a hard thump in the middle of a smallish but well appointed living room where a tall, beautiful, well-built man was lounging on a settee with a book. The man started when they appeared but was on the floor gathering up the fallen blond in an instant.

“Draco! What happened?” He ran his eyes over the injured triarii and lifted hir into his strong arms.

“Who are you and what in Merlin’s name has happened to Draco?” Distrust echoed through his voice as his turned a narrowed gaze on the bewildered Auror.

Harry shook off his disorientation and the confusing tinge of jealousy he felt at the familiarity with which this man (though Norse god was perhaps a more apt description, Harry thought) handled the smaller blond’s body.

“Auror Potter,” Harry said authoritatively, trying to establish some control in a very confusing situation. He was still tingling from where Malfoy had lain in his arms, and he didn’t even know where he was, for Merlin’s sake!

The tall man frowned. “This was an attack, then,” he said, more to himself than to Harry. He looked up at a small portrait near the mantle where a young boy, maybe seven or eight, who looked remarkably like Malfoy dressed as Little Lord Fauntleroy, sat with wide eyes. “Don’t just sit there gawking, Julian. Go get Helene!” he barked at the boy, who “Eep!”ed and ran from his frame.

The tall man settled Malfoy into his arms and swept from the room with Harry following. They climbed a sturdy staircase and turned into a simple bedroom at the top of the hall, where the man gently lowered Malfoy to the bed. Moments after they arrived a curvy, auburn-haired woman came through the door, wand in hand.

“Step back,” she ordered, and she cast a simple diagnostic spell. She tutted at the results, which came much more slowly and faintly than Harry was used to, having been exposed to all sorts of medical magic from his many trips to the Hogwarts infirmary and St. Mungo’s. The witch took a deep breath and seemed to steel herself before she cast three more spells, basic low-level healing charms Harry had learned during his field training, and an Ennervate before sliding into the bedside chair, apparently exhausted.

When Malfoy’s eyes fluttered open, Harry put aside his questions about the drain the woman had experienced. “Oh, thank Merlin,” the tall man breathed when Malfoy cleared hir throat, and he went round the other side of the bed to pour a glass of water. He propped Malfoy against his shoulder and helped hir sip from the glass.

“Lars?” the young magnate croaked, still disoriented.

“That’s right. How are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare, Draco.”

Tiredly Malfoy turned hir head to see the room’s other occupants. Sie blinked rapidly, gaining clarity by the moment. “Helene,” sie sighed.

“Healed me. Shouldn’t have,” sie managed before slumping weakly against the headboard.

The auburn-haired witch frowned. “The hell I shouldn’t,” she snapped. “You were a mess, Draco, all bruised and bleeding into your skull. It’s a good thing I was here—who knows what shape you’d be in otherwise!”

Malfoy smirked weakly, but Harry could see the appreciation in hir eyes. “Well thank you, Madame Battleaxe,” sie joked as hir voice gained strength. Sie shrugged, then winced at the movement and the young witch frowned apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Draco, I couldn’t heal everything fully. You still have all kinds of bruising, and your head will be tender for a while. I think we should call—”

“No,” Malfoy said firmly. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a bit sore. It’s to be expected from how hard that brute knocked me to the ground.”

The witch’s eyes flared again. “What the hell happened tonight?”

“Was it—” the tall man, Lars, began fearfully.

Gingerly Malfoy shook hir head. “No, not the killer. Just some phobe Muggles. I’m fine really.” Hir gaze landed on Harry and sie scowled. “Auror Potter was just in time to save the day. And what were you doing there anyway, Potter? Enduring random surveillance is not, as far as I know, a condition of my probation.”

Harry pursed his lips at Malfoy’s cold tone. “I just saved your life, Malfoy. You could be a little more gracious.”

The blond sniffed. “To you, Potter? I think not.” Grey eyes hardened. “Now answer my question. What were you doing there tonight?”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “The DMLE is investigating this series of murders. It’s come to our attention that you’re a particular target and I’ve been assigned your protection detail.”

Malfoy snorted. “Doing a bang-up job, I see. Isn’t the point of protection to prevent injury to your charges, or don’t I rate full protection?” Sie sneered, “What’s a little battery when the victim’s Draco Malfoy, right?”

The witch—Helene, Harry remembered—placed a hand on Malfoy’s arm. “Don’t upset yourself, Draco. You need to rest.”

Sie nodded but continued to glare at Harry. “You can tell your bosses that their belated interest in my well-being is unnecessary and unwanted. I’ll have my own security wizards in place by tomorrow.”

Harry smirked triumphantly. “You can take it up with them yourself, Malfoy. Of course, since full cooperation with any agent of the DMLE is a condition of your probation it’s likely you’ll be making that protest from a holding cell at the Ministry.

“Then there’s the question of your little Portkey. I’m sure it’s unauthorised. I think my superiors would be quite interested in that.” Harry paused while his opponent registered the threat, then shrugged. “Or you can work with my team and let us do our jobs.”

Malfoy grimaced. “Blackmail, Potter? I didn’t think you had it in you. Fine. I’ll be a good little boichick and submit to the farce of your protection detail. But I won’t have you or any of your little cronies interfering with my day-to-day functioning. You’ll have to adjust to my schedule.”

Harry shrugged again. “We’ll see about that. I’m not about to risk my people because you want to go making yourself a target looking like a tuppenny whore skanking around town.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Get out,” sie hissed. “You pompous, arrogant, self-righteous bastard, get out of my house!”

Recovered, Helene stood and pulled at Harry’s arm. “You heard hir. We don’t want your kind here. Draco, let Lars help you with a bath. I’ll be right back.” She pushed Harry out the door and shut it firmly behind them.

Harry huffed in annoyance. “And what kind would that be, miss? Half-bloods? Aurors?”

“Assholes,” she answered firmly, one step behind him as they headed down the stairs. She came around and waved him back through the open archway into the living room. “The Floo’s connected. You can show yourself out.”

Harry was all too happy to go, but duty held him back. “I need to complete an incident report about this evening,” he sighed, frustrated that he was having to play nice with one of Malfoy’s snotty friends. He pulled out his Signatus. “I’ll need your full names and contact information, please.”

Helene pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, so now you want to do your job. Now you want to act with professional concern and courtesy. I tell you what, Auror, you can have all the information you want once you’ve apologised to Draco.”

Harry stepped back. “For what?” he snapped.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Maybe for implying that sie’s to blame for being attacked tonight? All you Ministry bigots are the fucking same. Blame the victim; it must be their fault for being in the wrong area, or flaunting themselves, or being different—whatever excuse works for you, right? That’s why it’s taken eight deaths before you self-righteous pricks would get off your asses to try and find these murdering psychos, isn’t it? You all figure it must’ve been their fault for getting killed because they’re triarii and don’t fit into the nice neat boxes all the gung-ho Muggle-borns love so much.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking about, miss.” Harry brandished an accusatory finger. “But the only bigots around here are people like you and Malfoy, who think pure-bloods are better than everyone else. The Ministry is committed to the protection of every citizen. We’re not the ones who think worth is based on bloodlines.”

Helene shook her head. “Gods, it’s even worse than sie said. You people really are completely stupid, aren’t you? It’s so ingrained you don’t even see it. Look, I don’t want to talk to you. You’re arrogant, self-righteous, and ignorant, which is a bad combination. Just go apologise to Draco, take my information for your statement, and get the hell out of here.”

Furious at her dismissal, Harry turned on his heel. “Fine.” He stormed up the stairs before he realised he was on his way to apologise to Draco Malfoy, and that stopped him flat. Why in Merlin’s name should he apologise? All right, he had maybe, vaguely, indirectly hinted that Malfoy was at fault for the evening’s assault by dressing alluringly and going to the nightclub. And such an implication was uncharitable, unprofessional, and, well, wrong as it did in fact blame the victim for the assailant’s actions.... But it was Malfoy! He shouldn’t have to apologise for anything he said to that git. Of course, treating someone—anyone—who had been assaulted in such a callous, cavalier way wholly discounted their feelings, their dignity, their humanity.... Harry dropped his head as his conscience kicked in. He was going to apologise to Draco Malfoy. He mounted the last steps and knocked softly on the door before pushing it open. “Malfoy, look, I—”

Harry didn’t get any further as his eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. Malfoy lay atop the bedclothes, hir long, ice-blond hair spilling over hir face and the pillowcases as Lars kneeled beside hir, stroking some kind of salve into hir moonlight pale skin that left a light sheen in its wake. The lustre accentuated every line and curve of the younger triarii’s musculature, from hir toned shoulders down hir long back to the rounded curve of hir pert buttocks. Forgetting just who he was watching, Harry suddenly felt he was the lowest of all life forms to have hurt such a beautiful creature in any way. “Sorry,” he whispered, slipping back through the door, and it came as a surprise to him that he really meant it.

Helene was waiting for him when he returned to the living room. “Well?” she demanded, arms akimbo.

Harry blushed. “I-I didn’t—he was—they were—he and his lover were, uh—sharing an...erm...intimate moment. I didn’t want to intrude.” He rushed out finally, completely forgetting the crash course in gender-neutral pronouns. Then he balked in mortification as the young witch began to laugh. Hard. Near hysterically, holding her belly, until the tears ran.

“H-hir—you thought—oh gods. Draco and Lars....” She continued to snicker as Harry grew more and more red with embarrassment and frustration. Helene flung herself into one of the fireside armchairs finally and wiped away her tears of mirth. “What exactly did you see, Auror?” she asked around a snicker.

Harry’s face was on fire. “W-well, Mal-Malfoy was naked and and hi-hir, um...Lars? He was rub-rubbing…into hir, um, Malfoy’s skin, and so you see, they—um....”

Helene smirked and raised her brow. “I see. So my husband was applying Brenner’s Bruise Banishing Balm to Draco’s naked back and you just assumed they were the midst of trysting. Tell me, Auror…Potter, is it? Does everyone in the Auror force jump to such amazingly erroneous conclusions based on their own perceptions of things, or do your people occasionally stick around for the full story and an examination of the evidence?”

Harry bristled, but was chastened by the observation. He had jumped to a conclusion based on what he thought he knew.

“Sit down, Auror; I’m going to answer whatever questions you have now so you can go complete your little report. My dearest friend has been attacked tonight and is ailing. I’d like to check on hir once more before Lars and I retire to bed.” The bright and laughing spirit of a few moments before was gone; in her place was a stiff-backed woman, wholly annoyed with the attitudes displayed by this agent of the DMLE.

Harry cleared his throat and activated his Signatus. “First, what is your full name?” he asked, then checked the screen to make sure the Signatus was recording correctly.

“Helene Davida Raedler, née Duquesne.”

“Your age?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Where and with whom do you live, Mrs. Raedler?”

“I live in the gardener’s cottage on the grounds of the Malfoys’ Wiltshire estate with my husband, Lars Michael Raedler, 32, and our friend and employer, Draco Lucien Malfoy, 26.”

Harry nodded his appreciation at her full answer, though he was surprised that the couple actually shared the house with Malfoy. He supposed at this point he needed to stop assuming things or he’d be too busy dealing with his surprise to effectively conduct an investigation.

“And what are your positions here?”

“My title is housekeeper. My husband is the groundskeeper.”

“Please describe in your own words what happened this evening.”

“I was in the kitchen tidying up when Julian Malfoy came from his portrait to fetch me because Lars said that Draco was hurt. Julian is Draco’s cousin, by the way. I picked up the medical kit we keep in the kitchen for emergencies and followed Julian to the living room. I saw there was a lot of blood on the carpet, but Lars and Draco were gone so I went upstairs to Draco’s bedroom, where I thought Lars would take hir. I arrived in the room and saw that Draco was badly injured and began to cast diagnostic and healing spells. Because of my low-level magical ability I was quickly exhausted and had to stop before I’d fully healed all of hir injuries.”

Again Harry was surprised; magical healing was draining, but beyond battlefield conditions he’d never known anyone who’d experienced Healer’s drain. Helene answered his look.

“Intermarriage with Muggles has nearly bred the magic completely out of my family. Both Lars and I have too little innate magic to have even attended a magical school. We’re both nearly Squibs.”

“That’s elitist pure-blood propaganda. Magic can’t be diluted through intermarriage,” Harry answered automatically, countering a widely held myth.

Helene looked at him as though he were completely stupid. “Who told you that?” she demanded angrily.

He sighed; he’d forgotten where he was. “Sorry. Look, I don’t want to get into a political debate with you. Let’s just continue, shall we?”

Auburn curls tossed violently from side to side. “No. I want to know how you can just dismiss thousands of years of study and history—Ameinias, for one. Didn’t you study the History of Magic and Magical Theory in school? Empedocles—what of him? Do you just dismiss him as well? This isn’t ‘pure-blood propaganda’, as you said; it’s thousands of years of magical knowledge and research that’s been retested and reproven.” She frowned. “I don’t get it. How can you not know these things? It’s physiognomy, not philosophy. For Merlin’s sake, Auror, what the hell do they teach you at this Hogwarts? No wonder the Brits are so friggin’ ignorant about magical heritage. This is basic. Gods, no wonder there are so many social problems.”

Harry waved off her little spiel. “There are no problems. Britain’s magical community is very self-aware and cohesive now that we’ve gotten rid of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. They were the ones spreading dissention and prejudice.”

Helene nodded. “Well yeah, from what Draco said that Voldemort character was a nut job. All violence and genocide to cover for his own psychosis and insecurity. But there’s nothing wrong with being honest about bloodlines. Didn’t you study genealogy and genetics? I’m not lying to you, Auror; magic can be bred out of people. Lars and I are living proof. In fact, because we both come from old American family lines with distinguished names, our parents, in a desperate attempt to keep magic alive in our families, wanted both of us to marry magically powerful people. Too bad for them; we fell in love with each other.” She shrugged.

Harry frowned and redirected the conversation, unwilling to consider the implications of Helene’s assertions. “Let’s return to the events of this evening.”

“All right,” she huffed. “Let’s see…oh, I was recovering beside Draco’s bed when sie woke up. I asked hir how sie was feeling, I think, and what happened. Sie said sie felt fine and admonished me for using so much magic to heal hir since sie knows it’ll be days before my system works up enough of a reserve to perform the most basic spells. Sie said sie was attacked by homophobic Muggles and that Auror…Potter had come to assist hir. Sie asked Auror Potter why he was on the scene. Auror Potter refused to answer at first, then shot off some flip reply.” She paused and glared at Harry.

“Draco and Auror Potter had a brief verbal exchange in which Auror Potter implied that Draco invited the attack by not being dressed like a cleric while out at night for social purposes.” Harry cringed slightly at her glare and the way her statement was bound to be read in his report.

“Draco was very upset by what was said and told Auror Potter to leave. I escorted Auror Potter from the room, leaving instructions for my husband to bathe Draco, who was still covered in blood and grime from the attack. I brought Auror Potter to the cottage’s living room so he could Floo home, when he asked me to give a full statement as I’m doing now.”

Helene’s lips were a tight line as she revisited her earlier anger. And Harry felt guilty that he hadn’t bothered to wait for Draco to be cleaned of the evidence of the attack before he’d baited him. He felt like a heel, picking at someone swimming in the scent of hir own blood and fear and hir assailants’ sweat so soon after sie’d been so badly injured and wasn’t recovered in any real way.

“Uh—thank you, Mrs. Raedler, for your time and consideration,” Harry managed, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She nodded curtly. “I suppose you’re welcome, Auror Potter. Please leave now. I need to check Draco and make sure that becoming agitated so soon after the healing didn’t have any deleterious effects.”

Harry sighed and shut down his Signatus. “Tell hir that part of my team will meet with hir at ten tomorrow morning, and that I’m sorry about tonight—er, please,” he added self-consciously. “I doubt sie heard me before.” Harry reddened a little. “I rushed out so quickly. I’m sorry about making assumptions too. That was very unprofessional of me.”

Helene shrugged in dismissal and waved at the fireplace. “From what I’ve seen, Auror Potter, you’re very unprofessional a lot of the time.”

She turned away from him as he threw the shimmering powder into the flames and called out for the Auror Department. From there he’d head home, hopefully bringing a welcome end to what had been a horrible day.