Out of the Night that Covers Me

Out of the Night that Covers Me

by Mephistedes


.:.

V. The French Connection

.:.


“It’s Draco Malfoy. He’s the one killing people off,” snarled Harry as soon as the lift gates rattled open. “It’s got to be him. Why else would he be working in a Muggle shelter? Draco Malfoy does not do menial labor!”

“Yes, well — send that ahead to my office, please — unless you can get me proof, Potter, we can’t prove he’s been doing anything illegal,” Kingsley Shacklebolt replied as he penned his name on a floating sheet of parchment. “Proof, I noticed, you don’t have.”

“Yet,” the Stealth Auror was quick to correct. “I don’t have proof yet.”

The second he left the Watford Animal Shelter Harry Apparated the substantial distance to the Ministry and with Cottenham in tow, stalked the halls for the tall Minister of Magic. Once found, he explained as they weaved through throngs of wizardfolk what had happened back at the Shelter in a rush, desperate to return and hopefully apprehend Malfoy for whatever ploy he was working on.

“What exactly did he say to you?” Cottenham asked, dodging a few low-flying inter-departmental memos.

“Well ... nothing, really,” Harry was a tad ashamed to admit, but he didn’t care — Malfoy was up to something and they were wasting time! “He was just rude and suspicious — ”

“Well, then, that’s all we need: arresting people on bad manners and suspicion of suspicion. The Daily Prophet’ll have a field day.”

“I will admit, it is suspicious,” agreed Kingsley, and Harry felt his spirits soar with joy, “but unless you’ve got something we can work with, Harry, there’s nothing we can do.”

Harry’s delighted feeling plummeted back to Earth, shattered. With an uneasy grimace, he hobbled between two goblins as the three of them headed for the Minister’s corridor.

“But there’s something going on!” he persisted, half walking sideways to address Kingsley directly. “It’s been six years since anyone’s last heard from him and his parents. He’s up to no good; why else would he be in disguise? To hide because he’s murdering people, that’s why! And he’s capable of it, or near-capable.”

It wasn’t hard to forget the image of Draco Malfoy looming over a dying Dumbledore, threatening to kill the suffering headmaster. Desperate or no, Draco had one intention on the tower that night, and that was the opinion Harry would cling to. “Kingsley, please, you’ve got to — ”

“My hands are tied,” the black wizard rounded on him, visibly annoyed. “Rules are rules, Harry, and for once, you should follow them. You have more important tasks that need your attention.”

“You’re just going to have to work with him, Potter,” Cottenham chimed in. “You’re technically still on assignment.”

Scowling, Harry pointed out, “I’m likely to murder him before the week’s up.”

“Do so after the investigation’s closed, mm?”

“Cottenham’s right — about the first thing,” Kingsley quickly specified. “If he has vital information, it’s your job to get it out of him.”

Sighing irritably, Harry endured, “But you’re the Minister — ”

“And I have far more on my plate to worry about than the sudden re-emergence of Draco Malfoy, and petty Auror squabbles — which reminds me: if Cormac McLaggen submits a formal inquiry on you one more time — ”

“Wait, wait: formal ... inquiry?” Harry haltingly repeated, spearing Kingsley with his disbelieving gaze. McLaggen filed a complaint on him? For what? He didn’t think the nuisance would actually protest, but Harry knew he shouldn’t have felt this surprised. McLaggen had been badgering him for months since he’d been selected for S.T.A.G.

“Er...” He rounded on Cottenham with a glare, who looked noticeably ill at ease as he cast Kingsley a passing glance. “I’ll just ... go, then, shall I? Still got an investigation to man....”

“You knew?” Harry more stated than questioned. “All this time?”

Cottenham chuckled nervously and raised the stack of files he was carrying. Harry frowned as the director took a step backwards. “This is me leaving.”

“Oh, I get it now,” Harry said. “That’s why you’ve been pushing me on this Animagus requirement: you knew all along.”

“Would you look at the time?”

“Archie.”

“I’m gone!”

“Cottenham!”

“Harry.” Kingsley gently reproved, and Harry followed his dark eyes to the crowd that had stopped to watch them. At Harry’s scowl there was a flurry of movement as the eavesdroppers quickly went back to task, fleeing the corridor. When the last goblin skidded around the corner, he was at last alone with Kingsley.

Glowering at the empty passageway, Harry finally faced the Minister, a no-nonsense expression clouding his features. He was going to get the answers he wanted, and if it came down to a shouting match between Stealth Auror and Minister, he would do it. Of course, he’d have to put up with Hermione’s harangue when she saw the Prophet’s headline for that, but for right now, he didn’t care.

Harry raised and dropped a shoulder. “Well?”

Closing his eyes — a sign Harry came to know as the ex-Auror grasping for patience — and sighing heavily, Kingsley bowed his head. “He doesn’t believe you earned your position.”

“Now, that is a load of shit,” Harry barked, feeling the swell of heat in his chest as his magic reared. “He screwed up and he’s jealous, Kingsley, you have to see that!”

“Possibly, but this is the eighth inquiry I’ve received — ”

“Eighth?” How did he not hear about this? Rather, why hadn’t they seen fit to inform him?

“ — and frankly, I’m a unicorn’s hair away from sacking him,” the irritation was almost tangible in the older wizard’s tone, “but his inquiries have merit. What’s more, he’s formally challenged you—

Harry’s mouth fell open in shock. “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“ — and you’ve got little more than fifty days to contest it.”

“But...” Harry was at a loss for words, and merely shook his head.

With a slightly uncomfortable expression, Kingsley acceded, “Come. My office. There are still suspicious ears lurking about, and I, for one, will not have anyone saying I brought it on myself.”

Seeing no better non-destructive alternative, Harry followed the Minister, and silently, they wound their way through the Ministry. He frowned at anyone who tried to fawn over him more than Kingsley before they finally reached the Minister’s office. They were met in the vestibule by an enthusiastic witch, who leapt from her chair to greet them, offered to take their cloaks, and fetch tea and biscuits.

Kingsley’s office was quite spacious, with posh furniture, a massive fireplace, and a study that would gain Hermione’s resentment. It was all very neat and harsh, like Kingsley. As he sat in front of the book-laden desk, Harry noticed Kingsley still had pictures of Dark Wizards at large leering down at them, tacked to a notice board perched over a glass case of Dark Detectors.

“Some things never change, eh?” he brought up with a nod at the board.

A corner of his mouth raising, Kingsley replied, “You can take the wizard out of the Aurors, but you can’t take the Auror out of the wizard.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “D’you miss it?”

“Every day.”

“You’re doing good work here, though.”

The Minister’s brow twitched. “Some wouldn’t agree with that statement.”

The anxious witch chose then to bring in a tea service and their small talk ceased. After she left, Harry shared a knowing look with Kingsley, who grinned wryly in return.

In tandem, they pointed their wands at the service, casting every countercurse, poison detection charm, Scarpin’s Revelaspell, and many others until they were satisfied their foods weren’t tampered with.

Harry smirked as they fixed their teas. “Constant vigilance, you know.”

“Auror Precept number one.” He fondly replied.

They chatted idly about the Weasleys, Ron and Hermione’s impending nuptials (“Saw the announcement in the Prophet; she really needed half a page?”), and Kingsley wanted to know when Ron was going to join up with the Aurors, to which Harry didn’t have a definite answer. (“Right now Hermione’s slowly wearing down his resolve with wedding business,” he’d winced. “I think his head’s gonna explode before he says his vows!”)

Kingsley asked him about Ginny, and if he had plans for any children on the horizon (“I’ve put off thoughts of any James and Lily Juniors. My hands are full up with Teddy as it is!”). After three cups of tea and thirteen biscuits between them, Harry went straight to the point.

“C’mon, Minister. You know I’m crap at small talk,” he confessed, leaning back in his chair. “What’s going on?”

That seemed to snuff out the light mood and Kingsley sobered at once, frowning. He joined his fingertips and rested his elbows on curling piles of parchment, leaning forward. “You are of course aware that the S.P.O.O.K. Division is a fairly new department.”

Harry tipped his head forwards, toying with his half-eaten biscuit. “Set up the year of Voldemort’s final downfall, split into two branches, S.P.A.R.C. and S.T.A.G. The first Aurors were accepted two years later.”

“It’s innovative.”

“And controversial.” Harry added, scratching his head. He’d forgotten to take the enchantments off in his excitement. Contrary to popular belief, Polyjuice Potion was a lot more bearable than physical magicks. He’d take essence of Goyle over a murderous itch any day. “People want a safe world, but they don’t want to be spied on. Just read a complaint from the MacDougals yesterday about their Floo being watched.”

Kingsley’s brow crinkled. “Then they shouldn’t have been marketing Crystallized Floo Powder in their home.”

“All in all, it’s a good program.”

“You’ve been doing your homework.”

“Else, I’d still be making tea for Cottenham and the entire Hit Wizard department,” he grumbled, setting his teacup down with a loud tinkle. “Which reminds me, you’ve got to talk to the Aurors about using the Year Ones as personal butlers.”

“I’ll make note of that.”

“Please do.”

The Minister chuckled, folding his hands beneath his chin as staid silence descended. “Then you also know the special requirements demanded from each agent.”

Well, he did ask to cut the small talk. Swallowing thickly, Harry somewhat nervously recited, “At least five O.W.L.s, seven N.E.W.T.s, three standard years of Auror training, two years of Auror post, more than fifteen investigations solved, superior inquiry skills, stealth and secrecy training, weekly sessions with Hit Wizards for a year, which can be done during both Auror training and post....

“Decent writing, superb observation, and Potions skills, a tight-lipped mouth,” for which he thought McLaggen ought to be sacked for that alone, “excellent dueling abilities, a vast knowledge of spellwork ranging from light to barely legal, and the ability to blend in and make oneself virtually invisible in a crowd, be it Muggle, wizard, or troll.” He ended with a toothy grin, awaiting Kingsley’s response.

The Minister nodded, a glimmer of pride shining in his eyes. “Correct.” He acknowledged, but his dark eyes also glittered with mischief. “But you’re missing one.”

Harry drummed his fingers on the armrest, averting his gaze to the stitching beneath his fingers. Fascinating. “Am I?”

“You are.”

Pursing his lips and raising his gaze thoughtfully to the high ceiling, Harry mumbled, “Hmph. Imagine that. Thought I got it all. Let’s see, five O.W.L.s, seven N.E.W.T.s....”

“Potter...”

“Was it the writing one? I’m crap at reports — ”

“You mentioned that.”

“Did I?” Harry feebly chuckled and sat up in his seat. “Hm ... can’t think of anything else.”

“You know full well which one you overlooked.”

“Mmmm ... nope.” He smiled brightly. “Think I covered ‘em all.”

As Kingsley tipped forwards, Harry knew his scheme was up. “The ability to use one’s animal form doesn’t ring a bell?”

“Well, I sometimes hear ringing, but no bells, no.” Perhaps he could keep up the ruse a bit longer? Kingsley certainly didn’t seem to mind.... “Are you sure that’s one?”

“It’s the number one stipulation that separates the departments and you know it.”

Harry swallowed with a halfhearted smile. “Right.”

“Not everyone has a form, that’s why S.T.A.G. is awfully select,” Kingsley addressed, sitting back far in his chair. “Cottenham has a form. Macmillan’s got a form.”

“Pfft, yeah: he’s an arse,” Harry scoffed. “And he’s a S.P.A.R.C., so he doesn’t count.”

“McLaggen has a form.”

“A cod!” Harry huffed in outrage. “Honestly, how useful is that going to be in a crisis? The suspect Disarms him, what’s he gonna do: transfigure into a cod and flop round at on the floor ‘til proper help arrives?”

The black wizard dryly returned, “At least he has a form.”

Harry’s mouth snapped shut. As much as he could pretend that didn’t faze him, it certainly stung to hear it from a friend as good as Kingsley. He steeled himself, flattening his palms on the armrests as he spoke. “And so do I, and I’ve been studying three years, but I just ... I haven’t exactly mastered it. I know what it is, though.”

“Knowing it is not the same as being it, Potter,” the Minister softly disputed, staring at him disapprovingly. “If one of the Black Knights lobbed a Skin Liquefaction Jinx at you, what would you do: tell them you have a form and you’re not afraid to use it, only you can’t?”

Harry stared down at his lap, comprehension dawning on him. No matter how much he avoided the subject, his Animagus form kept cropping up. And Kingsley, in every argument, was right: if he was faced with a situation and needed a swift retreat, he’d be out of luck.

“Listen, Harry,” Kingsley’s deep voice was kind, “you are a fine Stealth Auror, and your experience does the S.P.O.O.K.s a world of good; but if you can’t get your form down by the end of next month and show us that you can easily switch between human and Animagus, I’m afraid we’ll have no choice but to demote you.”

He gave the Minister a cheerless smile. “And give my post to Cocky Cormac, the contemptible cod.” Kingsley snorted, albeit apologetically. “I just ... I need more time,” he implored.

But Kingsley slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harry; rules are rules.”

A weak scoff was his response. “But I also know you’re anything but weak, Harry Potter. You save lives, and deliver time and time again. And if a little Animagus requisite can stump the man who conquered Voldemort, then you’re not the man I thought you were.”

Harry’s gaze flicked upward, seeking out any insincerity or flattery in the ex-Auror’s angular face that couldn’t be heard in his voice. When he found none, Harry risked a tiny smile in gratitude. It wasn’t often that Kingsley Shacklebolt dispensed his approval. To be held in such high regard of the hardworking Minister was more humbling than it was proud.

“Now, you’ve got over a month to prove to me and every one else wrong. You are a S.T.A.G., Harry Potter. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. Understood?”

He jerkily nodded, feeling as his morale was lifted, the burden of proving himself once more just got heavier. “Thanks, Minister Shacklebolt.”

“Solve this investigation, ace your transformation.”

“Rub it in McLaggen’s face?”

Kingsley’s expression was neutral as he raised his teacup. “As Minister, I cannot condone that.”

“Of course.”

“But,” Harry’s interest piqued at that word. Was that a smirk behind the teacup he spied? “You haven’t heard me speak against it.”

“Speak against what, sir?”

Kingsley pointed a warning finger at him and Harry smirked.

“And work with Malfoy; find out what he knows and why he’s there.”

“Ohh, that just ruined it,” Harry groaned as he rubbed his eyes. “Kingsley, if I work with him, I’ll kill him.”

“‘Lord, give me the courage to change what I can,’” said Kingsley, “‘the wisdom to accept that which I cannot change...’” (1)

Harry rolled his eyes, slumping in his chair. “Lovely. More poetry.”

“‘...And the heavy artillery to make up the difference.’”

“Ha!” Harry burst out, straightening in his chair. “Now we’re on the same page. That type of poetry I could read.”

“You should,” Kingsley said, settling a hand on a stack of books beside the biscuit tray. “It’s quite soothing. I’ve a wonderful collection if you fancy borrowing a volume or two.”

A wan smile easing across his face, Harry flatly replied, “As much as it kills me to say this, I’ll pass.”

Kingsley snorted sharply through his nose as he folded his hands before him. Harry’s brow furrowed as the Minister leaned close to him to softly say, “I trust you can work past your animosity of Draco and remember you’ve a case to solve.”

With a derisive chuckle, Harry ran his hands through his hair. The itch of his disguise’s residual magic crackled under his fingertips. Finally, shaking his head idly, he replied, “You don’t know what you’re asking of me here.”

“Or I’ll hand it off to McLaggen.”

“Right, then.” Harry cleared his throat. “Sorted.”

As much as he admired Kingsley, Harry really hated when the man gave him that wordless, knowing grin. It was just too bad Kingsley was Minister; he’d look quite menacing with a face sprouting boils and tentacles and bogies.

A sharp rap sounded at the door just as Harry was canceling his facial enchantment. He was mildly surprised to see Cottenham’s head peek around the edge of the opened door. Good. He still had a bone to pick with him.

“Excuse me, Minister Shacklebolt. There’s a, uh ... visitor of particular significance here who has expressed a message of utmost importance be relayed to you.”

At Kingsley’s wary nod, Cottenham stepped into the room, moving aside to make room for the ‘important guest.’ Harry nearly went for his wand when he saw who followed the S.P.O.O.K.s director in.

“You!” he snarled at Draco Malfoy, who was back to his usual shockingly blond, leering-faced self.

“Minister Shacklebolt,” drawled Draco with an acknowledging tip of his head. “Potter. Back to your shabby old self, I see.”

“Why you — !”

“Mr. Malfoy.” Harry bristled, but eased at the cutting glare Kingsley gave him before addressing Draco. “It’s been a while since your last public appearance.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy’s tiny shrug. “What can I say? I’m camera shy.”

“Ha!” Harry’s incredulous laugh earned him irritated frowns from his superiors. He supposed the best thing to do now would be to shut up and pay attention....

“You have a message for me?”

“Actually, it’s more an enlightenment, if you will,” the pointy-chinned wizard sneered. Harry’s hand was at his wand in an instant, a movement Malfoy caught and arched an elegant brow at.

“Just in case,” he growled at the blond.

With a last exasperated look in his direction, Draco started, “The recent murders you’re investigating ... I thought you might like to know this isn’t the first time they’ve happened.”

Harry straightened, as did Cottenham and Kingsley. “Murders? What are you playing at?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Potter: I heard you and this one,” he jerked his head at the startled Cottenham, “two weeks ago up in Watford. You two really need to brush up on security protocol.”

As Cottenham fumed, red with insult, Harry said, “I didn’t see you.”

“You didn’t want to see me,” Draco snarled, “but I was there, watching you and your little godson have an inspired day at the park. Teddy, right?”

In record time, he’d whipped out his wand and jammed it in Malfoy’s neck. “You stay away from him!”

“Easy, Potter,” the blond raised his hands in surrender, batting his wand aside. “I’m here solely on the business of Peakes and King. Now, do you want to hear what I have to say, or are you going to have a fit and wave your little wand some more?”

“Harry.” The Stealth Auror whirled around to face Kingsley, who slightly shook his head, indicating he stop. It was difficult to manage, what with Malfoy’s smug face sneering down at him and his wand pulsing in his palm, but Harry released his robes and stepped back. Though, he still kept his wand in hand. If Draco so much as breathed differently, he would hex him, regardless of Kingsley’s orders.

“Aside from overhearing us at the playground, how do you know about the murders?” Cottenham questioned.

“And you said they’ve happened before?” Kingsley chimed in, his brow creased in thought.

Harry followed Malfoy closely as he asked permission to use the Minister’s desk. He vigilantly watched as Draco dug in his inner robe pocket and produced a fistful of plastic badges. Harry recognized them as the square adornments on the blond’s shirt at the Shelter, but had no idea what Malfoy would want with Muggle trimmings.

He gave a start when Draco pulled out his wand, but Kingsley’s hand on his elbow gave him pause. It wasn’t as if he was going to hex Malfoy then and there; he’d at least wait ‘til the blond threw the first spell.

Suddenly, Draco tossed three squares in the air, aimed his wand, and shouted, “Solvo tesseres!”

A burst of blue erupted from the tip of Draco’s wand and Harry blinked as the spell wound around the badges, suspending them in midair before they swelled, larger and larger. The squares soon became cubes, or tesseracts, with each face displaying an image: like a Quibbler Interface in three-dimensional form. Peering over at Cottenham, Harry had quite a laugh at the man’s captivated expression.

As Harry moved forward to study the strange cubes, Draco began his explanation. “A little over a year ago, Alicia Bagot, née Spinnet, was found dead in her Nantes home. Worked for the French Ministry as a liaison; husband was suspected for a while, but he had an alibi.” Draco slid his hands into his pockets. “Her prized pet canary had gone missing for two weeks that same month, and returned four days prior to her death. It was found dead in its cage.”

“Alicia?” Harry questioned, narrowing his eyes at the crime scene photos. “She died? No one told me that.” While she had been somewhat more reserved back in school, Harry knew she had many friends. He couldn’t imagine why no one had mentioned it before, including Angelina, George’s wife.

“Nine months ago, Katie Bell.” Harry felt his heart thud against his chest as Alicia’s tesseract floated away and Katie’s freckle-faced cube came into view. He hadn’t heard about her death either. “Visiting her beau in Bayonne — he’s now deceased, by his own hand — and killed seemingly in the same style as Alicia. Her friends said her owl Arabella took a long time to return during her last delivery. The owl has not since been found.”

Harry was breathing hard by now. Alicia and Katie? It was too strange to be a coincidence. He caught Cottenham’s eye and could tell the man was thinking along the same lines.

“Seven months ago, Oliver Wood,” the blond continued in his usual languorous tone. “Puddlemere’s exhibition match in Paris.”

“I heard about that,” Harry interrupted, swallowing past the lump in his throat as pictures of his old captain, alive and dead, alternated on the cube screens. He recalled stopping in on the funeral at the last minute and meeting up with Ginny — “but the Prophet said it was accidental; freak broom incident.”

Malfoy nodded. “He was riding his broom ... with his anonymously-gifted Crup puppy in the stands, according to one of his teammates. Wood wanted to get in a few flies before the team left, and when he didn’t meet up with them the next morning, they found him dead, his Crup missing. Lost control of the broom, they’d decided.” Draco pulled a face, the images of Wood glinting across his eyes. “Hmf, right ... because it’s normal for one’s brain to turn to mush on impact.

“Three victims, all of whom had pets, died in the same manner — ”

“And were Gryffindor Quidditch players,” Harry finished, throwing his superiors an alarmed look. “And Jimmy, he played Beater in my sixth year, and he had a cat! King, he — he won an award for Gryffindor Quidditch in 1933!” (2)

His brief, enlightened euphoria was just as quickly zapped from his body as comprehension dawned. “Doesn’t that mean I’m a target? And my friends?” If someone was picking off old teams left and right, he needed to start warning people.

Draco frowned, shaking his head. “It’s impossible to tell who will be next. They’re very random targeted attacks, and we haven’t yet established a pattern.”

“And where do you fit into all of this?” the strangely subdued S.P.O.O.K.s director voiced. “How did you come by all of this information?”

“Yeah. Maybe you’re picking off Gryffindors one by one, Malfoy,” Harry accused, glaring at the blond. “You never did like the Gryffindors at school.”

“This is much bigger than some schoolboy rivalry,” the blond returned angrily. “These people are being killed on my territory, and I don’t like it at all. I would think you’d grown past this, Potter, but once again, I’ve overestimated your intelligence.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Harry derisively growled in the face of Malfoy’s smugness.

“I’m here at the behest of the French Ministry,” the blond confessed as he flipped his robe back, flashing a Ministry badge. “I work for the Directorate of Magical Intelligence: like your S.P.O.O.K.s, but better.”

“You’re undercover?” Cottenham’s tone was somewhere between astonishment and outrage.

“Well I was, until Potter infiltrated my operation and procured a job at the Watford Shelter.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on,” said Harry. “Peakes died over two weeks ago, and you’ve been working in Watford almost four. How did you know about the shelter?”

“We have reason to believe King’s daughter adopted a dog from there for her children a few months before his death,” said Draco, leaning back on Kingsley’s desk. “Sources say the dog stayed with him most of the time. We scouted all the shelters, tapped into their Muggle vaults, and ... well, you can imagine the rest.”

“And the French Ministry chose not to share this information with us?”

“What do you call this?” Draco answered Kingsley’s claim with a sweeping gesture.

Harry had never seen Kingsley so furious, his eyes narrowed until they were the barest of slits. The Stealth Auror leapt out of the way as Kingsley stormed to his fireplace, tossed in a pinch of Floo powder, and requested the French Minister of Magic’s presence. Harry thought he sounded quite pleasant, even through clenched teeth.

What followed was a calm exchange of words, neither Minister raising their voices, but Harry knew fury when he saw it. There was so much heat beneath their words, he was sure the office temperature rose several degrees.

Draco stood nearby, expression ever haughty, as Minister Girard, Kingsley, and Cottenham faced off (again, calmly) on the definition of ‘national security.’ Harry eyed him closely as he whispered the counterspell to shrink the tesseracts back into badges. As Malfoy caught the last one in hand, Harry noticed a silver and green one he couldn’t recall seeing Draco activate.

“What’s on that last one?” he prompted, catching Malfoy unawares.

“What?”

“That last square in your hand,” Harry nodded at the pale fist tightening around the handful. “What’s on there?”

“Nothing,” said Malfoy. “I was saving it for the Peakes and King cases.”

“Sh—”

Before Harry could question him further, Cottenham called Malfoy over to the fire. Harry sat back and inclined his head to his miffed superiors, listening as strange word after strange French word bounced effortlessly off Draco’s tongue.

Several minutes later, Malfoy turned the call back over to Kingsley, and after a brief exchange of words, the firecall was ended. “Now that that’s sorted, I want you two working all day and night on this, reporting back to Cottenham with anything suspicious. For now, we will not alert any of the potential victims to any danger, but we will dispatch field agents to keep an eye on them — ”

“Wait, wait, wait a second — ”

“You’re not even going to warn them?”

“I don’t take orders from you, Minister Shacklebolt — ”

“We don’t have the manpower for that sort of thing, Kingsley — ”

“THAT,” Kingsley’s voice boomed, effectively shutting both him and Malfoy up, “is quite enough. Potter, the S.P.A.R.C.s can handle the task. I refuse to cause a panic among the people.

“And as for you, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry gauged the blond’s defiant expression and hoped to God Kingsley put him in his place. “As of now, you’re on my territory. I may still be fresh to this position, but I hold clout in other foreign ministries. Any more disobedience from you and Minister Girard will get a less than thrilled firecall from me. Understood?”

Malfoy must have had one hell of a death wish because he scowled disdainfully at Kingsley.

“Do we have an understanding, Agent Malfoy?” the Minister broached once more, and this time, Harry could’ve sworn he saw wisps of smoke leaving the ex-Auror’s ears.

Pursing his pale lips, Draco ground out, “As a crystal goblet.”

Kingsley’s eyes glistened with something unreadable as he nodded firmly. “Good. Get out, both of you. You’ve got some undercover work that needs to be done.”

Without sparing a backward glance, Draco brushed past him, expression almost murderous, and left Kingsley’s office. Harry stared after the angry blond for all of a second before going after him, remembering to throw a hasty ‘thanks’ over his shoulder at Kingsley.

It didn’t take him long to find Draco, what with his white-blond hair a prominent beacon in the dark Ministry corridors. Harry ducked into the lift seconds after Malfoy, nearly tearing his robes in the process.

He pressed himself against the wall, closing his eyes and catching his breath as the lift’s pleasant tone voiced their destination. When he opened his eyes, Harry was unsurprised to find Malfoy staring at him, a surly look on his face.

Draco’s face didn’t look that much different than when he’d last seen it some six years prior. It was an image Harry would always remember: the misguided blond’s face filled with terror, and his grey eyes shining with fresh naiveté. Now, Malfoy’s eyes looked older, harder, and more mature. Harry was immediately drawn to them; the motive for Malfoy’s maturity was intriguing.

Then Harry was suddenly reminded he was staring as said Slytherin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Blinking, Harry snapped, “Don’t look at me like that,” and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve if only to see Draco’s nose wrinkle in disgust. He wasn’t let down when the other man’s face contorted as if he’d smelled something most foul. “You’re not the one who’s got to see your ugly face every day.”

“Better my face than yours,” the blond retorted with a bored frown. “Because unlike yours, mine can’t break mirrors and snap wands.

“Speaking of which, when it comes to stealth you seriously fail, Potter.” Draco shook his head in obvious disdain. “At least I tried to disguise myself; seems you didn’t even bother to make an attempt.”

“Of all the bloody shelters...” Harry grumbled instead, gently bouncing his head on the lift wall. He didn’t feel the need to add to the headache he had already amassed since morning. “I had to go and get the round-the-clock one with you.”

“There, there, no need to get nasty, Potter,” the former Slytherin leered with tired eyes. “Admit it: you’re just insecure with your masculinity and thus, feel the need to size me up to feed your shallow being.”

“Do you like hearing yourself talk?”

“All the time,” Draco replied, smirking. “We’re more alike than you know.”

Harry huffed, pulling a face. “Doubtful.”

“Hah,” Malfoy wearily barked as the lift jangled on. “You don’t know me anymore, Potter.”

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. Change? Highly unlikely with someone like Malfoy.

“You can’t have changed much in six years,” he goaded, the corner of his mouth tilting into a crooked grin. “You’re probably working with your father to relive the glory days. What about it, Malfoy: rebuilding the old regime with daddy in your cellar?”

Draco tore his gaze from the shiny visitor’s badge on his front stating Draco Malfoy: Information Relay, and glowered. Harry was mildly startled by the amount of rage shimmering in the blond’s eyes. Some things truly didn’t change. “You don’t know anything, Potter.”

The Stealth Auror heaved a shoulder up and down lazily. “You keep saying that and I really won’t.”

He studied the blond’s less than affable mask, wondering just what had happened to Draco Malfoy to warrant such a restrained reaction. “I’ve learned to keep my nose clean, unlike you.”

He could already hear the chatter floating up from the Atrium the moment the lift shook to a halt. Once the doors opened, Draco slipped out, obviously grateful to be out of his presence. As the blond adjusted his robes and started walking towards the entrance din, Harry called after him, “See you tomorrow, Seiker.”

Another mirthless laugh came from Malfoy, who turned around, and with mischief sparking in his eyes replied, “Bright and early, Hyde.”

When the lift gate rattled to a close, Harry was unsettled to find he was smiling, long after Draco had gone.


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1. Quote by Patrick L. Humphrey.
2. The author has taken liberties with movieverse King and aged him 36 years.

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A/N: This may be the last update for a few days. Hopefully, this won't be the case, but I wanted to warn everyone just in case. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed so far: paigeey07, Anon, luv_ya22, and Jilliane. A round of hugs for everyone! ^^

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