Do You Still Believe?

Beyond the boundaries of your city's lights,
Stand the heroes waiting for your cries.
So many times you did not bring this on yourself,
When that moment finally comes,
I'll be there to help.
-- 3 Doors Down - Citizen Soldiers
-o0o-

Harry stared in flustered horror at the remains of his cubicle. It was ... normal. None of his papers were where he'd left them. The pictures, he was expecting to have been taken down, based on Malfoy's comment the day before, but ... it wasn't even recognisable as his any more. It could have belonged to any one of the multitudes of Aurors who worked full time in the office. Face darkening with undisplayed rage, he turned a thunderous look on Malfoy, who had the bad grace to look amused at the situation.

"This is a much more enjoyable setting for work, don't you agree?" he said lightly. Harry scowled.

"I cannot be held accountable if my partner is killed in the line of duty," he threatened. "This includes falling off a very tall building." He took a step towards Malfoy, wand drawn, and was trying to decide between throwing a hex or a punch when the little paper bird fluttered down into his face. As senior to Malfoy, all requests for their work would be directed to him, and he plucked it from the air elegantly. "Luckily for me, I am about to get a chance," he muttered, and jerked his head towards Shacklebolt's office. Malfoy trotted along beside him happily, apparently thrilled with his prospective death. Harry had been an Auror for eight years; he was quite capable of making it look like an accident. He'd probably get another Order of Merlin for ridding the world of another Malfoy scourge.

Shacklebolt didn't look best pleased to see them. "I'm afraid it's bad news, Harry," he said, nodding in Malfoy's direction by way of acknowledgement. "It's the pureblood man again. We're not going to be able to keep this under wraps for much longer. Once the Prophet gets wind of it, we're going to have a circus on our hands."

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Pureblood man?" he asked politely. Harry shot him a dark look, more irritated with himself for not remembering to mention it before this. Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow at Harry, clearly wondering the same.

"I hadn't had a chance to tell you yet," he began. "There's a serial murderer targeting purebloods. We've been able to keep it quiet so far, because they've been from relatively minor families, or have no family left to speak of."

"No one to raise the press," Malfoy clarified, and Harry nodded. "Where's the file?"

Harry gave him a pointed glower. "It was on my desk," he started, but Shacklebolt cut him off.

"Malfoy, find the files you put away, and read over it. If Harry's filing system is the same, it should have been near the top of the pile."

"If he didn't rearrange them," Harry grumbled. Malfoy's attack on his cubicle was a sore point with him, one that he wasn't going to allow to drift away without a fight. Malfoy shot them both a sunny smile.

"On it," he said pleasantly, and vanished. Shacklebolt turned his attention to Harry.

"You've got to be more amenable. It's only a year. You can deal with an unorganised cubicle for that long, can't you?" His voice was almost pleading, and Harry wondered why he was so set on Harry getting along with Malfoy.

"Simply a year, sir," he said curtly, and Shacklebolt accepted it with a tilt of his head.

"Good. Mrs. Littlewood called; she said there's been someone sneaking around her house, and she's worried he may be a thief. I want you and Malfoy out on it in five minutes, as soon as he reads the report."

Harry nodded, and turned away. "Alright," he said, hurrying back to his cubicle. Who knew what Malfoy had gotten up to since he'd walked away.

-o0o-

Draco had to admit that it was remarkably well-organised for such a disorganised mess. He'd kept all the original orders, and filing systems; just translated it from stacks on the desk into neatly filed drawers. The file on the murders was readily available the minute he pulled on the drawer labeled 'open cases', and it took him only a short time to read it and absorb the details. Small pureblood families, and purebloods with no family left had been targeted so far. He suppressed a thought that it was lucky the Weasley's were so prolific, and then blanched, despite the fact that there was no one to share his thoughts with. Potter wouldn't have appreciated that in any sense, and with his current mental state being what it was, he'd be just as likely to cast the Killing Curse on Draco just for thinking something like that, and then claim momentary insanity to get out of a one-way trip to Azkaban.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Potter appeared in the entranceway to the little square. "We're leaving as soon as you've read that," he said gruffly.

"Let's go then," Draco said brightly, and laid the file on his desk, flipped over so that a casual observer of the cubicle couldn't see the contents. Potter scowled, but jerked his head in the direction of the door. Draco followed him out, listening to the terse instructions on their first assignment as a partnered team.

-

They'd apparated over to Mrs. Littlewood's spacious home, and were walking up the drive. Potter turned to him, scowling magisterially. "You'll be the one she talks to," he said. "She's not too keen on non-purebloods. If I was here by myself, she'd talk to me, but you'll be able to get more out of her. Your cubicle-wrecking talents should be good for something, at least, as she's quite fond of botany." The words dripped sarcasm, and Draco refused to rise to it for once. He'd known the battle he was in for when he took this job on; he knew his own limitations - few as they were - and he intended to stay well away from them.

"Cubicle tyrant," he said mildly. Potter's lips twisted into something that may or may not have been a smirk.

"Martha Stewart," he shot back, and Draco was still reeling under it when Potter rang the bell. Mrs. Littlewood answered almost immediately, and stood behind a barely-cracked door, regarding them warily.

Potter pasted a bright smile on his face, one that Draco recognised instantly as fake, but which seemed to reassure the elderly witch. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Littlewood. I'm Auror Potter, and this is - Auror Malfoy. We were sent to check out complaints of an intruder on your property. May we come in?"

She stood back a little from the door, nodding, and they stepped in, Potter delicately wiping his feet before entering. Mrs. Littlewood nodded once in approval, and Draco ensured that he did so as well. Clearly Potter had experience with her, or her type, and he reminded himself that Potter had eight years with the Aurors under his belt.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, sounding anything but. "It was a rather tall figure, and he was wearing a black cloak. I saw him out my sitting room window, just here." She pointed to a large window that took up the majority of the wall. "Down there, by the fence."

"I'll go check it out. Have you been down there at all?" Potter asked, sounding official. Mrs. Littlewood gave him a dour look.

"Go over to the place that a strange man was wandering around not an hour before? I think not, young man. This is a dangerous world we live in; anything could happen to an old lady living on her own."

Draco glanced up at Potter, surprised, and found green eyes already on him. They exchanced a glance that conveyed volumes. There was definitely no way information on the murders had slipped out; perhaps she was just being fussy.

"Very good, madam," Potter said, tilting his head once, and exiting the room. Draco felt panicked for a moment, but the birdlike tilt to her head evened out, and she gave an almost warm smile.

"Now that the riffraff is gone, I'd like to have a word with you, Auror Malfoy." She offered him a seat, and called up a house elf to serve him tea. "How's your mother?" Mrs. Littlewood asked pleasantly. Draco relaxed.

-o0o-

Harry glanced in the window, and saw Malfoy sitting down comfortably, sipping at a cup of tea and chatting to Mrs. Littlewood like an old friend. He allowed himself a genuine - if small - smile, and made his way over to the fence. There were no footprints in the dirt, which was distressing. A discreet spell revealed that there had been no magic cast in this vicinity, which was further bad news. It could have been a simple prowler, and not related to the case at all.

He relegated the information to the back of his mind, filed under 'unimportant', and then made his way back to the house, wondering how easy it would be to extract Malfoy from the witch's clutches. He knocked once on the door, and then let himself in, taking in more of the home now that she wasn't staring at him like a fish she'd sighted in the water. The first impression of Mrs. Littlewood was that of a kindly old lady, but more than a minute or two in her presence rapidly adjusted that estimation to that of an eagle; she was sharp in her movements, keen of eye and quick of wit, and suffered no ills willingly.

"Auror Malfoy? A brief check of the area reveals no hostile intent. I believe it was just someone who was lost, perhaps apparated wrong, and was simply trying to find his way out of your garden." He nodded once in thanks to Mrs. Littlewood, and Malfoy rose gracefully, thanking her effusively for the tea. She smiled warmly, inviting him back any time he liked.

"You do work miracles," Harry said once they were off her property and headed towards the apparition point. "She doesn't call often, but no one in the department can stand to deal with her."

Malfoy shrugged. "Wasn't too bad," he said. "You're right about the pureblood comment; she didn't want to have anything to do with you, but treated me as if I were her long-lost grandson." He looked around as he walked, an action that any casual observer would take to mean he wasn't interested in his conversation, and was looking for more pleasing things to occupy his mind. Harry recognised it as one of the lessons drilled into recruits during Auror training - always be aware of your surroundings, or as Moody had always said, Constant Vigilance. Briefly, Harry thought that he would have to teach Malfoy to do it more discreetly, and then he cut that thought off before it could go any further. He didn't want to teach Malfoy anything.

The other half of his brain argued. You're senior Auror in the field, and you're training him. That means you have to teach him how to be discreet, or he's going to get himself killed the minute he steps out of training.

The first half argued back. Would one less Malfoy in the world be any great loss?

This drew him up short for a moment, and he actually stopped walking before he realised that this would betray an unwelcome line of thought, and kept his feet moving before Malfoy could say anything to him. Yes, he decided finally, reluctantly. Too many people had died in the war, and because of the war. Friends and enemies alike were gone as though they had never existed. It hit him sometimes, in the dead of night; when he was working late, or jerked awake from a nightmare, and during the day when he was fixing himself a sandwhich or turning paperwork over to Shacklebolt.

Ron was dead.

He'd dealt with death before - his parents, Cedric, they were just the first. But Ron's was the death that brought home the finality of it. The knowledge that he'd been there one day, and then was simply gone the next, and he wasn't ever coming back.

Much as he disliked Malfoy, and didn't want to be saddled with him as a partner, the blond man was still a link to the happiest time in his life. And given how much he'd changed in the last eight years, he thought wryly, Malfoy must have changed somehow. Maybe one day, several years from now, they'd be comfortable enough with one another to sit down in a pub and reminisce about Hogwarts without resorting to hexes and jinxes. He barked a laugh to himself, and waved it off when Malfoy looked at him.

"Unpleasant thoughts," he said by way of explanation, and then apparated back to the ministry to file his report on the Littlewood complaint.

-o0o-
I have awesome taste in music, I've decided. XD So I'm going to subject you all to it, in the hopes of spreading some love around (a la my recent comments on Tom Felton)

to that end, kori is listening to: Metro Station - Control

(Metro Station is fronted by Miley Cyrus' older brother, Trace Cyrus, and Mitchell Musso's brother Mason Musso. They're amazing.)

Kyle Evadne: I really like your analogy of their relationship to a flower. I have such awesome reviewers. *gives all of you a cookie* And you're VERY welcome. I wouldn't knowingly withhold an accent like that from anyone. x3

Excilda: I wish I'd found them sooner, but I'm happy to have found them when I did. And Harry's something of a rollercoaster right now. He's going to be bouncing up and down like ferret!Malfoy from fourth year - he's a little relaxed that he still has something that he recalls from school, which were his happiest years, but he's still not got Hermione or Ron, and that drags him down, and it's all a big complicated mess wrapped up in one cute little Harry Potter bundle.

thrnbrooke: Not so much agreeable as non-confrontational. Yet.

snappy pants: Thank you! I'll be updating as often as I can get the chapters to come out of my brain and into the notepad. They've been pretty short up until now, but I feel proud of myself for updating every day, every other day, and sometimes twice a day. x3

L_C: Lucky girl. Rome? Wow~ I knew he was having trouble with his teeth. I was going to suggest aspirin (the only thing that helps me when I'm having trouble with my teeth) and then by the time I had a chance to say something about it on Twitter, he'd posted again and said he was drinking a whisky to take the edge off. xDD That is, eventually, going into a fanfic somehow.

hieisdragoness18: thanks for reviewing!