Out of the Night that Covers Me

Out of the Night that Covers Me

by Mephistedes

Previously:

As he trudged carefully to the unconscious Rhys, Harry paused, realizing how desolate he’d painted himself out to be. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Desperation?”

“You wish,” he countered with a smirk. He leaned over Rhys with his wand and murmured, “Rennervate.”



.:.

VII. The Road Trip, Part II

.:.

“Bwah!” Harry jumped back as Rhys’ burly arms went flying. His beady eyes scurried around the room before finding them and renewing his fight. Harry acted quickly to try to subdue him, but it was a pointless effort trying to hold down someone who weighed twice as much as him.

“Rhys — ”

“Geh off me! Yeh leave those poor creatures alone, hear me?”

“Rhys, just listen — ”

“I’ll not ‘ave yeh murderin’ them for yer hats an’ scarves an’ coats, hear? LEAVE THEM BE!”

“Potter, this isn’t working.” Draco lazily informed as he toyed with his badges.

Harry yelled as a plump fist clipped his jaw and seethed at Malfoy’s lack of assistance. “Maybe if you’d help me — ”

“VRIRRRT! VRIRRT!”

“You’re asking for my help?”

“SODDING — !”

“We’re supposed to be — ”

“BLEEDIN’ MURDERER, YEH ARE!”

“BURK! BARK! BAHK!”

Harry hopped out of the way, hoping he hadn’t stepped on anything. “Rhys! Would you please — !”

“ — HATE YAH, FUR-WEARIN’ — ”

“GRRIKK! BURK! BURK!”

“It feels like we’re in the half-giant oaf’s class all over again,” he vaguely heard the blond grumble. “I worked hard to suppress those awful memories.”

“MALFOY!”

“Fine. Stupefy.”

“ARGH! STOP DOING THAT!” Harry cried out as Rhys fell into yet another dead slump.

Draco shrugged indifferently, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Once again,” he nodded at the lumpy form, “help.”

Harry gave a grunting pant as he wiped the sweat and blood off his face with a sleeve. “Is that how you operate at the Directorate?”

The blond hefted an eyebrow. “Why? Interested?”

“Not if you’re going to defy the rules.”

“When national security’s at stake, there are no rules,” Draco sneered. “You’re not what you used to be, Potter. I thought you flouted rules. Don’t tell me all that time without Little Weasley’s gone and made you soft after all these years.”

There was something in Draco’s hooded gaze that troubled Harry. Perhaps it was the knowing air with which Malfoy addressed him. Maybe it was the way those grey eyes seemed to look right through him, past his fears and anger and into his soul.

Or maybe it was the challenge behind the Slytherin’s words that set Harry’s nerves afire.

Whatever it was, he didn’t have the time to deal with it now. He had Rhys to worry about on top of the dozens of furry rodents skittering past his ankles. He’d handle Draco later.

Glaring at the leering blond over the rim of his glasses, Harry pointed his wand to Rhys and muttered, “Reenervate.”

This time, when Rhys roared and reared up again, ropes shot from Malfoy’s wand to wind around the raging manager. Harry said nothing this time, more grudgingly grateful than annoyed at Draco’s decision. All the better for his face, after all.

Looming over the hissing, spitting man, Harry let Rhys struggle against the ropes in vain. He expected more of a reaction from him where the ropes were concerned, having seemingly materialized out of nowhere. Rhys, however, seemed busy with trying to get out of the binds than wondering where they came from.

When it seemed that the man had calmed a tad, Harry drew his attention with a firm, “Rhys Jones.”

Face shining with perspiration, the babbling man finally spotted him and when he moved to speak, Harry cut him off. “No, it’s time for you to listen. We are not going to harm your chinchillas,” he made sure to stretch the words out and waited for the frantic man to comprehend. “We are Hyde and David, your shelter volunteers. We look a bit different than normal because we’re ... MI6.”

Rhys’ unnaturally small eyes got even smaller. Harry allowed himself a tiny smile. “You understand now, Rhys? We’re undercover.”

Rhys stared at him for the longest while before looking away at Draco. After a few moments, his gaze returned. “Doin’ what?”

“Investigating.”

“Investigatin’ what? Me?”

Harry gestured with a neither-here-nor-there nod. “At the moment.” Harry uncertainly turned back, glancing at Draco, who shot him an annoyed look. Obviously, he still thought this was a waste of time, but Harry could care less about Malfoy at the moment.

Moistening his lips, Harry carefully lowered himself on his haunches, mindful of the moving floor below him. He lightly smiled as his fingers accidentally caressed an unbelievably soft chinchilla coat.

Quietly, Harry asked, “Rhys, what’s going on?”

He watched Rhys’ face carefully for any indication that he might try to lie his way out of things, but found none. Breathing heavily, Rhys gruffly said, “Yeh aw’ready know. Yeh caught me, di’n yah?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Been waitin’ fer yeh to catch up to ol’ Rhys. Thought yeh’d never get ‘ere, I did.”

Well, that was even more disturbing than he’d imagined. “You ... were expecting us?” Harry asked, shying away from a warm lick to his ankle.

A gravely chuckle rumbled through Rhys’ form as his eyes appraised the raucous band of rodents. “Fer a while now, yeah. Kept wondrin’ if teday’d be the day, or tomorrow, or the next time, or the next. Under yer noses all this time ... howzit feel bein’ bested by my like, eh?”

His breath was coming out so sparingly Harry thought he’d suffocate. That someone would be so sick as to treat murder as a sport.... It was as if Voldemort never perished; as if he, and Dumbledore, and even Snape had fought for nothing. What was the purpose of Good if people as foul as Rhys still existed to do this much carnage?

“Why?” Harry hissed, his hands shaking in his rage. “Answer me.” Rhys was lucky he couldn’t feel the heat of his wand, else the entire building would fall in one go.

As if knowing how close he was to hexing the proud manager, Harry felt the warmth of Draco’s hand on his shoulder. Strangely, he felt calmer; he was still enraged, but clearer-headed.

Rhys jerked at his fastenings and groaned, apparently seeing that they weren’t going to loosen. “Why, yeh ask?” he rumbled with a booming cough. “Because yeh deserve it fer all yeh’ve done.”

“No one deserves to die that way.”

“So yeh finally seein’ my way o’ things?”

Harry breathed sharply through his nostrils. “Your way?”

“As if yeh doan know, MI6 an’ all.”

“What did we do to you? What did I?” Harry snarled. Draco’s fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder.

Rhys sniggered mirthlessly and pulled at his ropes. “Yeh doana understand,” he said through clenched teeth. “What yeh’re doin’ is worse, far worse.”

Harry shook his head, unimpressed; disgusted. “What we’re doing is worse?” his tone was misleadingly gentle. “This is murder!”

“Now you see!” Rhys shouted back, causing the chinchillas to raise an even louder fuss. “Cun yeh hear their cry? Their blood sings out to yeh! How could yeh do this to ‘em? How could yeh look ‘em in de eye an’ slaughter them?”

“Crying? Who’s crying?” Harry asked, peering at the blubbering man curiously. He seriously hoped Rhys wasn’t going to the Wizengamot with an insanity plea, because he certainly looked good for it now.

“They’ve done naught to you, Hyde Powell!” he blathered on above the barking. “But still yeh go on, wearin’ their coats to impress yer friends! Did yeh know it takes o’er two-hundred to make one coat? Their blood is on yer hands!”

At this point, Harry rose to his full height, staring down at Rhys with an expression of utmost confusion. How sick was this man that he liquefied peoples’ brains and wanted to make coats from their flesh?

“Yeh’re murderers! The lot of yeh! MURDERERS!” Harry furtively glanced at Malfoy, who was absently fingering his tesseracts. “They’re cryin’ out ta yeh, but yeh’ve blocked up yer ears, because yeh dowanna hear it!”

Dead silence fell after that loud proclamation, save for the excited chinchillas making their usual commotion. Harry really had no idea what to say.

“All right, enough’s enough,” Draco butt in, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I’ve been following this conversation for five full minutes, just as I’ve been watching your expressions, Potter.” Harry stared at him, puzzled, as Draco casually asked, “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“I’m not even on the same Quidditch pitch, I’m...” he trailed off, idly shaking his head. With a great sigh, Harry clamped his hands over his face and groaned in aggravation. When he finally peeled his hands off his face, Harry confronted, “Rhys, when you say ... ‘murder,’” he slowly began, “d’you mean people-murder, or — ”

“I know what yeh’re thinkin’.”

“Ohh, you couldn’t possibly.”

“They’re only chins, yes, but they doan deserve to suffer fer the sake o’ style!”

Harry nodded, eyes as round as saucers. “And ... by ‘style’ you mean...?”

Rhys looked at him as if he’d sprouted three heads. “Fashion!”

“Huh,” Harry glumly chuckled. “Things are so much clearer now.”

“Yes, yes.” Draco chimed in.

Clapping his hands together, Harry said, “Right, slight misunderstanding. So these chinchillas, they’re — ?”

“Stolen.”

“Stolen?”

“Stolen back from the fact’ry they were ‘eaded to,” Rhys nodded, shifting his attention between both he and Draco.

Harry pursed his lips, nodding. “I see. And you’re in possession of them because?”

Rhys’ eyes widened in his uncertainty. “I’m drivin’ em to Cardiff Bay — ”

Harry broke in, snapping his fingers and exclaiming, “Aha! ‘Aric at Roath,’ Roath Dock!” he grinned goofily at the unenthusiastic blond. “Ha, ha, just got that now.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Wonder of wonders.”

“Rhys?”

The man in question gaped openly at them before continuing. “I’m drivin’ em to Roath Dock. Me mate Aric works on a barge headin’ to South America, to freedom.” Harry threw Malfoy a warning look when he rolled his eyes and mimed a yawn. “He cun sneak ‘em onboard below deck.”

Harry nodded, but frowned as one of the grey rodents gnawed on his shoestrings. “All right, so why are they loose?” He wanted to ask Rhys if he was giving them a chance to stretch their stubby legs before the long voyage, but decided not to. After all, they still had to release him from his twine prison, and Harry didn’t fancy being chased around the building all night.

“I was lockin’ em in when the latch broke, an’ they all escaped ‘fore I could close the door.” Rhys jerked his head toward the worn partition that appeared to have once been a kitchen counter. Harry realized while Rhys should have been upset, he was smiling and speaking adoringly of his quarry. “But I got another cage full back there, an’ an empty one fer the rest.”

Harry grinned widely and nodded slowly. “So, to recap, you’re not a murderer.”

Rhys’ brow furrowed in alarm. “Ehh, no. I’m the second to last stop on their journey.”

“And Pa — er, the chinchilla at the Shelter today?”

“Had the location of this place stuck to the bottom o’ the cage. Heh, been a bag o’ nerves since they dropped that chin off.”

At this, Harry swung around to glare at Malfoy. “You didn’t check the bottom of the cage?”

Draco pulled a real nasty face before sneering, “A Malfoy on the bottom? I think not, Potter.”

He tried his best to ignore the blond’s leer as he resumed questioning Rhys. “The monthly increase in the shelter’s bank account?”

“Fuel, toll, an’ lorry rental. Lorry’s behind the flat. Everything’s packed, jus’ waitin’ to load the chins.”

“So the whole cruelty to animals bit you do every day?”

Rhys gave a wheezy little laugh. “Dowanna be seen as some soft-headed oaf-like.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Malfoy dryly chimed in. “Surrounded by fuzzy creatures to save them from a fate worse than bad fashion? No soft-head oaf there.”

Harry ignored him and nodded to Rhys. “And you’re doing all of this because the chins are being killed for their fur.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re saving them.”

“Christ, fer MI6, yeh’re bleedin’ idiots,” Rhys snorted in disbelief. “By the way: if yeh’re both here, which one o’ yeh’s videoing Corrie fer me?”

Harry threw the grumbled manager a tight smile. “Right. Stupefy.”

“Ooh, Potter,” snickered Draco as Rhys sagged on the sofa a third time. He was starting to look like a beached whale from all his flopping. “That’s not nice. You really shouldn’t — ”

“Yeah, yeah. D’you think he’s telling the truth?” Harry quickly asked, casting the Stunned form a sidelong glance.

Malfoy scoffed. “Of course he is.”

“How d’you know that?”

“Because it’s too pathetic to be a lie,” Draco replied, his expression the epitome of pure displeasure. “I told you this was a waste of time, Potter.”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. Malfoy was never going to let him hear the end of this. “I had a hunch and I went for it, Malfoy. I’m not sorry about that.”

“Recklessness and stupidity, Potter,” the blond replied. “Recklessness and stupidity.”

“Just fix the cage and catch the chinchillas while I talk to Rhys,” ordered Harry.

“Actually, about Bleeding Heart — ”

“Reenervate.”

He passed the time by handing Draco stray chinchillas as he waited for the man to come to. “Oh, quit complaining. You could’ve been forking up dog shit along Tylers Way right now instead.”

“As opposed to playing Hide and Seek with a bunch of barking rats in an abandoned building, oh right, Potter,” Harry sniggered silently as a beige-colored chinchilla gave the blond a hard time. “The alternative is that much better.”

“I dunno how your parents put up with you,” Harry griped, handing off a pair of grey chins. “Nag, nag, nag; I bet that’s all they hear from you. Probably thrilled you’re so far away in France. I would be if I were them,” he finished quietly to himself, glaring daggers at Malfoy’s back.

He had gently wrestled a difficult silver-grey one off the sofa (“Ouch! I found Pash!”) when he noticed with some trepidation that Rhys hadn’t awoken. Curious; he was sure he’d Reenervated him.

“Reenervate.” He commanded once more. A wispy blue cloud burst from the end of his wand and surrounded Rhys before dissipating. Still, the Welshman remained motionless.

Now alarmed, Harry gently shook Rhys’ shoulder while saying his name. When there was no response, he repeated the process, harder and harder again until he was rocking Rhys like a dinghy on choppy waters.

When it became apparent that Rhys wasn’t waking up, Harry decided to use his last resort. “Malfoy,” he called, slowly feeling the greedy arms of panic tugging at him hard. “Rhys ... he’s not Reenervating. I’ve done the spell twice and he’s not waking up.”

Draco harrumphed quietly to himself as he urged the last chinchilla behind the cage door. “Well he wouldn’t, would he?” Harry frowned, egging Malfoy on with an insistent look. The Slytherin sighed. “Didn’t you pay attention during Charms? You can only Stun and Revive someone so many times in an hour before they fall into a deep sleep.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “How deep?”

“Varies per person.”

The Stealth Auror resisted the urge to grab the blond and shake him. “And you chose to tell me this now?”

“I tried,” Draco drawled with contempt as Harry pulled at his hair. “But you were too busy playing interrogator.”

Harry scowled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the chinchillas began their ceaseless barking. “You know what this means, don’t you?” he quietly said, meeting Draco’s questioning gaze. “We’re going to Cardiff.”

The blond’s brow creased in mild befuddlement. “For wh — no.” Draco barely whispered, pulling away from him. “No way, Potter. No ... way.”

“We can’t just leave them here.”

“Oh, yes we can!” Harry mentally noted how comically large Draco’s grey eyes got when he was in a state of panic. “They can stay here until Jones wakes up, or they eat his plump arse; I’m not fussed about either choice!”

Peering over his eyeglass rim at the scowling Slytherin, Harry decided to resort to dirtier tactics. He owed it to Rhys for putting him through so much trouble, and if it was going to kill him, he’d get to Cardiff Bay to finish what Rhys started.

Staring into the blond’s miserable expression, Harry implored, “Malfoy...”

“No, all right?” Draco growled, backing away from both the chinchilla cages and Harry’s pleading expression. “I am not driving all the way out to Wales for some rodent rescue and recover mission.”

“We owe it to Rhys.”

“No, you owe it to Rhys.” The blond corrected, narrowing his eyes into thin slits. “I was merely a victim of your reckless scheme, having been round at the wrong place and time.”

Harry smirked in amusement, shaking his head slowly from side to side. Draco really was quite funny when he wasn’t insulting anyone or being an arse. It was almost endearing, reminding Harry quite a bit of their old school days. Of course, Harry would never admit that in public, least of all to him.

With a wry grin, Harry asked, “Are you sure about that?”

Malfoy crossed his arms with a haughty smirk. “Potter, there is absolutely nothing you can say to make me change my mind.”

Finally, a challenge. When Harry arched an eyebrow he could’ve sworn Draco had gone whiter than usual.


:::


“So...” Harry began after they loaded the final cage. “Shotgun.”

He could already make out Draco’s scowl in his peripheral vision. “Unless you want to wake up in the Thames surrounded by drowning, barking, furry hats ... no way in Hell, Potter.”

“Well, if they’re drowning, they can’t bark,” Harry teasingly rationalized, “and if they’re wet, they’re not really furry.”

“Potter,” Harry basked in the ire of that tone, “cut the small talk, you’re useless at it. I’m only here because you threatened to call up Shacklebolt.”

“C’mon, Malfoy,” he brightly began. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Harry soon discovered that the storm cloud of pursed lips, narrowed eyes, and scowl lines that was Malfoy’s face was not something to take lightly.

The ride to Cardiff was mostly made in silence. That was, after both he and Malfoy got so fed up with their boisterous cargo, the blond encased them in a Silencing Charm.

Harry tried a handful of attempts at small talk, asking Malfoy everything from why France (“Because they didn’t loathe all things Malfoy.”), getting his input on the murders (“Oh, it’s Hagrid, of course.”), the difference between Muggle radio and the Wizarding Wireless Network (“Bling? Ice? Muggles are so bored without magic they’ve resorted to making up words for jewelry?”), and about his parents (“Just drive, Potter.”). The last was shot down rather abruptly, for which Harry was bemused. Draco was usually the first to defend or boast about his parents. Strange that he’d avoid talk of them altogether. Harry mulled on that for the rest of the tense ride.

At long last, they reached Cardiff Bay at nearly two in the morning. By that time, the headache pounding behind Harry’s eyes worsened because of the broken Silencing Charm on the cargo they’d failed to recast. He himself had tried six times and failed; Malfoy, ten, but nothing worked. Draco, he noticed with faint amusement, appeared to be on the brink of a breakdown, with tears of frustration building in the corners of his tired eyes.

As Rhys had promised, they met Aric, the ship’s cargo hand (and chatty animal rights activist) at Roath Dock, and helped load (well, he had to persuade Malfoy) the raucous rodents onto the Calon Lân barge.

While Harry would have liked to wait and see the ship off, he feared Draco’s sanity was but hanging by a thread. Before the ship left the harbor, he and Malfoy were already headed back to Watford.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed tiredly, stifling a yawn with his forearm. “I, for one, am glad that’s over with.”

“Potter, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I smell, and therefore, am not in the mood for small talk,” Draco snapped, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes.

Harry chuckled, briefly flicking his gaze to the exhausted Slytherin. “You’re in luck. I happen to be absolute pants at small talk.”

Draco’s death glare only served to amuse him. “Just drop me off at the Shelter and I’ll Apparate when we get there.”

It was then Harry realized he hadn’t once thought to ask Malfoy in the near three weeks they’d worked together where he was staying. Surely he wasn’t Apparating back and forth from France on a daily basis? Apparating from London to Watford was tiring enough!

“I can take you home if you’d like,” he quietly offered, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. “It’s not a problem for me.”

“No, thank you. The Shelter will do fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Potter.”

“You’re not Apparating to France tonight, are you? Not in this state? You’ll Splinch yourself if you even attempt to.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no,” the blond growled as he rubbed at an eye.

Harry pursed his lips and nodded, the strange sensation of relief allaying his fears. “All right, just curious.”

“Concerned?”

“Curious,” he corrected in the face of Malfoy’s smirk. A sudden idea occurred to Harry that he could’ve kicked himself for not thinking of first. “Or Malfoy Manor; that’s in Wiltshire, right? I could just drop — ”

“No, Potter. The Shelter.”

Harry frowned at the finality in the agent’s pitch. He thought Draco would be thrilled to lie on a squashy mattress in a gilded four-poster for the night. “It’s closer, and I’m sure your parents wouldn’t object to seeing your ugly — ”

“I said no, Potter,” the pale man rounded on him with a snarl. “Just do as I say for once and drive. Shut up, and drive.”

“But I can’t imagine why — ”

“Leave it, Potter!”

“What is with you? Every time I mention your parents you drop it as if they don’t exist!” he exclaimed, shooting the fuming blond a quick look. “Are you at odds with your parents or — ”

“POTTER, I SAID — ”

“VRIRRRT! FRRIT! VRRIRRT!”

Harry swore loudly and shot Malfoy a glare, not believing his wide-eyed-and-surprised act for a second. “God, Malfoy! You could’ve warned me!”

“Hey, that was not me!”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Harry persisted with a nauseated expression. “God, it sounds like you’re harboring a chinchilla in your....”

He swung around to face Malfoy, whose face mirrored his shock, and peered over his shoulder as Draco drew his wand and shouted, “Lumos!”

The lorry’s cabin lit up to reveal a familiar, silver rodent huddled in the back seat, its black eyes glittering (mischievously) in Malfoy’s wandlight.

“No ... way.” He said in disbelief. “Pash?”

“Potter, watch the road!”

“What? Oh!” Harry jerked the wheel left to veer out of oncoming traffic.

“What the hell is that doing in here?” hissed Draco.

“I dunno! You were the one in charge of its cage, Malfoy; you should’ve packed it with the others!” Harry shouted as he steadied the vehicle.

“No, that was your job.” Draco narrowed his eyes, glaring at him. “Don’t tell me you were going to keep it?”

“Me?! Are you forgetting that beast hates me?

“BARK! BURK! BURK! BAH! BURK! BARK! BAHK!”

“See? He’s calling me a berk!”

“She, actually,” the blond corrected as he unlatched his seatbelt and leaned over to the back. Harry peered at the rear-vision mirror to watch him, but Draco returned to his seat shortly thereafter. With the barking beast. “Turn around.”

“What?” Harry scoffed, throwing the less than thrilled blond an incredulous look. “You’re not serious; we are not going back to Cardiff, Malfoy!”

“Why not?”

“For one, the ship’s probably out to sea by now, and two, I’m not about to sit through another one of Aric’s stories, and three ... it’s bloody four in the morning!”

Malfoy made a vague gesture in his peripheral vision. “I thought you were used to being up so late?”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“I am not turning around, Malfoy,” he made sure to deliver his fiercest defiant stare to show the blond he wasn’t kidding. “End of discussion. If you’re so keen on returning him — ”

“Her.”

“Whatever! I’ll pull the car over and you can walk back to Cardiff.” He gave Malfoy a dark look, but the blond merely adjusted the chinchilla in his lap. Even in the darkness, Harry knew the wooly beast was giving him its fiercest look.

“Fine,” Draco wearily grouched. “We won’t turn around.”

“No, I won’t.” Harry staunchly affirmed. He gripped the steering wheel so tight his hands hurt. Malfoy had another thing coming if he thought he would swing back around to Cardiff. Absolutely nothing was going to get him to change his mind about that.

Draco said nothing. Absolutely nothing. No protests, no agreements, nothing. Even the rodent stopped fussing.

Harry closed his eyes, seething in the darkness.

“GRIKT!”

“Bah.” He growled in response, pretending every time he squeezed the steering wheel, he was wringing Malfoy’s neck.


:::


They arrived at the Watford Shelter just before dawn, more tired than anything to fight each other. Although, Harry thought he heard Draco grumble something along the lines of, “Never again,” to which his petulant familiar purred in sympathy.

“Furs without feather stick together,” Harry quipped with a drowsy smile.

“I’m not taking her home.”

“Well, Rhys’ll have a fit if he sees her here. And I thought we agreed to name her Pash.”

“We didn’t decide anything, Potter,” Draco easily returned. “And what have I told you about naming them?”

“Well, you didn’t accept my suggestions for Beastly Bint and Tetchy Tart,” the Stealth Auror lazily reminded as he tapped the Shelter’s door with his wand, opening it. “And you did say her coat would make a lovely pashmina. I second that, by the way.”

“VRRIRT!”

“Was I talking to you? No; kindly butt out. Giant rat....” He grumbled under his breath. “I’ve never met an animal that didn’t like me. Never.” Harry glared down at the wide-eyed rodent as he held open the door for the blond.

“Potter, stop arguing with the chinchilla.” Malfoy commanded with a sigh. “It’s rather unattractive — ”

Harry laughed aloud. Perhaps he didn’t hear Draco right. Well, he hoped he didn’t hear him right. “Did you just call me attractive, Malfoy?”

“BURK!”

“Hey! No one asked you.” Harry sniped, following Malfoy and pet inside.

But the infuriating chinchilla persisted, its annoyed grunts developing into full-fledged barks that chipped away at Harry’s thinning patience. He opened his mouth to swear at the blond for doing nothing when he noticed what had caught both Draco and Pash’s attention.

A tawny owl was perched on the stack of magazines at the front desk, blinking at them—or rather, Pash, as she continued her odd barking. Harry instantly recognized the Ministry seal on the note in its beak and seized it, barely noticing the small messenger flap away.

With an impatient nod from Malfoy, Harry ripped the seal and quickly skimmed the short note written in Cottenham’s scratchy writing:

Potter & Malfoy —


Report to the location below in Little Hereford as soon as possible. There’s been another murder.

Harry scanned the rest of the letter and glanced upward sharply at Draco when he finished reading.

“What is it?” the agent softly demanded, breathing heavily through his nose. Harry thought he could see the tiniest spark of panic behind the exhaustion in Draco’s eyes. “There’s been another death, hasn’t there?”

Wordlessly, clutching the parchment to his chest, Harry nodded.

“Who?” Draco’s voice was barely audible, even in the unusual silence.

With an uncomfortable frown, Harry held Draco’s apprehensive grey eyes as he whispered, “Gareth Perkins.”

.:.

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Hope you all had a safe holiday weekend whether you celebrated the 4th or not, and enjoyed the read!

.:.