Elurot Det Alsmai

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the entire world of Harry Potter. I'm making no money from this story.


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'Elurot Det Alsmai'
by: Christine

***


“Hello, Mr Tisdale.” Harry greeted with wary apprehension.

Meloutar Tisdale had a nasty habit of prowling around Harry’s shop, pawing at his displays, and upsetting his carefully stocked merchandise, ultimately leaving empty-handed. This, in and of itself, was annoying, yes; but he also had a fondness for trying to get Harry to go out with him on a date. And each time, Harry had to politely decline. The man scared him: a lot.

“Why, hello there, Harry!” Mr Tisdale greeted a tad too cheerfully as he slid over to the counter. He leaned on it, lips stretching into a creepy smirk as he devoured Harry in one sweeping gaze. “Tell me: did you get that suspension sling I enquired about a few days ago?”

Harry inwardly grimaced and pulled away from the counter under the guise of straightening items on the back shelf. He shook his head. “Not yet. It’s on back order for a few weeks.”

He was actually quite glad the import company hadn’t had any slings in stock. Every time Mr Tisdale eyed the display, he would hum, and then try to hide his furtive leer, which Harry always caught. Harry just knew the man was picturing him strapped to it, dangling, wide and exposed for his perverted pleasure. Not that kinks were bad; Harry was the owner of Whips, Paddles and More.

“Pity,” he replied, pouting. Harry suspected the old codger was actually disappointed.

Good.

“So, Harry,” Mr Tisdale continued, while grinning widely, nauseatingly, making Harry itch to pull his wand from its place along his calf, hex him, and run far, far away. Even Voldemort had never made him this nervous. “Are you busy tonight? Maybe, come over to my place for a drink or two? I promise I won’t bite. Unless, of course, you want me to …”

“Er—actually, I’m quite busy. In fact, I might not be available for the next two weeks.” Even months or years, possibly. “Uh … sorry,” Harry brusquely replied, shrugging his shoulders and hoping he projected a ‘very busy’ aura about him. Judging by Mr Tisdale’s reaction, however, he wagered he had epically failed.

Harry caught Mr Tisdale staring at him for a minute, making him struggle not to squirm in discomfort. The old bugger’s probably picturing me naked or something, Harry mused disgustedly to himself.

“Very well,” Mr Tisdale sighed sadly instead. “I’ll check back tomorrow, then?”

“Ha,” Harry weakly chuckled. If I don’t slit my wrists before then. “Certainly. Wouldn’t hurt to try … again.”

Harry was ever so glad when the man finally took his leave. He waited a moment, in case Tisdale decided to come back inside, before he allowed himself to shudder, shaking his head. He really wished he could ban the man from his shop, especially since he rarely ever purchased anything. But Tisdale brought in a lot of business from all the people he knew who, in turn, shopped at Harry’s establishment. There wasn’t a high demand for his wares--mostly the fetish crowd and the occasional bloke wanting a joke gift--but he was happy.

He was rearranging a display of flavoured condoms on the counter when the doorbell jangled. Harry took a deep, calming breath, fervently hoping Mr Tisdale hadn’t decided to not take no for an answer and had come to kidnap him, when the last person he ever thought he’d see again walked in.

His chin was still pointy, his hair, still more white than blond, and his nose was scrunched as if he had smelled something nasty. Draco Malfoy hadn’t changed much from the last time Harry had seen him. He wore a smartly tailored black suit—inconspicuous to any Muggle--that brought out his colouring and hugged his body just so; Harry had to blink a moment as he caught himself, suddenly feeling a bit hot around the collar. Malfoy actually made quite an attractive man, even if he hadn’t been very handsome as a gawky teenager.

“So, the rumours are true.”

“Eh?” Harry replied, quite eloquently, if he said so himself. “Er, I mean, Malfoy? What are you doing here? And what rumours?” he asked self-consciously after a moment, frowning as the blond handled a rather large purple dildo and raised an amused eyebrow at it before setting it back down.

“The rumours going around the Ministry that the famous Harry Potter owns a Muggle sex shop,” Draco supplied, snorting at the price tag attached to one of the butt-plugs further down the aisle. He froze suddenly, eyes wide before he shouted, “Good Lord! That one’s huge!”

Harry blinked owlishly for a moment as Malfoy stopped in front of the case holding what Harry had affectionately christened Big Ben. “How in Merlin’s name can this thing be used on a human being to derive any sort of pleasure?”

Harry moved from behind the counter, wryly smiling the entire walk over to stop beside Malfoy, crossing his arms as he stared at Big Ben. “It’s mainly used as a decoration. I’ve never heard of or known anyone capable of taking it,” Harry said, automatically falling into salesman mode.

Big Ben was an enormous silver butt-plug, about twelve inches in diameter and eighteen inches in length. It was true that Harry didn’t know anyone to have actually used it, though he had heard stories. Of course, they were only exaggerations. At least he hoped so.

Malfoy tore his eyes away from the frighteningly large sexual apparatus to look at him. “Anyhow, I called in on your quaint little …” he sneered in disdain, “toy shop for a reason.”

Harry ignored the jab at his business, defensively crossing his arms as he gave Malfoy an expectant look. “What reason was that? Poking fun at my business? Replenishing your supplies at home? We’ve got some great lube on sale: I believe it’s cherry-flavoured this month.” He teased, smirking at the frown that appeared on Malfoy’s face.

“No, you uncouth deviant!” Draco snarled in indignation. “The Ministry needs your help: particularly, the Aurors I work with.”

“Ha! They actually let you become an Auror? Bloody hell! The wizarding world really has gone to wrack and ruin since I left,” Harry replied sarcastically, taking a step back from Draco and bumping into the rack of exotic floggers behind him. “Malfoy, if you hadn’t noticed, I left the wizarding world for a reason.”

Draco crossed his arms, watching in mild amusement as Potter flapped about, looking gobsmacked before leaning back against the display holding Satan’s Monstrosity. “Are you finished? Next time, do try to keep your spit to yourself,” he began dryly, wiping at his face. “I don’t care about your reasons, Potter. And … I can’t discuss it here, it’s classified at the moment, and I don’t think this … shop is the most appropriate place to discuss the details.”

“I’m not going anywhere with anyone, least of all you,” Harry said definitively, turning away from the blond and moving to the shop’s exit. He pulled open the door and gestured outside. “Now, if you don’t mind…?”

Draco frowned, but moved to the door. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, shaking his head at Potter. “I’ll be in touch,” he ominously warned before marching out of the shop.

Harry firmly closed the door behind him, leaned back against it, and sighed. He didn’t know why the Ministry wanted his help: Voldemort was dead, and had been for the last ten years. Most of the Death Eaters were locked up in Azkaban or dead. So, what did they want with him?

Harry shook his head, bemused, and moved away from the door. It was about time to close up anyway, and not a moment too soon.

***

Harry was startled awake by the noise at his door. He sat up, groggily eyeing his alarm clock, which read ten-fifteen. He’d overslept, having been unable to get to sleep the night before. His mind was weighed down with wondering what Malfoy had wanted. Or worse yet, what the Ministry wanted with him.

The knocking grew louder—if that were possible—and Harry sighed, grumbling. He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table before he stood up, stretching the kinks out and scratching his head as he walked out of his room. He sleepily bumped into his sofa on the way to the door, not bothering to see who was there before he opened it. He scrunched his eyebrows at the bleary form standing there, fist poised to bang on his door once more. “Malfoy?” Harry asked, a huge yawn escaping him. “What the hell? How’d you know where I lived?” he grilled, opening the door wider.

Draco rolled his eyes and leaned back against the door across from Potter’s flat. “As nice as the view is,” he drawled with a telling sweep of his eyes down and up Potter's form, “would you mind putting some clothes on? Not only is it incredibly rude, but your neighbours would die of fright. Or go blind.”

Harry blinked sleepily at Malfoy before he slammed the door in the blond’s face. He didn’t have time for this. There was a pillow with his name on it, waiting, calling out to him.

Just as he’d made it past the sofa, the neighbours down the hall chose then to begin shouting obscenities at him, probably due to the noise Malfoy'd made, reminding him of all the pleasantness he'd experienced at the Dursleys’. He heard Malfoy’s own barely audible shouting through the door and sighed, flinging the door open. “Leave off, will you?”

Malfoy ignored him and shouted back at the muffled voices of the neighbours. “Mind your own business, idiots!” Harry cringed as the cursing got nastier this time. He opened his mouth when he saw Malfoy reach for his wand. “My mother!? That’s it!” Malfoy bellowed, pointing his wand towards the shouting.

Draco lost his balance as he was yanked into the man’s flat and fought back. “Get off, Potter!” he yelled while he tried yanking his arm out of Potter’s vice-like grasp.

“Calm down!” Harry replied, closing the door and letting Malfoy’s arm go once he stopped growling. “What do you want and how did you find me?”

Draco glared at Potter before he lowered his wand and took a deep breath. “I’m here to elaborate on what we talked about yesterday evening,” he replied, as he looked derisively around the flat. “As to your second question … I followed you home last night.”

Harry opened his mouth to shout at him, but held back. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing as he suddenly felt a headache edging out of reach, all this morning's fuss was getting to him. Plus, Malfoy being in his flat was definitely not helping. He looked up as Malfoy waved his wand about the walls, muttering quietly under his breath. Harry assumed he was putting up wards and Protection Spells to keep nosy people from listening in. It should have annoyed him, this invasion of privacy, but he was too angry to argue at the moment.

Seemingly satisfied that no one would be able to listen to their conversation, Draco lowered his wand and moved towards the sofa. He eyed it critically before deeming it worthy of his arse and sat down, leaning back with his arms stretched out and his legs crossed.

“Go on. Make yourself at home,” Harry dryly shot, pulling an annoyed face.

“I will, thanks.” Draco smirked.

Harry went to his room, grumbling the whole way as he fetched a shirt and loose jogging bottoms. As he dressed, he heard Malfoy comment, “Not a bad place, Potter. A bit cramped for my tastes, but I assume it’s luxurious compared to what you’re used to. I heard you grew up in a cupboard.”

Harry paused, frowning at the dig towards his personal life. He shook his head, choosing to ignore Malfoy’s poor attempt at humour, and walked back into the sitting room once he finished. He had long since come to terms with the Dursleys’ absurdities, disturbing though they were.

“So tell me, Malfoy,” Harry said as he sat on the armchair close to his uninvited guest. “Why does the Ministry need my help after all these years?”

Draco cleared his throat and leaned forward uncertainly. “Actually … I may have stretched the truth a bit,” he admitted, nervously picking at a fingernail.

“I knew it!” Harry yelled, jumping up from his seat angrily. “You have one minute to get out of my flat before I grab my wand and hex your arse.”

Draco stood and waved his hands frantically. “Wait, wait! Just calm down, Potter; take it easy and wait to hear the whole story. I’m not here on Ministry orders, but for myself. The Ministry knows about this, though.”

“If I wasn’t planning on helping the Ministry; what makes you think I’d help you?” Harry hissed, crossing his arms.

Draco closed his eyes, trying to think of how to start. He brought a hand to his temple, rubbing the sudden ache away. This wasn’t exactly going according to plan. “You probably don’t know this, seeing as you have been gone for almost a decade, but there have been murders--”

“So? What does any of this have to do with me?”

“If you’d just let me finish!” Draco scolded. “The people being murdered are ex-Death Eaters who were cleared of all charges and avoided being sentenced to Azkaban. There are only a few of You-Know-Who’s old supporters currently walking free. One of them being my own father,” Draco finished.

Harry frowned at this bit of information, sitting down heavily. They remained in uncomfortable silence before Harry broke it. “Let me get this straight,” he began, “you need my help to do what … find the ones murdering ex-Death Eaters? Or become your father’s personal bodyguard?” Harry asked, scowling at Malfoy.

There had to be more to all this than what Malfoy was saying. Wasn’t Malfoy an Auror himself? Couldn’t he find the people responsible and take care of things without his help?

“There’s more to it than that,” Draco replied, evading Potter’s questions.

“Oh, of course there is, there always is.” Harry griped, and slouched back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

“Look!” Draco crossly began. “You owe my mother for helping you escape You-Know-Who’s presence alive.” He saw the look of shock cross Potter’s face and smirked. “You thought she wouldn’t tell me what she did?”

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t. But I can’t believe you’re throwing that in my face to blackmail me,” he replied, glaring at Malfoy. “Listen, I’m going to need some time. I’m not going to decide this now; besides, I’m already late in opening up the shop.”

“You don’t have any staff helping you?” Draco asked incredulously.

“I didn’t say that,” Harry snapped. “My one other employee is currently on holiday.” Harry stood, picking his wand up from the coffee table and moved to the door. He waved his wand and focused hard on removing Malfoy’s wards and Protection Spells from around his flat, as it had been a few years since he had needed to do so. “Now, if you’re done, I’d like to get ready for work,” he announced, motioning to the open door.

Draco frowned and walked towards the door, stopping as he reached Potter. “I … never mind. Contact me with your decision, all right?” Draco waited until Potter reluctantly nodded his agreement before walking out of the flat.

Harry closed the door behind Malfoy, locked it and walked to the kitchen. He did need to get ready for work, but first he needed some coffee and maybe an aspirin. Everything was going fine with his life--business doing well, no one stalking him for autographs--until Malfoy waltzed back into it.

He didn’t know what he should do; he knew what the right decision was, but he didn’t know if he wanted to get involved. Yes, people were dying, but were the lives of ex-Death Eaters any more important than those of ordinary, proper wizards and witches? And who was he really to choose who should live and who shouldn’t? Harry sighed forlornly and started the coffee. He’d have to think long and hard about whether to help or not.

***

A week later, Harry found himself exhausted. There must have been a party somewhere, because he’d not only run out of several different items, but he had to handle more customers than usual. He usually wasn’t this busy until the holiday season.

Harry closed the door and locked it with a heavy sigh. He looked out of the front window before pulling out his wand and set about cleaning up and straightening the displays. Harry shook his head and thought idly to himself: why customers seemed to have a strong urge to rearrange his wares, he’d never know. (Honestly, the handcuffs didn’t belong with the lube!)

Half an hour later, with the shop neat and tidy, Harry eyed the place one last time to make sure he had everything done. He nodded to himself, satisfied with how everything looked, and switched off the lights next to the door. He couldn’t wait until Bethany came back from holiday: with the way things were of late, he desperately needed the help.

Just as Harry was about to turn the doorknob, he heard the sound of a throat clearing behind him. He froze, barely keeping himself from jumping a foot into the air. Hand gripping tightly around his wand, he whipped around, ready to fight back as he pointed it at the intruder, a hex on the tip of his tongue.

“Damn it, Malfoy!” he cried upon seeing who it was, barely stopping himself from hexing the blond anyway. “Could you not do that? You almost gave me a heart attack!” Harry paused for a moment to calm down. “How the hell did you get in?”

Draco looked annoyed. “I Apparated, idiot. Look, it’s been nearly a week and I haven’t heard anything from you about what we’d discussed,” he replied, visibly irritated. “You were supposed to let me know your answer, remember?”

“Oh,” Harry said absently, lowering his wand. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I got caught up in work and it just slipped my mind.”

“Nice to see where your priorities lie, Potter,” Draco growled. “Well? Are you going to help, or will I be forced to shove that hideous anal contraption up your arse?”

Harry sighed in frustration and rested his head back against the shop’s door. “You’re going to pester me until you get the answer you want, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m going to regret this,” Harry groaned, feeling bone weary. He sighed heavily as he opened his tired eyes. “Fine. I’ll help you. Now, can you please leave so I can actually go home and get some sleep?”

Draco huffed, but nodded. “As you wish, but we’ll have to begin early tomorrow, so put up a sign or whatever it is you must do to close your … shop. We mustn’t waste any more time,” Draco demanded. He sneered contemptuously at Potter before disappearing with a pop.

Harry stared at the spot Malfoy had stood, clenching his fists unconsciously in anger. Damn, the man’s annoying! After a moment, he sighed out loud and went about setting things for his absence. He would have to wait until the next morning to visit the post office to send a letter to Bethany, letting her know she'd be in charge while he was away.

The last thing Harry wanted was for Bethany to come home early, but he’d just explain to her briefly what was happening.

With one last look around, Harry put up the sign:

We will be closed until Wednesday.
Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.
We thank you for your patronage.

Nodding to himself, he Apparated home.

***

The next day, Harry stood nervously outside the entrance to the Ministry, working up the courage to go inside. It had been ten years since he’d last set foot in the building; times had been very different then. Earlier that morning, he’d woken up to the sounds of sharp tapping against his bedroom window. Harry hadn’t been surprised to find an owl hovering outside, a letter from Malfoy clasped in its talons. The message demanded he meet Malfoy in the Auror's office immediately.

“Why do I always let myself get talked into these things?” he mumbled to himself, smiling weakly at an old woman who’d walked past, raising an eyebrow at him before giving him wide berth.

Harry shrugged, walking over to the vandalised telephone box. It hadn’t changed since his fifth year. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out the little piece of parchment Malfoy sent with the owl to get him inside. Evidently, they’d changed the access number since then.

He unfolded the note and entered the five-digit number. A few moments passed before a familiar female voice greeted, “Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Harry Potter, here to see Draco Malfoy in the Auror Office.” He stood there, idly questioning for the thousandth time why the Ministry wanted him, waiting, while the phone box decided whether it’d let him inside or not.

He startled upon hearing the bored sounding female voice. “Thank you. Please remove your badge from the coin return and affix it to your robes. Remember: you are required to hand over your wand to security for inspection and registration. Have a good day.”

“Yes, yes, I know, thank you.” Harry growled at the disembodied voice, as he looked down at the badge in his hand, reading the printed words:

Harry Potter
Auror Business

He rode the lift down until it stopped inside the main lobby of the Ministry. Witches and wizards were all milling about, heading to work, and going about their business. Harry wasn’t really paying much attention to them. He was more concerned with being so nervous; he’d been to the Ministry many times before and all of his memories were not very pleasant ones.

Harry stepped out of the phone box and headed to the far end of the Atrium, where he spent the next fifteen minutes getting his wand inspected and registered, not to mention being chatted up by the security officer, who kept staring at his forehead. Voldemort may have been long since dead, but Harry still had the ugly mark on his forehead, though he kept his fringe long to cover it. He’d thought about getting it removed, but each time he would back out, mostly because it was a reminder of the sacrifice his parents gave to keep him alive.

Once he was finished with the security checks, Harry made his way quickly to the lifts that would take him to the Auror Office. He squeezed inside the lift with half a dozen others, the usual paper airplanes hovering above their heads as they rode, and waited to be let off on his floor.

After a few long moments, Harry was only too glad to hear the female voice of the lift announce, “Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” as the doors rattled open and he walked out onto the floor, followed by two wizards, who moved past him.

Harry wandered down the hall until he came to a slightly opened door. He pushed it open further, relieved to find he was in the right area. There was Malfoy, sitting behind his desk, quill waving as he wrote something down on a piece of parchment. Harry wasn’t able to see what Malfoy was writing; perhaps, a letter to his mum? The mere thought had him pursing his lips to stop the laughter from bubbling through.

He leaned back against one of the desks, wondering if Malfoy would sense his presence immediately or not. The blond, however, seemed intent on his writing, as he hadn’t looked up once. Harry had to wonder what Malfoy was scribbling to capture his attention so deeply. After five minutes passed without an acknowledgement of his presence, Harry sighed impatiently and cleared his throat, waiting for Malfoy to notice.

Malfoy dropped his quill and finally looked up at Harry. “About time you got here,” he said with some edge, moving things about his desk before standing up.

“I was debating about whether or not I really wanted to come back here. Not a lot of good memories, you know,” Harry replied, crossing his arms as he frowned at Malfoy.

Draco ‘hmmed,’ before shrugging. “I don’t think anyone really has any fond memories of this place,” he said tiredly. “Come on; Shacklebolt’s waiting for us in his office.”

The two men made their way through the cluster of desks, Harry cursing under his breath as he banged his knee into the corner of one. He hadn’t been looking where he was going, instead gazing about the large office space, noting the other Aurors working at their tables, most of whom, he didn’t recognise. He almost ran into Malfoy when the blond came to a sudden stop. Malfoy knocked on the door before walking into Shacklebolt’s office at the “yes?” that greeted them.

“Ah, Harry,” Shacklebolt welcomed, getting up from his seat and extending his hand to him. “I’m very glad to see you after all these years.”

”Thank you; same here,” Harry replied, smiling a little at the Head Auror as he shook his hand.

“Right,” Shacklebolt began, sitting back down. “On to business. It’s come to my attention, that there have been several murders recently; mostly concerning He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s old supporters.”

Harry nodded. “Yes. Malfoy told me about some of what was happening,” he began, throwing Malfoy an annoyed look, “but I’m almost certain he didn’t divulge all the necessary information.”

“Hmm, indeed,” Shacklebolt replied absently, looking disapprovingly at Draco. “Was there a reason for keeping Harry in the dark?” He steepled his hands together as he stared in disappointment at Draco.

Draco glanced at his boss. “Yes, sir. I didn’t think Potter would help with the case if I'd told him everything,” he said, looking at Potter out of the corner of his eye.

“Look,” Harry began, irritation radiating off him in thick waves. “What is so secretive that you couldn’t tell me?” He grew impatient when neither man spoke. “All right, if that’s the way it’s going to be …” Harry turned away, moving towards the door. He was fed up with all this secrecy. If they were so desperate for my help, he angrily mused, they should have trusted me from the very start. All of their Auror stealth was making his head ache more than Mr Tisdale’s worst flirting. He was an inch away from the door when he felt someone grab his arm.

“Potter, wait.”

Harry spun around, wand in hand and aimed at Malfoy’s throat. “If you don’t let my arm go this instant, Malfoy, I’ll hex you.”

“That won’t be necessary, Harry,” Kingsley easily cut in, hands folded on his desk. Harry just knew he was enjoying this. Kingsley was probably still upset that he had decided not to become an Auror. He had enough of fighting and killing, thank you very much.

Harry took a few moments to calm before he lowered his wand, and moved back to Kingsley’s desk, Malfoy following behind. “Well?”

“Harry, it’s true that we need your help with the murders of ex-Death Eaters, but the main reason is…” Here, Kingsley paused, apparently not sure how to go on. He rubbed at his temple for a moment, a gesture that made Harry skeptically furrow his brow, before continuing. “There have been reports of Dark activities going on beneath the wizarding world’s collective nose. It seems there is someone out there … someone trying to follow in You-Know-Who’s vile footsteps.”

Harry’s eyes widened, blinking owlishly, first at Kingsley, then at Malfoy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he haltingly said, sitting down heavily into one of the chairs seated in front of Kingsley’s desk. “Say again?”

“You heard him, Potter,” Draco spat out impatiently before rolling his eyes at Kingsley. “This is exactly the reason why I didn’t tell you everything. Look at you, you’re ready to fall apart.”

But Harry wasn’t listening to Malfoy harp on; he was too shocked at what he was hearing. Another Dark Lord? Was there something in the water that made wizards hell bent on genocide and world domination? Was there some force in the universe that required there to be an evil presence instead of good in the world? He just couldn’t believe this was happening…again. And so soon after Voldemort had been defeated. All those families, all those lives lost, and for what? Nothing at all?

Harry barely heard his name being called by Shacklebolt, so lost as he was in his own despair, until he felt Malfoy’s hand land sharply across his face. “Get a grip, Potter!” Malfoy whispered fiercely, shaking his hand from the slap he had divvied out. “We don’t have time to sit here and watch you fall to pieces. This isn’t You-Know-Who, and we don’t even know who this new prospective ruler is.”

“Wait a minute … did you just slap me?”

There was a long pause, during which Draco's mood went from persistent to boiling in record time.

“THIS ISN’T THE BLOODY TIME FOR SUCH TRIVIALITIES!” Draco bellowed in response.

Harry turned to Kingsley. “He slapped me,” he stated incredulously.

“Like a mediwizard to a newborn’s arse,” Kingsley replied, amused, as he nodded.

“You slapped me!” Harry accused, pointing at Malfoy.

“POTTER!”

Harry took a deep calming breath. “Okay, fine, but I still don’t understand why you need me for this?”

“You have experience in dealing with psychotic madmen,” Draco replied with a shrug.

“Well … yes, but that still doesn’t answer my question,” Harry conceded, glancing at Kingsley, hoping the man would actually tell him something useful.

“We’ve had a few spies gather some information for us,” Kingsley stated, face blanking into professional mode to try and ease the situation. “We’re not sure why, but this man has his eyes set on you.”

“Me?” Harry asked, stunned. “Why is he targeting me? I haven’t been involved with the wizarding world for almost ten years.”

“We … don’t know,” Draco evaded, shifting his eyes to the side. “The only thing we do know is he’s hell bent on destroying you. We need you to help us; we think it’ll be easier to locate him if you tagged along.”

“Hang on. How exactly do you know this and why haven’t I been attacked since I’ve been living in the wide open in the Muggle world?” Harry asked as he looked from Malfoy to Kingsley.

Draco glanced at Kingsley, who sighed and nodded his head. “We … received a note, a few days ago, stating you were to be seen at all future crime scenes, or they would start killing Ministry workers’ families.”

Harry’s eyes widened at this piece of information. I haven’t even been in contact with anyone from the wizarding world, except for Ron and Hermione. So, why in Merlin’s name is this person after me? What did I do? Harry had never heard of a more asinine way to get his attention. What was the bloody point?

He blinked suddenly and raised his head to look at Kingsley when he heard the man say, “I need you and Malfoy to go to this location tomorrow afternoon …” Kingsley trailed off as he fished under some files for two parchments, handing one to Harry and one to Draco. “Scout out the area and report back with anything unusual.”

Harry blanked out for a moment, reflexively taking the parchment from Shacklebolt. He numbly looked down at the words written on the page, a feeling of dread setting into his bones.

He knew he was in Kingsley’s office, with Malfoy of all people, and he knew it was sort of his calling in life to battle the forces of evil, to sound clichéd: but what he really wanted to know was why him? Was it too much to ask to just be plain, ordinary, Harry Potter?

Harry was finally brought out of his internal debate when he felt movement nearby. He looked up to see Malfoy and Kingsley staring at him. “I’m sorry?” he asked. Did one of them say something to him?

“I said, Potter,” Malfoy’s tone was disdainful and he made a gesture with his hand as if he were already bored with the whole thing. “It’s time to leave. I’ve got work I still need to complete before tomorrow, and you need to do whatever it is you do when you’re in the privacy of your own home, as scary as that thought is; what with the kind of shop you run.”

Harry glared at Malfoy, but stood up from his seat and addressed Shacklebolt. “I’ll be here tomorrow,” he promised, indicating what was written on the parchment. “Good day.” He turned and walked out of the office, not once looking back as he moved through the main office area, out of the door, and into the hall.

Draco was halfway out himself when Kingsley stopped him with a word. “Draco.” The blond sighed and turned to the other man, brow furrowed, an expectant look on his face. Kingsley was leaned all the way back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, dark eyes zeroed in on him, piercing. So unnerved by this behaviour; Draco had to stifle the urge to squirm in discomfort. “Take care of him.”

“Sir, I’m not his babysitter; he can take care of himself.”

“As true as that may be, it’s your job as the Auror to make sure he comes back in one piece. He probably hasn’t had to really defend himself since he left the wizarding world,” Kingsley replied.

Draco frowned at this a moment before nodding curtly and walking out of the office.

***

The next morning, Harry stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the rail as he shook his head, hearing the wet landing of water droplets on the tile as they flew from his hair. He breathed out tiredly as he dried himself off and tossed the towel over the curtain rail once he finished, walking into his bedroom to pull on his clothes. Harry brushed his hair, but as usual, his hair wouldn’t lie flat, so all he managed to do was get the tangles out.

Grabbing his glasses from the bedside table, Harry slid them on before going into the sitting room. He moved towards the door when he heard insistent knocking and opened it to reveal a foul-faced Draco Malfoy.

“Malfoy,” Harry greeted, walking away from the blond. “Punctual, I see.” He sneered as he made his way to the kitchen. "What, you didn't trust I'd turn up? I don't need an escort."

“Potter,” Draco replied, entering into the sitting room as he closed the door behind him. “You know we have to go soon. It’s a miracle you were ever able to get anywhere on time at school.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he grabbed a cup of coffee. “We’ll head out as soon as I’m finished,” he replied tetchily, taking a sip. He had no idea why they were always so snippy at each other when they were both grown men.

Why did he feel riled up and his hackles rise every time Malfoy came into view? Why couldn’t they get past it? Why did he wait for Malfoy to make the first move? Was it because it was fun? Familiar? Because he had Gryffindor blood? He sighed quietly to himself at this, wanting to bang his head against the nearest wall. He couldn’t explain it.

Draco scowled, and seriously wanted to destroy Potter, but Kingsley wouldn't like that. Instead, he decided on something more dignified. He casually sidled up to him, gloating at Potter's wary look, giving the man an innocent one of his own, and promptly knocked the cup out of his hands. He crossed his arms, smirking, and arched an eyebrow as Potter jumped back in shock, gasping as the hot coffee went everywhere. Draco stood back with a self-satisfied smirk as the dark-haired man looked at him aghast. “Ah, looks like you’re finished. Let’s go.”

“What the fuck was that for?” Harry cried, furiously swiping his hands down his clothes, as he sent out looks of death to Malfoy. He glared in fury as the blond leaned back against the counter, looking pleased with himself.

“Felt like it,” Draco supplied with a shrug, smirking at the fuming man. Merlin, I feel like I’m a bloody teenager again. Potter always did bring out the worst in me. “Now, clean yourself up—with magic, Potter; I’ll not have you slowing us down with your antiquated Muggle methods. Unless, of course, you enjoy being, uh … all wet.” He turned to go back to the sitting room, leaving Potter standing in the kitchen to gawp at his retreating back.

Harry restrained himself from tackling Malfoy to the ground and banging his head into the floor. Instead, he took a deep breath, calming down, and waved his wand, cleaning up the floor and himself. Once finished, Harry walked into the sitting room to find Malfoy sitting on the sofa, looking for all the world as if he owned the place. “Let’s go, Malfoy. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back to my life: the one without you in it,” Harry snarled, arms crossed, as he glared at the blond.

“And what a fantastically tedious life it is, I’m sure,” Draco replied with a cheeky smirk.

Harry scoffed at him. “You’re a real pain in the arse,” he said before Apparating to their destination.

“I’m sure you’d know all about pains in the arse.” Draco snorted, trying to keep himself from laughing outright. He let a smug expression cross his features, amused by Potter’s antics before he followed after him.

***

They found themselves in Grimsby, near an old abandoned port. Harry wrinkled his nose at the faint smell of fish radiating from the building. He didn’t see anyone near where they reappeared, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people around.

“All right, Mr Auror,” Harry whispered sardonically, “What do we do now?”

“Have you been out of the loop so long that you can’t remember?” Draco asked incredulously. “Honestly, I don’t know how you survived so long without any plans.”

“Usually, Hermione was the one with all the plans. I just ran head long into a situation,” Harry replied awkwardly.

“So I see,” Draco murmured, rolling his eyes. “We’ll need to scout out the area first, not run inside with wands blazing. Which I’m quite sure you’re used to doing.” Draco stepped to the side, looking around them a moment before closing his eyes.

Harry watched in astonishment, fascinated as Malfoy began to shrink, his skin taking on a greyish hue. He saw what looked like feathers beginning to sprout from Malfoy’s hair, giving him a unique, almost ethereal look. His eyes widened as Malfoy’s grey eyes shot open, changing colour, and turning an almost bright shade of red. After a few moments, where Malfoy had stood, was now a magnificent creature. Harry wasn’t sure what type of bird Malfoy had transformed into, but it was quite beautiful.

He blinked at Malfoy when he let out a rapidly repeated kiu-kiu-kiu at him, flapping his wings. Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted, but held out his arm as he used to do with Hedwig. He was only slightly taken aback when Malfoy flew up and landed onto his outstretched arm, being careful not to dig his talons into him, he assumed by the way Malfoy barely gripped him. “Malfoy,” he whispered softly, “I have to admit: I’m actually surprised you’re a bird Animagus.”

Malfoy tilted his head in response, giving Harry the avian version of The Eye. He let out another sharp kiu-kiu-kiu at Harry before flying off, high into the sky, keen eyes searching the area. He circled around the perimeter of the building a few times, but didn’t spot anything amiss. There were no people milling around; no evidence of anything unusual transpiring.

He soared back around once before heading for Potter. As soon as he reached the dark-haired man, he began shifting back to his human form, growing taller and fuller, feathers receding back into his body, and eyes changing back to grey from red. Draco rolled his neck once the transformation was complete, stretching his muscles. He opened his eyes, scrunching his eyebrows at the look Potter threw him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Harry quickly replied, giving Malfoy an odd look. “So, what type of bird are you?”

“My Animagus form is a hawk,” Draco said with pride. “I’m not sure of the exact species.”

“It fits,” Harry replied, looking off toward the abandoned building. “What did you see?”

“Nothing. What’d you mean by, ‘it fits’?” he asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Nothing?” Harry asked suspiciously, frowning at Malfoy.

“I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary,” Draco said, annoyed that Potter hadn’t answered his question. “We should move inside; there may be something in there.” He turned and started heading towards the building without waiting for Potter.

Harry sighed, following after. They snuck towards the building very carefully, in case anyone happened to walk by. Even if Malfoy said he hadn’t seen anyone, that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone around. Malfoy moved forward, gesturing with his hands that he’d go first through the entrance where the door was barely hanging onto its hinges. Harry nodded at this, and waited for him to go inside, looking around, his ears straining to pick up any strange sounds. When he didn’t hear anything odd, he followed after Malfoy.

The inside of the building was dark, making it hard to see anything. Harry was about to light up his wand when he was caught by surprise. His body arched as a Stunner spell hit him in the middle of his back, sending him sprawling to the ground.

***