Chapter Text
They went to Orpington for clues on Alexis Neuman on Thursday. There was nothing, again, just like in Rainham. Alexis Neuman had a great many acquaintances, but a quick round of questioning made it clear that she had many friends, but none were close to her. Most of them knew only the surface level information about her. It appears that they have hit yet another dead end.
“I wonder why all the murders are at the dead edge of London, though,” Ron said.
“Hmm,” Harry said.
They were back at Neuman’s backyard, where her body was found. She was 28, and had lived with her elderly parents. According to the police report, the death mark this time was made of fabric threads. They took the sample from the police and would send it to the Ministry to examine later this afternoon, but Harry felt no thrum of magic when he held it. It was just regular fabric, aside from the fact that it is in the shape of perhaps one of the most evil magical symbols.
Once again, there was no trace of magic. Nothing to suggest the culprit was of magical origins, other than the fact that they had died by the Killing Curse.
It wasn’t as if they were just careless; Harry had looked very hard, so did Ron. The other team seemed to also have run into some of a dead end. The case was going nowhere, and Harry hated waiting like sheep waiting for slaughter— waiting for the killer to make their next move, more innocent people to die before they could get a move on.
Harry could only hope Malfoy might, somehow, have a hint for him. Any kind of crumbs. A trail.
Friday’s work consisted of meetings and paperwork and filing. None of his colleagues on the case, which they’d codenamed The Dark Mark Muggle Killer for some inexplicable reason, had any sort of lead. All the information they had at the moment was superficial.
“It has only been two days,” Turner had said mildly, “give it some time.”
“People are f— dying!” Harry said, “er. Sir.”
Turner did not take offense to that, as Harry had feared, but he had always been a stoic man. Turner was efficient and ruthless, which was great for his work, but sometimes this appeared as cold and uncaring.
Friday’s work drew to an end, and Ron pulled him aside.
“I’ve got news, mate,” he said, looking a little giddy, “‘Mione and I are getting engaged.”
“Oh, no wonder you were in a good mood all day. Good for you. She’s finishing up her degree soon, right? When do you plan to get married?”
“Maybe next year…” Ron snorted, “we want to try for kids soon, but ‘Mione’s work would be getting busy—”
“I don’t want to hear about your sex life!” Harry groaned.
“Sorry,” Ron did not sound apologetic in the slightest, although he had flushed at the ears a little, “you coming for drinks tonight?”
“Ah,” Harry said, remembering his… appointment with Malfoy, “I don’t think so. I’ve got a… a thing.”
Ron suddenly looked very interested. “A date? Oh, Harry, you’re growing up so fast.”
“No…!” if Ron knew who he was calling Harry’s date, he might throw up, “just— a friend.” Malfoy was not his friend. “Err. Acquaintance.”
“All right,” Ron conceded, “in any case… Good luck. See ya.”
Harry grabbed a quick dinner, before getting the hawthorn wand and heading for his destination.
Malfoy’s apartment was located in the middle of London, and Harry wondered how he had never seen him around before, considering it was quite near to the Ministry of Magic. Belatedly, he realised that he didn’t actually know what Malfoy did for a living, if he even worked. Most of the Malfoy family vaults were still intact and untouched by the Wizengamot, but a few have been donated to Hogwarts for the rebuilding of the castle and perhaps some other causes. Harry didn’t know any more than that, but he assumed Malfoy should still be rather rich.
It was an unassuming building, with the design reminding Harry of Grimmauld place. Each apartment had two floors, and Harry found himself in front of the door on the third floor, knuckles poised to knock.
Harry knocked twice. There was no response. There was no bell in sight, so Harry knocked again, harder. Still no response.
It was five minutes before 7 PM. Harry leaned on the wall adjacent to the door, and closed his eyes, tapping his foot on the ground.
At 7:00 PM exactly, Harry opened his eyes, and in front of him was Draco Malfoy, who was wearing another turtleneck inside a lab coat, and a briefcase in hand. He was smiling, just like last time. He hadn’t changed at all. Harry didn’t know why he thought he would.
“Ah,” Harry said, taken slightly off-guard.
“Good evening,” Malfoy said, “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“It’s nothing. I only just got here.”
Malfoy continued to stare at him for some time, and with a jolt, Harry remembered what he’d actually come here for. “I’ve got your wand. Here,” he said, just as Malfoy produced his keys and began to unlock the door. It unlocked with a click. Harry could not even hide his astonishment, at this point. Malfoy was using muggle locks. Malfoy, who didn’t have magical wards for his apartment. Malfoy, whom Harry was having a civil conversation with.
“Thank you,” Malfoy said, accepting the box, which contained the wand.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry replied.
They stood in silence for a moment, facing each other. Belatedly, Harry realised that Malfoy was probably waiting for him to go. He’s done what he’d come here for, after all.
“I’ll—” Harry began, and at the same time, Malfoy said: “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”
Harry closed his mouth.
Malfoy’s expression was unchanged. He still looked as neutral as ever, which was strange at first, but Harry was starting to get used to it. His face was utterly blank, to the point where it was unnerving. There was no longer a storm brewing in those grey eyes. Now, they were just eyes.
“Why not,” Harry said, and followed Malfoy into the entryway.
“Would you mind taking off your shoes? There are slippers, but the floor is clean, if you are wearing socks.”
It was still weird to hear Malfoy being so cordial, as if he was a mere stranger, a guest in his home, and not his (admittedly petty) school rival of six years. Harry toed off his boots and slipped into a pair of grey slippers, which were rather comfortable. He only had two pairs of slippers out. Did Malfoy have guests over often? Friends? Were they wizarding friends, or were they muggles? Where could he have possibly met them?
Harry followed Malfoy into the living room area, where it looked… as if nobody lives here at all. Or, well, there was nothing that suggested somebody specific— Malfoy— lived here. Like a place decorated just to be sold. It was extremely impersonal. Although it was truly, almost obsessively clean, so much so that Harry was afraid of dirtying it. He hadn’t thought of what Malfoy’s living space should look like, and if he did, he would have thought he’d just return to the Manor. But this was definitely not it.
There were no personal touches at all. No pictures, no decorations, no calendar, or even a clock. The walls were a clinical white, which fit together nicely with the mahogany flooring. But that was all. It was just an apartment. Harry could not imagine calling this home.
Malfoy had already gone into the kitchen, his footsteps completely silent. There was the sound of the stove being turned on, the sound still familiar to Harry even after not frequenting the kitchen in a decade.
Briefly, Harry thought of asking why Malfoy did not use a spell to heat up the water. But this was only one out of the many strange things he has seen from the man so far. It suddenly occurred to Harry that, perhaps, Malfoy was trying to live as a muggle. It was an extremely contradicting image. But why? What on earth could have caused such a drastic change in him? He was pardoned almost entirely, as far as Harry knew, and the reputation of the name Malfoy was not entirely sullied, even after everything.
Could it be that Malfoy was truly trying to overcome his bigotry?
It certainly seemed so, as much as Harry thought it wasn’t possible for someone like Malfoy. But the war did change all of them. But what had caused the sudden change of mind, all those years ago, when Malfoy had quietly defected from Voldemort’s side?
Was this even Malfoy?
“How do you take your tea?” Malfoy asked from the kitchen. The kettle had finished whistling.
“Plain, please.”
Malfoy soon walked over with two mugs, the plain one he placed in front of Harry on the tea table, and the other one with milk he placed on the opposite side. Malfoy regarded him for a moment, and then he too sat down. But he wasn’t sitting like the aristocrat Harry had come to associate him with. Not… posh or primly. Just normally, back naturally straight, unlike Harry’s slouch. He just looked like a person, like his home. Impersonal.
It was another awkward silence, before Harry got fed up with the anticipation and broke it. “Why don’t you have any wards on your flat?”
“Do I need any?”
The flippant reply threw Harry off. He didn’t know any wizards who could feel safe without wards, wherever they lived. “I mean, you don’t. But. Nevermind, sorry, I should’ve returned your wand sooner… did you ever get a new wand?”
“No. I managed.”
Wandless magic? Harry wondered aimlessly, “Oh. Why didn’t you ask for it back sooner, though?”
Malfoy smiled some, but there was still a great deal of nothing behind those eyes. “You did kill him with this wand, no?”
“Yes?” This was common knowledge. Was Malfoy truly this disconnected with the wizarding world? Surely not.
“I thought they’d put it in a museum for that. Boy Wonder held it, after all.”
It took a second for Harry to register that Malfoy was teasing him. That still wasn’t a straight answer to his question, but he let it go, and it drew a startled laugh out of him. “They wanted to take it for an examination, but I kept it…”
“Why did you wait for so long to give it to me?” Malfoy asked, not accusingly, but Harry felt a little guilty nonetheless.
“It… kind of slipped my mind. Sorry. It still works though… Do you want to test it?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
They lapsed into another awkward silence, and Harry picked up the mug and sipped it. The tea was good, but it was from a tea bag. Harry did not expect somebody with Malfoy’s upbringing to drink tea made from tea bags. Malfoy’s mug was still untouched. Harry was suddenly reminded of when they had been in this position just a few days ago, when Malfoy was surrounded by children, and not eating any cake. The light was bright above them but not harsh, so Harry was acutely aware of how it was getting dark outside. The remnants of the golden hour fell upon Malfoy’s face, emphasising his high cheekbones and the bags under his eyes. His white-blond hair was styled in a side part, but a few locks fell limp by his cheeks. He looked even younger and sicker, without the aliveness of the children bleeding into his frame.
“Why’re you wearing a lab coat?” Harry blurted out.
Malfoy blinked slowly, and glanced down, as if just realising that. “I had a lab before this. I must have forgotten to change out.”
Harry’s mouth fell open. “You’re a… you work as a scientist?”
Malfoy stared at him like Harry was thee strange one. “I’m still getting my bachelor’s degree in chemistry. So not yet.”
“That’s— I see,” Harry said, feeling dumbfounded, “I was just curious. How… how are you?”
“I’ve been well,” Malfoy said, “and you?”
“Good,” Harry said, “good.”
“But I have a feeling you’re not here to talk about that,” Malfoy pinned him with a searching gaze, piercing though his gaze was still empty, and perhaps that was why it was piercing. Harry suddenly locked onto Malfoy’s hands, which were clasped tightly together and fiddling slightly in front of him, as if he could not help himself. As if Malfoy had mastered control over every part of his body except for his hands. Harry’s head prickled. “I assume you want an explanation for the other day, with Meyers.”
“Yeah. Your director’s not back yet, I assume.”
“I thought I mentioned she would not be back for at least this week,” Malfoy said, “if she was, I would have called you.”
Harry’s head continued to itch. Realisation hit him, and he slammed his mug down onto the table, standing up abruptly. “Fuck you, Malfoy,” Harry spat, “Stop using legilimency on me!”
How had he even done it? Malfoy didn’t even have his wand on him— it was on the tea table. Harry was, by no means, a good occlumens, but he could tell when there was an intrusion in his mind. But Malfoy’s legilimency didn’t feel like an intrusion, it just felt foreign, but not wrong. It was like a gust of wind, instead of the probing sensation from anybody else. Still, Harry tried to calm himself down. He tore his eyes away from Malfoy’s as he raised his shields.
“You were taking too long,” Malfoy said mildly, “I only tried to see what was pressing—”
“That’s not a fucking excuse!” Harry growled, “Don’t be bloody daft, Malfoy.”
“Of course not,” Malfoy said, expression unchanging, “it’s not like Dumbledore ever did that to you without your permission, or anything.”
“It’s not the same!”
Malfoy did not reply, and Harry sat back down. It didn’t feel like he’d gone very far, he only dug up what Harry came here for.
“I am sorry,” Malfoy said, after a while.
Harry is stunned. He didn’t expect Malfoy to actually apologise. But then he supposed he should stop feeling like that at this— version of Malfoy, because it was obvious that whoever he was before, he was a completely new person now. And Harry didn’t recognise him.
Just what on earth happened?
“Tell me how you knew Meyers was a squib,” Harry said curtly, “he wasn’t on the records.”
“I just showed you,” Malfoy said, “and it’s because he was an orphan.”
It clicked. “You used legilimency on him,” Harry said, a little dubiously. “How do I know you’re not lying? How would he have known he was a squib if his parents didn’t raise him?”
“Am I to take Veritaserum now?” Malfoy said, the shadow of his old snark peeking through, although it was nowhere near the same level. He just sounded tired. “I’ve no idea how he knew. I just saw it, because it was on his mind when I skimmed it. You should verify his heritage.”
“Is there anything else about him you’re keeping from me?” Harry asked wearily.
“I suspect he was born in Germany, since that is his first language. I can’t be sure, though. You would have to ask Dr. Kottman.”
The director again. Just how much did she know? Could she be the missing part of the puzzle?
“Okay,” Harry sighed, “Anyways. Do you have a habit of digging through people’s minds?”
“It’s easier sometimes,” Malfoy said, looking down at his tea, “I needed to know what muggles were thinking of, and sometimes their terminology confused me. I didn’t want to rouse suspicion. I also deal with children, so it’s… easier to attend to them when I know how they are feeling, I suppose.”
That made some sense, but it still rubbed Harry off the wrong way. “They never consented to it. You know enough now, right? Just interact with them like a normal person, then. And don’t ever use it on me again. I can arrest you for that.”
Malfoy smiled that half-smile of his again— Harry forgot when he stopped smiling. “Of course, Auror Potter.”
Harry took another sip of his tea. “Malfoy. What… happened to you?”
“You could be more specific—”
“I mean after you defected!” Harry said calmly, “you… escaped after you covered for me at the Manor, right? Why? How? What happened after that? Why are you living as a muggle?”
There was a lengthy pause as Malfoy assessed him, and Harry squirmed a little.
“Why do you want to know?” He said.
Harry looked down at his lap. “I… I’m just curious.”
The escape was done out of the spur of the moment,” Malfoy said, “I know both my Mother and I have wanted to, but we couldn’t think about it, because he would know. The day you came was an opportunity, so Mother and I… tried to persuade Father to escape with us, but he was so deeply entrenched that he… couldn’t.” He paused, looking at his mug, “our plan wasn’t very good. Mother was also plunged into desperation, she had loved my Father deeply. In the end, when we were running… they caught us, and Mother died. I got away and escaped to Germany, and then I came back after I heard he was gone.
“He is gone, right?” Malfoy continued, eyes piercing through Harry’s own, “You killed him. He’s well and truly dead, right?”
“I killed Voldemort,” Harry said, and Malfoy stiffened. “Just how disconnected are you from the Magical world?”
“Sometimes,” Malfoy said, “It feels like he’s still living in my home, in my head.”
As Malfoy spoke, his hand drifted almost unconsciously to his left arm, where he gripped it tightly. Harry felt deeply disturbed; he knew what it was like. Sometimes, he woke up screaming, even after having taken sleeping draughts, because Voldemort always plagued his mind, even after half a decade. But he had a feeling that wasn’t exactly, or the only thing, Malfoy was referring to.
Harry said nothing. What was there left to say? The well of contempt he reserved in his heart specially for Malfoy had dried up years ago, when he lied for them at the Manor. Or maybe even earlier, when he saw the boy who cowered at the thought of having to kill somebody, on the Astronomy Tower. He had mostly gotten over the shock of Malfoy living in the Muggle world by now, but now that he thought about it, it made a lot of sense. Nobody would expect Malfoy’s poncy pureblood arse to find a home among the people his family despised the most.
Only a few years ago, Malfoy was still throwing words like Mudblood at Hermione.
There was not much left; it was well past 8 PM now, and he should head home. Inexplicably, Harry didn’t really want to leave. He wanted to stay in Malfoy’s humble and impersonal little Muggle apartment and ask him about everything that’s happened to him, after everything. But there was really no reason for him to associate with him, outside of the case.
“So, uhm,” Harry said, “What made you want to study in a Muggle college?”
“I’m sure you are aware,” Malfoy said, like he was explaining multiplication to one of his children from the orphanage, “That I am likely not very welcomed in the Wizarding world, after taking the Mark.”
“Oh. Well, I mean…” Harry fumbled, “It’s not really that bad. The public still thinks you and your Mother were forced into it after the defection.” More like the public didn’t think about the Malfoys at all, which was really rather strange. It’s almost like they just disappeared. But now Harry knew better; Malfoy didn’t really disappear, he just moved on.
Malfoy smiled wider. “Of course. I just wanted a change of pace.”
They fell into another silence, as Harry finished his cold tea. So far, it has mostly been Harry who initiated the conversation, but Malfoy didn’t particularly appear as if he wanted to kick Harry out yet. Though, it was getting late. Even if Malfoy could tolerate hosting him for an hour or two, it might be pushing it too much to ask him this many questions.
“Thanks for the tea,” Harry said. The tea was nice. “It’s getting late. I should be heading back now.”
“Of course,” Malfoy said, standing up, “I’ll see you out.”
Nobody was surprised when Harry clocked in on Saturday morning at the Ministry, for they got used to him being a perpetual over-worker. Not pathologically so, but he was on his way, as Robards often liked to comment on. Harry wasn’t really trying to aim for a quick promotion; he really just had nothing much to do outside of work. He would visit Ron and Hermione this afternoon, and Teddy and Andromeda on Sunday. That was how it usually went.
Harry had a sample of Meyers’ hair in hand as he went to the Department of Records. This time he was here for the Muggle database. As he had suspected, Meyers’ file was suspiciously blank up until 14, when he was adopted by his late parents. The document was pitifully thin. It was strange that this was not mentioned in his original file, though Harry did have a feeling that perhaps the Ministry’s magical methods of sorting out files had a problem with sorting out Muggles.
Born in 1962 and mysteriously orphaned in 1969, without any mention of his birth parents. Meyers had been living at an orphanage called Walter House since 1969, until 1976.
Harry groaned. Why was he going so deep into this? Why was Meyers’ German heritage even important to the investigation? What difference would it make if Meyers was a squib, anyway? None of the other victims were squibs or magical. Perhaps it was just a fluke. It really was just an outlier. But it feels so instrumental in solving the case.
He moved on to Walter House, and hit another dead end; Walter House did not exist.
Merlin’s saggy tits. Harry was so done. There was probably no point anyways. He should just wait until this mysterious Gretel Kottman comes back from her business trip and he can finally start again. That, or as Turner kindly put it, wait for the killer to strike once more.
After another round of searching, Harry realised that it was going to be fruitless unless he could request some documents from the German Ministry of Magic. Which means he would need to pull the Boy Who Lived card to get past quickly.
In the end, Harry made some notes of the possible bits and pieces, and Flooed straight to Ron and Hermione’s flat at 12.
“Oh my god, Harry,” Hermione was there reading when Harry stepped out, “Long time no see— do you want tea? Ron’s in the kitchen, we’re having pasta. Wait, did you just get back from the Ministry?”
“Er,” Harry said. “Yes and yes. Thanks.”
Hermione huffed as she set down her book and embraced Harry. It really was nice to see her. She had been so busy with her finals and thesis papers that she rarely had time for Harry, and even Ron. “You really shouldn’t over-work yourself too much, Harry. That’s not healthy. You need to get… a hobby, or something.”
Harry rolled his eyes affectionately. “Come off of it. You’re ten times worse than me in that department. And I do have hobbies! I visit—”
“Teddy and Andromeda on your days off, yeah,” Hermione cut him off dryly, “I mean more than that, though. Something for yourself. Outside of… well.”
“Are you suggesting I date again?”
“If that’s what you’re missing, why not?” Hermione narrowed his eyes at him, “It’s been a long time since you and Ginny… but if you don’t want to date, at least— well, something else. Like painting, or reading!”
“Does the gym count?” Harry winced, “And it’s not… I just haven’t had the time.”
“Because you’re too busy with work.”
“Is Harry here?” Ron poked his head out into the living room, “Oh, nice. Pasta’s ready. Come set the table.”
As Ron and Hermione engaged in their own catching up— they haven’t had much time to themselves lately, either— Harry found his mind wandering. Inexplicably, to Malfoy. He wondered if he should say something about it to his best friends; on one hand, Hermione would probably tell him he was being paranoid, but Ron would agree with him. Probably.
His inner monologue was cut short by a hand in front of his face.
“Mate,” Ron said, “Are you okay? You look a bit peaky there.” Then he immediately paled. “Oh, no. Is the pasta over-salted?”
“You’re awfully quiet today, Harry,” Hermione said.
“The pasta’s fine,” Harry said, though it was a little more on the salty side. “I was just, uh. Well, I saw.”
“Is this about the thing you skipped bar night for yesterday?” Ron said.
“No, wait,” Harry fumbled, “I— found some new information on Meyers. His dead parents were adoptive, and he had grown up in an orphanage. It’s just, I can’t seem to find the orphanage? I can’t find the name anywhere.”
“What? But why wasn’t that on the file?”
“You know how awful the Ministry is at muggle profiling,” Hermione supplied helpfully.
“Right, that was what I was thinking,” Harry sighed. “I was thinking about that.”
“That’s not really… related to the case though, right?” Ron asked dubiously.
“I mean, yes, but, well,” Harry said. “It’s fine. Nevermind. Anyways, you won’t believe who I saw.”
Watching their gazes carefully, Harry shoved a last mouthful of pasta into his mouth. “Draco Malfoy.”
They looked at him unimpressed. “That’s great, Harry,” Hermione said, “What’s up?”
“Can you at least look a bit shocked?” Harry scowled.
“So we know Malfoy lives in London,” Ron shrugged, “So what? You saw him?”
“Yes, and he is definitely up to something—”
“Shut up, Harry,” Hermione said helpfully.
“NO!” Harry said, “He’s working at an orphanage! Draco Malfoy! Working at! An orphanage!”
Hermione frowned. “That’s surprising but I don’t think that deserves such a big reaction. What on earth could he even do?
“A muggle orphanage,” Harry said emphatically.
“Was it the orphanage we saw at Rainham?” Ron caught on quickly.
Harry nodded. “Yeah. I was… really shocked too. I don’t know.”
“Come to think of it, I haven’t heard any news from Malfoy at all, since… well,” Hermione said.
“I was wondering about that. Did he even get a trial?”
They looked at each other. “Ah, well,” Harry said, “Did the Wizengamot forget about him?”
“Surely not,” Hermione said, “He was a minor, right?”
“Don’t you think it’s strange, though? He just disappeared like that. I was sure they’d plague The Prophet for at least half a year after the war, but come to think of it, there really was nothing at all.”
“Can we go back to the part where Draco Sodding Malfoy is working at an orphanage,” Ron said.
“Yeah, about that,” Harry said. “It’s impossible. The children actually like him.”
“Oh god, this is turning into sixth year again. Please don’t start suggesting,” Hermione said, “That Malfoy is corrupting the minds of young muggle children.”
“Come off of it!” Harry said indignantly, “I was right about him!”
“That wouldn’t be so preposterous, honestly,” Ron said.
Harry sighed. “Okay, well. Once I got over the initial shock, he actually changed a lot. I don’t know.”
“If he’s working at a muggle orphanage, he’s sure to have,” Hermione said warmly, “What’s he like now?”
“Are we seriously forgetting how he was a presumptuous pureblood supremacist little shit?” Ron said helpfully. “I’m not.”
“It’s hard to say, really,” Harry said, ignoring Ron. “It’s just, he’s a lot tamer now. He’s always smiling, or, I don’t know, it was really strange to see at first but that’s like his default expression now. I don’t know if it’s because of the kids or something. Anyways, the children he takes care of actually like him a lot. They listen to him really attentively. Even though he just works part-time there. And we haven’t argued at all so far.” Unless one counts how Harry snapped at Malfoy for using legilimency, but that was really one-sided. “Also, did I mention Malfoy’s studying chemistry at a muggle college?”
“Now I think he’s up to something,” Ron said.
“No, I agree. Kind of,” Harry frowned, “I mean. He was nice. Almost too nice. I feel like he’s hiding something, but he’s not showing anything.”
“Pfff,” Hermione said, “since when was Malfoy good at hiding anything? Any nefarious plans?”
“Probably now,” Harry admitted, “He’s too… stoic. I don’t know. It’s like it’s not even him anymore. If he didn’t recognise me, I would have thought he got obliviated, or something. Even his accent changed. I don’t know… I don’t know.”
Ron snapped his fingers. “Wait, Harry. You interviewed him for the Rainham case, right?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s where I saw him. He was taking the children out for a walk and I asked him about Meyers. He didn’t know much, but somehow he knew Meyers was adopted. That’s how I knew. I had to go back to verify it just now,” Harry debated telling them about Malfoy’s legilimency, but decided against it. “You don’t think he’s… the culprit, right?”
“No way,” Hermione said crossly, “Malfoy’s an asshole but do you think he can kill anyone?”
Harry thought of Malfoy, when he saved them at the Manor. And on the Astronomy Tower. “No. I don’t.” But he’s changed, is what Harry wanted to say, but there was no way he could put it into words. This strange new side of Malfoy. They would need to actually see him to understand. Also, this was not a repeat of sixth year. Harry is not stalking Malfoy. Yet.
“Then there’s your answer,” Ron said, maddeningly pragmatic for once, “I highly doubt he would be stupid enough to spread pureblood propaganda in a muggle orphanage, honestly.”
“Hermione’s rubbing off of you,” Harry said glumly, and then, more quietly: “He’s good with kids.”
“That reminds me,” Hermione said brightly, “Why don’t you ask Malfoy? About Meyers’ orphanage. He might know more if you ask the right questions.”
“Why would I go and do that?” Harry said.
Harry found himself in front of Wool’s Orphanage sometime before 9 AM the next day. Malfoy said he works on Wednesdays and Sundays, in the morning and the afternoons. He should be here by now. Surely.
Feeling a little stupid, Harry rang the doorbell at the main gate. A child who looked vaguely familiar ran out, saw him, and he realised he must have seen her on Wednesday.
“DRACO!” She shouted, half excited, half nervous, while shooting a dubious look at him, “There’s somebody at the gate.”
Malfoy walked out behind her, wearing the same turtleneck and a grey blazer this time. His stormy eyes met Harry’s between the wire fences, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Malfoy,” Harry said, “Er, I’ve got a few more questions…”
The door was swiftly opened for him, and Harry found himself on the same couch from Wednesday. Only this time Malfoy was not surrounded by children opposite him.
“We have some time before Sunday Church,” Malfoy said, expectant.
“Okay, well,” Harry said, pulling out his notebook, “Do you know… anything about Walter House?”
Malfoy’s lips parted slightly. “Oh,” he said, “That’s Wool’s Orphanage’s previous name. The original director changed it just a few years before it was torn down in 1976.”
Harry felt his jaw drop. No way. “Are you serious?” Harry said, “Did you know he was— Meyers was from this orphanage—”
“I thought you knew,” Malfoy said.
“The ministry is shit at tracking muggles,” Harry said, frowning. 1976 was the year Meyers got adopted. Coincidence?
“Ah.”
“Do you still have…” Harry said, “documents on the previous orphans? At the first Wool’s Orphanage.” If so, would there be a Tom Riddle recorded in the list?
“A lot of it was destroyed in 1976, when the orphanage was taken down,” Malfoy said, “but there should still be some left in the office. I’m not sure if Meyers’ file would be there though.”
“That’s,” Harry said, “Great. Do you think you could…”
Malfoy looked away. “I’ll need Dr. Kottman’s permission to do that.”
“Oh, come on!” Harry said, “This is for a case! People are dying!”
Malfoy looked at him blankly. Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself.
“Dr. Kottman saved my life,” Malfoy said, smooth tone just edging on this side of cold, “I do not wish to betray her trust. She will be back soon. Surely you can wait a little.”
Harry searched Malfoy’s face, but he found nothing. Although, Malfoy’s hands were just trembling, ever so slightly.
“How did she?” Harry said softly, “Save your life.”
“When I ran away, from— him, she found me,” Malfoy leaned forward, his voice almost a whisper, “She was the one who took me in, and got me documents. That’s why I am working here now. I was here with her, and helped her when she rebuilt this orphanage. I owe her… everything.”
Harry did not know what to say. That was… more than he had expected.
“The investigation must go on, Malfoy,” Harry said, “Let’s call Kottman and ask her for permission, then.”
Malfoy sighed. “She is not going to pick up.”
“Come on!” Harry said, “I won’t look at anything else. No other documents. Just Everett Meyers. I swear.”
“I don’t have the key to the records office,” Malfoy said.
Harry stared blankly at him, pointed a finger at himself, then at Malfoy. “Wow,” He said, “It’s almost like I carry around my wooden stick for shits and giggles.”
“The Statue of Se—”
“I’m an Auror,” Harry said helpfully, “Let’s not delay the inevitable.”
Malfoy leads him to the basement(Why does an orphanage have a goddamn basement?), until they stood in front of a rather ordinary looking door.
“This was originally a bomb shelter,” Malfoy said helpfully, “Since the original building of the Orphanage suffered through World War Two. Now we converted it.”
“Cool,” Harry said, taking out his wand, “What about your Sunday Church?”
“We still have about twenty minutes. If you’re using magic, you shouldn’t take that long to find the documents you need.”
“Okay,” Harry said, and cast a wordless alohamora onto the locked door. And then, it was only for a second— for a little bit— but it was definitely there. A prickle on his hand, where his fingers held his wand. The distinct signature of Magic, that one couldn’t feel, unless they were interfering with it. There were wards on the records office. “Malfoy. Did you put wards on the door?”
“What are you talking about?” Malfoy said blankly. “Of course not.”
“Oh,” Harry said, “Okay.”
He filed this thought away for later as he pushed open the door with ease. The ward(s) was relatively easy to break, though it might have been because Harry’s magic was overpowering. The office smelled of old paper and dust. It was a smell Harry had liked in his childhood, but grew to dislike. Malfoy flicked on the light switch from behind him, and the office was immediately lit up. There were cabinets and bookshelves everywhere, but there were also stacks of folders and documents on the other side, where they couldn't fit into the shelves.
“Well?” Malfoy said.
Harry recalled the searching charm, and scoured the room for the words Everett. On the second try, one of the folders on the far right bookshelves lit up.
“You got lucky,” Malfoy said, “I didn’t actually think there would be any left from the previous orphanage. It seemed they restored some of the documents from the external records office.”
“External?” Harry said, as he carefully avoided the fallen heaps of documents on the ground to get to the glowing file.
“Every few years, the orphanage would need to send their files out to an external office to review. It must be that they were just conveniently sent there when the orphanage was torn down.”
“That’s awfully convenient,” Harry said. He took the file, which dated orphans who were admitted from 1965 to 1970. Flipping through it, Harry found Meyers’ record, but before he focused on that, his eyes caught on another name.
Gretel Kottman. Admitted in 1967, just a few orphans before Meyers. There was a faded photo attached. Her file only had two pages, compared to Meyers’, who had maybe a dozen. Something about this didn’t seem right, Harry thought. Malfoy was still watching him from behind. Harry glanced at him, and then performed a duplication charm on Meyers’ and Kottman’s records, carefully hiding Kottman’s behind Meyers’ in a clear file, which he then shrunk to fit inside his pocket.
What a great convenience. There’s no way it was this easy. Unless it was to compensate for the hard times they’ve had in this case. Which… well.
“Put it back properly,” Malfoy said curtly.
“I know!” Harry said, irritated, as he wandlessly sent the file back to its original location. “I’m done. Let’s go.”
Malfoy looked at him strangely for a moment, before he carefully locked the door the same way it had been before, to avoid rousing suspicion.
“Well, I have to attend Sunday Church now,” Malfoy said.
Harry honestly didn’t know if it was a dismissal or not, but he was curious anyway. “You’re Christian?”
“No,” Malfoy said, “But this is a Catholic orphanage, and since I am on Sunday shifts, I have to help out with the sessions.”
“Oh, nice,” Harry said, “What do you usually do?”
“I apologise, but I really do have to go,” Malfoy said, even though his smile didn’t look much sorry at all. Harry supposed he overstayed his welcome already. At least, despite his words, Malfoy didn’t look too annoyed at him. “Unless you want to attend a very boring reading session and convert to Catholic, shouldn’t you go to your… other duties?”
For a second, Harry thought Malfoy might, somehow, know that he was expected at Andromeda’s for lunch, as always on a Sunday, but he was obviously just trying to chase him out.
“Okay, Malfoy,” Harry smiled, “See you?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said. “See you.”