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"You're sending me where?!"
"New York City," Kingsley said calmly.
"Why, exactly?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"You know what happened last night," Kingsley said, and Harry nodded. Everyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement knew, and everyone in the wizarding world would know as soon as they opened their copies of The Daily Prophet this morning: Lucius Malfoy had escaped from Azkaban.
"Draco Malfoy is in danger," Kingsley continued. "It's highly likely his father will go after him, and you are the best Auror for it. I need you to find him and give him the appropriate protection."
"You want me to be his bodyguard?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"Yes." Kingsley leveled him with a look. "I hope you can put aside any past differences you may have had. His protection is paramount."
Harry nodded slowly. He didn't have a problem with Malfoy anymore, but he was worried that Malfoy would have a problem with him.
Malfoy had turned sides during sixth year, offering to play the double agent with Snape, and with everyone else in the Order he'd been perfectly polite. Whenever Harry was around, though, Malfoy had never seemed to be able to get away from him fast enough.
Harry honestly hadn't noticed until one day, when Hermione and Ron were talking about how much more pleasant he was, and Harry realized he couldn't really say the same. He'd tried to be more friendly to Malfoy after that, thinking that the fault had been his, but if anything Malfoy became colder to him.
He hadn't much worried about it after that – there had been a war to win, and he hadn't ever seen Malfoy very often in the first place. And then, after the war, he'd all but disappeared. Malfoy gave his required testimonies at the stand, even testifying against his father, and then he was gone.
Harry couldn't really blame him, though. Malfoy had been a spy, and there had been a lot of people who thought he'd faked it and was still a Death Eater. Public opinion had not been in his favor.
He hadn't known where Malfoy had gone, although he had thought about him quite a lot. If he'd been asked, he probably would have guessed that he had gone off to hide in one of the many Malfoy holdings.
He never would have guessed… this.
Harry double checked the tiny piece of paper in his hand, but there was no mistake. Draco Malfoy lived in the top flat of this unassuming brownstone in Brooklyn.
As he stood there at the bottom of the steps delaying the inevitable, a cab pulled up to the curb behind him.
"Change your mind, darling?" the man exiting the cab asked, laughing at whoever was on the other side of his phone call. Harry was about to look away, not about to be caught staring, but the man turned a little more, and he did a double take instead.
The man was none other than Draco Malfoy. Using a cell phone.
"It's no problem," Malfoy was saying. "I thought you might."
Harry was grateful for Malfoy's distraction with his call, because this Draco Malfoy was very different from the one he remembered. He was wearing skinny jeans, and a half-buttoned shirt that showed off a generous portion of his very fit chest. His ears were pierced, he was wearing a tasteful amount of makeup, and his nails were painted pink. His hair was still mostly blond, but it was styled in a much more flattering manner, and scattered throughout it were thin streaks of orange, in a hue that made Harry think of the Chudley Cannons.
In short, while Harry could admit that he'd thought Malfoy somewhat attractive back in school, that was nothing compared to how he looked now: undeniably hot.
Harry's perusal unfortunately ended when Malfoy finally noticed him standing there. Malfoy's face quickly went blank, although his voice as he finished his call was still positively cheerful. Harry waited with some trepidation as Malfoy lowered the phone from his ear and ended his call.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, lip curling up in distaste.
"Your father's escaped," Harry said, trying not to stare too much at Malfoy's exposed chest.
It was almost satisfying to see the sneer melt off of Malfoy's face. If it hadn't been such a serious situation he would have been tempted to laugh.
Malfoy grabbed his sleeve and pulled him up the steps, quickly unlocking the door and dragging him inside, and Harry was too startled to fight him. The door shut behind them with a snap, and Malfoy turned his piercing gaze on Harry.
"Potter?"
"Yes," Harry said, trying not to be offended at the surprise in his voice. "I'm here on behalf of the Ministry —"
"No," Malfoy cut him off sharply, "Not here. Come on."
He turned and strode up the stairs quickly, and Harry followed.
When they reached the top floor, he looked around curiously. They were in a modestly sized room, with a small kitchenette area off to the side, and large windows took up almost the whole wall facing the street. It was sparsely furnished, probably due to the smallness of the space, but everything was very tasteful.
Malfoy flung himself on the sofa and looked at Harry pointedly.
"How?" he demanded.
"Er, we don't know yet," Harry said awkwardly. "His cell was found empty last night, but no residual spell traces were found."
Malfoy stared at him for what felt like a very long time. Harry felt illogically more and more nervous, until finally Malfoy dropped his head and ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh.
"I'm sorry," Harry added, staring at the orange streaks in Malfoy's hair and feeling as if the apology were grossly inadequate. Malfoy lifted a hand and waved it at him carelessly.
"Not your fault, Potter," he said, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Obviously it was too much to ask for him to never cause any trouble again."
Harry couldn't help the snort that escaped him, but Malfoy didn't seem offended.
"Well, Potter," he sighed, "thanks for ruining my day. You can show yourself out."
"Um, I'm not actually going anywhere," Harry told him. "I'm here to protect you."
Malfoy looked properly bewildered.
"Why?"
"Because… you're in danger?"
Malfoy scoffed. "Oh, so now the Ministry gives a shit?"
Harry was startled at Malfoy's use of Muggle profanity.
"Alright Potter," Malfoy continued, "I suppose it would be rude to turn you away. You can stay until the Ministry's decided they've put up enough of a show of protecting me."
"It's not a show!" Harry protested. Malfoy just rolled his eyes.
"I'm going to work in my office," he said, sighing and getting up off the sofa. "Help yourself to the fridge if you like."
Those were some very tight jeans, Harry thought as he watched Malfoy walk down the hall and into the room that was, presumably, his office. And hold up — had Malfoy said a fridge?
Harry hurried into the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a refrigerator. There was even a microwave, a dishwasher, and a small touchscreen tablet installed on the island. Harry gaped at it all in disbelief. He never would have imagined that Malfoy had embraced Muggle things to this degree. He was now insatiably curious about what Malfoy had been doing since the end of the war.
There was nothing particularly revealing in the kitchen — food and leftovers in the fridge, dirty dishes in the dishwasher — more evidence that Malfoy had been using all these Muggle things for some time. The living room was similarly absent of anything of note, and there was some mail on the entrance table, but it didn't tell Harry much: an advertisement for hair products, a bill from a dry cleaner, and an invitation to some fancy party.
Although Harry wanted to snoop around a little more, he did have a job to do, so he set his curiosity aside for the moment and got to work. He started with the wards, layering his own on top of those Malfoy already had in place, and then he added defensive charms around the house, in case the wards weren't enough. When he was all done, Harry took a break on Malfoy's sofa.
He was promptly bored. There really wasn't anything else for him to do except wait for updates from Kingsley, and Harry hadn't had the chance to pack anything to help pass the time on this assignment. With a lack of anything better to do, Harry began to wonder about Malfoy again. His earlier investigation hadn't told him much, so he supposed he'd just have to go about things the old-fashioned way: eavesdropping.
He quietly crept down the hall and stopped in front of the door that Malfoy had entered earlier. It was a little muffled, but Harry could hear Malfoy's voice from the other side. He pressed his ear closer to the crack in the door, curious over who Malfoy was talking to.
"It's not the worst job; she's definitely sectioning nicely," he heard Malfoy say, and then he talked too quietly for a few seconds, "but at this point who cares, she said if it burns off she doesn't care."
Harry frowned. What in Merlin's name was Malfoy going on about?
"Oh, that is true you know, blue and yellow make green."
There was a long pause before Harry heard anything again.
"Okay, it's a fun look, but I think it could be done a little bit better, you know what I mean, like if she'd taken front pieces and just done those pink, and brought a few of those strands up so the transition wasn't quite so harsh… but darling, you look amazing no matter what, so thank you for sharing that video!"
So, Malfoy was watching some sort of videos and making commentary on them? Harry still wasn't totally sure, but he thought Malfoy was talking about hair. Was he some kind of hair expert now? That wouldn't be so surprising; he was always vain about his own hair in school.
"Just couldn't help yourself, could you, Potter?"
Malfoy stood in the open doorway, looking unamused.
"You might as well come in," Malfoy said before Harry could apologize, gesturing towards his office. Harry, not bothering to hide his curiosity anymore, followed him in.
Malfoy's setup appeared to be very simplistic. He had a laptop with a video pulled up on it sitting on the table and a single camera sitting on a tripod. Harry stood out of the way as Malfoy sat down and waved his wand at the camera. A little red light lit up on it, and Malfoy looked straight at it and started talking.
"Next up we have a video by Bree, and she's trying to dye her hair… Peacock-Mermaid colors? Not sure what that is but let's find out."
He turned to the laptop and pressed play on the video, pausing it every so often to face the camera and make comments about it.
"We're starting with a smorgasbord of underlying colors already in the hair."
"Indigo shadow root, how fun!"
"She is putting in the work; that is a great idea!"
"Please use more color next time, your hair looks so dry, dear."
"Aaah oh my god it looks so good! Flawless execution, really."
When the video on the laptop was over, Malfoy made a speech about liking and subscribing to him and leaving comments about the new color in his hair. Then he flicked his wand again and the camera turned off.
"Well, Potter?"
Harry didn't know what to say.
"Er, I like the orange," he finally managed. He didn't mention that it reminded him of the Cannons; he was pretty sure Malfoy wouldn't like that.
"Thanks, Potter," Malfoy said, looking at him oddly. "Bit of an experiment, but I think I'll keep it for a while."
They stared at each other for a few awkward, silent seconds.
"You've changed," Harry blurted. "I — sorry, I just didn't expect… I dunno."
"It's been five years, did you expect I'd be exactly the same as I was in school?" Malfoy snorted, and then said in an affected, whiny voice, "Watch out, Potter! I'll tell my father!"
Malfoy erupted into laughter as he finished speaking, and Harry felt rather dumbfounded.
"Actually," Malfoy gasped between giggles, "that would be hilarious! Please, Potter, if he shows up, let me tell him I'm a gay hairdresser who makes Muggle videos for a living." Another fit of laughter seized him. "Oh my god, can't you just see it? His face!"
Harry had to chuckle a little, because it would be funny to see the look on Lucius' face, but his mind was also stuck on the other part of Malfoy's statement. Malfoy was gay?! In other words… Harry might have a chance?
He mentally shook himself. What was he thinking? He was on the job, and Malfoy was in danger. It was not the time to flirt. Besides, Malfoy hated him — or, at least, he used to?
"So, how does the video thing work?" Harry asked Malfoy, mostly to distract himself.
It did not work.
Malfoy, it turned out, was very passionate about what he did and although Harry couldn't really follow half of what he was explaining, he couldn't look away from Malfoy's enthusiastic expression.
"And that's how YouTube works," Malfoy finished, running one hand through his orange-streaked hair. "Simple, really. Damn, look at the time. Are you hungry?"
Harry blinked and forced his eyes away from Malfoy's hair, glancing down at his watch. It was well past noon, and he hadn't even had time for a proper breakfast this morning.
"Starved," he admitted.
"Come on, then," Malfoy said. "Let's see if I even have anything to eat here."
Harry followed him out to the kitchen and leaned against the worktop as Malfoy poked around in his fridge and pulled out a few things.
"Can I help?"
"When was the last time you made something more complicated than a sandwich, Potter?"
"Not that long," Harry muttered, but he could admit that he had been a bit spoiled by having Kreacher around to cook for him.
Harry discovered about fifteen minutes later that Malfoy was actually an excellent cook.
"This is fantastic," Harry told him as he shoveled another bite into his mouth.
"You have terrible table manners, Potter," Malfoy said, but Harry saw him blush, the bright pink flush standing out beneath his orange hair.
Harry was tempted to tease him about it, but just then something tripped his wards. It wasn't in a threatening way, but he stood regardless, and kept Malfoy at his back.
It was Kingsley's Patronus. The lynx stopped in front of them and spoke.
"All clear, Potter. My office, one hour."
Well, Kingsley was nothing if not succinct, Harry thought as the Patronus faded away.
"Damn," Malfoy said. "I was sort of hoping I'd get to tell my father that I'm going to ask you out."
"What?" Harry was sure he hadn't heard right.
"You and I, Potter," Malfoy said breezily. "I'm pretty sure that would've properly scandalized him. What do you say?"
Harry could only stare at him for a few seconds, until Malfoy's face started to slide from casual and confident into hesitant and uncertain, and Harry realized that he was actually serious.
"I think that if you go out with me," Harry said with a smile, "I can find a way to smuggle a copy of the Prophet into his cell in Azkaban when they inevitably catch wind of it."
Malfoy smirked. "Then you've got a date, Potter."