Chapter Text
Bloody Harry:
Part One - The Establishment
“Aren’t you done yet?”
The rather loud complaint came from none other than Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, who was looking over at his auror partner like it was Malfoy’s fault he was still stuck in this office.
A single pale blonde eyebrow rose and fell in quick succession, but otherwise showed no other signs that Draco Malfoy had heard Harry at all. “I’ll finish when I finish, Potter.” he’d drawled slowly, trying to keep his annoyance at bay. “Why are you so impatient tonight, anyhow? Don’t you have your own paperwork to do?”
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and huffed like a small child being denied a treat. “I completed it ages ago.”
“Oh?” The blonde said in surprise, and feeling reluctantly impressed as it was normally him who finished first and had to force Potter to do his work so they could go home at the end of the day. But he kept his face blank while he wrapped up the confession statement from their latest case. It wouldn’t do to have Potter knowing he’d truly amazed Draco twice in one day. “Well, I expect there is a first time for everything.”
“What’s that‘suppose to mean?” Potter snapped with his eyes narrowed as he sat up straighter, arms tightening slightly. Draco noted that even Harry’s familiar slouch wasn’t there.
The blonde merely gave a non-committal shrug.
Potter waited a moment and when the only noise between them was the scratching of a quill, the dark haired man unfolded himself and laid his head atop his desk. “Com’on, Draco. I’m bored.” He whined further.
Enough is enough, Draco thought, irritably shoving his quill into the inkwell. “Merlin, Potter. You’re acting worse than usual. Do you have some kind of all-important date this evening or something?”
The smile that Potter gave him in reply was almost predatory and it made shivers run up and down Draco’s spine. “Something like that.” He said, cryptically.
Draco sighed. “I’m almost done with this, anyhow.” He resolved carefully turning back to his report. “Do you think you can keep yourself occupied long enough to allow me the time to ‘dot the I’s and cross the T’s’?”
Potter merely gave a light chuckle, his head shaking as if he couldn’t believe anyone would say such things.
Draco paused, his hand poised in the processes of signing the date. There it was again. Draco made some muggle reference and instead of his usual taunts, Potter either didn’t comment all together or would laugh as if Draco was the most comical person he’d ever come across.
Sure, Draco knew he was witty and intelligent, but that was something he’d long since given up on Potter noticing.
Of course, there was also the way Potter had just come waltzing in their office that morning, looking entirely too presentable-- even according to Draco’s own impossibly high standards-- with robes of a faded blue and his unruly hair combed back to an, (almost), workable mess.
Draco had been forced to swallow his scalding mouthful of coffee quickly so as to avoid spitting it out all across the Kertan’s case file he’d been going through, when he’d looked up at the sound of their office door opening, and taken in the sight of this delectable man who held even more sex-appeal than Draco ever thought possible in a single person.
Pushing the thoughts of that morning away with difficulty, the blonde focused his grey eyes back on the half finished date. He had asked Potter what the occasion was, of course. But the only response he received was some vague excuse about ‘feeling like it’.
Something is wrong with Potter, Draco can feel it, and he has half a mind of following him home…just to make sure his colleague hasn’t actually gone round the bend, mind you. It definitely has nothing to do with the sharp spike of jealously Draco feels every time he’s thought about what or who Potter might have gotten dressed up for.
Draco had barely signed his name at the bottom of the report when Harry sprang to his feet. “Where’re you going, then?” Draco asked with an eyebrow raised.
Harry stretched, and the small slip of skin Draco was used to seeing from under the man’s muggle T-Shirt was obscured by the those blasted robes, and suddenly, Draco found himself a bit put-out regardless of the fact that he had never thought he’d miss Potter’s stupid muggle clothes before in his life. “I’m tired.” He replied simply, reminding Draco that he’d asked a question. “I decided I’m leaving.”
Now this, Draco knew, was something Potter would never do unless it was truly important. What’s more, it had been Potter’s ruddy rule that they both wait until they’re both ready to leave because of the last ministry holdup that happened when Draco had just been about to floo home. One second he’d been standing with a handful of floo powder, and the next, there were spells being thrown about haphazardly and before he knew it, he’d been forced to the ground along with everyone else in the atrium. The men in masks had taken everyone’s’ wands and closed off the lifts so no one from the other floors could make it into the room until they had who they wanted. (This turned out to be a revolting man by the name of David Harved, who was being held for trial on his black-market potions smuggling).
Potter had stayed to work late, (like he always did before Draco started forcing him to leave at a normal time like normal people), and he had somehow found his way up to the ground floor, bringing with him the other aurors who were still on duty. They took out the few of the masked men still in the atrium and made sure each wand that was taken was returned back to owners. Once the floor was cleared, the auror’s made sure everyone was safe in the floo’s while Potter, Malfoy, and a small amount of others took to the first floor to stop the guys who had gone after David.
After that little adventure, Potter had pulled Malfoy aside the next day when he made to leave, and proposed the rule of both of them leaving together. For the first few weeks, it was a nightmare as Draco was always insistent of getting home before dinner time, while Potter, it seemed, was intent on never leaving the bloody place.
In the end, they fell into a habit of getting out of work by 6:00 on average days, and 8:00 on horrid days.
Still, even when they found their comfortable routine, Draco couldn’t shake his suspicions that Potter returned to work once Draco was safely through the floo, and he had started making Potter go first, just to be sure the foolish man didn’t work himself to death.
For Potter to be leaving before Draco had even put all his paperwork away, it must be a very important date.
Draco knows jealousy in an unattractive trait, but the thought of Potter, looking as damn delectable as he does, eating and laughing with some faceless man just makes Draco’s blood boil.
Then again, Draco doesn’t even know for sure that Potter is gay…the only thing he has to go off of, quite honestly, is that one night of drinking in the Three Broom Sticks with Granger, Potter, and Boot, and observing Potter as he watched Terry’s arse when the other man left their table in search of another butterbeer.
Pulled from his thoughts by the movement of Potter dragging his brown auror robes on over his fancy blue ones, the blonde blinked. “Are you going on some kind of special mission you have neglected to enlighten me on?”
The other wizard paused with his hands in the air. “What?” He asked, voice slightly muffled by the fabric around his mouth.
“You’re putting on your work robes.” Draco pointed out. Unnecessarily, he thought, but with Potter, it is sometimes a bit hard to tell just what is and isn’t excessive and slightly redundant. “You don’t need them. Not unless you’re headed out into the field for work duty,” Brows furrowing in irritation, Draco added, “Which we’ve been oh so graciously spared from today, because Dawlish and Proudfoot have kindly taken over the Madison case thanks to your incessant arguing that they would be far better at the, ‘concealment’ and, ‘disguise’ aspect of the case, rather than either you or I would be.”
Still seething about the unjustified switching of case loads that meant he’d be stuck on desk duty rather than out catching the wildest dark curse creator currently in Britain, Draco sent a glare at his co-worker, who was still standing with brown robes bunched up around his neck and arms hanging loosely in the air, seemly forgotten. Potter’s eyes were comically wide behind his silly old wire-rimmed glasses and Draco didn’t think he imagined the spark of fear within them.
Then, in the blink of those unnervingly green eyes, the look was gone and replaced with a lopsided smile. “Right,” Potter muttered, slipping the auror work wear back over his head and tossing the dark curls back into the usual disarray after they had stayed so pristine throughout the day. “Of course, right, silly me. I’d forgotten.” And the dark haired man chuckled softly as he re-hung his work robes on the coat rack.
Draco was frowning deeply now. This wasn’t like Potter at all. If it hadn’t been for the simple reality that Harry hadn’t drunk enough that day to replenish a polyjuice potion every hour and he hadn’t been out of Draco’s sight except for the occasional bathroom or restless ‘walk around the hallways and stretch my legs for a bit’ break, then the blonde would have pulled out his wand and cast a body bind immediately. As it was, Draco did move his hand to hover over his wand holster discreetly as he gave his partner and friend a searching look.
Harry didn’t bristle or shy away as he normally did when he was under observation. In fact, he almost seemed to bask in it. Draco narrowed his cool grey orbs. “You have a smudge, just there.” He said with a false light tone, gesturing to a point just above Harry’s eyebrow where his scar was.
The raven-haired man reached up and rubbed almost vigorously at the spot. “Did I get it?”
As Draco nodded, he gripped the handle of his wand tightly. The pale wizard was now positive that this was not Harry Potter standing before him. Even though it hadn’t pained him since the war, Potter was always gentle when he touched the lightening shape on his forehead, almost as if he feared it would roar to life again if he massaged it too hard.
But he also now knew that it wasn’t a Glamour charm being used as the imposters’ features didn’t flicker or ripple when the man wiped at his forehead. That still left an operiet corpus enchantment, or any other operuit spells.
Draco made to stand. “You never did tell me what you have planned tonight,” He said, conversationally, hoping to distract the other man enough to allow the blonde to draw his wand and cast a nonverbal stealth sensoring spell that detects those under a magical disguise.
“Didn’t I?” The phony Potter mused aloud with a sort of amusement in his voice that Draco found suddenly infuriating. “Why the sudden interest, Draco? Eager to ask me out, are you?”
For a single, highly embarrassing moment; Draco splutters unbecomingly. “Wha—what?! I---no! I wasn’t--- that’s not---“
Potter’s chuckles are extremely captivating and doing absolutely nothing to reduce the burning in the blonde’s cheeks and neck, but it gives Draco the opening he needed and in a few quick movements, he waves his wand, thinks the incantation with as much enthusiasm and conviction he can muster, and replaces his wand in it’s holder the moment he feels the magic settle around the room. The charlatan, busy wiping mirth from his jewel-like orbs, doesn’t seem to notice the air shift with a new scent of exposure magic.
The pale haired wizard cleared his throat. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter.” Trying to sound as uninterested as possible, Draco pretended to examine his cuticles while searching for the results of his spell. So far, he was only getting negative responses that were making him want to frown in confusion. “As if I would ever want to go out with the likes of you.”
The fake Potter hummed in disappointment. “What a shame that is. You really are something special, Draco.”
Grey eyes widened as Draco’s head snapped up in astonishment. Not only because of the very sultry way Potter said his name, but also because the spell had delivered it’s final round of results and then dissolved into nothingness. According to the stealth sensoring spell, the man standing in front of him was the real Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. Or, at least, wasn’t using any spells or second-ranking potions to alter his appearance. And as Draco has already ruled out a sixth-ranking Polyjuice, then the only logical answer remaining is that this actually was Harry.
And okay, it could also be someone who is using an operuit spell that is not yet known by the Ministry, but Draco felt that that was about as likely as it was that the actual Harry Potter would have just said his name that seductively.
The blonde shook his head. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” He replied half-heartily. Draco felt bewilderment pump through his veins as he took out his wand and waved it over his desk, instructing the case folders to file themselves. He knew that the man standing there across the room was not Potter. Whatever that spell might say, Draco Malfoy had come to know his co-worker and friend rather well these last few years and he was willing to bet everything he owned, ---perhaps not his signed photocopy of last years’ Puddlemere United team and matching game snitch with River Grent’s signature, (the greatest seeker since Krum, in Draco’s opinion), that Potter gave him for his birthday, --- But his handsome flat and career, certainly, that this person was not Harry Potter.
“Don’t you? I would have thought it was obvious.”
Draco had to force himself to take a deep calming breath. This is not Harry, he told himself sternly. Still, hearing those words from Potter’s own lips; in his own voice sent a shiver of pleasure and longing through Draco’s very core and it pained him greatly, knowing that his real auror partner would never say anything of the sort to the blonde.
Not in this lifetime, anyway.
When the blonde didn’t offer any type of reaction, the imitation Boy-Who-Lived sighed. “Anyways, are you finally done? I’m starved.”
In spite of the possibly dangerous stranger impersonating his best friend, the pale man found himself grinning. At least that sounded like a definite ‘Potter’ answer. “Yes. I’m done. We can go now.”
The norette returned the smile. “Brilliant. Do you have dinner plans?” He tossed over his shoulder as he pulled open the office door and stepped out into the dim hallways beyond.
Raising a slender eyebrow and barely resisting the temptation to just draw his wand, stun the imposter, and lock him away in a holding cell until he talks; Draco puts up a mask of indulgent amusement and follows him out of the office, locking the door behind them. “Is that an invitation to eat dinner with you, Potter?”
The man just shrugged in response and started off down the hall with the blonde at his side.
Draco itched to cast a body bind on the person masquerading as his best friend, but he forced himself to keep calm. It wouldn’t do any good to lock up someone who looked exactly like Harry Potter when Draco had no proof that it wasn’t actually the savior. There was also the problem that Draco didn’t have a clue how he was disguising himself, and he couldn’t be sure that he didn’t have an associate who was with the real Potter somewhere and might harm him if this fake Potter didn’t return at a certain time. No, it was better to follow him until he found out just what, exactly, it was that this person wanted.
Draco frowned before he could stop himself as he reached out and called the lifts down to the DMLE department. “In that case, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I already promised mother that I would see her tonight, and besides, didn’t you say you already had plans?”
Potter stepped into the lift and sent Draco a look that might have been disappointment. “That’s too bad. I did have something in mind, but nothing I wouldn’t have pushed aside for you. Ah, well. Another time, then.”
Just one more thing to prove that this wasn’t Potter, Draco thought as he boarded the lift. The real Potter knew all too well that Draco’s mother had gone traveling this week again. Looking around the empty lift, Draco furrowed his brows. Were they actually leaving early enough that they missed the dinner rush of Ministry workers completely? Standing side by side, Draco sent the other wizard a small smile and used the close quarters as an excuse to subtly check him over for any magical tails of deception.
Unfortunately, that smile seemed to have sent the wrong message. Before he knew what was happening, the blonde found his back hitting the side of the lifts’ wall and found Potter dangerously close to invading his personal space. For a moment, one heart stopping moment; Draco feared he’d somehow slipped up and let the phony auror know that Draco was on to him.
Then that moment was gone and Draco suddenly felt very soft lips connecting with his own. It was perfect. It was bliss. It was---it was wrong!
It was all he had wanted for a very long time, but something about it just wasn’t right. And it wasn’t until the feeling of Potter’s body pressing impossibly closer to his own did Draco finally realize what it was.
This wasn’t Potter. The real Potter would never kiss Draco. (The real Potter probably didn’t even like Draco on the best of days).
Before Draco could gather himself and push the man off of him, however, the other wizard pulled away and gave his lips a final lick before turning and facing the doors. They opened a moment later and he exited the lift. “I guess I’ll see you around, Draco.” He said with a wink, and then took off towards the front doors instead of the floos.
Draco stood in the lifts, stunned, until the gates closed on him and the lift began to move again with a loud rattle.
Walking home, occasional stopping to look at street stalls or stepping into a small café and watching the passers by through the large windows was something Potter, more often than not, chose to do. (Under a Glamour charm most days, of course.)
But that kiss was anything but Harry Potter.
Confused and cursing himself for letting the lifts trap him when he needed to follow that imposter, the blonde finally managed to get out into the open air with a decent disillusionment charm in place. It took him a while to find the norette as he didn’t seem to be taking any of his average paths back to his house.
“Well he wouldn’t, would he?” Draco grumbled to himself as he watched a girl stop Potter in the street to flirt openly with him. “He isn’t the real Harry.”
Draco spent nearly two hours following the man with jet-black hair and vivid green eyes. Not once did the pale wizard see the hero drink any type of potion or refresh a spell or charm. In fact, Draco didn’t see Potter so much as touch his wand all the way to a club on a side street that the blonde wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been watching the dark-haired man so closely.
And that was where Draco lost him. He walked in to the club and when he never came back out, Draco went in after him. (It was possible he’d taken off the charm and walked out with his real face, but Draco didn’t think so). Draco spent another two hours trying to spot the scruffy head of hair or pale blue robes but in the end he had to call it a loss and decided his best bet now was to go back to Potter’s house and search for clues.
When he appeared in the small alleyway close to Grimmauld Place, Draco barely had time to refreshen his Notice-Me-Not spell before the body of Harry Potter walked past the opening to the alleyway with one arm around a bulky looking redheaded male, and another, thinner, brunette who had his face nuzzled in Potter’s neck.
Following at a cautious distance, Draco was slightly surprised to see them pass through the wards with little resistance. If the fake Potter had returned here, then there was a good chance he was keeping the real Potter captive here. Which didn’t really explain what the two other men where doing there with the norette.
Once the blonde was sure the three men where safely inside the house he entered the wards and then raised his wand and checked them. They hadn’t been changed that he could make out which meant the person who was impersonating Potter was either coded in to be accepted or was actually just Harry Potter and Draco was more paranoid than he was willing to believe.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Draco thought about the whole day and comparing Potter’s attitude today with all of the other days that week, he felt more sure than ever that something wasn’t right. Grey eyes opening, Draco nodded to himself and steeled his nerves as he walked quietly up to the front door and casted a few auror spells to ensure he could enter unseen and that they weren’t anywhere near the front entrance hall.
The whole first floor and kitchen were unoccupied, as were all the rooms he had checked on the second floor so far and Draco felt his blood pressure rise with every moment that passed. Pausing on the seemingly empty second floor with his hands on the railing of the staircase leading to the third floor, the pale haired wizard gave in once more to his doubt and relived the day in his minds eye just to be sure that he wasn’t the obsessively suspicious person Potter was always telling him that he was. Because Draco knew that if Harry ever caught the blonde snooping through his house without his permission or for actual work reasons, Draco would loose more than just his job. Of that, he was sure.
But once again, Draco felt himself reassured that he wasn’t completely bonkers yet and as soon as the blonde reached the third floor landing and heard that distinctive voice talking about something from within the room to his left, he knew the risk would be worth it this time. Looking in through the crack, Draco squinted his eyes slightly, trying to see better without having to push the door anymore open than necessary.
Inside the dismal looking bathroom, Harry Potter was standing at the sink, talking gleefully to the mirror that hung on the wall. His blue robes had a bit of scarlet-colored splatter on his right shoulder that ran down a little on the arm of the robes. Draco noted the deep texture to the liquid that caused his stomach to drop sickeningly. It was blood.
And then his grey eyes slid over to the mirror’s reflection, and he froze.
There, right where a cheerfully chatty pretend Potter talking to himself should be; there was another Potter who was wearing the same muggle shirt as the one Draco had mocked the day before, and hair as ruffled and sticking up at the back annoyingly, as it always did. The real Harry Potter was trapped in a mirror. And he seemed to also be yelling something in a furious rage at the man who was currently standing in his body on the other side. No sound could be heard, but Draco knew Potter well enough now to know when he was really angry about something.
Draco tried to listen to what was being side on his side of the mirror, but either the man acting as Harry was whispering softly, or just wasn’t speaking at all anymore. And then all hope of eaves dropping on the conversation was lost when the fake Potter laughed darkly and spun around toward to face the bathroom door.
Silently thanking anyone who was listening that the other man seemed too busy chuckling to pay particular attention to the air around the cracked doorway that had definitely shifted when Draco made a hasty withdraw; he settled against the far wall and waited with baited breath, faint with relief that he had remembered to recast his disillusionment charm before he’d entered the house.
The door was pushed opened in what felt like slow motion to Draco, and he was grateful when the fake Potter turned to walk down the hall opposite to where Draco was standing, and went straight into a room that was near the very end of the hall and the furthest from the bathroom that Draco had ducked into at the first safe moment.
Pulling the door closed quietly and hitting it with a few choice spells, Draco finally felt safe enough to remove his Notice-Me-Notice spell and faced the mirror over the sink.
Harry’s mouth dropped open almost comically. ‘How?’ He mouthed at the blonde, and the pale wizard found himself feeling almost giddy. Yes. This was undeniably the real Harry Potter.
Or, at least, it looked as if he had simply mouthed it as Draco couldn’t actually hear him saying anything. But it was still more communication than Draco had thought he’d get. “That is my question, Potter. How on earth did you get in there? Who is that man I shared my lunch with in our office the afternoon?”
Harry sent him a betrayed look.
Draco ignored it. “What the hell happened?” He demanded instead, trying to keep his voice clam and collected and not quite succeeding.
Shoulders drooping in a kind of defeat, the norette gave what looked to be a heavy sigh. ‘I’m sorry.’ He mouthed after a moment.
“As well you should be.” Draco sighed too. “Just tell me what happened so we can fix this.”
‘Can’t.’ Potter mimed after another minute of looking around like a kicked crup. ‘Bloody ------. Stuck inside of ----- ------ ---------. Dangerous --------, you ------ leave now.’
Draco made out what he could from his trapped friend’s’ over exaggerated forming of his words, but he was still avoiding Draco’s eyes at all costs and that wasn’t really helping matters any. “Potter, I can’t understand what you’re trying to tell me when you won’t even give me your full attention. Now, you’re stuck where? What is dangerous? Are you in danger where you are? Is that why you don’t think you can leave?”
Green eyes slid up from their intense inspection of rough tan hands. The wizard in the mirror shook his head and then drew the letter ‘U’ in the air with his finger.
“U?” Draco muttered to himself as he frowned. What did the letter U have to do with anything? “Potter, you’re a genius! I’ll Flagrate letters into the air on this side, and then you can point to them and I’ll add them to the words over here.”
If anything, Harry seemed displeased by the idea. He closed his eyes and pinched his nose --just beneath his glasses -- in what might have been stress, before opening them again and then pointing, (rather rudely), at Draco. Mouthing the words, ‘You’, and, ‘Danger’, again.
Something in Draco’s mind clicked. Potter was trying to tell him that he was the one in serious danger. The blonde scoffed, and had just opened his mouth to remind the raven-haired man that he is a fully qualified auror, when his own magical ward on the bathroom door broke mere seconds before it was thrown open with such force that it rebounded off the far wall with a resounding b a n g! And before Draco could so much as raise his wand, ropes had sprung from the imposter Potter who was now looming over him with an alarming mixture of sinister delight covering his handsome features.
“Oh, Draco. You really should have stayed home with your mother this evening.”
To Be Continued. . .