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With a sigh, Ron pinned a photograph of the third victim to the evidence board.
When he and Harry, his Auror partner, had been called to another murder scene, he had hoped it wouldn’t be connected to this case. He had hoped, somehow, that they’d find something that would disqualify the deceased from being part of such a heinous crime. That there’d be a different M.O., a different witness description, a different manner of death. That neither him nor Harry would have to carry the guilt of knowing they could have stopped the death, but didn’t.
They weren’t so lucky.
Serial killing cases were few and far between in the Auror department, and it was just his and Harry’s twisted fortune that one found its way into their laps. The past two weeks had been grueling, with them visiting crime scene upon crime scene, revisiting old cold cases, and following numerous dead-end leads. He was exhausted. He could tell Harry was, too—the dark circles under his eyes had grown so stark it scared him a bit. But neither felt comfortable to rest. Not when lives were at stake.
“Well, he definitely has a type.” Ron muttered as he looked upon the victims’ photos side-by-side. Four men, under thirty, all blond and pale and slight, almost waif-like. Each of the four had been high class escorts, placing discreet ads in the Daily Prophet and making money off of a roster of older clients. However, each man had their ad answered by a killer. They’d go out on their arranged date and soon be found dead, with witnesses consistently describing the man they were last seen with as having salt-and-pepper hair, glasses, and a cane.
“Honestly, they look like siblings.” Harry commented, and it was true. Even down to the face shape, the three men looked eerily alike. And eerily like someone else…
“Well?” Draco Malfoy said as he entered into Ron and Harry’s office without so much a knock, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. As one of the lawyers in charge of prosecuting the criminals Aurors arrested, Malfoy often chose to burst in unannounced, following up on investigations and looking for information on his next case. “Was it another victim in this case?”
“Yes, unfortunately.” Harry answered somberly. “This killing has the exact same M.O., and the same description of the perpetrator by witnesses” Malfoy sauntered up between the two Aurors, humming in thought as he appraised the crime scene photos. Back when he first started, Malfoy could hardly stomach looking at such images. But now, after two years, he could detachedly stare at them for hours, eyes scanning methodically for anything relevant to a potential case. Still, he couldn’t help wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“We need this sick fuck off the streets as soon as possible.” Malfoy commented, absentmindedly running a pale hand through his blond hair. “Do you need me to sign off on a warrant or anything?”
Ron remained silent. He looked at the waif-like blond in front of him, then back to the waif-like blonds on the evidence board, an idea forming in his head.
Harry, having followed Ron’s line of sight, laughed out loud in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
Malfoy turned away from the evidence board with a raised eyebrow. “I might not be an Auror, but I can assure you I am serious about catching serial killers and putting them away for life.”
Harry rolled his eyes at Malfoy’s dramatics.
“Not you, him.” He said, gesturing emphatically to Ron. “He wants you to pretend to be an escort to trap the perpetrator.”
Malfoy blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it again.
“You fit his type perfectly.” Ron explained to the shell-shocked attorney. “I mean, look at these pictures. It’s like you looking in a mirror, for Merlin’s sake.”
“I’m not quite sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.” Malfoy replied after a moment, voice faint.
“Take it how you want.” Harry said with a shrug. “But Ron’s got a point y’know—using you, we could lay the perfect trap.”
“But I’m not an Auror.” Malfoy protested, finally coming back to his senses. “I shouldn’t be participating in investigations.”
“You and I both know there’s paperwork that would clear you to help, Counselor.” Harry argued back, teasingly emphasizing Malfoy’s title. “And, I thought you were serious about catching serial killers and putting them away for life?”
Malfoy glared at Harry. Harry glared back. Their faces were mere inches from each other.
Ron cleared his throat, and the two sprang apart quickly.
“If I do this, I can’t prosecute him.” Malfoy continued arguing. He was really getting into it now, his voice carrying the same weight it did when he spoke in court. “I am serious about putting him away for life, and I do that best via my job in the courtroom. Do we really want to gamble on one of the other snot-nosed Ministry prosecutors instead?”
It was a good point. Both Ron and Harry paused, while Malfoy smirked.
“I think we’ll just have to take our chances.” Ron decided after a moment. Harry nodded in agreement. “It’s not everyday you get such a perfect person for a trap like this.”
“I haven’t consented yet.” Malfoy shot back. “And, I mean, would anyone really buy me as an escort?”
“Yes.” Harry answered immediately, just as Ron said, “They don’t need to buy you, they just have to rent you for the night.”
Malfoy huffed. Ron wasn’t sure which comment elicited it.
“And if I did this, emphasis on if, then what? I put out an ad, meet the man, and… let him kill me?”
“We wouldn’t let him get that far.” Harry answered, his voice pitched dangerously low. An “I’d kill him first” went unspoken.
Malfoy tensed.
“If he matches the description, then we can get him as soon as you get his name—we have a short list of his aliases.” Ron elaborated calmly. “If he doesn’t match the description, we can still get him for solicitation, don’t worry. Either way, you won’t be talking to the man for more than ten minutes maximum, I promise. And it would be a really big help.”
Malfoy was easing up, but the furrow of his brow indicated he was still mulling it over. His eyes flicked to Harry, who was staring at him pleadingly.
“Please.” He said.
Malfoy immediately cracked, the word “Alright” slipping from his lips almost unconsciously.
Harry smiled brightly. Malfoy physically had to tear his eyes away before he could stalk out of the office, muttering about finding the proper forms. Harry watched the blond retreat, his smile never leaving his face.
Ron sighed. After two years of this nonsense, he was getting really tired of those two idiots dancing around each other.
Maybe Harry seeing Malfoy in his escort disguise would finally get something to snap.
*****
Two nights later, Ron and Harry were sat in a parked car outside a swanky new Muggle restaurant in SoHo. Both had their eyes trained on Draco Malfoy, who stood languidly outside the place smoking a cigarette, looking rather much like himself, in Ron’s opinion. He and Harry had pulled a few colleagues to help disguise Malfoy, but it seemed that Malfoy already looked the part; all he needed was a little tousling of the hair, a bit eye makeup, and a few gaudier pieces of jewelry, and suddenly he was an escort to the upper echelon on society.
While Ron thought he didn’t look too different, Harry had startled upon seeing the final look. He had barely been able to garble a coherent sentence in Malfoy’s presence. Malfoy didn’t notice, though—he was too preoccupied with touching his hair and complaining that the eyeliner made his eyes water.
Now, Malfoy puffed a cloud of smoke and checked his wristwatch with an eye roll, looking for all the world like a spoiled, prissy cat.
“He’s ten minutes late.” Malfoy murmured, the sound picked up from his enchanted earrings and broadcast onto the car radio. “Am I being stood up?”
“Wait a few more minutes.” Ron directed, the sound going back the other way from the radio and into Malfoy’s earpiece. “If he’s not here in another ten minutes, we’ll call it a night.”
“How embarrassing.” Malfoy commented. His eyes scanned the crowd again, to no avail. “Getting all dolled up for nothing, not even a free dinner.”
“When we’re done here, you’re welcome to join Ron and I for a takeaway dinner in our office.” Harry replied, the invitation rolling off his tongue without a thought. “On me, as a thank you for helping out.”
“Actually, I’ll be heading home.” Ron interjected quickly, ignoring Harry’s confused look beside him. “Hermione’s got the night off so…”
Ron could see Malfoy’s eyebrow raise from afar. Harry still looked lost, so Ron launched into a series of convoluted gestures that vaguely translated to “you + him+ alone + eating dinner = a date.” Harry’s eyes widened in understanding.
Before Harry could respond, Malfoy asked “Well then, Auror Potter, does the offer still stand?”
Harry flushed so violently Ron had to hold back a laugh.
“Yes.” Harry replied, flipping Ron off.
“I think I see him.” Malfoy suddenly announced, his tone whipping from lightly teasing to scared shitless. Both Ron and Harry zeroed into the crowd, and there he was: a spiffy older man with salt-and-pepper hair, glasses, and a cane. He was walking swiftly through the crowd, but had yet to spot Malfoy.
“Remain calm.” Harry instructed, going into Auror mode. “Wave him over, engage him in light conversation, try and get his name. Don’t let him lead you anywhere. We’ll apprehend him soon, okay?”
Malfoy didn’t reply, but Ron knew he heard them because he visibly forced himself to relax and raised an arm. Like a moth to the flame, the man approached.
“Damien?” The man asked as he got closer. Malfoy nodded—Damien being his alias that he put the ad under.
“Well hello.” Malfoy answered, his tone lowered as if in interest. He tilted his head to the side, letting his eyes slowly roam up and down the man’s strong frame. Ron was impressed at his capacity for acting—had he not seen Malfoy’s cigarette shift in his lightly trembling hand, he wouldn’t have any idea he was nervous. Harry grew tense. “I don’t think you ever gave me your name.”
The man laughed, the sound low and gravelly. “That’s unimportant.”
“Is it?” Malfoy asked, reaching out to straighten the pocket square in the man’s suit jacket. “I think it’s rather important.” Malfoy leaned forward conspiratorially, his hand trailing down the man’s arm. “After all, I’d like to know what name to moan when you’re fucking me later.”
Harry choked. Ron resolved to delete every memory of this night after it was over.
“Fair point.” The man replied, clearly enticed, a sleazy smile gracing his face. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we? Let’s have dinner first, relax a bit.”
“Don’t.” Ron commanded. “Press some more on the name.”
“Is it an embarrassing name?” Malfoy asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that why you won’t tell me? I promise not to laugh.”
“Not embarrassing, just a bit boring” The man replied, covering Malfoy’s lingering hand with his own. “Nothing compared to Damien—what a lovely name you have.… why don’t we go in and sit down; my leg’s acting up a bit.” The man grimaced as if in pain, and released Malfoy’s hand to gesture at his left leg.
“He’s lying.” Harry said icily. “I saw him walking—his gait is perfect. The cane is for show. Try him one more time.”
“Just a moment,” Malfoy said, pulling back and taking another drag of his cigarette. “No smoking inside. But you know, I rather like your cane…it’s very beautiful, can I see it?”
The man puffed his chest a bit, entirely forgetting about his supposed leg pain. “I had it custom made, by Monsieur de Enfant in Paris.” He held the cane up slightly in the light, allowing Malfoy to touch it. “He’s the best bespoke artisan in the world.”
“Wow, I’ve heard of him; this must’ve cost you a fortune.” Draco sounded awed, running his hand up and down the wood of the cane in a slightly suggestive manner. Near the handle, his hand stopped.
“Your initials are RSL.” Malfoy said. “Monseir de Enfant embosses his canes with the initials of their owner. My father had the same type.”
“RSL” Ron breathed, “Robert Sebastian Levine, that’s one of the names we have, it’s him.”
“We’re coming to get him.” Harry announced, and the two Aurors sprang into action.
After a shocked pause, the man—Robert—raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. “Aren’t you a clever little thing? But, if your family was wealthy enough to afford such things, how did you end up an escort? It must be quite the story, hm?”
“Well, the story’s quite short, really: I’m not an escort; I’m a lawyer.” Malfoy answered sweetly, just as Harry body-bound Robert and placed him under arrest on suspicion of murder. As commotion erupted, Ron worked on Obliviating the crowd.
Robert seethed and squirmed in his restraints, spewing expletives and swearing his rights had been infringed upon, that he had been set up. Malfoy caught Harry’s gaze and rolled his eyes, making Harry hold back a laugh.
“Help Ron with the Obliviating, would you?” Harry suggested. “Afterwards, meet me at the Ministry—I’ll need to take your statement, and you can help get our new prosecutor up to speed.”
“And takeaway dinner?”
“Of course. I’m a man of my word.” With that, Harry Apparated himself and Robert away, presumably to the holding cells of the Ministry.
When Malfoy shuffled beside Ron, wand raised, Ron waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, I’m pretty much done. And besides, you’ve done enough work for tonight.”
“It was nothing, really.” Malfoy said, but he obediently put his wand away. “It was just talking.”
“Draco Malfoy being humble? I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Oh, piss off.” Malfoy replied without heat.
“But seriously, you did great work. You thought quickly, kept him engaged, and ultimately got him caught. That’s not nothing, not at all.”
Malfoy blinked at the earnest praise, then nodded his head at Ron. “I appreciate that, Weasley.”
“You know, I’m sure Harry noticed your hard work, too.” Ron added cheekily. “He was definitely impressed. And, honestly, probably a bit turned on by the whole escort act.”
Malfoy squawked, whipping his head up to stare at Ron with wide eyes.
“Just saying.” Ron shrugged. “You could use that to your advantage on you dinner date later.”
Malfoy sputtered. “It’s not a date—“
“Oh, yes it is.” Ron replied breezily. “And I think it would benefit everyone if you treated it as such. It’s about time you both do something about your sexual tension.”
“I beg your fucking pardon—“
“Oh, would you look at that, it’s about time I go home.” Ron cut him off, glancing at his wristwatch. “If Harry needs me, which he shouldn’t because it’s his turn to play interrogator, tell him I’m at home. Good luck tonight!”
With a wink, Ron Apparated away, leaving a gaping attorney behind.
******
The next morning, Ron wasn’t surprised to find Harry missing from the office. It had been a very late night, apparently, as interrogating Robert turned out to be more laborious than anticipated, especially when he brought his own lawyer into the mix. Ron learned all this from the new prosecutor handling the case, Ms. Novak, who he ran into in the Ministry cafeteria. She was young, friendly, but stern when it came to her work, and assured Ron she would handle this case with the upmost care.
“I think he might take a plea.” Novak said conspiratorially. “Auror Potter and I made sure he knows there is plenty of evidence against him, and that a trial would take ages to finish.”
“We never had any hard evidence, though.” Ron corrected her. “He very well could come out not guilty in trial.” He took a sip of his tea, worried that Malfoy had been right, that the other prosecutors weren’t worth their salt.
“Oh, but now we do.” Novak smiled brightly. “When we had him in custody, Auror Potter requested a sample of his magical signature. Thankfully, he obliged before his lawyer showed up. It was tested against the signature left on two of the bodies, and it’s a match.”
Ron exhaled. That was extremely damning evidence, and it cleared any doubts as to Robert’s guilt. They had gotten the right guy.
“Excellent.” Ron said, and raised his teacup. Novak clinked her coffee mug against it with a grin. “But hey, speaking of Auror Potter, how was he last night?”
Novak furrowed her brow. “He was alright, I guess? Tired, definitely, after the interrogation. He and Mr. Malfoy spoke with me afterwards, at around 1, and then they left.” She shrugged.
“They left together?” Ron pressed.
“I mean, they walked back to Auror Potter’s office together.” Novak elaborated. “Mr. Malfoy mentioned dinner. But after that, I didn’t see them, sorry. I went straight to my own office.”
“That’s alright, I was just being a bit nosy.” Ron waved off her apology. Novak raised an eyebrow, an impish glee in her eyes.
“Well, in the spirit of nosiness, what I can say is that Mr. Malfoy and Auror Potter were heavily flirting all night.” Novak said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one heard. “I mean, I wasn’t sure if going back to the office for ‘dinner’ was a euphemism or something.”
Ron cackled. The case was in good hands.
****
After lunch, Harry stumbled into his shared office, looking a bit worse for wear. He plonked down at his desk, offering Ron only a grunt in greeting.
“Merlin.” Ron put down the report he’d been working on. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Didn’t sleep much.” Harry grumbled, rubbing at his eyes.
“Because of the case?” Ron asked, then added, his voice pitched to a teasing whisper, “Or because of Malfoy keeping you up all night?”
“Piss off!” Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands. Even still, Ron could see the flush on Harry’s neck and the tips of his ears.
That was all the confirmation he needed.
“Merlin wept.” Ron whispered in reverence. “I never thought I’d see the day… this calls for celebration!” He opened one of his desk drawers, fiddling around to find the small bottle of Firewhiskey he’d been saving for a day like this.
“You know,” Ron continued to comment as he searched—he was sure he put it somewhere in his desk, right? “I wouldn’t have thought Malfoy had it in him; I always thought he was rather prudish. But, then again, he was shockingly believable at the rent boy act… I guess he’s just good at hiding that side of him—“
“Please, for the love of Merlin, shut up.” Harry begged, his head still in his hands and his face getting redder by the second.
“Only if you tell me one thing.” Ron said gravely, pausing his search. “Are you happy, Harry?”
Harry removed his hands from his face, and looked Ron dead in the eye. “Yes. Very much.” He said seriously, though he couldn’t keep a sappy smile from spreading across his face.
“Excellent. That’s all I need to know—aha!” Ron cheered as he finally found that damn bottle.
***
One celebratory shot and several hours later, Ron walked through the halls of the Ministry, toward the prosecutor’s offices. He stopped in front of a heavy oak door bearing Malfoy’s shiny gold nameplate. The door was shut and Ron could hear no noise inside, but he knocked anyway.
“Come in.” Called Malfoy, and Ron obliged. If Malfoy was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it—he only spared Ron a hint of a smile as he glanced up from the papers in front of him, not even pausing his furious writings.
As always, Malfoy’s office was impeccably organized, with all the clutter color-coordinated and arranged neatly into piles. Malfoy himself, however, looked marginally less put-together than usual. Similarly to Harry, he radiated tiredness and was seemingly operating on fumes. But criminals stopped for no one, and so he worked away despite it.
“You alright?” Ron asked politely, moving to sit down in one of the plush chairs in front of Malfoy’s ornate desk.
“Hm.” Malfoy answered affirmatively, not looking up from his scribbling. “Very late night.”
“So I’ve heard.” Ron said cheekily. “Glad to hear you heeded my advice.”
Malfoy’s quill finally ceased moving, and the blond snapped his head up to glare at Ron’s smug face. Ron wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, especially since Malfoy blushed so furiously.
“Shut up.” Malfoy finally said after a moment. Immediately after, he fought to stifle a yawn.
“Wow.” Ron replied. “Harry was right, you really did keep him up all night—you’re too tired to be quick-witted.”
Malfoy glared harder, his ears turning bright red. “Do you actually need anything, or did you just come here to harass me?”
“Not harass; lightly tease.” Ron corrected. “But I also need you to know something.”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not saying any of this because I expect this of you, or even remotely think you would do this, but I need to give the warning anyway: if you hurt Harry, cause him any pain or heartbreak, there will be severe consequences from me.” Ron said as sternly as he could. “Harry has had feelings for you for a long time, and I’ve seen how happy he is to be with you. He looks at you like you hung the moon. Don’t let it come crashing down on him.”
Malfoy nodded, expression serious. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You have my word.”
“Good to hear we’re on the same page.” Ron smiled. “After all, I’d hate to lose the only formidable chess partner around.”
Malfoy grinned. Satisfied, Ron made to leave. As he approached the door, though, he turned.
“And for what it's worth, Malfoy,” He added, “the same goes for Harry. If he ruins it and hurts you, I’ll kick his stupid arse into next week. You have my word on that.”
Ron walked out the sound of Malfoy’s surprised laughter.