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Will The Chosen One ever find love?
Daily Prophet
Friday December, 5 2003
Rita Skeeter - Lifestyle Correspondent

It came to our attention this week, Dear Readers, that our beloved Wizarding Saviour has lost out on love yet again. It was I, I will admit, that once tempted you all with tales of the comfortable romance he shared with his long term friend, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. I’m sure it surprised you as it did me, not only months later, when The Boy Who Lived was spotted in a close embrace with Luna Lovegood, a Pureblood witch from an unusual family.
Well, Dear Readers, what can I say? We were wrong, on both counts! Harry Potter is dating neither Miss Granger nor Miss Lovegood, as it seems they are courting each other! There is no way to know if one or the other of the lovely ladies actually broke our Chosen One’s heart, but they seem to have found happiness together. They were seen holding hands and kissing openly while at brunch in Diagon Alley with, you guessed it, Mr Potter.

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Harry became a Truth Seeker. He’d tried the Auror and Ministry thing like Ron for a couple of years, but found he couldn’t deal with the sycophants and gawking and the problems in general that being The Boy Who Lived Twice caused when trying to do the job. So he became James Evans, Truth Seeker. There were always people around looking for things that the Auror department couldn’t or wouldn't take the time to find: witches and wizards who’d disappeared during the war but without solid evidence of foul play, family heirlooms, long-lost squib relatives who’d gone to live as Muggles, lost pets who might have been taken for potions ingredients but weren’t particularly valuable. Harry of course also did the usual things people thought of when they pictured a Truth Seeker or Muggle Private Eye: he looked into people’s pasts before business deals, he got pictures and other evidence for divorce cases, and he double-checked references when security was an issue. He worked mostly for private citizens, but occasionally the odd Ministry representative. It wasn’t usually hero-level stuff, but he felt like he was making a small difference for each of his clients, and that was important.

Harry had come to believe that small things, in general, were important. Small things were what had caused so many of his and the wizarding world’s problems in the past. The cupboard under the stairs hadn’t been large, the horcruxes had mostly been small things, and the Philosopher’s Stone, and the piece of paper with his name on it in the Goblet of Fire. Hermione and Ron not staying together was because of small things; Ron really was hopeless, and Hermione really did deserve more. Harry and Ginny not ever really starting again after the war was because of small things; she’d noticed his half-glances at men more than he had. She’d also been surprisingly harsh about it all, considering one of her big brothers was gay and apparently accepted by his family. The whole Weasley clan, including Ron, but not including Charlie, said gay big brother, and George, who’d said Who the fuck cares?, had been surprisingly harsh, really. They hadn’t gone to the press though, and for that small thing Harry was grateful. Harry had been a small part of the Weasley family, and now he was an even a smaller part.

Harry had chosen to not come out publicly. One’s sexuality wasn’t that big of a deal in the wizarding community in general anyway, and it was nice to have a secret or two when every move you made might be scrutinised by the press. Being gay was part of who he was, but it was a small thing too, really. Harry thought that it was important to recognise, but it was also important to remember which of one’s friends preferred coffee over tea, and cakes over crumpets and honey. Their preferences didn’t stop them from being who they were, and they didn’t stop them from being your friends.

There were good small things, of course. Being able to buy his favourite brand of Muggle biscuits at the local Tesco was one of Harry’s little pleasures. Getting a weekly drawing from Teddy after Andromeda had moved him farther away from London was very nice, as was being free to decide when to take his days off to visit the pair of them. Having ice cream on a Saturday afternoon at Hermione and Luna’s comfy cottage was a small outing, but worth it. A smile from a stranger when they didn’t realise Harry was the Chosen One was always pleasant. Then again, random handshakes from men with tears in their eyes because they did recognise him was too. Small things were always there and always had the potential to make happy or make trouble.

When he’d left the Aurors the public thought that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived Twice, killed the Dark Wizard Known as Voldemort, and then somehow also became Lord Black, had simply retired altogether. He hadn’t bothered to correct any of the Daily Prophet’s speculations on the matter. He knew he could probably stop working given the money in the Black and Potter vaults, but he’d rather be doing something useful with his time. His closest friends, Hermione and Luna, Charlie, George, Neville and Hannah, and Andromeda knew he lived his double life. So did Minister for Magic Shacklebolt, his friend and Truth Seeker Sponsor in the Wizengamot, Headmistress McGonagall who had helped him perfect his daily-use glamours, and a couple of older Aurors who Harry knew he could trust.

Harry was fine with it all. He went out once or twice a week without his James Evans face on to make sure that the public got enough Potter-sightings, and otherwise he mostly worked.

Life was full of small things, good and bad, and it didn’t look as if anything was going to change in any big way any time soon. Harry was fine with that, too.

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Draco became a Curse Changer. It wasn’t prestigious, it wasn’t his choice, and it certainly didn’t pay well. His life was not what he had expected it to be, and that was a good thing and not good thing all at once.

Lucius Malfoy had been found guilty of everything he’d been charged with after the War. He had been stripped of his Title and sent to Azkaban for the rest of his natural life. There were old enchantments in the Malfoy magics, however, that the Ministry couldn’t affect and none of the books or scrolls in the Manor could elucidate. They meant that Draco would be only the Heritor Lord Malfoy until his father died or until Draco produced a full blood heir.

One of the charges against Lucius was laid after the Healers at St Mungos had been called to tend to Draco’s wounds after the Battle of Hogwarts. When the Dark Wizard Known as Voldemort fell, Draco, like all those who’d not taken to the yoke willingly, had been left with a mass of deep lacerations where the Dark Mark had been placed. During the Healers’ examinations they’d found that Lucius had used a form of blood binding on Draco. The Sanguinem Magia Imperious bent his son’s will to suit his and his Lord’s machinations. Draco had been under the curse since before his time at school, even. The evidence of the curse, broken only when Lucius’ wand had been snapped, was enough to save Draco from joining his father on Azkaban. His mother, Narcissa, had been furious when she’d heard the report, and immediately vowed to never again have contact with her husband.

Narcissa herself had been spared prison as she’d been able to show that she’d only ever acted in an effort to protect her son. Harry Potter’s testimony to the same effect had ensured her freedom. It had also meant that she and Draco hadn’t been too harshly penalised.

Though the Lady Malfoy and the Heritor Lord Malfoy were still ill-considered by much of society, they’d been basically cleared of charges by the Wizengamot. Yet, they had something to pay to the community. Narcissa had been ordered to open her home to displaced families. Even now, five or six years later, she had a full house. She told anyone who asked that she liked it that way. She marvelled at the fact the halls echoed to the sounds of life instead of the screams of the tortured or the sobbing of the dismayed. She and Draco had kept the smallest of the wings of the house for themselves, choosing an area that the Dark Wizard Known as Voldemort and his followers had mostly ignored. The rest of the house and the grounds were full of widows and children, disenfranchised magical beings such as werewolves and centaurs, and a host of extra house elves whose previous families were dead, scattered, or incarcerated.

Draco had been sentenced to work at the Ministry cataloguing and storing or deactivating dark artefacts discovered after the War. It seemed that Dark families and Light had all had strange items in their collections, and now that peace had come, they generally wanted them back. They didn’t like the idea of the Ministry keeping them. Draco had had an unenviable task.

There had been a clock in the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor that was an aesthetic favourite of his mother’s. When Draco had come across it in his work tasks only a month or two into his service, he’d diagnosed what it was and realised he wouldn’t be able to remove the curse without destroying the object. It was crafted so that adding a hair or the such to a compartment in the clock tied a person’s life force to it, and it could then be used to kill, maim, or make ill the person it was attuned to at a certain time and date. He’d slaved over it in secret, and managed to turn its purpose on its head. He made it so it could give the person it was tied to an emotional boost, like a warm hug from a distance, instead. He’d submitted it for inspection to the powers that be within the Department of Mysteries, had been granted permission to return it to Narcissa, and given a newly created job title.

Then, instead of shunning him in the halls and avoiding his eyes, suddenly everyone needed Draco working on the dark artefacts they’d not known were dark artefacts and wanted back because they’d been a gift from someone’s favourite great aunt. Even if it was far from what anyone had ever imagined him doing, Draco enjoyed his job.

Even with that change, Draco had still taken months to begin re-discovering his self-confidence. But in due course, with his father out of ear’s and wand’s reach, Draco had started socialising, dating at first women, and then men. He’d not found anyone particularly special until he’d met Nathan Tronpe. He was almost three years younger than Draco, full of life and energy, and absurdly attractive with his dark blonde curls and golden skin. Draco’s mother, unfortunately, hadn't seen the appeal. She’d never said anything outright of course, but it was obvious that there was something about Nathan that bothered her. Draco had done everything he could to assure her that his beau was wonderful. Nathan was everything Draco was interested in and everything he needed.

He’d met Nathan at a party in late August 2001. They started dating the following week. His mother had been shocked when she found out that last May, which made it less than two years after they’d met, Nathan had asked Draco to marry him and Draco had accepted without hesitation. They’d kept it to themselves until Narcissa had been making Christmas plans this year that didn’t include Nathan, and Draco had finally decided she needed to know. He’d not wanted to admit it to himself, but he’d kept it a secret because of her continued reservations about his fiancé.

Yesterday, the morning after New Year’s Day, Narcissa had sat him down after breakfast, held his hand tight, and proved to him something apparently universally true: Mother really does know best.

She’d admitted that after the engagement revelation she’d done what countless Malfoys and Blacks and other Purebloods had before, and hired the best Truth Seeker money could buy. Draco approved of his mother’s choice of employee, James Evans, even if he didn’t like the reason she’d hired one. The man had an excellent track record and a reputation for diligence and speed.

His mother had glossed over the specific information she’d given to the Truth Seeker for the investigation, but emphasised to Draco that she’d decided that she wouldn’t have been able to live with her conscience if she’d not had it done. Draco had been concerned to hear it had apparently taken Mr Evans two full weeks to deliver a preliminary report. The wizard had collected information on Nathan’s family history, ancestry, recent meetings and financial dealings. He’d also apparently looked back over the two years that Draco and Nathan had been together.

In the end, it had taken all the training Draco’s sadistic father had given him early in life to not simply regurgitate his morning meal all over the settee when his mother told him what Evans had found. In the two weeks following him, Mr Evans had observed Tronpe in flagrante delicto on seven separate occasions. From what the Truth Seeker could surmise, it had been going on in a similar fashion for their entire relationship.

Draco had declined the opportunity to see the photographic evidence for himself. He trusted his mother’s judgement and besides, he had no reason to disbelieve anything that a professional the calibre of Mr Evans had found.

While his mother told him what he needed to hear, Draco’s skin had crawled and his anger had flared and he’d concentrated on not crushing her hand. He had then sat for several moments in silence once she’d finished. When she’d asked if there was anything she could get or do for him, he’d squeezed her fingers once more and let go. He’d accepted the Calming Draught-laced hot chocolate she’d handed him, drank it, kissed her on the cheek, and gone to his chambers without actual comment.

He’d almost sat on the end of the bed and cried, but found he couldn’t, not knowing who’d slept in the sheets on it. He’d stood and stared into space for what must have been an hour, until he’d felt he could breathe without screaming. He’d stripped the bed and hoped the elves didn’t hate him for not explaining. He’d made an appointment by floo to see his Healer, and left quickly, kissing his mother again and letting her know where he was going.

When he’d returned he’d retired to his chamber, more than grateful to find that the elves had not only remade his bed, but even brought him a new mattress. He’d not taken dinner, nor the offered hot chocolate nor potions of any kind. He’d simply lain awake staring at the ceiling. He’d contemplated two years lost of his life, he’d contemplated the loss of friends, he’d tried not to contemplate the losses he might have known; the Healer had found evidence his prophylactic charms had fought off quite unpleasant curses.

The idea had come to him in the cold morning light and it had felt right. He’d planned and replanned and made arrangements in his head and with the elves and by the evening when he needed to leave for the monthly night out he had with his friends, and his fiancé, he had been ready.

Now, as Draco stepped to the front door ready to apparate, he could hear his Mother calling for an owl. He suspected she would be alerting the family legal advisers, requesting that they be available if needs be. He knew why. In a situation such as this, a calm Draco Malfoy was fair warning of a violent storm to come. Draco had no plans to break any laws or cast any curses, but there was no harm in being prepared. Of course, again, Mother knew best.

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Magical London Readies for the New Year
Evening Prophet
Saturday January, 3 2004
Lesar Meek - Junior Political Correspondent

With the holidays drawing to a close, many of our esteemed Members of the Ministry of Magic and Members of the Wizengamot have been spotted making their way back into the city this weekend, ready to tackle the tasks this New Year will bring.
Amongst those arriving, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt was seen with his family back from a fortnight spotting Ice Dragons in Finland. Wizard in charge of the War Reparations Committee, Pembroke Pettybourne, looked fresh from his visit to family in Wales, and stated that he was recharged after the holiday and ready to do what needed to be done. Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Humbert Harty, said that he was looking forward to seeing a good fast game of Quidditch to start the year off right.

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Harry, or rather James Evans, sat back against the soft cushioned seat of the booth he was seated in. He was there to observe as Draco Malfoy and his friends had a boys-night-out at a restaurant popular with their crowd. The bistro had large tables and small, each with its own inbuilt privacy charm that muffled the conversation coming from it and encouraged other patrons to look away if they found their gaze lingering. It was the Saturday after New Year and as such there were only fourteen in the group James Evans was observing for his employer, Narcissa Malfoy.

The wizards were sat around one long table. Harry had dutifully recorded their names as they’d sat down; Draco Malfoy and Nathan Tronpe of course, but also Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, Oliver Wood, Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, Zacharias Smith, Terence Higgs, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Stephen Cornfoot, Cormac McLaggen, and Roger Davies. It was a miniature Hogwarts reunion that took place the first Saturday of every month. Harry’s research and informants suggested that there would normally be five or six other men present, but perhaps they were still on vacation after Christmas. Other than the low numbers, it seemed like a normal night out for them.

Harry had of course known that the man he’d been hired to follow before Christmas was Draco Malfoy’s fiancé. There were very few in the British or European Wizarding communities who weren't aware of their relationship. Harry didn’t really know Malfoy anymore, though. He didn’t run into him often and almost never had reason to speak to him. It had been different just after the war. They’d been perfectly cordial after the trials and had eventually even begun to nod to each other in the halls when Harry had worked at the Ministry. They still did if Harry ever went to visit Hermione at her office.

Harry had marvelled at the way Malfoy accepted Hermione being called his supervisor at the Ministry, especially as she was really just Draco’s liaison between his newly created section of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects and her spot in the Department of Mysteries. Harry had been just as surprised that Hermione had gushed over Malfoy’s transformative spell work on the dark artefacts he dealt with daily. But no one had been particularly shocked when the Ministry had eventually shifted Malfoy’s office to the newly expanded Department of Mysteries, thus making Hermione actually his boss.

During Harry’s time as an Auror he and Malfoy had found themselves at many a pub night together. Harry been surprised to find that they shared a lot of the same opinions on things like child rearing (Susan Bones had been pregnant), Quidditch rules (there’d been talk of changing broom regulations), monogamy versus polyamory (Merton Graves, the Weird Sisters’ cellist, had made the news because of his open relationship), and even small things like tea versus coffee (the comforts of home versus the pleasure of visiting a good café).

Grown up Draco wasn’t a git. Then again, grown up Harry wasn’t a prat anymore either.

Though Harry made it a rule to not get emotionally involved in the cases he worked as James Evans, he’d felt more than uncomfortable when he’d photographed Nathan Tronpe’s cheating the first time. Harry had been upset with the second set of pictures he’d had to take of the same kind of situation, and angrier and angrier with those thereafter. He had been tempted to hit the cheating arse with a nasty hex or two himself. He had no idea why, other than the fact that he didn’t like the idea of someone shagging around on someone else. Then again there was also the fact Malfoy generally wasn’t a bad person, and had actually been doing everything right as an adult human being as far as Harry could tell. Malfoy had fucked up as a kid in a way that wasn’t entirely his fault. He’d paid the price and made the best of what he’d been given in life since.

Harry had never heard Malfoy protest or complain, even when people jeered at him or made only barely veiled comments about Death Eaters in his presence. He even seemed to ignore the gossip that said he’d only ever want to marry so he’d have an heir and finally earn the title of Lord Malfoy proper. The naysayers all said that as soon as Draco had complete control over all the bank accounts and magics that came with being the official head of his family, he’d obviously start on his way to being the next Dark Lord. Hermione said she thought Draco did want the Title, but only so he could finally be master of his own destiny. She also thought that really, the guy would make a good dad. Harry had no reason to disagree with her on either opinion.

What was going on in Malfoy’s life at the moment, well, Harry had thought that as soon as James Evans presented evidence of infidelity to Lady Malfoy that Nathan Tronpe would be out of the Malfoy family on his head. He’d understood her decision to delay telling her son, however. Harry had still been following Nathan as per his employer’s instructions, only ducking off on Christmas and Boxing Days proper when Narcissa had assured him that Tronpe would be at Malfoy Manor. Once the 25th and 26th had passed, Harry began watching the newspapers for some kind of official announcement from the Malfoys. He’d figured that as it was a slow news season generally, the break-up of a fairly famous couple might make it out of the society columns and onto the second or third page of the Prophet. But nothing came.

Between Christmas and New Year Harry had documented Tronpe having sex with two more different people, and revisiting one of those he’d been with during the first two weeks James Evans had tracked him. The guy apparently had an all-encompassing need. He definitely couldn’t get enough. Whether with male or female, for a short fuck against a wall in an alley before meeting Malfoy for a drink, or a mid-week sleep over in a fancy Muggle hotel that involved handcuffs and ball gags, he just didn’t seem to stop. Nathan Tronpe was here now though, sitting at the table across from his fiancé, talking, laughing, and eating with their friends.

Harry figured that there were two possible explanations for Nathan being here with the usual crowd. Either Malfoy didn’t know about Nathan’s cuckoldry yet, or he just didn’t care. The latter seemed unlikely. That night they’d all talked about the Weird Sisters’ cellist? Malfoy, like Harry, had been very firmly within the monogamy camp. Neither had objected to open relationships as a concept, but both had said they’d not feel okay with it as part of their own love life. Harry didn’t think people could change their minds that completely, if even that quickly, on something as tricky as relationship dynamics. He decided, therefore, that it was simply that Lady Malfoy still hadn’t figured out the best way to break the news to her son.

The boys-night-out was frankly quite boring to watch and dragging on. They’d been eating and drinking for almost three hours. But just as Harry was seriously considering ordering some dessert, something in the atmosphere changed. He’d of course bypassed the visual and auditory privacy charms for himself on the group’s table before they’d arrived, but he’d not properly heard the question that now had Tronpe looking at Malfoy in alarm.

Harry tweaked the levels on the extra insurance miniature-extendable-ear he had under the table they were sitting around.

Tronpe looked shocked as he spoke. “What did you just say, Draco?”

Malfoy smirked and his eyes gleamed. “I asked if you’d started shagging other people before or after you agreed to wear the engagement ring I gave you.” He sat back in his chair as all eyes fell on him. “Our latest round of drinks has Veritaserum in it, by the way.” He looked up and down the table and said, “Never fear, it’s just ours,” while he gestured to his and his fiancé’s wine glasses, then looked back at Tronpe. “It’s my own brew, Nathan. I’d suggest you don’t attempt to fight it.”

Ahh, Harry thought. There was a third option to explain how Nathan Tronpe was here tonight; Draco Malfoy did know and he did care. He’d simply decided to make the revelation as public as he could. It was good to know, in a way, that Malfoy still had some of his old spark.

Tronpe was red in the face.

Malfoy repeated, “Did you begin your assignations ,” he snarled out the word, “before or after asking to marry me?”

Tronpe looked as if he’d pop. He tried to bite down on the answer, but couldn’t fight the potion. “Before.”

“Oh?” Malfoy looked calm and poised. “So you’ve been fucking other people, during our relationship, for at least eight months?”

Tronpe’s voice was low but clear, “Yes.”

Malfoy nodded. “And the number men and women you bedded during the fortnight before Christmas, would that be an indicative count?”

Tronpe gripped the table. “Yes.”

Malfoy’s expression was suddenly stony. “So you’ve had sex with several more people since Christmas then, Nathan?”

Tronpe sucked in air hard and bleated, “Yes.”

“Yet you were aware that I expected monogamy from our relationship, were you not?” Malfoy’s eyebrows were actually raised. Harry found it strangely compelling. There was a power behind the ease of the expression, and Malfoy’s tone? That was hard to ignore.

Tronpe was beginning to deflate. “Yes.”

The edge of Malfoy’s mouth twitched. “And yet you said and did things that made me believe you were in agreement with us being monogamous, yes?”

“I did, but,” Tronpe swallowed whatever his next words were to be, cut off by the absolute ice that was now in Malfoy’s voice.

“But what? You didn’t make an Unbreakable Vow, so it doesn’t count? Is that what you think?” Malfoy pushed up his sleeves exposing a black leather wand-halter above his right wrist, and the mess of scars on his left forearm. He was the only one at the table with them. Whether he’d taken the Dark Mark willingly or not, it still counted for something. Tronpe gulped. Even he, who’d not been in Britain or even Europe during the war, knew the kind of threat such scars might represent.

Malfoy’s speech was calm again, almost as if he was telling a well-worn story. “Do you recall the night, Nathan, it was almost exactly 26 months ago, when we came to this very restaurant together? We spoke about becoming an exclusive couple. We’d been dating for a little while. I’d seen other people, you’d seen other people, but that night you and I decided we wouldn’t do that anymore. I asked, and you made me a promise.” He stressed the last word.

Harry could only just see him, but next to Draco, Blaise Zabini went a shade paler. Several of the others at the table shuffled in their seats. Harry didn’t look closely at them, though, he concentrated on the conversation.

Malfoy’s voice was still steady, but it was even colder now. He leaned forward and said, “Do you recall that night, Nathan?”

Tronpe bit out another, “Yes.”

“Good, I’d hate to have to resort to putting my memories in a Pensieve in the middle of a restaurant.” Malfoy played with the pushed up cuff above his scarred forearm. “Were you true to that promise, Nathan?”

Tronpe was trying hard to resist the Veritaserum. He was an idiot, Harry thought. As if Draco Malfoy would make an inferior version of the stuff. He might not have been a Potions Master, but that was only as Ministry decree had chosen a different career for him.

Tronpe was looking a little purple around the lips and even the ears.

Malfoy was finally beginning to look angry. “Answer me, Nathan Tronpe. Were you ever actually faithful to me?”

Tronpe finally blurted out, “No,” and gasped for air.

Malfoy sat back and looked, well, pleased. When he spoke again, his voice was strong, definite, detached. “Nathan Tronpe, you’ve just stated, in front of twelve witnesses and myself, your accuser and victim, that you broke not one, but two magical vows.”

Harry hoped that Malfoy wouldn’t hate that he had actually had a thirteenth witness.

Tronpe’s colour was returning to normal, and his mind seemed to be kicking back into gear. “I’ve never given you any kind of contract or vow.”

Zabini’s voice was so low the extendable ear only just picked it up. “Fool.”

Malfoy flicked a glance at him, but he was on Malfoy’s far side and Harry couldn’t see what kind of expression he’d been given.

Malfoy looked back at Tronpe. “We are wizards, Tronpe. Any promise you make to another wizard can be interpreted as a magical vow. Any promise you make to a member of a Pureblood family will be taken as a magical vow. I thought you understood that.”

Malfoy looked supremely unimpressed, as if Tronpe’s lack of comprehension was as damning as his sexual misconduct.

“Tronpe, you promised me fidelity as an exclusive couple and broke that pledge. You then promised to marry me, knowing full well that my parents and theirs and theirs before them had been so concerned with monogamy that they swore Unbreakable Vows. You knew I wanted the same. Thus you’ve broken the expectations of the engagement contract, also.”

Tronpe barely managed to get out his first two words “I didn’t…”

Malfoy sneered. “Moxy.” A small, proud looking house-elf, wearing what appeared to be only a long shirt and waistcoat, appeared at his side. Malfoy sat higher in his chair and seemed to grow about three feet. His wand was still tucked safely in its halter, but he had that look in his eye that said he was about to hex someone to hell and back.

Malfoy kept his voice even. “Nathan Lancelot Tronpe, I promised and delivered fidelity in all stages of our relationship. You have publicly admitted to having broken the said same promises. As such, I hereby renounce all and any vows, promises or contracts we made, and I strip you of any gift given as part of them or any other part of our now defunct association.”

Harry felt a slight tug on his magic. It wasn’t unpleasant, just unexpected. He widened his eyes and looked carefully at the spaces between the men at the long table before him. He could see their connections to what Malfoy had just invoked. Harry knew spells like this existed, but it wasn’t something he’d ever gotten to experience in person. It was fascinating. Hermione would be horribly jealous when he figured out how to get around the secrecy in his contract with Mrs Malfoy to tell her what he’d witnessed.

The ring Tronpe was wearing was the first thing to visibly react to what Malfoy had said. It began to vibrate and then shook hard enough to lift Tronpe’s hand. It flew off his finger and Moxy jumped and caught it. It was followed by a watch from the same arm and a bracelet from the other, then most of the man’s clothes and his shoes. His cloak flew across the room from where it had been hung by the restaurant staff when they entered.

Tronpe was left sitting in his trousers and socks, somehow without underpants, as they were on top of the pile Moxy was carefully folding.

Tronpe huffed then cried, “You can’t do this to me!”

Malfoy didn’t sneer and he didn’t smile. “I can, and I have. There are very specific magics involved in a situation like this, Mr Tronpe. All those in attendance with fair knowledge of our situation must concur that fidelity was agreed upon but not given, or you’d still be fully clothed. My magic isn’t working alone here.”

Tronpe glared around at the men at the table. Harry finally looked at the others’ faces. They all seemed uncomfortable. Only Goyle seemed uncomfortable and shocked. As Malfoy had stated, they’d all apparently understood that he expected, and believed he was consensually giving and receiving, fidelity. But maybe all but Goyle had known, or at least suspected, that Malfoy hadn’t been getting it. Some of them couldn’t look Tronpe in the eye.

The man in question now looked up at his newly ex-fiancé, “Draco, plea-”

Malfoy cut him off quickly. “Mr Tronpe, you should address me in a less familiar manner.”

Tronpe recoiled.

Malfoy ignored the reaction and kept talking. “I am going to assume that while committing your infidelities you didn’t indulge in a new partner every time you fucked. Is it fair to say that you’ve had sex with around two hundred, maybe two hundred and fifty other people while we were supposedly in a monogamous relationship? Am I overstating? Understating?”

Tronpe just stared at him. The question was apparently not straight forward enough for the Veritaserum to force an answer.

Malfoy smiled in a tight line and leaned forward again. “My apologies. Let me put that another way. During the twenty-six months of our official relationship, other than me, how many people did you have sex with?”

Tronpe pressed his lips together a moment or two, but didn’t go red. He wasn’t fighting the potion this time. “Two hundred sixteen.”

There were a few flutters around the table, and Harry himself gasped. But Draco smiled a little more warmly. “I do so admire the specificity created by this particular version of Veritaserum. It was one of Severus Snape’s specialities.” His smile grew wider. “My godfather taught me a great many things I will forever be grateful for. Tell me, Tronpe, should I be especially grateful for the spells he taught me to protect myself during intimacies? Did you use safe sex charms with all two hundred and sixteen other people?”

Tronpe snarled, “No.”

Draco leant away a little, “That is as I expected. Did you use the appropriate charms with any of them?”

Tronpe’s face stretched into a grimace, “No, none.”

“I’ll thank Merlin I took Snape’s advice that such charms were necessary until Unbreakable Vows, then.” Draco turned his head and said, “Moxy.”

The elf blinked out and in, landing next to Tronpe when he reappeared. He snapped his fingers and the plates and glasses and cutlery on the table in front of the man vanished. The house-elf leaned over and placed an ink pot, quill, and roll of parchment in front of Malfoy’s new ex.

Malfoy leaned back again. “You are going to write down the names of those two hundred and sixteen people for me, Mr Tronpe.”

Tronpe looked petrified. There was a murmuring around the table. Zabini, Smith, McLaggen, and some of the others looked as if they might vomit. Finch-Fletchley coughed out, “You’ve already made your point in a spectacular fashion, Malfoy. Is such a list really necessary?”

Malfoy blinked at the questioner painfully slowly. “Finch-Fletchley, you are a Medi-nurse, are you not?” Finch-Fletchley nodded. “Then you know the importance of one’s health.” Finch-Fletchley didn’t have an answer for that.

Harry was riveted.

Malfoy looked back at Tronpe. The man hadn’t moved his arms from being folded across his bare chest. “Mr Tronpe, I have a second appointment to see my Healer on Monday evening. She has assured me that there are some maladies that I may have contracted due to my subjection to your irresponsible choices ,” he nearly spat that word. “Though I was not actually infected, you exposed me to at least one particularly nasty sexually transmitted curse. Other afflictions will not have left such obvious traces, so there will need to be more thorough testing. My Healer will be very grateful to have all the information she can regarding my care. She will also be, of course, making sure the others on your list, and certain of their loved ones, are aware that they may also have been exposed to a number of possible hexes and curses. Over a certain tally of possible exposed persons she’s apparently required by the Department of Herbology to do so.”

Tronpe looked at the parchment and then over at Malfoy. “You can’t be serious.”

Malfoy looked him in the eye. “I am perfectly serious about the health of my Wizarding brethren.” He pointed at the ink and quill. “Are you refusing to write the list? It would be easier, and perfectly acceptable to the potion.” He tutted. “Never mind. The Veritaserum dose we’ve had will last for the next several hours, and Moxy’s handwriting is quite lovely.” Harry felt himself smiling at the little house-elf’s blush. “I’m sure that with proper compensation the proprietors of this fine establishment will stay open for us until you’ve finished spelling out each of your partners’ names.”

Malfoy reached to the middle of the table and tapped his wand against something that Harry thought was the wine list, then looked back at his ex. Moxy the elf stood ready to jump in and write.

Draco looked at the man he’d probably thought he’d known better than any other and almost purred out the request this time. “You will name those, other than myself, that you had sex with over the last 26 months, Mr Tronpe.”

Tronpe gritted his teeth. The strain from the potion must have been quite painful. Harry could see the man’s fingertips pushing into the flesh of his arms so hard that he was making white marks. When he finally relented and leaned forward to take up the quill there were little red c-shapes where his grip had been.

Malfoy breathed out strongly, a victory smile dancing across his features for a few seconds. “Good choice.” Then he breathed in hard, and let out a long, slow breath. “Now, Mr Tronpe, as you write, I’ve something else I should say: Along with the gifts you’ve relinquished, I also hereby withdraw any favour you’ve received from myself, any member of my family, or from family’s businesses.”

Harry felt the same slight tug on his magic as he had earlier and saw the same links between the men at the table. He also saw that the new pronouncement had been met with actual gasps from the other men present, even Gregory Goyle. Malfoy had apparently made a particularly savage decision. Tronpe paused, lifting the quill a moment, but seemed compelled to continue writing. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times and Harry couldn’t help but make the clichéd fish comparison in his head.

Zabini spoke up clearly this time. “Draco, really? Nathan could lose his job, his house, his…”

Malfoy fixed his cold mask back in place. “It is of no interest to me what this person may or may not lose, Blaise.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “But I don’t consider myself a cruel person. I will take this no further than what happens here, tonight. I am also under the effect of the Veritaserum, remember. Once I leave this restaurant I’m done with him.”

Malfoy leaned forward and took a sip of the red wine that had just been poured for him by his house-elf. He licked his lips. Tronpe kept writing as Malfoy kept talking. “It is unfortunate that today is Saturday, not Friday, I will admit. Two full days before business is back in swing for the New Year would have afforded him more time to plan, but I didn’t make this evening’s reservations, and I didn’t commit any infidelities, so I don’t think it’s really my fault.” He sounded almost, but not quite, flippant.

The table fell silent and Harry found himself thinking again about ordering a dessert. Tronpe was obviously going to be occupied for quite a while more. Harry flicked his eyes down quickly and tapped the menu in front of him. When he looked back up again the boys-night-out table was quite still, except for Malfoy sipping his wine and Tronpe continuing to write line after line.

Harry’s apple pie and ice cream materialised on the table in front of him and he picked up the spoon. He was glad he’d not had to attempt taking photos this evening. He’d been able to eat properly, and the food here was actually quite good. He told himself that despite the tension on the other side of the room he was feeling relatively relaxed, and he was looking forward to his pudding.

He was looking forward to it, definitely, but he lying to himself about being relaxed. It was a strange sight to see, he mused, a group of young men so on edge in what should be a comfortably social atmosphere. Harry felt it a little obscene that he was observing something go so sour while eating one of the best sweets he’d had since Hogwarts. He lifted another spoonful of hot and gooey into his mouth as Goyle dared to break the silence. The big man was at the far end of the table, so quite a way away from the extendable ear. Harry tweaked it to turn in his direction.

“I, ah, I hope your Healer says everything's okay, Draco.”

Malfoy smiled properly this time, and Harry thought his ice cream should melt a little with the warmth, even from this distance. “Thank you, Gregory,” Malfoy said as looked past the others, or rather through them, “She already ran most of the tests that she needed to yesterday afternoon, but it’s important that she have the list anyway.”

Goyle blinked and looked around the table at the others’ change in pallor, and then seemed to ken, finally, that this scene was about more than Nathan Tronpe breaking Draco’s heart. Goyle was actually a gentle soul, more like his gamekeeper mentor Hagrid than most had thought possible. Now, though, now his face turned hard and Harry was reminded of the two brutish young boys that had stood guard on Malfoy at Hogwarts.

Goyle apparently understood now that this wasn’t just one person who’d hurt his friend. “I’m sure you’ll do what’s right, Draco. The people on that list should appreciate anything you care to share with them.” He might be a little slow, but Gregory Goyle was still a Slytherin at heart, and also loyal to the last.

The restaurant was beginning to empty. Nathan Tronpe’s shoulders seemed to pull in further with every name he wrote. Harry scraped the last of his ice cream off the plate into his mouth. The scroll Malfoy’s ex was writing on was self-drying and winding, it seemed, and the roll it was creating was getting thicker and thicker. Goyle looked relaxed now, and other than him and Tronpe and Malfoy, everyone else at their table was sitting still. Harry wondered what they thought Malfoy would do to them if they moved.

Harry wondered what Malfoy would do to them at all. Nathan Tronpe was going to finish recording his sins, return home half naked and then potentially lose the job and house and everything else that his newly ex-fiancé had helped him to procure. Harry thought that if he had liked the guy he’d hope he had someone to go home to in America. Good shag or not, Harry doubted that anyone whose name was on that scroll would like Tronpe enough to, well, harbour him. They’d be in enough trouble themselves. It might be true that Nathan Tronpe had known Draco Malfoy for over two years and that he’d shared his bed and promised to marry him, but friendship and loyalty were important to Slytherins no matter what anyone said. Harry knew now what he hadn’t as a boy: Many Pureblood children, and those who found themselves in their circles, actually formally pledged friendship with each other. There was no reason that Malfoy wouldn’t regard that kind of a promise, even if made as a child, as a magical vow too. There was no reason he’d not take similar action at that kind of promise being broken.

The Malfoy Family had been working hard to rebuild their reputations. They’d walked the slim divide between the harder line Pureblood families and the rest of the community, and they’d done it well. Despite the average witch or wizard on the street being happy to paint them with the same brush as any Death Eater, most of those with any kind of political or social power saw things very differently. The new Malfoys were a growing force, and those around the table tonight knew it, and they had probably benefitted from it.

Those at Malfoy’s table who’d known about, but not actually partaken of, Tronpe’s infidelities might be able to ingratiate themselves back into Malfoy’s favour again at a later time. They’d likely never again have his full trust, but they might not lose what other things they’d already been given.

If any of those at the table had their name on that bloody scroll? They’d have earned themselves, Harry thought, the same or similar to what Tronpe was now reaping. They might not undergo public denouncement, but it did sound as if Malfoy was going to use the possibility of sexually communicable hexes and curses to make sure that at least any spouses or the like knew what had been happening. Such word would likely travel fast. Revenge probably wasn’t going to have time to go cold, and it might not all be served by Malfoy.

Those named on the scroll would certainly, somehow, be going to go through the same retrieval of any gifts favour that they’d just witnessed happen to Tronpe. Some it would hit some financially and others socially. Some would feel both.

Harry swallowed the recognition that one man’s infidelity was quite possibly going to push a ripple of chaos through a sizeable block of British and European wizarding business and society.

Zabini, Smith, McLaggen, and Finch-Fletchley had all reacted strongly earlier. As Harry studied their faces now, he thought that he could add Wood, Higgs, Flint and Cornfoot to those he’d bet on having their names being scrawled by Nathan Tronpe. The others, excluding Gregory Goyle, still looked worried, but not actually distressed. Only a few of Malfoy’s supposed friends were present tonight, but eight of them were good suspects to have had sex with his boyfriend-cum-fiancé. Three of the others looked to have known about it to some extent but not told him. These were not Malfoy’s only male acquaintances of course, and there were none of his female friends in attendance. He had scores more co-workers, business associates and connections.

Harry had recognized two of the men he’d photographed with Tronpe as Ministry workers from outside Malfoy’s department, and recognized one of the women, Astoria Greengrass, as an ex-Hogwarts student. Though he’d not actually known her at school, he did know that her sister Daphne had been one of Malfoy’s Slytherin contemporaries. Perhaps Astoria might be considered another friend who’d betrayed him? Harry wondered who else might get added to that list. Malfoy’s circle of friends was potentially about to be much smaller.

Harry’s eyes had glazed over a little with the waiting and the thinking. He blinked and focussed on the boys-night-out table again. Malfoy was looking as regal as ever, and he appeared to have shared some of his wine with Goyle. The others still hadn’t moved. If they weren’t obviously breathing Harry might have considered some kind of Petrificus spell was at work. Instead, they basically seemed to be what, awaiting judgement? Again, Harry wondered what they thought Malfoy was going to do to them. The man wasn’t an idiot, he wasn’t going to start cursing them left and right if they got up and left. Perhaps it was a safety in numbers thing? Or maybe they hoped that each of the others had somehow done worse than them and therefore they’d get off more lightly than the next guy?

There was a sharp scraping sound, almost a rip, and the scroll wound itself tight. Malfoy drained the rest of his glass and leaned forward to put in on the table. He then stood and rolled his sleeves down and slid his wand out a moment to cast a quick smoothing charm on the fabric. He flicked the Hawthorn away again without fanfare. He summoned the finished scroll wandlessly.

“Moxy.” The elf vanished the quill and ink that had been in front of Tronpe, and produced wax, candle and a heavy carved seal. Malfoy used a practiced hand to melt dark sealing wax over the scroll’s free edge and press his family crest into it.

It was McLaggen who spoke up this time. “You aren’t going to read it?”

Malfoy had the look of a disappointed tutor on his face again. “I have no need. I will not be having any contact with any of those on it. My Healer will be arranging to notify the other necessary parties.”

There was a small undulation of movement through everyone but Goyle. Goyle himself glanced at the others, then sat back against his chair. He had almost half a glass of wine left, and he was sipping it slowly. His face was impassive.

Malfoy held the scroll carefully as he watched Moxy tuck away the wax and things into the tiny looking, but apparently magically enlarged, pockets of his waistcoat and then step back to stand next to the pile of what had previously been Tronpe’s belongings.

“Lacey,” Malfoy summoned another house-elf. This time female, if the lime green lace dress she was wearing was anything to go by. She had a strong looking eagle owl perched on her arm. She was patting its rich chocolate-brown head, and murmuring to it in a voice too low for Harry to hear. Malfoy smiled at her, and she smiled back. “Has Antheia behaved for you today, Lacey?” Malfoy’s voice was warm, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, Master Draco.” Lacey squeaked. “The leather cuff Master is making for Lacey is very comfortable for keeping her. Antheia is liking it too, Lacey thinks.”

“That’s excellent to hear. Are all the preparations ready at the house?”

Lacey nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, Master Draco. The elves is ready to do what is needing to be done. The others is all waiting.”

Malfoy smiled again and reached out his empty hand and scratched the owl’s head lightly. She leaned into it, and eyed the scroll. He spoke to the bird, “In a moment I’d like you to take this parchment to Healer Wandwiggen, Antheia. She’s expecting it. You needn’t wait for a reply. Lacey will be at the house when you return, and she’ll have a special treat for you for carrying such a heavy burden.” The owl hooted her agreement, then settled back on the elf’s arm.

Malfoy looked up. “I’ll bid you goodnight, Gregory.” He nodded only at Goyle, then turned from the table, and took a step away. He spoke over his shoulder. “Lacey, Moxy, thank you for your help this evening. Once you’ve finished here, please return to the Manor to assist the others. I will talk with you all in the morning.” He took one more step towards the door.

Harry felt the tug on his power more forcefully now, and even before Malfoy began to speak. This time the spider web reached out to the others, but couldn’t attach itself to most of them. It took hold between him and Goyle and Malfoy only. Harry suspected he knew what was coming and that the others’ magics might be resisting being used to damn themselves, or those they’d been complicit with.

He doubted that Goyle alone would have been strong enough to support half of the incanted statement that left Malfoy’s lips. Harry realised he didn’t mind that he was likely carrying the brunt of the magic.

Malfoy’s voice shook almost imperceptibly as he spoke. “As Draconis and Heritor Lord, I hereby renounce any vows and promises to and between, recall any gifts given to, and withdraw any favours rendered for, any whose names, full or partial, true or alias, are on the list I currently hold.” Malfoy breathed out, and gave the scroll to his owl. She collected it and flew quickly out the front doors of the restaurant.

There was a moment of confusion across most of the faces at the table. One or two items of jewellery and similar flew towards the elves. Harry almost missed the tiny flick of Malfoy’s wrist that signalled his wand falling to his hand. Malfoy mouthed something Harry couldn’t completely follow from his side on view, but seemed to include the number two hundred and sixteen. Harry shot Tronpe a look and saw his bare stomach clench and the man cross his legs.

Harry turned his gaze again to see Malfoy walk calmly, with his head high, to the front of the restaurant. He slipped on and then fastened his proffered cloak, smiled at the owner, and handed across enough galleons to pay for the entire table’s account and leave a generous amount over. Then he apparated.

Harry was torn between wanting to do his job and wanting to follow Malfoy. The wizard probably shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. But, really, what was Harry thinking? It wasn’t as if he could just turn up to the house of a person who wasn’t actually a friend and comfort him after secretly watching what was possibly one of the worst nights of the bloke’s adult life. Harry would floo Hermione as soon as he could. The secrecy vow he had with Lady Malfoy meant he’d probably not be able to explain why, but he’d be able to at least suggest she spend some time to look in on Malfoy at work on Monday.

Harry turned his attention back Nathan Tronpe and those still sitting with him. Theirs was no longer the heavy, passive hush of waiting men, but now the sharp, buzzing silence of punished ones. He’d missed seeing exactly what items had come from who, but there were several extra things at the house elves’ feet. Including, Harry couldn’t believe, and neither could Marcus Flint by the look on his face, a wand. The man was staring at the empty wrist holster he had uncovered.

Goyle was finally close to finishing his glass of wine.

The elves, looking somewhat like miniature pirates next to a neatly piled mound of booty, disappeared with it and a loud crack.

Oliver Wood spoke up. “I have no idea about the rest of us, but you, Marc, need to get home and get a spare wand as soon as possible.” Flint didn’t react, he just kept staring at his arm. “And you, Nathan, should probably leave the country as soon as you can, and hope that the Malfoy’s business interests don’t lie too far outside Europe. I doubt you’ll be able to get an International Portkey straight away at this time of the year, but…”

Roger Davies looked at Tronpe and asked, “Do you have any money that didn’t come even indirectly from Malfoy? If those pronouncements he made are the kind of magic I think they were, they’ll be absurdly specific and far reaching in a way that I don’t think any of us are going to realise for days, if not weeks or months.”

Zabini huffed. “Speak for yourself, Roger. Some of us understand exactly the situation we’re in. That is, we’re mostly completely fucked.” He stood up, grasping at his trousers before casting a charm to replace the belt that was no longer there. “And I wouldn’t assume that you, Pucey, and Macmillan aren’t going to feel Draco’s wrath somehow, just because you aren’t actually on that damnable list.”

Goyle left the last mouthful of wine in his glass and got to his feet more gracefully than Harry would have given him credit for. There was silence again as the others watched him take the few steps that put him directly behind Tronpe. He bent down and spoke just above a whisper.

“Mr Tronpe, I know you’re a couple of years younger than us, and it strikes me that if you didn’t have any problem with shaggin’ about on Draco, you mightn’t have any problem shaggin’ about with people no one should be shaggin’ about with.” He breathed in deep, and shifted closer to Tronpe. His speech must have been hot against the man’s neck. “Mark my words: If I find out that any of the names on that list are of people who were underage when you had your fun with them, especially if they are or were students at Hogwarts? The last thing you’ll need to worry about is getting an International Portkey.”

And, Harry had to admit, Goyle had a point. He had no idea what to do at this stage. He should follow Tronpe, as he was being paid to do, but if there was a possibility that the guy had broken age of consent laws the Aurors should be told as soon as possible. Better for parents to find out that way than via a note in the mail telling them their underage child needed to be tested for Merlin knows what. He watched as Goyle stalked out without acknowledging any of the men who he obviously now considered ex-friends.

Zabini nodded to the others and walked quickly to the floo, and was fast followed by Wood, Smith and Higgs. Davies turned and looked at Macmillan and Pucey, and they seemed to decide with only facial expressions that they should talk. They walked out of the front door of the restaurant together.

Flint was still looking at his wandless arm, and Tronpe apparently saw a situation he could take advantage of. “I’ll apparate you to your place if you’ll lend me some clothes, Marcus?”

Finch-Fletchley, Cornfoot and McLaggen seemed to take that as their cue, and they walked to the fireplace.

Harry knew roughly where Flint lived, and he doubted that Tronpe would get far tonight one way or the other. There was nothing for it. He flicked a quick tracking spell at the wizard’s naked back. It wouldn’t even last 24 hours, but it should more than do until Harry had run all the other errands he’d need to now.

He watched as Tronpe guided Flint to the apparating area and the two of them disappeared. Harry summoned his extendable ear and fixed the privacy spells he’d broken through on the big table. He placed enough galleons on his own to cover the food he’d had and any damage he was about to do to the restaurant’s wards by apparating outside of the designated zone near the door.

He breathed in. Right.

Tonight was nowhere near finished. He’d head to the Ministry first, then send a quick mini-Patronus to Hermione asking her to leave her floo open for him. Then, well, James Evans had never arrived without an appointment at Malfoy Manor before, but the Lady of the house had said that she’d receive him at almost any time if it was necessary. Harry hoped she’d agree that tonight it was.

Once he’d visited both the Aurors and Narcissa, he’d quickly check that Tronpe was where Harry thought he’d be. After all that he’d hopefully be greeted with a firewhiskey and a hot chocolate chaser at Luna and Hermione’s place. He’d crash there for the night.

Harry hoped Auror McMichael or Auror Calthorpe was on at the Ministry tonight. They not only knew who James Evans actually was, but always took his ‘anonymous’ tips without asking too many questions. The feeling Goyle had about Tronpe would be easy to explain. There wasn’t any kind of proof of course, but after a having a bunch of children fighting a war, the wizarding public was pretty keen on kids just being kids nowadays. The possibility was serious enough that the Aurors would happily delay Tronpe from leaving the country for a few days, just in case.

Trying to tell one or both of two of the most level headed Aurors in existence that a whole lot of shit was probably about to hit the fan in a whole lot of places, and that Aurors and the Ministry and everyone else in the magical community in general should probably try to prepare for it? That was going to be much harder to explain. Harry breathed in deeply and thought about his destination at the Auror entrance to the Ministry, then apparated. He didn’t feel the restaurant’s wards crack or rip as he did so, so hopefully he hadn't done any lasting damage.

✦✦✦

Draco didn’t speak to his mother when he arrived home. He peeked into their drawing room but decided to leave her to the book she was reading. He didn't think he was ready to face the conversation they’d have to have. They would talk tomorrow, and it would likely be a long discussion. He thought after that he might spend the afternoon brewing. He hadn’t made any Wolfsbane potion for the Manor’s residents for some time. He wasn’t running low, but it was something one could never have too much of, and it was more than tricky enough to keep his hands and his mind occupied for the day. Monday would bring work, and he knew there was a backlog of Category 6 artefacts that would not only occupy his mind in the same way that brewing would, but would still allow him to put up the kind of dangerous spell-work wards that would all but guarantee him solitude for quite some time.

Draco sighed as he braided his hair in the mirror. On Monday at lunch he’d slip out and visit the barber on Knockturn Alley. It wasn’t an establishment he’d usually frequent, but it was the closest to the Ministry that wasn’t likely to be full of people he’d not want to run into. He was tempted to try to shear off his locks now, frustrated that he’d ever thought he might follow the old custom of married men growing out their hair. He hadn’t been married yet. He should have waited. He should have known that he couldn’t have…

Draco secured his braid without looking at himself again.

A house-elf popped in and out of his room and left him a mug of malted milk as he changed for bed. Draco didn’t see which one it was, but he muttered a quiet Thank you to the air anyway. He did see that the elf had also brought him a dose of Dreamless Sleep. He swallowed it down without hesitation. Before he drifted off he thought that in the morning he’d deliver all his Dreamless Sleep vials and stores of Sophorous Bean, the potion’s key ingredient, to his mother. It would be too easy to become reliant on it again otherwise, as he had in the months after the war.

✦✦✦

Luck was with Harry when he arrived at the Auror desk. The trainee on duty had been reluctant at first, but when James Evans had been able to identify the throaty laugh coming from the tea room down the hall, she eventually gave up and went and got Auror Calthorpe for him.

Matheus Calthorpe had rubbed his absurdly large hand over his absurdly large, dark beard and agreed without much effort to make it more than tricky for Tronpe to get permission to use an International Portkey or Trans-Channel Floo for at least the next few days. No one could do much if it came to Tronpe trying to leave via Muggle means, but Muggles had Christmas holidays too, and getting tickets on their transport services would probably be even more difficult than wizarding options at this time of the year.

Harry hadn’t been able to figure a decent way to approach the whole aftermath of the Draco Malfoy, Fiancé Scorned thing. He’d eventually gone with using what he rarely did, and played what Hermione jokingly called his ‘Scar-Card’. Calthorpe had laughed at first, but Harry thought he’d gotten through to him. When you’re a seasoned Auror and The Hero of the Wizarding World tells you that the place is about to go through some upheaval, amused or not, you listen.

✧✧✧

Harry sat carefully on the edge of the sofa and politely refused the tea offered to him by a smaller than usual house-elf. She wasn’t either of the ones he’d seen at the bistro earlier, and he absently wondered how many of the little creatures currently lived at the Manor. He smiled at her and debated if she would be offended if he complimented the rainbow striped jumper she was wearing. Most elves now wore clothing out of choice, but some did so only because they’d been handed it. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

He turned his attention to what he should be concentrating on, he was tired, but he needed to focus on the task at hand. “Thank you for seeing me at such a late hour, Lady Malfoy.”

“It’s perfectly alright, Mr Evans. Now, what did you need to report? I presume this is concerning this evening's dinner with Draco and his friends?” Mrs Malfoy looked ready to hear just about anything Harry might have to say.

Harry nodded. “I made it to the bistro a little before the first of them arrived.” He passed her the list of those in attendance as he said, “Apparently there are usually more there, but this evening there were only thirteen in total.” He paused, wishing now that he’d accepted the tea so that he had something to occupy his hands. Trying to figure out how to tell Mrs Malfoy this suddenly seemed even more difficult than trying to warn the Aurors of the possible impending chaos.

Well, when in doubt start at the beginning of the end.

“Just under three hours after first ordering, your son added Veritaserum to both his and Nathan Tronpe’s drinks. If he’d done it in secret, or only to Tronpe’s, there could be legal concerns. The apparent equal distribution between them and the fact that he announced it openly would negate any charge Tronpe might attempt to make, however.”

Narcissa Malfoy sat quite still, her breathing even. She sipped on her tea and simply waited for Harry, or rather James Evans, to continue.

Harry kept his voice even and tried to make his face seem as professional as he could. “Mr Malfoy then confronted Mr Tronpe about his infidelities, and once he had ascertained confirmation of it and the number of people involved, made Mr Tronpe aware that he considered such activities to have broken vows between them. Your son then made a statement that caused what appeared to be a passive group spell? I’m aware of such magic, but had not previously actually witnessed it. Seeing it move between the men at the table was quite unusual.”

Lady Malfoy lifted a carefully sculpted eyebrow. “I would say you witnessed what is known as an Ejice a Rete , Mr Evans. Such invocations are not often used in modern times, but they were once quite commonplace, especially in family dealings. My son would be versed in its use from studying family history.” She lifted her teacup again, but before she drank asked, “What did Draco state for the Ejice a Rete?”

“I will provide you with Pensieve memories of the entire evening for absolute accuracy if you wish, however it was basically along the lines of renouncing all and any vows and recalling any gifts he had given to Mr Tronpe over the course of their relationship.” Harry paused, looking for any sign of question or reaction in Mrs Malfoy’s face. There was none. “Mr Malfoy then used the influence of the Veritaserum to encourage Mr Tronpe to disclose the names of the people he’d been intimate with.” Harry was glad he’d practiced that line in his head before he arrived.

There was a moment when Harry thought Mrs Malfoy might show some kind of emotion at this statement, but her expression remained the same. “How many names did Tronpe disclose, Mr Evans?”

Don’t hesitate , Harry thought, and said, “Two hundred and sixteen”.

Mrs Malfoy blinked twice, then breathed in slowly three or four times, and looked across at Harry, James Evans, as if asking him to continue.

Harry pressed on. “Once Mr Malfoy had set Tronpe to the task of recording the names on parchment, he then used another, ah, Ejice a Rete. This time he revoked any favour he or the Malfoy family had shown on behalf Mr Tronpe.”

Narcissa Malfoy nodded, and finally Harry saw some kind of emotion. She was pleased. He supposed she would be. Draco had taken revenge, but done it in a perfectly legal way. From what Harry understood no one could state that this kind of spell was dark or suspect.

Now Harry was going to tell her something that might take that little glimmer of happiness out of her eyes. He decided he’d simply plough through and hope she took it well. She was holding her tea in front of her face, ready to drink, and he looked at the rim of her teacup as he spoke.

“When the list of names was complete, Mr Malfoy sealed the scroll and informed Mr Tronpe that he would be forwarding the information to your family Healer so she could notify anyone who might need to know that their health could potentially have been impacted, ah, intimately.” Harry breathed in without looking up and kept speaking. “Your son then invoked a third Ejice a Rete. He stated that he was withdrawing gifts and favour, etcetera, from anyone whose name or alias was on the scroll. Unlike the first two times he used it, the magic didn’t draw from all those present, only from myself, your son, and I believe from Mr Goyle.”

Harry saw the hold on her teacup tightening. Lady Malfoy’s hands were shaking a little. He finally lifted his eyes to hers. She’d lost what little colour she usually had in her cheeks and her lips and her voice was thin when she eventually spoke.

“Oh, dear.” She was silent for a few moments, and spoke a little more clearly when she asked, “And then Draco left?”

Harry nodded but added, “He did. I believe that in the confusion the last Ejice a Rete caused he took the opportunity to cast a hex on Mr Tronpe? The angle I was at wasn’t ideal, but I could see that it involved the number of people on the list, and seemed to have hit Mr Tronpe around the midsection. I’ve not had long to think about it, but I’d hazard that it was something like a simple impotency spell with a specific effectiveness count included? It’s likely that if Mr Tronpe has access to a decent Healer it shouldn’t be difficult for him to deal with.”

Mrs Malfoy finally smiled openly. “And I’d hazard that you’d be correct, unless it was one of those taught to Draco by his Godfather Snape, and then it will involve a particularly difficult potions regime to counter. I doubt, however, even if that is the case, that Mr Tronpe will stay in this part of the world long enough for that to matter much to us.”

Harry smoothed a hand along his thigh. “That may or may not be the case. You understand, Lady Malfoy, that I am bound to your confidences by the vow I made early in our contract? I am, under certain situations, bound by a stronger vow to the Ministry.” Mrs Malfoy’s eyes went cold, and Harry was glad this woman had no actual reason to dislike him. “I assure you, nothing that your son did would compel me to talk to them. Something that Mr Goyle said after he left did.”

The coldness was gone again in less than an instant, and Mrs Malfoy waived the elf in the rainbow jumper back to fill her cup, and this time insisted that she provide Harry, James, with the same.

Harry accepted the drink and continued, “Once all of those in attendance left the restaurant, I went to speak to some Auror contacts about the potential for one or more of those two hundred and sixteen names to be an underage witch or wizard. It’s unlikely, I suppose, but Mr Goyle voiced his concern regarding the possibility, and I felt that I needed to report it.”

Mrs Malfoy sipped her tea. “I understand. Now that I know the reason you visited them, I will say I completely agree with your choice to do so.”

Harry tasted from his cup and wondered what kind of brew it was. It didn’t taste much like anything he’d buy, but he bought mostly what he could find in the local Muggle corner market.

Harry really wanted to be able to speak to Hermione about what he’d seen tonight, not just because he knew she’d be fascinated, but because of the growing unease he felt over the possible scope of Draco Malfoy’s retaliation. Harry didn’t think the strain of the magic could actually hurt him, or Malfoy or Goyle really, but that might be the only thing that could convince the man’s mother to let Harry talk to anyone about it. He had enough of a doubt that he should be able put it to Mrs Malfoy without it breaching any part of the vow he made to her as a Truth Seeker.

“Lady Malfoy, to your knowledge, is an Ejice a Rete usually used in a way that it would affect so many people at once?” He paused on his word choice and then said, “I’d like your permission to speak to one of my contacts within the Department of Mysteries regarding the extent of the spell work. I feel it could be beneficial to consult her regarding the burden of the magics Mr Malfoy used tonight.” He breathed in and kept going, again not looking her in the eye so she couldn’t interrupt him. “I’m fairly sure your son broke no laws this evening, and despite his methods being a little, well, dramatic? I’d say he did nothing most wouldn’t do if they found out they had experienced what he had. I’m fairly sure the first two instances of the Ejice a Rete drew on everyone witnessing. But, for the last? There were only three of us supporting an incantation that will reach out to two hundred and sixteen people. It may be nothing, but knowing that there is no danger to the magical strength of the casters would be reassuring.”

Harry sipped the tea again. It wasn’t sweetened, but it didn’t have the bitter tang that many blends did. He liked it. It helped him hold his tongue so he didn’t say what he really wanted to, that he was actually worried about possible attempts at retribution on her son, and just the general chaos he was beginning to imagine could happen because of what he’d witnessed.

Lady Malfoy’s nostrils twitched ever so slightly, and her lower chest moved out. She had quite impressive control over her physical display of emotion. “My knowledge of the Ejice a Rete is not extensive.” She looked thoughtful, “I believe your concerns have merit, Mr Evans. I am concerned about discretion, however. You would vouch for your Unspeakable friend?”

“I have, and still, trust her with my life, Lady Malfoy.” It was easy for Harry to say.

“So be it then. Consider your contract with me extended, also.”

✧✧✧

When Harry finally apparated to the rug in front of Hermione and Luna’s floo, their drawing room was dark and the little house quiet. He glanced back at the clock over the mantelpiece and saw it was just past one in the morning. He flicked the wards closed and felt them wrap him in a kind of welcome that he wondered if other people noticed about each other’s magics. He blinked in the low light from the fire. There were blankets, some of his own pyjamas, and the pillow that he was sure only he got to use waiting on the sofa in front of him. The room was wonderfully warm. The note on the pillow was in Hermione’s always-precise handwriting and said simply,

Go to bed, Harry.
I won’t let you sleep late, I promise.

Harry slipped out of his heavy over-cloak, his glamours, and then the rest of his clothes and tugged on the pyjamas over his boxers. He took out the contact lenses he wore as James Evans and then wrapped himself up in the blankets and was asleep, quite likely, before his head hit the familiar pillow.

✦✦✦

Chapter Text

✦✦✦

Goblins Report Sudden Vault Movements
Weekend Prophet
Sunday January 4, 2004
Casper Fearbhirigh - Finance Correspondent

The Head of Finance and Security at Gringotts Wizarding Bank made a statement to the Ministry Auror Division early this morning to report a raft of overnight changes in several business and personal vaults.

When contacted for a further statement, Erlok, the Gringotts Wizarding Bank spokesgoblin, stated that there was no reason to be concerned. He said that the Bank’s wards and triple-spelled ledgers had detected nothing illegal or improper, however as the changes appeared to have been simultaneous, the number of vaults involved quite high, and in some cases the amounts moved relatively substantial, standard security protocols made it clear they should report the changes to the Ministry as a matter of course.

Erlok assured the Sunday Prophet that all affected parties would receive notice by Owl Post at the earliest possible convenience.

✦✦✦

Harry woke to the sound of someone shuffling around in the cottage kitchen, an owl hooting outside, and then Hermione trying to hold her tongue when she stubbed her toe on something. Harry was almost certain she’d stubbed her toe. He couldn’t actually see the situation from his spot on the sofa, but she did it often enough while barefoot that he wondered why she didn’t just give in and wear the slippers he and Luna and George and everyone else bought her. Especially as it was winter. He buried himself further into the blankets he was wrapped in, then realised he was going to have to extricate a hand to get to his glasses. He struggled a moment, then reached for his specs at the same time as remembering they weren’t next to him. He summoned them from an inside pocket of his cloak and the movement apparently caught Hermione’s attention.

“Good morning, Harry. I’m trying to decide if I just want baked beans on toast for breakfast or can be bothered to make scrambled eggs.”

Harry smiled to himself. Her eggs were atrocious, but he’d never tell. “I’m all for an easy Sunday, ‘Mione, I vote for the baked beans. I’m thinking Luna isn’t here, so let’s take the chance to be horribly Muggle together.” He sat up and looked over the top of the sofa, and watched her slice the top off a can of beans with her wand. There looked to be a pot of tea already made.

“Luna will be devastated if she finds out that we’ve been horribly Muggle together without her.” Hermione looked into his eyes, hers twinkling, “And besides, I know you, Mr Potter, you just don’t like my eggs.”

Harry pulled himself up off the sofa and stretched and smiled. “I’ll make breakfast at my place next Sunday, I promise. Will Luna be back then from, um, where did she go again?” He walked over to the window and looked at Crookshanks sunning himself. The damn beast was going to outlive them all. Crookshanks gave him a look that managed to express Hello, I know you and but don’t even think of touching me, bipedal beast simultaneously.

Hermione answered, “She’s at the Kaieteur Falls, which is in Guyana.”

Harry had no idea, and it obviously showed.

She smiled a little too widely as she said, “It’s at the northern bit of South America. There’s a little yellow frog there that Muggle scientists are interested in, and she and her father think it’s more magic than mundane. I don’t think it will take them too long for once. They actually know where this beastie is.”

“One of these days you’ll be able to tell me how it is your Luna managed to talk the Ministry into creating an entirely new job for her.” Harry risked it and reached out to Crookshanks. The half-cat, half-kneazle sniffed the air a few times, blinked slowly, and then turned his head to present his ear for attention. Harry obliged with a light rub, and Crookshanks leaned into it.

Hermione laughed, “One of these days my Luna will tell me how she managed it, and then I’ll tell you.” She flicked her wand a few more times to slice bread and toast it and then waved it at the can of beans to warm them. Harry watched as she summoned plates and cutlery and the butter dish. Hermione had taken to everyday domestic charms as well as she had all other magic, and she could heat up a mean can of Heinz , even if that was the extent of her culinary skills. She buttered the toast by hand, but used a spell to distribute the beans between their two plates.

They sat next to each other at the kitchen bench and ate, both stopping to sip their tea every few mouthfuls.

“So, to what did I owe last night's mini-Patronus? It can’t have been all that urgent, or you’d have woken me up when you came in.” She mopped up a dollop of the beans’ tomato sauce with a bit of toast crust.

“I, uh.” Harry put his knife and fork down. “James Evans needs to consult with you on a case.”

Hermione smiled. He knew she still found it amusing that Harry talked about his work persona in third person. “And James Evans needed to do that in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, well.” Harry picked up his fork and stabbed at a half-smashed bean. “You know I hate to ask for it, but before I give you any details, um.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled again and waited for him to put down his fork and hold out his wand hand. He grasped hers and muttered an addition to the already standing secrecy agreement between them, and felt the skin of their palms heat against each other as their magics accepted the vow.

“Big case?” Hermione asked, then she popped the last of her toast and beans into her mouth.

“Yes and no. It started as a normal Pureblood pre-marriage family background check type thing, and I know that it’s weird that I think that’s normal, but I’ve done dozens of them now. Anyway, this one has gotten far more complicated than I could have imagined possible.” Hermione raised her eyebrows, but stayed quiet as Harry kept on, “The wizard I was hired to check up on was cheating on his fiancé, and last night I found out just what the grown-up Draco Malfoy does when someone screws around on him.”

Hermione’s brow crinkled. “Draco? I didn’t know he and his other half were engaged. They’ve been together for a while, but. Oh, the hair. I should have realised. Either way, that’s awful. Poor Malfoy. He didn’t take it well?”

Harry swallowed the last of his tea and poured another cup. “I’m not even going to ask about the hair.” He shook his head and tried to not think about it. “Okay, I should probably just start at the beginning. Sofa?”

It didn’t take Harry as long as it might have to explain the situation to Hermione. He didn’t go into specifics, but didn’t leave anything out, really. Hermione, unsurprisingly, knew quite a lot about what an Ejice a Rete was, and just as unsurprisingly was horribly jealous that he’d seen not one, but three take place. She explained to him that the spell name translated roughly to ‘casting a net’. She made a fresh pot of tea once Harry had finished telling her about his late night visit to Malfoy Manor, and brought two new cups over and sat them next to the empty ones on the coffee table.

She stared at the table a moment and then asked, “When Draco made his pronouncements, the magic linked everyone at the table?”

Harry nodded, “For the first two what I saw was about even for everyone in it. It was like a drunk spider had woven a web connecting everyone to everyone else. The magic itself was a burnt-orange colour. I don’t know if that’s important?”

Hermione shrugged, “I’ll look it up if you want, but I don’t know that I’ll find anything. This is a type of magic that I’d say even wizards like you don’t usually see. You know that even you should generally only be able to see things you’re quite familiar with. But, then again, it’s only a rare witch or wizard that can’t see the green of the Avada Kedavra, and thankfully that’s not a regular occurrence. Perhaps this particular spell is simply so strong in its intent that it would be hard for you to miss.” Her brow wrinkled. “Did the others react to the spell in a way that would make you think they could see it too?”

Harry scrunched his nose. “I don’t reckon so. They were mostly slightly stunned. They reacted to the second time Malfoy used it, definitely, but that was them going from slightly stunned to seriously shocked by what he was doing, not how he was doing it, I think. None of them seemed weirded out by the fact he was using an Ejice a Rete.”

“Did they react differently to the third time he used it?” Hermione asked.

“I’d have to say, well, no.” Harry picked up the new cup of tea in front of him and wrapped his hands around it. “I think by that point they’d mostly figured Malfoy was going to do something to somehow get even with everyone involved, and, no, I don’t think they could tell that the last Ejice a Rete didn’t draw on them like the other two did. I don’t think any of them could even really feel it happen, let alone see it. I think they knew what was happening, and knew they couldn’t really stop it.”

“Then we’ll probably have to chalk you seeing it up to, well, you being you, Harry.” She sat further back into the sofa. “I am officially jealous, by the way.”

Harry grinned, “Of me being me, or?”

Hermione snorted, “You know I would give just about anything to be able to see the things that you can see.” She slapped at his arm. “And you know exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t know that I’ve heard of an Ejice a Rete being used for decades. Well, not in anything public or important. It’s obviously used by some of the older families for business and things, or the guys around the table would have been more confused. If I can figure out a way to bring it up in normal conversation, I might see if I can speak to Neville about it at some point, see if he’s ever experienced it being invoked.” She shifted in the seat and her expression changed from interested bookworm to sober witch, “But, seriously, you told Mrs Malfoy that you were concerned about magical strain on the three of you because of Draco’s last Ejice a Rete. You’re under your Truth Seeker’s oath to her, so you must actually be at least partially worried.”

Harry put his cup down, and motioned for Hermione to put hers down, too. He turned in the seat and pushed his glasses up. “I am partially worried because, well, because of the number of names that were on Tronpe’s list.”

“You said he’d been unfaithful to Draco more than once.” Hermione reached for her tea-cup again, but Harry reached out a hand to block her.

“Yes, but I probably understated that. He, um. You’re going to be angry about this. You like Draco. Hell, I’m angry about this.”

“You like Draco, too, Harry.”

“Yes, as much as I can. But you work with him on a regular basis, I don’t know him as well as you.”

Hermione leaned against the back of the sofa and mumbled something, then spoke up. “How many lovers did Tronpe have then?”

“I don’t know that I’d call them lovers per se.” Harry looked at her carefully as he said, “Malfoy used some kind of weird super specific Snape specialty Veritaserum. The list Tronpe wrote had two hundred and sixteen names on it.”

Hermione spluttered wildly and Harry was glad he’d had her put her cup down. He’d not seen her this red in the face since Hogwarts. “Two hundred and sixteen! How on earth did Draco not figure it out? Surely, I mean. He’s not. That can’t. That absolute bastard!”

“That was my first instinct. That or there was something wrong with the potion, but Malfoy brewed it, so Tronpe must have been telling the truth. It definitely would have benefitted him to not tell his insanely rich and powerful fiancé he’d not only fucked him over, but right royally fucked him over.”

Hermione took a few deep breaths, then reached out and picked up her tea. Three gulps and a refill later she asked in a calm voice, serious face back on, “Are you feeling drained in anyway this morning? More tired than you would normally after a busy day like yesterday?”

Harry shook his head, “No. But maybe things haven’t really started happening yet?”

Hermione frowned. “No, I think we’ll find they have. Last night you saw items flying away from their owners immediately. There’s no reason to think the other parts of the spell wouldn’t have begun straight away too. There might be a delay with seeing some of it because it’s a weekend and businesses just won’t know until Monday. Given that, I’m fairly sure though that you don’t have much to worry about power wise. If you’re not feeling it yet, you probably won’t.”

She drank some more tea, and then looked into the bottom of the cup. “From my recollection Gregory Goyle isn’t exactly magically strong. So, technically, you, and Draco of course, are carrying the weight of his Ejice a Rete on those two hundred and sixteen people. Malfoy is powerful, but he is quite lucky you were there, actually. That kind of magic needs at least three people to work.” Her nostrils flared. Harry always liked to think of them as sucking in oxygen to make her enormous brain work even harder, like a bellows fanning a fire. “But, I’d say that as what he cast was a retraction of sorts, rather than an action, it shouldn’t take much power. Any magical assistance he gave to others will likely just be reversed onto itself. The other stuff will probably all be quite minor, removal of names on contracts and the such.”

“So, you think a lot of it has already happened?” Harry poured her another tea when she offered her cup.

“I don’t see why not,” she said.

“So now we just sit back and wait to see if the world burns?” Harry realised he was being a little over dramatic, but he had one of those feelings. He’d had it since he saw that look in Malfoy’s eye the night before when he’d first confronted Tronpe.

Hermione breathed in slowly then said, “You’ve got one of your feelings.”

“We’ve not been out and about in the open much lately, Hermione. James Evans’ world is bigger than ours. His clients are from across all walks of life. The Malfoys really have worked hard to make up for their part in the war. They’ve been more generous than most of the Wizarding world could ever imagine. I don’t think anything is going to explode or collapse, exactly. It won’t be that obvious. But, yeah, I have one of my feelings. The next couple of weeks, at least, have the potential to be pretty weird.”

✦✦✦

Harry and Hermione had spent most of Sunday lounging around her house and waiting for some sign that the outside world had been affected by Draco Malfoy’s particular flavour of retribution. Nothing came. The more they thought about it, the sillier they felt, but both had in the back of their minds that Harry had one of his feelings and therefore they should at least be ready for something, anything, to happen.

Luna had arrived home just after five in the evening and Harry had left the lovebirds to catch up.

He followed the tracking spell he’d put on Tronpe and found he’d been nothing if not predictable. The man had spent most of his time at Flint’s flat, but visited Flint’s parents’ house and then his own place in the afternoon. Harry checked on Tronpe’s unit and found it basically cleared out by the time he got there. How much of that was a result of Draco’s spell, and how much was Tronpe, he’d had no idea.

Now it was Monday morning, and Harry, as James Evans, was in the Atrium at the Ministry watching Aurors Calthorpe and McMichael herding Tronpe up to their floor. Tronpe looked annoyed, but unworried. Harry doubted that they’d told him why they were taking him in for questioning. With a list of conquests two hundred and sixteen long, unless he’d been fastidious in his use of age checking spells or looking at identification, even Tronpe might have some doubts about whether or not he’d broken the law regarding age of consent. The relaxed look on his face made it seem unlikely that he’d been given a heads up on possible charges yet.

Harry followed Aurors Calthorpe and McMichael as they escorted their charge into their offices and then put him in a holding room. Not quite a cell, not quite an interview room, it would do for keeping Nathan Tronpe under their care for a quite a while. That left Harry, and thus James Evans, who was still very much on Narcissa Malfoy’s payroll, with not much to do.

Harry decided he’d use the time to catch up with some of the other Aurors James Evans sometimes spoke to. He stayed out of Calthorpe and McMichael’s way, not wanting to draw attention to them or the man they had left unattended for several hours by lunchtime. He knew they were aware Harry was hanging about. They seemed to be the only ones who really registered the fact, though. Harry had perfected the art of having James Evans blend into the background, and no one thought to ask him why he was still there, even though he ended up staying until well into the afternoon.

Harry didn’t hear anything of particular interest, however. There were definitely no headline worthy stories or shocking revelations brought to the Aurors’ attention over the day. He eventually gave up, and James Evans slipped out of the Aurors’ territory and headed down to see Hermione in the Department of Mysteries.

She didn’t have much to report either. Malfoy had apparently chosen today to start some pretty nasty de-hexing and put up hefty safety wards because of it. Hermione hadn’t questioned it. She wasn’t going to begrudge him the chance for some officially enabled privacy. Harry agreed. Other than that, Malfoy had left at lunchtime and come back with a new haircut, but nothing more. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary. Harry changed back into himself, spelled his clothes to match, and hung around Hermione’s desk for the rest of the afternoon, hoping that she wouldn’t realise he rather wanted to see if Draco was okay.

Malfoy stayed firmly ensconced in his office, though.

✦✦✦

Draco watched Granger and Potter chatting as she locked the door to her office. He counted to one hundred then left for the evening himself. The walk through the Ministry’s corridors and Atrium wasn’t as bad as it had been coming back from lunch, but there were still people around, and he could still see them watching him. He thought most wouldn’t understand what his new haircut indicated, but there were enough who would. He’d asked the barber to leave the top a few inches long, but had the sides cut quite short, almost shaved. It was a more modern style than Draco would usually sport, but it made the point he wanted to make without leaving him feeling quite so naked as a short back and sides would have.

He resisted running his hands through it in the lift on the way up to the apparition points, and managed not to touch it at all until he was standing outside his Healer’s rooms. He looked at his reflection in her office window and sucked in a long, cold breath. He was Draco Malfoy. And, for once in his life, he honestly thought he’d done nothing wrong.

Healer Wandwiggen was prompt as always. She ushered him into her consulting room at 6pm sharp. He thanked her, again, for seeing him outside of her regular hours, and she offered him tea. This was to be a conversation, not a physical examination. He’d suffered through that with her on Friday.

She ran her wand over him quickly, anyway, and wrinkled her nose slightly but nodded at the results, “My apologies, Mr Malfoy. It’s a hard habit to break. Other than being tired, you seem in perfect health. I assume you’ve taken Dreamless Sleep over the last couple of nights?”

Draco shifted in his seat and reminded himself that he generally appreciated that their family Healer was straightforward in her approach. “Yes, Madame Wandwiggen. But I’ve also taken steps to make sure I don’t have free access to it. My mother holds all of our stores, along with the ingredients I’d need to make more. I suppose I could always purchase a commercial version, but I don’t think I will.”

She scribbled something in a file. “I’m happy to hear that you are taking a proactive approach, Draco. Unlike some potions, in this case your previous dependency won’t make it more likely for you to become addicted again. Being aware of the possibility, and taking steps to stop it, is the best you can do. You know the rules—don’t take a full dose for more than fourteen days in a row, and start weaning yourself off it as soon as you can.”

Draco simply nodded, “Yes, Madam Wandwiggen.”

She ran her eyes over the latest parchment in his patient files, and didn’t look up as she spoke. “As for the other matter, I’ve had my assistants working since yesterday morning to produce all of the Letters of Notice we’ll be sending under the Wizarding Health Act. The list was quite a lot longer than I had expected.” She looked up now, and into Draco’s eyes. “If you’d like, I can recommend a Mind Healer for you to talk to. I know you don’t like them much, but it might do you good to simply have someone to vent to. I’m familiar with many of the names on the list you gave me, Draco, and that many of them are people you might otherwise consider friends. I don’t want to see one of my patients isolated.”

Draco swallowed, “I, not for the moment, thank you. I have my mother and a handful of people who I do still trust. If it becomes too much, I may ask then.”

Wandwiggen acknowledged his answer then closed the file and slipped it into a drawer on the side of her desk. The file vanished, probably sorted automatically to another room in the building. The Ministry used a similar system.

She cleared her throat. “As I said to you last week, you are in fine health as far as I can currently diagnose. Other than the signs we already discovered, you have no signs of the possible hex or curse related maladies that you might have expected in a situation like this. I will ask you to return in about three months to test again for some of the less obvious possibilities, but given what you said about the prophylactic charms you employ, I doubt we’ll have anything to find then, either.” Her mouth moved into a half smile. “I’d say you were lucky, but I’m sure the ghost of Severus Snape would appear to tell me it had nothing to do with luck.”

Draco smiled, and stood. “I’m sure he’d be tempted.” He bowed low, trying not to flinch at his hair moving in an unfamiliar way. “Thank you for your time and extra effort in this matter, Healer Wandwiggen.”

“You’re very welcome, Draco. The Letters of Notice will be going via registered Owl Post tomorrow. The volume means we’ll be using a commercial service, the Canary Courier Company. It would take my own owls more than a week to get the same number out.” Draco automatically started to pull his money pouch from his pocket, but the Healer reached out and stopped him. “No, Mr Malfoy. Your Godfather Snape did you a true service teaching you what he did. The curse that you were exposed to is one of the only ones that would have left the evidence it did. There are many other things Mr Tronpe may have exposed you to and as such this is rightly a public health issue under the Wizarding Health Decrees. There may be many witches and wizards in our community who will benefit from treatment because of our intervention. The Ministry of Herbology is paying. Canary Couriers was hired by them. ”

Draco gripped his money pouch, but dropped it back into his pocket. “Very well, I,” he couldn’t think of a way to finish that sentence. Instead, he bowed once more, “Thank you again, Healer Wandwiggen.”

✦✦✦

St Mungos Board Rocked by Apprenticeship Scandal
Daily Prophet
Tuesday January 6, 2004
Rita Skeeter - Health & Wellbeing Correspondent

Whispers were rampant on the wards of St Mungos overnight. Several Healer trainees, all nearing the end of their apprenticeships, were hauled into talks with the hospital board and upper management yesterday. Although we cannot give the exact reason, at this stage all evidence points to there being issues with the efficacy of their original applications to the hospital’s student programme. No names have been released regarding the matter.

Officials were unavailable for comment, with this reporter only being offered stern faces and terse No Comment remarks at almost every turn. One source however, who spoke only on the promise of remaining anonymous, hinted that the scandal not only involved the upper level trainees, but also a large benefactor of the hospital.

✦✦✦

Harry stuck his head out the door of the lift on the Department of Mysteries floor and looked to the end of the corridor where Hermione’s office was. He was pretty sure she’d said she was starting the day in a meeting somewhere else, but he didn’t want to risk getting caught. He’d never hear the end of it. He could see that her door was closed and that there were a handful of lavender coloured inter-office memos fluttering in place in front of it. It certainly looked as if she’d not arrived yet.

Deciding to chance it, Harry left the lift and headed in the other direction, to Malfoy’s office. Harry had never actually been inside it, but he imagined it was a small work space off a fairly large storage area. He steeled his nerves and held the cardboard coffee tray he had tight in one hand and knocked with his other. He heard no answer, but figured that might just be because it was a pretty solid door. He tried the doorknob, and it turned with little resistance. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

The work area was a little bigger than he had imagined, and had no other exit, so Malfoy must either have to fetch each item he worked on manually or... Harry glanced around and saw that there was a mini-fireplace in the corner for sending things from room to room. That would make life easier on Malfoy, at least.

“Potter, what the hell are you doing in here?” Malfoy sounded more surprised than annoyed.

Harry tried to smile a smile that said he was happy to see Malfoy, but a little embarrassed all at once. He hated lying, but this was all in a good cause. “I, I was taking coffee to Hermione but she’s not there. It’s, ah, Mocha. From one of those Muggle places between here and the station. I’ve not tried a Mocha before, and you know, New Year, new things?”

Malfoy blinked over his silver rimmed, half-moon glasses. “Actually, Potter, I mean how are you in here? Did you not see the warning sign on the door? And even if you didn’t, how the hell did you just walk through a Level 6 Security Ward without it breaking you or at least setting off the alarms?” He shook his head and sighed. “Never mind, I will assume this is one of those things Granger refers to as Harry being Harry.” He nodded down at the crystal vase he was holding, “At least this didn’t react to you.”

Malfoy pushed it to the back of the table and waved his wand over it, drawing down a shield of some kind over the top of it. It shimmered a hazy pink. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“It’s a simple modified Protego charm, Potter.” He nodded at the door, “I’m afraid that Granger won’t be in her office until around lunchtime I believe.”

Harry tried to seem surprised. “Oh, well. I know it’s early and you do look busy, but would you like to try a Mocha? I don’t think even I could drink both of them.”

Malfoy lifted his hands to his face to push up his glasses and then fumbled a little as scrambled to pull them off and slide them into the top pocket of his waistcoat. Harry forcedly did not grin.

Malfoy said, “I don’t actually know what a Mocha is, Potter, other than the fact that you’ve alluded to it being some kind of Muggle coffee concoction.” The word Mocha sounded uncomfortable on his tongue, Muggle didn’t.

Harry stretched out the hand holding the cardboard tray and two disposable coffee cups with plastic lids. “It’s chocolate and coffee together, like a grown up hot chocolate. I got a White Chocolate one and a Dark Chocolate one. The barista said that the white one would be sweeter and the dark one would be richer. I’m all for either, myself.”

Malfoy slipped off his stool, took a step away from the bench he was at and came closer to Harry, who was still basically standing in the door. “Have you consumed beverages from this particular Muggle establishment before?”

“Yes, but usually only Café Lattes for me and Americanos for Hermione.” He looked at the cups and realised, “I, um, I can’t remember which is the white and which is the dark. Your choice?”

Malfoy raised one eyebrow and sniffed the air. “Well, I suppose it’s safer odds that Bertie Bott’s at least.”

“I promise to never bring you earwax flavoured coffee, Malfoy.” Harry let himself smile.

Malfoy picked up one of the cups and sniffed again. He looked carefully at the lid, and turned it so that the spout bit was pointing to his face. He took a very careful sip.

“You’ve done this before, Draco?” Harry winced, but Malfoy didn’t see, and he also didn’t react to Harry using his first name.

“I have,” he turned the cup to see the green logo on the side, “and from the same establishment, I believe. Though I thought it was located somewhere else. I order a Café Latte myself, too.” He tasted the coffee again. “I would say that this is the dark chocolate one, Potter.”

Harry took a sip from the other cup and looked around for a garbage can to put the cardboard tray in. He took a couple of steps and threw it away, then turned back to Malfoy. “I think it’s what they call a chain store. There’s more than one. This brand I think is actually worldwide.”

“Hmm. Well, chain store or not, I approve of your beverage choice, Potter. This, you called it a Mocha, yes? It’s quite good. I definitely wouldn’t call it coffee, but it’s enjoyable.”

They sipped a few more moments in silence, and Harry finally found the courage to speak up. He figured Malfoy would at least be a little slow on the draw with a coffee cup in his wand hand. “Have you, ah, you’ve changed your hair?”

Malfoy stilled, but otherwise didn’t overtly react. He sipped his coffee again and looked up at Harry. “Yes, as you said, New Year, new things. I thought I’d try a different look.”

“I like it.” Harry said, and hoped that his cheeks hadn’t gone that awful puce colour they did when he blushed horribly. I like it. There was a reason Harry was single. He was aiming at trying to be friendly, but one could make the argument that he was attempting to flirt with Malfoy. If he was, he’d be failing. Absurdly.

Malfoy blinked again. “Thank you, Potter.”

Harry blinked back. That, well, that could have gone a lot worse. He had a sudden rush of confidence and blurted out something he would possibly regret later. “I um, you’re coming to Hermione and Luna’s place on Saturday, aren’t you? They’re having a welcome home lunch thing for Luna, even though she was gone less than a week this time.”

Malfoy shook his head softly, “I don’t believe I’ve been invited. I’m not sure-”

“Nonsense.” Harry cut in. He hoped the girls wouldn’t kill him for this. “I’m sure ‘Mione will tell you about it later today. I’ll make sure she doesn’t forget. It won’t be anything formal. They never are. Lots of food, a few drinks. You know the kind of thing.”

Malfoy now looked more shocked than he had when he’d realised Harry had slipped through his Level 6 Protection Wards. The words he spoke seemed more of a rote response than an actual answer, “It would be a pleasure.”

Harry stepped backwards and opened the door. “Brill. I’ll see you there then, if not before. Um, have a great day, Draco.” He blanched at the fact that he’d used the bloke’s first name again and half bowed for some unknown reason, but he didn’t have the guts to look back and see if Malfoy had reacted. Although, really? Draco’s brain was probably still trying to sort through the whole invitation to Hermione and Luna’s thing, so hopefully it hadn’t registered.

Harry swigged the last of his mocha, tossed the empty cup in the garbage bin next to the lift, and then ducked into the loo. He slipped into his James Evans glamours in a cubicle, spelled his clothes to look a little more like they should, and waited for five minutes before he left. He put contact lenses in and checked James’ hair on the way out. He found some parchment and a ballpoint pen in his pockets and scribbled off a note to Hermione letting her know she was hosting a party this weekend. He added a P.S. that said he’d be taking care of the catering, and that yes, he’d be explaining as well as he could as soon as he saw her again.

The girls were never going to let him live this one down.

✧✧✧

James Evans quietly checked in with Auror Calthorpe about the ongoing enquiries into Nathan Tronpe, and then sat back and waited to see if Tuesday would be any more interesting that Monday had been. Harry had discovered that Draco’s ex was still in the holding room he’d been put in the day before. No one seemed bothered that he’d been there overnight, and no one was paying him any attention this morning. He’d been fed, and the holding rooms were more or less like little hotel rooms, so it wasn’t as if he was being mistreated.

Harry had grabbed an abandoned Daily Prophet on the way up from the Department of Mysteries and was sitting in a corner of the Auror offices slowly going through it. There was an apparent update regarding unusual vault movements at Gringotts over the weekend, and news fresh this morning about Healer trainees at St Mungos being in trouble. There didn’t seem to be anything else yet, but those two articles definitely looked to have the mark of Malfoy’s Ejice a Rete on them. It had begun, then. Hopefully there’d just be few more of the same type of article, and nothing more. The Wizarding world didn’t need any more fuss than that, surely. Harry’s ‘feelings’ weren’t always right, and that wasn't a bad thing.

The day to day stuff of Auror life went on around him. He watched memos flying back and forth, owls arriving and leaving, and the occasional suspect or witness being ushered into an interrogation or waiting room. Harry was on his second read of the third page of the newspaper when Ron Weasley stood up from his desk and all but ran out of the room. He was holding a shocking yellow paper something and looking as if he’d just been hit with a slug-vomiting charm. Harry hoped that he’d kept his own face as neutral as he could. James Evans rarely had anything to do with Auror Ronald Weasley, just in case Ron cottoned on to the fact that it was Harry under the glamours. They hadn’t been even close to being mates for a couple of years, but Ron was likely still familiar enough with Harry’s mannerisms that it was a chance Harry would rather not take. Harry purposefully tore his eyes away from the fleeing Ron, and realised that there were more of the bright yellow things, letters, in the room. Dean Thomas, who’d not so recently become Ginny Weasley’s fiancé, was clutching one. Stephen Cornfoot, who Harry only barely remembered from Hogwarts but had seen at the table with Malfoy and Tronpe the other night, was just taking one from an owl that was spelled the same strong colour as the envelope it was carrying. It was obviously a commercial owl courier service delivering a mass mail out of some kind. Harry wondered what kind of thing would put the look of utter fear and disgust on Ron’s face, as well as the definite discomfort he saw on Cornfoot and Thomas.

Oh, it hit Harry with a gut blow. These were the Letters of Notice from Malfoy’s Healer. That Stephen Cornfoot might have had sex with Nathan Tronpe was something Harry had already considered and accepted, but… He would never have thought of straight-as-a-ruler, uncomfortable-with-men-holding-hands and outwardly homophobic Ronald Weasley being one of the people that might have had sex with Nathan Tronpe. Dean Thomas, Ginny’s otherwise apparently heterosexual other half, had possibly had sex with Nathan Tronpe. So, perhaps it was only Harry Potter that the Weasley family had a problem with being not straight? Then again, maybe no one in the family knew? It certainly didn’t look as if Ron was ready for the kind of news that was in the letter, but it was mostly about the fact that he’d need to get tested for sexually transmitted hexes and curses, and Harry supposed no one was ever really ready for that kind of information. Ron hadn’t had a significant other for ages, so his letter was about him. Harry looked at Dean, who was now sitting at his desk, gripping the parchment tightly and taking deep breaths. Had he cheated on Ginny? Or maybe Ginny had cheated on Dean?

That question was answered in a very definite fashion not four minutes later when Ginny came storming into the office, gripping another yellow piece of parchment. Harry watched in fascination as she dragged her soon to be husband outside to, presumably, take a piece out of him. Harry was sitting close to the door, and he could hear much, if not all, of their conversation. What he could catch left him in no doubt that Ginny was perfectly aware of Dean sleeping with Tronpe. She’d been there, too. Each time. Most of their heated discussion seemed to revolve around which of them should be blamed for deciding to do it.

The exchange eventually dropped in volume, and Harry almost let it go, but then he heard a few more things that perked his interest. One of Ginny’s Holyhead Harpies teammates, Velma Vaisey, had been called into the coach’s office, ran out red faced, and received a yellow letter as she was permanently cleaning out her locker. There’d also been gossip all morning before that about the Appleby Arrows losing a player, and also about the Falmouth Falcons having three members of their staff resign in strange circumstances. It seemed that the British and Irish Quidditch League had a very handy grape-vine and news travelled quickly.

So, Harry thought, Gringotts, St Mungos, two Weasleys, and at least three professional Quidditch teams so far, and all before lunch. James Evans slipped out of the Auror Offices, keeping his face down so as not to attract any red-headed attention, and headed downstairs to see if Hermione was at her desk yet.

✦✦✦

Draco had managed to stay in his office all of Monday and most of Tuesday morning. But unfortunately every now and then in his duties he came across an artefact that needed to be reported to the Aurors. Even more unfortunately protocol demanded it be done in person. It was around half past eleven when he finally couldn’t put off one such trip any longer. He re-shielded the object, gathered the report on, and photographs of, the item in question, and headed upstairs.

Draco would never openly describe his own movements as slinking, but he was prepared to call them that to himself, at least. He had the file in his left hand and an urge to keep his wand arm free, so that at least kept him from running his fingers over the shaved sides of his head again. He’d thought by keeping the top of his hair long he’d not feel naked, but he’d been very wrong. He’d caught two older Wizengamot Members and their assistants whispering about his locks that morning in the Atrium. He couldn’t be sure if they’d been talking about his apparent change in relationship status or just that he had what they might consider an outrageously modern style. Draco hadn’t enjoyed it. He had given up peacocking with his Hogwarts robes, and he was certainly no longer used to the attention his new coif was currently garnering.

Draco left the elevators with a handful of other people and walked slowly towards the Auror Offices. He had to nearly flatten himself against the corridor wall as Ronald Weasley, with his unkempt orange hair on end and his dull magenta Auror robes billowing, came rushing down the hallway. The Weasel had filled out even more in the last few years than he had in the first couple out of school. Draco wouldn’t quite call him stocky, but the man was no longer the weedy figure of his youth. At this particular moment he was apparently fleeing from something in earnest. His complexion was near the shade of his robes. He was clutching a startlingly yellow something that Draco wouldn’t have noticed except that it was not only an obnoxious colour, but the Weasel was trying, and failing, to stuff it into a pocket. One couldn’t help but watch the unsuccessful attempt at stowing, or perhaps hiding, the item. The Weasel didn’t notice Draco, however, and Draco was relieved. The Weasleys were an absurdly unorthodox family, but still Pureblood and well learnt enough to possibly recognise the change in Draco’s hair for what it was. That was not a set of commentary Draco would be ready to deal with for quite some time.

Draco was still pressed against the wall when another ruffled looking red head appeared, this time the Weaslette, followed quickly by a man Draco believed was Dean Thomas, someone he’d known of at school, but not mixed with then nor since. Thomas was wearing the same drab magenta outfit of the Aurors, but the Weaslette appeared to be wearing a dark green Quidditch uniform. Which would be, Draco’s brain supplied after a moment or two of contemplation, as she was currently a professional, if second string, player for the Holyhead Harpies. Just as with Ronald Weasley moments before, these two were far too interested in their own situation to notice Draco. They were both holding lurid yellow envelopes, whispering madly at each other, and occasionally waving the evidently offensive bits of parchment accusingly.

Draco didn’t want to be seen, but he also didn’t want to look away. The spectacle in front of him was far too interesting, and frankly a pleasant distraction from his own troubles. He slowly stepped a little closer, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could, and was almost bowled over by Stephen Cornfoot as he rushed past. There was a splash of yellow in his hand too, and a sense of absolute dread on his face when he looked up to apologise for being clumsy and realised he was speaking to Draco Malfoy.

And with that look, Draco understood. The yellow envelopes were probably delivered by yellow spelled owls belonging to the Canary Courier Company. Draco watched Cornfoot stumble off down the hall, and then turned his gaze back to the Weaslette and, he quickly learned, her fiancé. Their conversation left little to the imagination, although there was some question as to whose idea it was to bed that Nathan bloke in the first place, they were definitely both happy to blame the other. Apparently they’d done it together, more than once. Well, at least they were shagging other people as a couple, Draco conceded.

He watched the exchange for a little longer, and then, official task abandoned for the moment, headed back to the anonymity of his office. He locked himself inside and breathed slowly and tried to stop his shaking. Perhaps he hadn’t thought his actions through well enough. The Ejice a Rete had seemed the perfect answer, though. It was a completely legal, and he had thought a completely proportionate, reaction. The part involving notifying those who might have been exposed to sexually transmitted unpleasantness hadn’t actually been Draco’s idea. Madame Wandwiggen had told him it should be done, and he’d supported it for practical reasons. Though he could readily admit that the plan had also given him a certain sense of sweet revenge. Now he was wondering if it had been such a good move.

There were people on that list whose reaction he hadn’t seriously taken into consideration. There were those he’d focussed on of course, his so called friends, that he would long maintain deserved anything that came to them for betraying and destroying his trust. But there were others, too. Two Weasleys? Shite. If they, or any other of a host of possible suspects for the rest of the two hundred and sixteen names, figured out that those letters were because of even a modicum of something Draco had done? Even if his doing was just a response to someone else’s activities? Draco could suddenly envision a future full of raging Gryffindors and rancorous Hufflepuffs seeking revenge.

Draco sat at his workbench and looked down at the coffee cup he’d tossed away earlier. Granger and Potter weren't on the list, he felt quite sure about that. But, just how would they respond to the whole situation? Draco let out long breath and felt his shoulders drop. This morning was probably the last time he’d receive a surprise coffee incursion from the head of the Golden Trio, and his place as a well-treated employee of another might just be about to change. They were two of the only people that Draco could think of that had not only treated him fairly since the war, but also not tried to pry anything from him, whether it be galleons or favour or pride. They weren’t friends, but they were friendly. There’d been a time when Potter was still an Auror that Draco had thought they might have been heading towards friendship. They’d had more in common as adults than their child selves could have foreseen. This morning’s random coffee delivery had sparked the hope that such a camaraderie might still happen. But, of course, Draco had probably managed to piss them off with all the rest.

He was fairly sure that Ronald Weasley, at least, would come to the conclusion that it was somehow Draco’s fault he’d put his freckled prick somewhere that might have exposed him to sexually transmitted hexes. His younger sister and her significant other wouldn’t likely disagree. And why would Granger and Potter not side with the other Gryffindors? They’d obviously grown apart from the Weasel, but it would be foolish to think that others in their old House circle weren’t on Tronpe’s list.

Draco ran his fingers over the sides of his head again. Garnering unwanted attention or not, he no longer questioned that he’d done the right thing with his hair. He was now uncertain about what else he might have cut off, however.

✦✦✦

Harry’s trip downstairs was uneventful if you didn’t count the three different yellow owls that flew past him and the Howler he had the unfortunate privilege of seeing tear into a fairly mousy looking, forty-something witch. She’d stood frozen in the hallway outside a tea room, clutching a yellow letter against her chest, her back against the wall and eyes wide. She listened to her husband’s voice scream over and over that she was his wife of eight years and how the hell was she going to explain him getting a letter suggesting he should get tested for, for... The disembodied voice had stopped short again and again at that point. It seemed the poor man couldn’t bring himself to say sexually transmitted anything.

Harry made it to the Department of Mysteries eventually. He walked to the end of the hall and pushed open Hermione’s door a little more than it was, and waited a minute or two until what sounded like an unpleasant fire-call was over to step inside her office. She stood up and closed the file she was holding and tossed it onto her desk in disgust.

“Some people, honestly. They want to be told more than they could possibly understand, and definitely more than they are cleared to know. Sometimes I wonder if any of them remember that it’s called the Department of Mysteries for a reason.” She sat behind her desk and waved a lazy wand at the pile of papers on her guest chair, and they landed on the floor next to it with a thump and a small explosion of dust. “So, what’s this about a party I’m hosting on Saturday?”

Harry walked to the chair, paused a moment and sat. He was sure he’d been sitting in the same chair yesterday and the papers hadn’t been there then. He wondered just how they’d managed to gather that much dust in such a short period of time. He sat, and looked up at Hermione. “I, um.”

Hermione’s brow wrinkled. “Are you alright, James?” She flicked her hand at her door and it slammed. “Glamours off for me, will you Harry?”

Harry nodded and slipped out of the magics, and felt himself reach into his pocket and pull out the case for his contact lenses. He took them out and put his glasses on. Then he sat there and looked at the little white container in his hands. Hermione was in front of him then, hand against his forehead.

“Was I wrong, Harry? Did the Ejice a Rete start to drain you?” She waved her wand over him and muttered a few things at herself. “You seem physically okay.” She stepped back and looked at him again. “Harry?”

Harry tried to breathe in deep and the air caught in his throat. He looked at the floor. He tried again. “I, um. The letters, the one’s that Malfoy’s Healer was arranging to send out?”

Hermione made a sound of acknowledgement, and reached out a hand to take one of Harry’s. He held it gladly.

Harry continued, “I’ve just seen a few of them delivered. Oh, and a howler about one.” He finally looked up. “The howler was beastly. The poor man who sent it couldn’t even manage to accuse his wife of what he knew she must have done. She looked as if she was going to faint. I’m glad she was leaning against a wall.”

Hermione squeezed his hand a little, “That sounds horrid. But, as unpleasant as it is, I know it’s not what’s got you this freaked out.” She got down to her knees in front of him.

Out with it , Harry thought to himself. “I was in the Auror Office when I saw the first three envelopes. Stephen Cornfoot I rather expected. I wasn’t counting on,” he took a long, deep breath, “I wasn’t counting on Dean Thomas or Ron Weasley.” Hermione’s hand loosened on his a moment, and then gripped again with a vengeance as Harry said, “Ginny walked in a few minutes later holding another one.”

Hermione started at the last statement. “So, one of that pair cheated on the other?”

Harry shook his head. “No, they had a less than private and rather heated discussion about it in the hall. They, um.” He flapped his free hand a bit, “Together. They did it, him, together. More than once.”

“I see. And, Ron?” Hermione’s voice was as flat as she could keep it. She’d long since gotten over her Weasley, but Harry could see this was still unpleasant for her.

Harry let out a harsh breath, “I don’t really have any idea, he basically ran out of the office.”

Hermione sniffed, “Well, Ron could have been getting one of the letters for a cheated on partner?”

Harry squeezed her hand this time. “Gossip is rife up there. He’s not with anyone right now. He hasn’t had anyone steady since that sweets maker a couple of months ago. Besides, he didn’t look angry, he looked completely freaked.”

Hermione finally gave in and just sat on her bum on the floor. “Oh. Well, that’s unexpected.”

Harry huffed and slapped his free hand against his thigh so he wouldn’t hit anything else. “Ron’s so arse about people, especially wizards, being gay though! We both know the only reason he doesn’t say anything horrible about me out loud is that Charlie would squash him with one hand and feed him bit by bit to one of his dragons.”

Hermione smiled, and lifted Harry’s hand and planted a kiss on his knuckles. “Well, perhaps Ron was drunk? We also both know that he’ll try eating anything once.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed, and laughed. And he couldn’t stop. He eventually had to close his eyes and tell himself to breathe. Hermione let go of his hand and sat up on her knees again and hugged him tight.

Harry eventually found his voice, “So you reckon, what, two percent curiosity, eighteen percent bravado, and eighty percent firewhiskey?”

Hermione kept her arms around him, and ran one up and down his back. “That sounds about right.”

Harry was glad she was so close. He wouldn’t want to say this very loud. “So, it’s only me then? That’s not okay to be bent, you think? I mean, Ron’s a different story, but Ginny. Not that I.” Harry’s voice was beginning to tremble, and he didn’t think he’d be able to stop it. “She said such vile things to me back then, ‘Mione. Vile, hateful things about gays being cursed with a kind of dark magic. She called me evil. But now, she, they...”

Hermione finally loosened her arms and leaned back, taking his hand again. “There’s no answer for us on that, Harry. They’ll certainly never explain themselves, and I doubt we’ll find out any other way. I don’t think I want to know, really.”

Harry sniffed. “I didn’t think I wanted to, either. I, actually, no. I don’t want to. I’m just…”

Hermione smiled. “Shocked? Annoyed? Right royally pissed off? Angrier than a goblin in a pile of leprechaun's gold?

His grin came easily. “Maybe not quite that angry. More like a hippogriff who got thrown a plastic chicken.”

Hermione gave him a side eye. “I thought we agreed to never, ever speak of plastic chickens.”

Harry batted his lashes, “George isn’t here.”

“No, but he’ll be at a retelling of this conversation, I’m fairly sure.” She sighed and sat back on her bum on the floor.

Harry returned her smile. “We’ll edit out the bit about the plastic, um, thing ?”

Hermione put on her fake serious face. “For the sanity of the wizarding world, yes, Harry. George never needs to know about the plastic things.” She relaxed into a more natural look, “And, speaking of a retelling of this conversation, I’m hosting a party?”

Harry bit his lip, “Oh, I. Um. This is tricky.”

She pushed her hair back behind one ear and smiled, “Out with it.”

He bit the other side of his lip now, “I, um. I took Malfoy some coffee earlier. I was just trying to be a good Truth Seeker and check in on my target’s well-being, yes? I think you’ll need to reassure him that his wards are more than sufficient, by the way. They’re quite robust, really. He seemed rather disconcerted when I just walked into his office.”

Hermione stood up and walked to the other side of her desk. “That would be what the memo he sent me on security was going on about, then. But what does this have to do with a party on Saturday?”

Harry flicked his hand at the teapot in the corner to set the water in it to heat. “He seemed so isolated, and he has to be feeling that at the moment right? And it kind of just slipped out. I thought if you had a party it wouldn’t sound as weird as me having a party and inviting him and I could make it seem as though I was socially clumsy for mentioning it and then he’d have to come.”

“Breathe, Harry.”

Harry breathed. “Fine, it was weird, but it’s done now. Unless you want me to go obliviate him?”

Hermione chuckled, “As much as I’m sure he’d like to forget the whole cheating fiancé ordeal, you hitting him with an indeterminate number of years of lost memory probably wouldn’t be the best choice.”

Harry stood and waved a finger back and forth at her, “It wouldn’t be years, Miss Granger. Months, maybe. Possibly only weeks. I’m getting better at controlling how much oomph I put behind things like that.”

“I can see you’ve been practicing,” Hermione nodded at her teapot, “that didn’t explode.” She tried not to laugh.

“Ha, ha, ‘Mione. You think he’d be okay if we, say, invited Goyle along too? We could get Neville to do it at Hogwarts, and that way it wouldn’t look as contrived.”

Hermione curled a finger into her hair and pulled half of her mouth into a smile. “It might work.” She sat back, smile gone for a moment.“Just tell me that you’re keeping Harry and James separate here. You’re usually very good at making everything distinct.”

Harry turned sideways, leaned one thigh against Hermione’s desk and dropped his chin to his chest a moment. He looked back up at her, “I’m keeping them as apart as I can. I’ve never been part of a such a difficult, or involved case with someone I kind of know before.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry. You don’t kind of know him. You do know him. Not as well as you know me and Luna and George and the rest of us, but you do know him.” Her face softened. “He’s just had a really horrible thing happen to him that had secrets and lies and betrayal all rolled in one. If you want to be a friend, don’t let yourself be just another version of the lies and betrayal. Right now secrets aren’t his allies.”

Harry sighed and looked back at his feet again. “He’s going to hate that I was there watching him get his heart stomped on, Hermione. Me, of all people.”

“I think he’s got more pressing things to think of right now, though, yes?” She picked up a copy of the Prophet that Harry had been reading upstairs. “You saw the updated Gringotts story, I presume? And the one about the Healer trainees and the hospital’s benefactor?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. I also heard Ginny tell Dean that one of her teammates had been given her marching orders and then got a yellow notice. She said that players from the Arrows and staff from the Falcons had also lost their jobs or resigned their positions. It might not be connected, but.”

Hermione snorted, “Nathan Tronpe doesn’t seem to have a type, does he? Well, either way. You aren’t feeling drained at all, or any kind of pull on your powers?”

Harry pushed off the desk and smoothed over his robes. “Nothing. I think it’s all done, whatever it actually was. James Evans is probably going to head to Malfoy Manor this afternoon to let Lady Malfoy know there’s not any danger to her son’s magic, or his friend’s, or her Truth Seeker’s.”

“Well, you can do that after we’ve had tea,” Hermione stood, “and while you’re with the Lady of the house, I’ll be inviting the Heritor Lord Malfoy to brunch on Saturday. I won’t tell him to bring a plate. Firstly, you’re providing all the food, and secondly, I doubt he’d know what it meant.”

✦✦✦

Chapter Text

✦✦✦

Scandal Threatens to Engulf League
Daily Prophet
Wednesday, January 7 2004
Lee Jordan - Junior Sports Correspondent

Shock amongst the ranks of some of our favourite Quidditch teams yesterday as a run of dismissals, suspensions, and resignations were registered with the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

The Daily Prophet has requested statements from the management of all teams in the British and Irish Quidditch League, but has only received replies from a small number so far. As of printing, the Holyhead Harpies, Appleby Arrows, Falmouth Falcons, Chudley Cannons,  and Caerphilly Catapults have all declined comment.

A Ministry worker, who would only speak off the record, said there had been possibly related requests placed by more than one team’s management to see the 1538 and 1750 addendums to the official rules of the game, specifically regarding Morality Clauses and Conduct Unbecoming a Player of Good Standing.

Saffron Secrets?
Daily Prophet
Wednesday, January 7 2004
Rita Skeeter - Lifestyle Correspondent

A sunshine coloured Mystery with a capital M, Dear Readers! Yesterday a veritable storm of lemony feathers erupted across much of the British Wizarding Isles. It seems that most of the working flock of the Canary Courier Company were kept busy delivering registered post of which none of the witches or wizards who received them wish to share! No one at the owl company would comment to the Daily Prophet other than to say they consider their customers’ confidentiality completely sacrosanct.

What could be on those pretty pieces of parchment, Dear Readers? Is it something superb, or is it something sordid? Did you, or someone you know, get a daffodil coloured surprise? If so, we at the Daily Prophet want to hear from you, our discretion is assured.

✦✦✦

James Evans’ Tuesday afternoon meeting with Mrs Malfoy had gone much as expected. She thanked him again for his time and asked him to stay available for a few more weeks. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t, describe just what she needed done, but was adamant that she wanted to continue to retain his services. Harry felt guilty being paid to basically just nose around without any specific reason, but he had no other clients waiting, and the small look of relief on Mrs Malfoy’s face when he agreed was worth it.

Hermione’s meeting with the younger Malfoy went as expected, also. Draco had had some time to think over the fact that Harry had basically blurted out an invitation to an event that wasn’t his to invite people to, and was ready with all kinds of excuses of why he’d understand that Hermione wouldn’t want him in her home. She had reportedly nixed them all by telling Malfoy that she’d been slack in not asking him to one of their lunches or brunches or dinners before, and telling him that really, Harry had that done her a favour by getting around to it for her. There had apparently been a small smile on Draco’s face when she’d left his office, and definitely a big smile on hers when she told Harry about the conversation that night over the floo.

Harry had started Wednesday with a bit of a sleep in, a nice long shower, and a purposeful ignoring of the Daily Prophet. He decided that James Evans should go out into the world and see if he could experience any of the effect of the Ejice a Rete for himself. He bought himself breakfast at one of the more crowded cafés on Diagon Alley, kept his head down over his bacon and cheese omelette and toast, and just listened. One glass of pumpkin juice and two cups of not very good coffee later and he knew what he’d thought he might. There was not much of anything said about the Gringotts, Quidditch or St Mungos news. Everyone was talking about the flurry of yellow letters and Rita Skeeter’s tiny article about them in the Prophet, though.

The buzz about them grew even in the time it took Harry to polish off his breakfast. Most of the people around him didn’t actually know anyone who’d been visited by one of the yellow owls, but they all reportedly knew someone who knew someone who had. The range of guesses on just what the letters were wasn’t as wide as Harry had thought it might be. Most of the gossipers seemed to be erring towards the side of the envelopes containing bad news rather than good, but that was likely just a healthy dose of schadenfreude. He didn’t hear any solid theories about what they actually could contain. Most of his fellow breakfasters simply had high hopes that there would be an afternoon edition of the Prophet to clear up the issue. There would be queues at the newsstands if this café’s patrons were anything to go by.

Harry left the café and apparated over to Nathan Tronpe’s old place to see if anything new was happening there. Tronpe had apparently given proper notice, and the property was already in the process of being cleared and cleaned. It had a flashing sign in the window announcing it for lease on very attractive terms. A quick trip to the local real estate agency and James Evans was helpfully informed that it would be ready for occupation by the weekend, and that it was definitely the nicest one of the four residential properties they had suddenly on the market. It seemed the neighbourhood was one favoured by Malfoy’s ex-friends. While Harry was in the office, a voluptuous woman in a flour covered apron stormed in and demanded to see the manager, saying that she’d ignored the first two change-of-terms lease letters she’d been sent on Monday and Tuesday, and would be ignoring the one that had been sent to her today. She’d made no changes to their shop’s lease, and neither had her wife, and the estate agent would be hearing from their legal representatives. Harry wondered if there was a yellow envelope in hidden her wife’s apron pocket, or if this was a completely unrelated matter.

The thought of legal matters moved Harry on to his next destination. He couldn’t risk actually going into Gringotts as James Evans as the goblins definitely wouldn’t take kindly to a glamoured face that wasn’t known to them. He took off his robes and hung them over his arm like a long coat and ducked into a crowded Muggle fast food shop. He grabbed a really quick, and really awful, burger and chips and then used their loos to make himself back into Harry again. No one gave him a second look as he left the place. A quick trip through the Leaky and he was set. The goblins had never really forgiven him, or Hermione or Ron, for their romp with their dragon and visits to the bank were always a little tense. But Harry’s name was now good enough, and more importantly his vaults were large enough, that they tended to ignore his and his friends’ past transgressions.

Harry approached the bank’s main desk slowly and tried not to be too obvious about looking at the other patrons. Gringotts was never exactly a cheerful place, but today it seemed even more gloomy than usual. There were some very serious looking discussions going on, and some very scary looking scrolls laid out across tables. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen this much activity in the place before. He used the excuse that he was concerned that his holdings might have been part of the movements the Prophet had reported on the weekend. The goblin he spoke to, Bargus, didn’t scold him at the suggestion, but did look a little taken aback that Harry might think they’d forgotten to send him notice about changes to his property. Bargus assured him that nothing untoward had happened to his vaults, and that no, his accounts hadn’t been affected by the recent run of changes. All in all, Harry thought of it as a wasted trip. Though he did catch sight of Madam Zabini and her son arguing with not one, but two goblins in a small office at the side of the building. He resisted the idea of trying to eavesdrop.

Harry’s last stop of the day was the one he was least looking forward to, and he only begrudgingly changed back into James Evans. He truly hated hospitals. He had spent far too many of his school days under the watchful eye of Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts, and too much of his short time as an Auror banged up and on the wards of St Mungos. He couldn’t avoid the fact that there was evidence that something related to the Ejice a Rete had happened there though. Skeeter’s articles had spoken about Healers’ Apprentices being disciplined, and if they were at almost at the end of their training it would put them at the right age for some of his and Malfoy’s school contemporaries.

Harry hadn’t been in the building as a visitor for some time and approached the Welcome Witch with a little trepidation, but she simply asked him, in the dull monotone he remembered, what his visit was about. When he impulsively muttered something about a yellow Letter of Notice she directed him to the second floor where there was apparently a special clinic set up for exactly those kinds of Magical Bugs and Diseases. She looked him up and down as she told him, and he couldn’t help but feel he was being judged.

Harry tried to force himself to relax as he walked up to the second floor. He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t injured. There was no reason to feel uncomfortable, but there was something about even being his close to Medi-nurses and Healers that put him on edge. He wanted to rub at his faded scar despite the fact that it hadn’t ached in years. He fidgeted with his robes and was glad that James Evans didn’t wear glasses, or Harry would have had them on and off about six times and covered them in smudgy fingerprints. The Welcome Witch had said that the special clinic was about halfway down the corridor on the left. As Harry got closer he could see that their waiting room must be full, as there were three people sitting on fold-out chairs in the hall outside. Harry walked towards them and another chair appeared. He sat, and waited about five minutes before he leaned a little left to speak to the bloke sitting next to him in what he hoped seemed like a conspiratorial whisper.

“So, um. Have you been waiting long?”

The man shook his head, and then nodded. “Yes and no and, well. It’s been about half an hour. One of the Healers came out about 15 minutes ago to take my details.”

Harry tried to look like he was trying to be nonchalant, “You, um. Did you get one of the yel-”

The man cut him off with a hard look and a sharp word, “Yes. I think we all did. I’m single though, so at least I didn’t have to go through one of those conversations.” He glanced sideways at the two other people waiting. The woman had a stern look on her face, and the man was looking at his shoes. She had a hard grip on his hand.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Yeah, well. Me too. Single, that is.” He dropped his voice again, “Did the Healer tell you what we’re going to get tested for?”

The man gave him a bit of a sceptical look, “Full set of tests and samples, just like the letter said. You didn’t read it properly?”

Harry grimaced and hoped it didn’t show. “To, ah, to be honest? I kind of had a bit of a freak out when I saw it and just folded it up and put it in a pocket. I didn’t really look at the details.”

The bloke seemed to accept that as a fair answer, “Yeah, I can see where you’re coming from there.”

“Actually,” Harry hedged, “I don’t know if I’m ready for the details at all. I might, um,” he stood up and stepped away from the seat, it disappeared, “I might do this another time. Good luck.”

“Your choice, mate,” the man said as Harry walked off, “But I wouldn’t put it off too long.”

Harry scampered, deciding to use one of the hospital’s apparition zones to leave rather than walking out past the Welcome Witch again. He didn’t want James Evans to get spotted by her more than once. He made it to the zone on the second floor before he realised he shouldn’t leave yet. He didn’t want to hang around, but knew he should at least attempt to see if he could find out anything about the Healer’s Apprentices who’d been mentioned in the paper. It was the actual reason he was in the building, after all.

Figuring that wandering around the wards would only get him noticed for all the wrong reasons, Harry decided he should just head up to the Tea Room on the top floor. He only hoped their tea was better than the coffee he’d endured that morning in the café where he’d had breakfast. He found a table and bought himself a cuppa and custard slice and discovered that although not horrible, the tea definitely wasn’t good.

People drifted in and out of the area. There were patients who were apparently allowed out of bed and easily recognised because of their pyjamas, family members who looked as if they’d not slept properly for days, and hospital staff that shared a similarly haggard appearance. It was the last group he was mostly interested in. The Healers and Medi-nurses all tended to sit in one corner when they came in, and Harry stood and used picking up a copy of the Prophet from another table as an excuse to shift closer to them.

Harry pretended to read the paper and listened. He eventually learned, through the gossip of two cleaning-witches rather than any of the medical staff, that there were four Healer Apprentices involved in the scandal. Both of the cleaners had been shocked to find out that the friendly young Healers had been sent home, without pay, for what one of the gossipers was adamant she’d heard was lying on their application forms. One of the cleaning-witches, a woman who looked absolutely nothing like Pomona Sprout but for some reason Harry wanted to call Professor and ask about plants, said that she’d heard the head of the Training Ward saying that they weren’t going to expel the young Healers, but set them back several years in their studies. The other cleaning-witch, who reminded Harry of absolutely no one at all, said she was glad that was going to be their punishment. She thought there was absolutely no room for liars at St Mungos, but that it would have been a shame to see that many years of learning wasted by expelling them completely. Harry thought he probably agreed. He shuffled off again, this time not stopping when he reached the apparition zone.

✧✧✧

Harry started Thursday earlier than Wednesday, but otherwise it was much of the same. James Evans spent all day apparating around the country and nosing about, as much as he could, in the affairs of the country’s professional Quidditch teams. He started with those that had been named in the Prophet as having responded to the request for comment. He found the Holyhead Harpies , Appleby Arrows , Falmouth Falcons , Chudley Cannons and Caerphilly Catapults all in fairly tight lockdown, but not with completely silenced rumour mills on their outer edges. It was shocking how much some people talked in the open about supposedly confidential matters, really. All but the Falcons had lost players. The Falcons and the Catapults had both removed training or medical staff.

It took the entire day for Harry to look at all of the teams in the British and Irish Quidditch League. He found that Tronpe had apparently not visited the Emerald Isle, as the only teams not to be affected by the situation were the Kenmare Kestrels and the Ballycastle Bats. It seemed, as far as Harry could tell, that some of the teams were being affected on more than one level. There had been the instant issues Ginny had witnessed and heard of on Tuesday. Things likely to do with Malfoy’s Ejice a Rete withdrawing favour or maybe sponsorship from particular people. He could see that players and trainers might be going through the same kinds of initial intake issues he’d heard about with the Trainee Healers, but that apparently the teams weren’t as forgiving, or in need of retaining staff, as the hospital.

There was a second type of stirring within the teams, though. It looked as if the Ministry worker Lee Jordan had quoted in his piece on Tuesday had been right about the enquiry regarding Morality Clauses. The yellow letters were apparently to blame for a separate upheaval happening in the sport. Harry had heard, with the assistance of an extendable ear or three, the dressing down of players from Puddlemere United , the Chudley Cannons , and the Tutshill Tornados because of Conduct Unbecoming a Player of Good Standing.

The suspensions, docking of pay, and straight out termination of contract he had witnessed were brutal. Harry hadn't heard of such a contract clause being enacted before, but he definitely now thought of it as Conduct Unbecoming a Player of Good Standing with the capital letters. Harry wondered how many others of the same type of conversation he’d just not happened upon during the day, or if some of them had happened the day before. He knew the yellow letters would be spelled with all kinds of secrecy charms, so at first he wondered how the management in the teams had discovered their contents. Then he decided that the medical staff of a professional Quidditch team probably took their own employment contracts more seriously than the privacy of the team members. They’d probably gone running to their bosses and spilled just enough to get the message across.

At this rate it wouldn’t be long before Rita Skeeter had her scoop on just what was in the mail out. Harry wondered, as he waited for the curry he’d ordered for dinner, how much longer it would take for the wizarding world to realise just who was at the heart of all the bother.

✦✦✦

Draco groaned and he resisted looking at the front page of the Friday Prophet and pushed the whole thing away. He looked at the pile of letters and files in front of him, then pressed his head to the cool surface of the dining table. He really didn’t need to be dealing with these kinds of things before breakfast, but he supposed he had only himself to blame. Well, actually, he had Nathan Tronpe to blame, but the prat wasn’t here and he wasn’t something Draco wanted to be thinking about in any case. But, a traitorous voice in his mind supplied, it hadn’t been Tronpe’s choice to inform two hundred and sixteen people and their significant others that they should visit a Healer, and it wasn’t Tronpe’s Ejice a Rete that had created the flurry of letters and contracts and promissory note payment plans and other assorted bits of business ephemera that were slowly piling up into a mountain of parchment that wouldn’t be tamed in one day.

Draco breathed in hard and sat back up and reached for one of the more important bits of information in the mound.

The goblins of Gringotts had sent him a particularly pointed missive this morning, asking for direction on action on several things they simply didn’t want to begin to act on without the Heritor Lord Malfoy’s express permission. There was a strong hint of you made this mess, now you help us figure it out , in the words. Draco knew that the kinds of changes he’d made by effecting the Ejice a Rete would have been unthinkable to the goblins without notice except for the very fact that they had been, in actuality, done with an Ejice a Rete. The goblins would have detected the magic, traced its origins, and be technically perfectly fine that it had been enacted. In reality they’d be annoyed as hell that Draco hadn't given them warning of his plans. He couldn’t say he blamed them. This morning’s letter contained a suggestion that he allow Gringotts, at a small fee of course, to assist in creating payment plans and legal actions for collection of sums owing. He would normally balk at their concept of a small fee, but in this case he had decided he’d be agreeing. He summoned ink, quill, and parchment and penned a quick and relatively innocuous reply in the affirmative, and moved to other matters at hand.

There was only one other issue that actually needed to be addressed with any haste. The board of St Mungos had written an impassioned plea that Draco please reconsider the Malfoy Family’s heretofore generous support of the hospital. They’d apparently been shocked and dismayed to learn of its discontinuation, and at a loss as to why the Heritor Lord Malfoy might have terminated his contributions. Draco himself wasn’t sure what might have caused this particular withdrawal of favour. He expected there might be a board member, or two or three perhaps, who knew, who had… He’d come to think of it as simply receiving a yellow letter. Draco hadn’t been certain how to phrase the response he was going to give in this particular matter. He would be reinstating the donations the family had been making of course, but he really didn’t want to if there were people on the board who had shagged his ex. He also didn’t particularly want to draw attention to the fact that this was about his ex.

He’d been thinking about it as he was sorting through the other notices, and trying hard to continue to ignore his want to read the Prophet , and it had struck him. The answer was in yesterday’s paper of all places. He decided to take a leaf out of the Quidditch League’s rulebook and use the Conduct Unbecoming concept. He penned a haughty reply to the Board’s Head stating that he, the Heritor Lord Malfoy, had himself had been shocked and dismayed to learn that there were those at the Hospital who partook of the indecent behaviour rumoured in the press. He figured the St Mungos Board should be more than willing to rid themselves of anyone who’d been caught up in a controversy that would creep closer and closer to the front page of the newspaper. He reckoned the chance that his monetary support would come back into their coffers at the same time would just make them act faster.

With that reply written, and it and the one to Gringotts sent off with owls, Draco finally let himself have breakfast. He called to the kitchen and Moxy appeared moments later with hot buttered toast, salted sliced tomatoes and a pot of strong tea. It was the last day of the working week and Draco was looking forward to the weekend. He tried not to think of the fact that he’d said yes to Hermione Granger’s official invitation to her Saturday brunch soirée. He had tried as hard as he could to make her understand that he’d not hold it against her in any way, or blame Potter for that matter, if she wished to rescind the offer for him to attend. Granger, being Granger, had ignored his reasoning in this particular matter and insisted he come along. She mentioned that she thought Neville Longbottom, of all people, was inviting Gregory Goyle along with him from Hogwarts. Draco had been aware that Longbottom had also taken an assistant’s position at the school, in Herbology he believed, but he was quite sure he’d never heard Gregory mention him in more than a passing fashion.

Draco finished his toast and tomatoes and poured himself another cup of Earl Grey. There was nothing for it. He would survive the day, that was certain. He was unlikely to come across Potter at all, unless the speccy git decided to bring him coffee again, and he was relatively sure that Granger would be stuck in horrifically boring meetings for most of her morning and afternoon. Draco himself was close to the end of his list of particularly unpleasant artefacts, and if he was perfectly honest with himself, he was drawing out the process of dealing with them so that he had a good reason to keep up his stronger than usual wards. At least his office was out of the regularly used corridors of the Ministry. Few had legitimate reason to visit as far into depths of the building as the Department of Mysteries. It would be hard for people to just happen by to get a look at him once the world had discovered that he was linked to the dreaded yellow letters Rita Skeeter was drawing attention to.

Draco sipped his tea and thanked Moxy when the elf appeared to clear away his plate and cutlery. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping that the world would figure out the meaning or the source of the yellow letters before or after the weekend. Before would be simpler, as then he would have never been to a social occasion with Potter and Granger et al. But to have experienced it just once would be, well, nice. Draco was working, of course, on the assumption that as soon as Potter and Granger knew what Skeeter’s latest scandal was, and that he was just off centre of it all, that they’d reject any contact they had with him outside of official business. He was sure they’d soon relegate him to the same status that most of their former housemates held him at. He wasn’t looking forward to being either persona non grata , or worse, public enemy number one. Draco would have to deal with the fact that despite all of the fuss actually being the fault of his ex-fiancé, he’d be the present, and easy, target.

Draco drank the last of his tea and glanced at the clock over the mantle. He was still having difficulty styling his hair in a way that felt right, but he had just enough time to finish getting ready and floo to work. He grabbed his copy of the paper to read later, and headed back to his chamber to do his hair and grab his cloak.

✦✦✦

Yellow Fever!
Daily Prophet
Friday, January 9 2004
Rita Skeeter - Lifestyle and Health & Wellbeing Correspondent

Well, Dear Readers! Success at last. I can finally report to you just what was in the rash of Yellow Letters sent out on Tuesday. It seems that there will soon be a stampede of witches and wizards heading to their Healers to seek treatment for the conceivable consequences of their, or their partner’s, passionate pastimes.

The mean missives were actually official Letters of Notice from the Ministry of Herbology informing their intended readers of a dire demand to be tested for all sorts of unfortunate afflictions.

The wizard who spoke to us said that although he could not reveal to us the name of the source of the possible maladies, he was certain that the salacious socialite was male. Our informant received notice as, Dear Readers, his wife of six years had made a dastardly decision and spent a naughty night with another man. A man who we now know to be of definite ill repute!

Is it possible all of those letters are because of the erotic encounters of one wickedly wanton wizard? Could there be a range of randy rogues? Our poor, intrepid informant assures us that his Healer believes he is free of tantalisingly transmitted hexes or curses, but he fears others may not have been so lucky.

Did you get a Yellow Letter? Were you cheated on by your spouse or lover? Tell us your story!

✦✦✦

Harry waited impatiently for the floo to connect. He’d tried earlier but Hermione hadn’t been in her office. He was hoping she’d be able to make it back to her own desk for lunch at least. He felt a small pang of relief when she answered.

“‘Lo, ‘Mione. They finally let you out of your meetings?”

Hermione snorted and leaned back a moment, disappearing out of the frame of the fireplace. When she leaned back in she had a sandwich in one hand and a cuppa in the other. “Yes, finally. I assume you tried to call earlier? You know Fridays are never good in the morning. Sometimes I swear half the Ministry feels they just have to fit in another round of meetings before the weekend or their whole week is ruined.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s you and not me. I’d probably end up hexing half of the people at the meetings and stupefying the rest of them.” Harry sipped his own tea.

Hermione smiled and took another bite of her sandwich. “I take it whatever you needed to talk to me about wasn’t urgent?”

Harry shook his head, “Not really. I thought I’d let you know that Neville managed to talk Goyle, sorry, Gregory, Greg into coming tomorrow. And George said we might even see Charlie, though the family isn’t sure if he’ll be arriving in the country tonight or tomorrow night.”

Hermione smiled, “It’s about time our favourite Dragon Keeper came home for a visit.” She sipped her tea and then said, “It’s going to be tricky to remember to call everyone by their first names, isn’t it?”

“I think we’ll manage. Oh,” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the notebook he kept there and looked at the last page he’d written on, “The food will be delivered by elf at nine, if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine.” She finished her sandwich, and looked him in the eye. “I assume what you actually wanted to talk to me about was Skeeter’s piece on the Yellow Letters?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Did you think of that phrase in capital letters? She’s started using capital letters to refer to them. I’ll never understand why so many people follow her every word. I suppose that at least this time she’s actually got the facts straight?”

“Small mercies, Harry. Small mercies. The whole of the Ministry seems to be talking about it of course. I’ve not seen Malfoy today, but I wouldn’t usually on most Fridays until the late afternoon. He’s still under his extra strength wards luckily, but I promise I’ll check in on him before I leave for the day.”

Harry relaxed a little, and hoped she didn’t notice. “Good, I didn’t want to come snooping around in case he got the wrong idea and thought it was about tomorrow, or the right idea and thought I knew something about the bloody Letters.” Harry finished his tea but kept hold of the cup in both hands. “How long do you think it will take Skeeter to figure out who, or whose other half, caused them?”

“I don’t see how she could, really. Although, I suppose if there were several people in a group of friends that all received one, one of the other people in the group might be able to figure it out?” She blinked a few times, apparently looking past Harry as she thought it over.

Harry suppressed a sigh. “Someone, somewhere, is going to figure it out. There is no way a secret like this is going to stay secret when Skeeter is poking at it.” Harry breathed in hard, and they were both silent a few more moments. “I’ll see you at yours tomorrow, ‘Mione.”

✦✦✦

Draco managed to eat most of his lunch before he finally opened his copy of the Prophet. Which was lucky, he discovered, as he couldn’t face eating anything more after he read the news about the Yellow Letters. He supposed it was always only going to be a matter of time, but he’d thought it would take at least a fortnight. Maybe he’d just hoped it would take that long.

The rest of his afternoon, unsurprisingly, wasn’t pleasant. He spent the entire time alternately waiting for someone to knock on his door and accuse him of being the cause of the Letters, or ruminating over the absolute avalanche of gossip Skeeter’s Prophet column must have been inducing by now. Draco was thankful that the manor’s elves had taken to preparing him lunches. The idea that he might have walked into one of the building’s cafés or canteens and heard the murmurs about the Yellow Letters before he’d seen the written reporting sent shivers through him.

Draco resolved to stay at his desk a little later than usual. Most workers fled the Ministry as early as they could on a Friday evening, and he was hoping that meant he’d hear as little discussion and be seen by as few hair-judging busybodies as possible when he finally did head home. He summoned the next object in his queue of tasks, an astoundingly hideous teapot, just before five o’clock. He hoped its purpose or curse wouldn’t be one he’d be tempted to spend all night on.

He’d just started his first round of checks on it when there was a knock on his door. His wards hadn’t triggered, so it must have been someone with at least half a good reason to be there. He tried not to sound too annoyed as he responded, “Enter.”

Granger pushed the door open a little but stayed half in, half out of the room. “Good evening, Malfoy. Just thought I’d check that I’d given you our floo address before I went home.” She looked as if she’d had quite a long day, but was smiling nevertheless.

“You did, indeed. I have it written down, although I doubt I’ll have any difficulty remembering it,” Draco smiled himself, unable not to, “A name like Looney Cottage isn’t something one forgets easily.”

Granger grinned widely as she said, “That was the idea.” She nodded at his desk, “That is possibly the most garish teapot of I’ve ever seen, and I live with a Lovegood. Is it particularly nasty?”

Draco shrugged, “Other than the fact that it was sorted into the probably-rather-dangerous pile, I’m not certain yet. I’ve only just started on it.”

Granger’s eyebrows drew a little closer to each other. “Don’t work on it too late, this place is an absolute tomb on a Friday night. And we don’t want you to be late tomorrow, either.”

Draco felt his own eyebrows raise a little in response to hers, and her statement. “I won’t be here much longer. I, ah,” he tried to think of a plausible reason to stay later than usual, “I saw this was next on my list and couldn’t help but wonder. It is fascinating in its repugnance, after all.”

Granger nodded, “Indeed. Goodnight, Malfoy.” She stepped backwards out of the door and Draco tried to turn his attention back to his task.

✧✧✧

Draco looked around the room again. Saturday afternoon was progressing, well, comfortably. Both he and Gregory had shocked Hermione with the tokens they’d bought with them despite being told to bring nothing. She’d looked a little embarrassed when Luna had accepted the items gracefully, thanked them in a mostly traditional manner, and then proceeded to inform her girlfriend about gift giving in Pureblood circles. Luna had explained to her other half that as it was Draco and Gregory’s first visit to their residence, they should provide some of the comforts of home for it. Both women had appeared to be appreciative of the aged Merlot Draco had selected for them. Luna was more impressed with the batch of Hagrid’s rock cakes than Hermione. Harry had thrown his old friend knowing looks. In truth Hermione, it was becoming easier to call her that after lunch and drinks, had been infinitely more interested in the idea of a new subject to explore than the gifts themselves. She’d enquired enthusiastically as to whether there were books available on the topic of formal gifting protocols, and when Draco had promised to find some from the Manor’s library, she’d beamed.

Looney Cottage was tiny, but warm and inviting. Draco and Gregory had arrived last and been greeted amiably by all in attendance. The afternoon was catered, which he soon learned was unusual as the attendants would normally each bring a plate or two of food, a practice Draco had heard of but not ever experienced. There’d been some dubious excuses made about today’s arrangements being because of Harry losing a bet to Hermione, and that his purchasing their fare was what she’d won. Draco was quite sure there was more to it, but the food was good and he suspected there were things between the pair of them that no one would ever understand, so he wasn’t going to complain or think on it too hard.

Draco was finding the whole gathering quite pleasant. The conversation had been mostly light and around very everyday topics. The friends met irregularly, every few weeks, and they spent most of the time between bites of brunch simply catching up. The group had graciously attempted to include him and Gregory in everything. Draco had been sat between Harry and Neville, and had been happy to learn that the Weasley on one side of Gregory was the renowned Dragon Keeper, Charles. Gregory questioned him endlessly about his job and was answered with apparent pleasure and a particular verve. The only other person in attendance was a Weasley Draco was more familiar with, the surviving twin, George. He’d mellowed some, with age or the loss of his brother Draco wasn’t sure, but it was good to see throughout the conversations that he at least had some of the mischievous sparkle in his eye that had made the pair famous at Hogwarts.

There had only been one moment so far that Draco had felt slightly uncomfortable in. Neville was apparently newly married, and his wife was not attending the gathering as she wasn’t feeling well. Harry had murmured to Draco that Neville’s Hannah was Hannah Abbot, from their Hogwarts class. She was now working at the school also, and training to take over from Madam Pomfrey eventually. Draco didn’t remember her well, but recognised the name. He had thought he might feel a pang of something irksome at the idea of a happy union, but the look on Neville’s face when he finally told them why his wife was ill was one of such wonder that the notion simply fell away. Hannah Longbottom was pregnant. The parents-to-be had wanted to tell them all together, but Neville simply hadn’t been able to contain his excitement. Draco had felt that he and Gregory were perhaps encroaching on something that should be private and shared only amongst close friends. Apparently he’d shown it on his face, as Harry had leaned in again and whispered to him not to stress. Making sure Draco understood that Neville wouldn’t have said anything if he’d not felt okay with them all knowing. Draco had relaxed. Gregory had simply grinned at his workmate across the table and congratulated him loudly with everyone else. Draco had resolved to buy an appropriate gift for the couple to celebrate their first child.

It was, to borrow a phrase from the Muggles, all going swimmingly, until they’d adjourned a few steps to the snug and strangely mismatched sitting room where Charlie Weasley decided to regale them with tales of his adventures that morning.

“So, and I apologise to you, little brother for sharing with all before telling you alone, but I just have to say something about this before I burst.” George raised his eyebrows in faux shock and then grinned and waved his big brother on. Charlie obliged, “I think I said that I got in pretty early last night, but crashed out and ended up awake at some unnatural time this morning, yeah?” There were nods from Luna and Hermione on the beanbag and Gregory in what looked like a chair from an old Muggle Pub. “Well, Mum, Merlin bless her, has always been an early riser, and so we spent some quality mother and son time catching up over tea while waiting for the others to get up for breakfast. Mum, being Mum, couldn’t actually just sit and do that, so I watched her restack plates and shuffle food in the pantry and anything else she could think of to do before the sun came up.”

“Ah. I’d say I long for the sounds of home,” George sighed dramatically, “but Fred and I were never awake early enough to experience any such scintillating scenes!”

Charlie threw a pillow at George’s head, and continued. “Yes, yes. I’m getting to the good stuff. I swear. Anyway,” he took a sip of the coffee he was holding, “So, as we talked, Mum moved farther and farther away from the kitchen in search of things to do. She was in the middle of telling me about Bill and Fleur’s kids when all of a sudden she made the weirdest noise I’ve heard her make since the Glittering Squid Incident of 1989.”

George’s eyes widened and he sat forward on the settee. He pulled Harry with him earnestly, interest apparently very peaked. “That’s undoubtedly a noise worth waiting for the story on! Continue, please, dear brother!”

“Indeed.” Charlie looked around at everyone, “You’ve all heard a howler from Mum, I’m assuming?”

There were nods from around the room. Neville piped up as an actual physical shiver seemed to run through him. “Howlers from my Gran were bad because they were from my Gran. Howlers from your Mum were on a different level of scary altogether.”

“I can’t say I disagree, and I work with ferocious beasts,” Charlie said with a grin. “But I can tell you, stuffing Mum’s anger in an envelope definitely lessens the effect.” He sat back and drained his coffee this time.

George threw the pillow back at him, “And?”

Charlie pushed the cushion behind him. “You have to remember that I’ve been out of the country for five months. We don’t get wireless reception on the Dragon Reservation, and if we get papers they’re usually at least three weeks old.” There was a murmur of understanding, and yet it looked to Draco that there wasn’t anyone else who knew what the story was actually about yet, either. “Anyway. A few moments passed after the noise Mum made, then she started shrieking at our Ronniekins to come down out of his room and explain himself. There were a couple of colourful phrases that I didn’t think my dear old mother would have even heard, let alone known how to use, and a handful of the usual complaints about not knowing where she went wrong with her youngest boy etcetera, etcetera. By the time Ron and Dad had managed to come down the stairs, Mum was back in the kitchen, clutching one of Ron’s Auror robes and raving about irresponsible behaviour and her poor breaking heart.”

Luna grinned, “So, what was it that RonRon had done, exactly?”

“Luckily for me,” George smirked, “Mum went on to narrate the entire situation, to Ron’s utter shame and Dad’s complete bewilderment.”

George nudged Harry in the side, and Harry spoke as if on cue, “And, what was it that was to Ron’s utter shame and your dad’s complete bewilderment?” They both sniggered.

Charlie leaned back and grinned a grin that was evil and sublime at the same time. “Well, as none of you have been living out of the country, I probably don’t have to explain too much about the significance of a Yellow Letter.”

There were a chorus of gasps, and a definite giggle or three. Draco froze and hoped that no one saw the massive gulp he had to make to stop himself from throwing up all over Luna and Hermione’s absurdly shaggy carpet. He chanced a look at Gregory, but his old friend had apparently either not yet come to understand who or what the Yellow Letters were because of, or had become a great deal better at hiding his reactions. Draco was going to lean towards the former as the most likely explanation. He clutched his coffee cup in both hands and resisted the urge run his fingers through his hair. He consciously tried to even out his breathing, glad he wasn’t sharing a seat with anyone. His chest practically heaving would have to be noticeable to someone sat right next to him. Everyone was focussed on Charlie, though.

Harry reacted verbally first. “Ronald I’m so straight I don’t even look at myself naked Weasley, got a Letter telling him to get checked for sexually transmitted hexes because he had a thing with a bloke.” He looked hard at Charlie and shook his head. “I don’t.”

Neville looked quite shocked, “Really? It was a bloke they were talking about in the Prophet , yes? That’s what Skeeter reported?”

Luna agreed. “That’s what I read. Well, if the wizard that came forward for her so called story is right, then yes, the reason the Letters were sent out is a man. It’s a little difficult to believe that though, hearing that Ron got one. Straighter than an extra straight ruler, by his reckoning, he is.”

But not so heterosexual as to be immune to Tronpe’s charms apparently, thought Draco.

Charlie looked between Draco and Gregory, and Draco felt a chill go through him. But Charlie smiled. “I should explain to our new friends.” Charlie sat forward on his seat a little, and leant his head to point to his brother. “ We are not homophobic. I’m not because,” he pointed to his own chest, “Well, gay wizard.” He waited for Draco and Gregory to both nod. “He’s not homophobic,” he gestured to George again, “because he’s not an absolute arse. Fred wasn’t either. Most of my family, however? Whether they’ve been considered by much of the Pureblood lot as some kind of blood traitors or not, are pretty big on the whole thing about homosexuality being a waste of baby making chances and therefore an odious form of dark magic.”

Gregory’s eyebrows drew in and he asked, “So, your parents don’t know you’re not into women?”

Charlie smirked, “No, they know. I think I got a free pass as they didn’t exactly have a shortage of sons, and because I didn’t come out as gay till I’d left home. Oh, the fact that I live in another country meaning that they don’t ever have to meet anyone I’m seeing probably helps, too.” He pursed his lips. “They’ve basically been able to ignore my being into dick, for the most part. Dad’s probably not that worried about it all, to be honest, but Mum? Mum is completely freaked out by the idea that any of her children might be anything but completely heterosexual. She can be pretty bloody nasty about it.”

Harry mumbled, “And don’t I know it.”

Draco blinked this time and forced himself not to stare at Harry. He’d had an idea that the other man might not be exactly straight, but hadn’t seen or heard confirmation of it until now. Draco shifted in his seat. He thought he should make some kind of contribution to the conversation lest his silence be linked somehow to something about the Letters. He cleared his throat on the first words, but then spoke clearly, “For the Malfoys it’s the other way around. My mother is actually quite accepting, despite being brought up with the same attitude yours was apparently taught. The Blacks were definitely against what they considered a wholly inconvenient deviance.” He copied the voice he remembered an aunt using. “My father is arguably worse than them or even his own forebears, though. I'm convinced Lucius would have disowned me in an instant if he’d learned the truth about my sexuality when he was still fully Head of the Family. As it is I had to banish some of my ancestors’ portraits to an attic because of the lectures they were giving me.”

“Has your family had broom closet clauses in their marriages, too, Draco?” Luna leaned against Hermione and stroked her thumb across the back of her girlfriend’s hand as she asked.

Draco relaxed a little, he could talk about this openly here it seemed, there wasn’t a judgemental look on any of the faces around him. “Very much so. Unbreakable Vows for monogamy within all the marriages of course, but in those where one or both of the couple had the so called deviant preferences, they’d include an out for a chosen partner. You were basically choosing two people to attach yourself to for life.”

Harry looked shocked, and Hermione’s brow wrinkled as she spoke, “Marriages with Closet Clauses and Unbreakable Vows, really?”

Neville nodded, but it was George who answered, “Pureblood families were seriously serious about keeping bloodlines going and as arranged. So yes, male or female, no one wanted to admit you weren’t a baby making machine. And, if you begat someone you weren’t supposed to beget, it was all kinds of trouble. The Unbreakable Vow thing was pretty common at one point. Even fairly recently. Mum and Dad did it, I think?” He looked at his older brother.

Charlie shrugged. “I’m pretty sure they did. It would have been at the Prewetts’ insistence. Mum and her brothers were pretty un-Pureblood about most stuff, but there are some things that they just couldn’t let go of.” Charlie stared into the distance a moment. “I think there are a couple of the Broom Closet type arrangements in our history books, too.”

“I can think of two I know of in my Dad’s family, maybe one in Mum’s,” Neville added.

“They’re in all our stuffy family records, I’m sure,” Luna said. “My father would never expect something like that of me now, though. For which I am very grateful.” She kissed Hermione on the cheek and received the same in return.

George smiled at them and then turned to his brother and asked, “So, enough of the depressing stuff. Back to the fun. What did Mum actually do about the Ronald situation?”

“She read out the entire letter,” Charlie smirked and his eyes all but twinkled. “Mum’s voice got screachier and screachier with each word, and Ron got redder and redder. The message was something to the effect of,” he dropped his voice and put on an official sounding accent, “Mr Weasley, we regret to inform you that due to you getting your leg over with Mr X, you may unfortunately have been exposed to a sexually transmitted hex or curse. We at the Wizarding Ministry of Herbology suggest that you submit yourself and your todger to a full panel of medi-tests at your soonest convenience. Blah, blah, blah.”

“A full panel of tests?” Luna sounded surprised.

Charlie nodded. “Yeah. Mum raved about that a fair bit. Not only had little old Ronniekins exposed himself to the dark arts of The Gay, but he might have risked his fertility. Shock, horror and buggery!”

Luna tilted her head sideways. “That means that Mr X, as you put it, is either unavailable for testing, or he’s not allowing it.”

“Oh, of course,” Charlie realised, “They probably wouldn’t be testing for everything and anything if he had a particular problem or none at all. Huh. So that means-”

George finished his brother's sentence, “That the guy was probably dobbed in by someone. Probably his other half. Or, I’d say by now, ex-other half!”

“That’s a reasonable assumption,” Hermione agreed.

“Well, if Ron fooled around with someone else’s significant other, he probably deserves an embarrassing trip to the Healers.” Harry sounded quite definite in his judgement.

“What he didn’t know it was someone’s significant other?” Gregory asked. Draco could see that Goyle had at some point realised that they were talking about Tronpe.

Hermione answered again, “Well then, hopefully he was sober enough to have used all the right charms to protect himself? I can’t see that he would have ventured into the world of not spectacularly straight sex without the influence of at least three quarters of a bottle of firewhiskey, though.”

George opened his mouth to say something, but apparently couldn’t immediately find the ability to make words, and just started laughing instead. Harry patted him on the back until he started breathing evenly again and finally formed an actual sentence. “Oh, Charles! I have your permission to use this information to the best of my abilities at family gatherings, yes?”

Charlie bowed as well as he could while sitting down, “Of course, Georgie, of course!”

“Well, at least Ron’s single at the moment and therefore hopefully didn’t pass on anything unpleasant.” Hermione shook her head as she stood up and headed to the kitchen. There was silence for a few moments, and then the sounds of her apparently making more coffee. Draco wondered if this was the end of the topic, if so, it definitely could have been worse.

“He’s not the only one who’s single, by the looks of it,” George said as he stood up and put everyone’s cups on a tray he summoned from the sideboard. Draco decided that perhaps he’d come to the conclusion about things going well a little too soon. “The cut suits you though, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco thanked his ancestors for cheeks that didn’t pink with embarrassment. He dipped his chin and managed an ineloquent, “I, ah. Thank you, Mr Weasley.”

George nodded and headed towards Hermione and the fresh coffee.

Charlie eyed him from his end of the room, “I had my suspicions, but didn’t want to assume. I agree with my little brother, it’s a good look on you, Draco. Traditional, but with a twist.”

Harry huffed and made a face. “Bloody hell. Fifteen years. No, more than fifteen years I’ve been in this life and I have no idea what you lot are talking about. Okay. Someone has to explain this little bit of the sodding wizarding world to me. ‘Mione understands this because she read it somewhere I’m assuming, and the rest of you seem to have been fed the information in your Pureblood porridge or something.” He flapped his hands in Draco’s direction, “What exactly is it with the hair?”

“You sound like you might have had this discussion before, mate,” Neville looked more than mildly amused.

Hermione’s voice joined them, “He mentioned something about Draco’s hair earlier in the week, and I deduced that the change in style meant what it apparently does mean. Harry chose to not ask at that point. I think that was his actual phrase, I’m not even going to ask about the hair.”

“You were talking to Hermione about my hair, Harry?” Draco couldn’t help but ask. No one had challenged him on why he was now single, and he was breathing much easier.

Harry coloured on his face the way Draco was glad he couldn’t. It was quite the sight.

“I. I just mentioned that I thought it looked good. I mean, um.” Harry looked back over his shoulder towards Hermione and gave her a glare and turned forward again, even pinker than before. “It looked good before, too. But. Argh. I still don’t bloody know what it means!”

Luna giggled lightly before putting on a fake serious face and voice, “Traditionally wizards grow their hair long when they are married. Some even begin when they are engaged, as young Mr Malfoy did. That he’s cut his hair in a fairly drastic fashion tells us that he’s no longer in that arrangement or relationship.” She tilted her head as if asking if he had any questions.

Harry’s eyes widened a moment. He looked at Neville’s short back and sides, then Charlie’s long ponytail, and back at Luna. “What?”

Gregory laughed low and his lips curled up at each end, “Not everyone is as traditional as everyone else, Harry.”

“But!” Harry threw himself back into the settee. “So, happily married Neville is fine having a short back and sides, and the perpetual bachelor Charlie can have his ponytail down to his bum, but when,” he turned and faced Draco, “you shaved off half of your shoulder length hair everyone but me understood it meant you weren’t engaged anymore?”

Harry was the picture of utter bamboozlement. It was rather charming. Draco couldn’t help it, he laughed too, “It would seem you understand the situation, yes. Either way, thank you for the compliments, Mr Potter.”

Harry ducked his head and there were another round of sniggers as Hermione and George brought more coffee and a tray of miniature cakes. The group fell into a hush as sips were taken and sweets chosen.

“Your hair is lovely, Draco.” Luna said as she put her cup down and reached for another cake, she handed one to Hermione before selecting one for herself. “I’m sorry for what it means, however.”

“Thank you, Luna. It was, well.” Draco sighed and glanced up at Gregory and saw him nodding along with the others, then steadied his hands around his cup. He thought he might have another pastry, too. “There were things he and I were never going to agree on, and they were important enough to warrant calling the whole thing off.” It was the first time he’d voiced it since he’d spoken to his mother, and it felt good to hear it aloud. But, just as he hadn’t felt particularly envious hearing about Neville’s happiness earlier, he didn’t feel particularly pained to be talking about his own situation now. That this was the state of his emotions wasn’t expected, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Perhaps it was only that he was surrounded by people who didn’t seem to be judging him.

Charlie lifted his coffee in one hand, and a garishly pink iced cupcake in the other. Everyone obligingly joined him. “Here’s to singledom,” Charlie nodded at Draco, George, Harry and Gregory in turn, “Non-singledom,” he nodded at Luna and Hermione sitting almost on top of each other, “And to babies!” His smile was widest for Neville, and Draco didn’t feel wrong doing the same.

✦✦✦

Chapter Text

✦✦✦

Gringotts Vaults Protecting More Than Usual?
Weekend Prophet
Sunday January 11, 2004
Casper Fearbhirigh - Finance Correspondent

The Head of Finance and Security at Gringotts Wizarding Bank has again made a statement regarding the previous sudden vault movements reported two weeks ago by the Weekend Prophet. Erlok, the Gringotts Wizarding Bank spokesgoblin, stated that all parties in question had now been notified. He would not elucidate further on the cause of the changes, but stressed that no evidence of illegal transfers, dark magics, or any untoward activities had been found.

When approached for comment, a staff member of the Wizengamot Administration Services, who would only speak off the record, said that although the inner workings of Gringotts Wizarding Bank were not technically under their purview, questions were being asked by members of the body regarding transparency. She noted that this was the largest unexpected set of vault changes recorded since 1673, when a poltergeist was accidentally set loose amongst the bank’s holdings.

✦✦✦

Harry, James Evans, watched from the corner of the Aurors’ office, and felt good knowing that Nathan Trope was finally on his way out of the country. Auror Calthorpe had explained earlier that no one had come forward to accuse Tronpe of anything untoward regarding underage witches or wizards. Having put two and two together, the Auror partners had also had a quiet word in the ear of the Healer who’d sent out the Yellow Letters. She’d apparently been adamant that she’d not reveal any of the names from the list, but was persuaded to take a look at it for evidence of those younger than was the norm for such things. By Sunday morning she’d confirmed that while there might have been one or two people that were bordering on too young, but none of them actually crossed the line.

Having no further reason to hold Tronpe, Aurors Calthorpe and McMichael had decided to march him out of their offices and down to International Portkey Departures. He’d apparently not put up any protest for the entire time he’d been in holding, and that didn’t change when they announced they’d be accompanying him to the Portkey area, and would prefer that he not come back to England for a long time, if ever. Harry watched him saunter out the holding room, and followed behind the three of them as they’d made their way to the right floor.

Harry was planning on watching Draco’s ex leave England, heading off to buy himself a celebratory lunch, and then having James Evans call on Lady Malfoy to give her the news. His plans changed when he saw a flash of white-blond hair heading towards the same place he and the other three were going. He realised then that the day mightn’t go as smoothly as he’d been hoping.

Thankfully it was a false alarm. Draco Malfoy was indeed in the Ministry on Sunday morning, and he was indeed heading towards the Department of Magical Transportation. He was also, unfortunately, making his way to International Portkeys, but he was apparently bound for arrivals rather than departures. He veered away just steps before finding himself face to face with Tronpe. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, then lingered for a moment or two while deciding who he should follow, but again went with his official responsibility. He dutifully watched Tronpe grab hold of a velour-flocked, plastic pineapple and get transported off to somewhere in the Americas. Harry thanked the Aurors when they passed him, and then couldn’t help himself, he backtracked and headed into the Arrivals area.

Draco had apparently spent the last fifteen minutes waiting to talk to an absurdly cheerful looking Ministry official. The man appeared entirely too awake for a Sunday morning. His smile didn’t waver for the whole time that Harry watched them. Draco on the other hand wasn’t in the best of moods. Harry thought to describe him as snappy would be an understatement.

“My name is Draco Malfoy. Could you tell me exactly what it is that had you summon me here on a Sunday morning? What could there possibly be that couldn’t wait until a more normal time of the week?” Harry squinted and could see the glamours Draco had over his face. His clothes were perfectly ironed, his new hairdo slick and neat, and his posture perfect. His eyes though, without the layer of glamours Draco had decided to employ, would look dull and tired. His skin was sallow and thin. It was a marked change to see since yesterday. Perhaps Harry simply hadn’t looked closely enough the day before? Maybe it was just that he was seeing Draco under the harsh industrial type lighting of the Ministry, rather than the soft warm afternoon sun they’d had at Luna and Hermione’s place?

The Ministry official smiled, and reached into a drawer for some paperwork, then spoke as he stood up from behind his desk. “Why, Heritor Lord Malfoy, I do apologise for the inconvenience. Thank you so much for coming to assist us this fine morning! My name is Ames.” Harry wondered if the man was employing some kind of not quite legal energy increasing potion. “There are two gentle-wizards here this morning with a scheduled shipment of potions ingredients they source and import. Usually there are no difficulties with their processing, but it seems we’ve found an inconsistency in their permissions this time.” The man finally took a breath and looked down at the bunch of papers in his hands. “Ah, yes, here it is.” He walked around the desk so that he could show Draco what he was pointing at. “I’m not sure how familiar you are with the importation rules and processes for potions ingredients?”

Draco raised his eyebrows, “A little. Although I still have no idea what any of this has to do with me or the Malfoy Family interests.”

Mr Ames nodded and smiled some more. “Excellent. The issue we have here is that some of the ingredients these gentlemen are importing are considered restricted under the official Decree for Magical Substances. Without a Patron, who agrees in advance to purchase the items, they can’t bring them into Britain, or most parts of Europe in fact.”

Harry thought he understood what was going on now, and by the pinched look on Draco’s face, it seemed that he did too. His voice was like ice. “And I, or my father, or the Malfoy Family as a whole, is who would normally be the Patron for these particular wizards and their wares, is that correct?”

Mr Ames looked grateful and amazed and proud all at once. His smile grew to astounding proportions. “Indeed, Heritor Lord Malfoy! Indeed. I assure you that we’d not bother you with this on a Sunday morning usually, but some of the ingredients the brothers are travelling with can be volatile if not stored correctly, and we didn’t wish to have them sitting in Arrivals for longer than absolutely necessary.”

Draco’s shoulders drew back even more than they had been. The Ministry official didn’t seem to notice either the movement, or the venom in Draco’s voice. “The brothers?”

“Yes,” Mr Ames flipped back to the first page of the papers in his hands, “Patricio and Emilio Medeiros.” He looked up, teeth gleaming, “Isn’t that a mouthful? I think I’m saying it right. But they’re originally from Cardiff, believe it or not!”

Draco was definitely unamused. “May I see their original papers, and a manifest of what it is that they are currently transporting? Then, if it is allowed, I will meet with them.”

“Of course, Heritor Lord Malfoy, of course! The patronage agreement is relatively old. I believe the most current version of it was signed by their grandfather or great grandfather, and yours.” Ames handed over a longish sheet of flat parchment, and then went back to his desk for a roll of the same.

Draco slipped on his glasses and then stood almost perfectly still as he read over what Harry thought was the original patronage contract, given the weak tea colour of it. When Draco looked up, the Ministry official handed him the much newer looking roll of parchment, apparently a list of the ingredients being presented for delivery.

Draco read it just as carefully.

“I can see your concern about some of these ingredients becoming unstable, Mr Ames.” He looked up at the man’s keen face. “How long have the Medeiros brothers been here? I’m assuming it’s not been more than an hour or so?”

Mr Ames nodded, “Yes, Heritor Lord Malfoy, you are correct! They began processing around two and a half hours ago. We notified you as soon as we were able. Though,” he paused, and unsurprisingly grinned a moment, “They have been here long enough for Emilio to receive some rather colourful owl post!”

Harry watched as Draco’s whole back stiffened even further, it was a wonder he’d not sprung back and snapped completely in half at this point. If Harry was nearer he was sure he’d be able to see the muscles standing out along the sides of Draco’s neck, or the veins beginning to bulge in the backs of his hands. Harry moved a little closer, relying on the fact that both of the men he was looking at were far too interested in their current task to realise they were being watched, and slipped along the wall towards them.

Harry saw Draco’s shoulders rise and fall, and what could probably could be called a business mask, or Malfoy face, fall into place. Draco offered the Ministry official a small smile of his own and tipped his head to one side before he spoke again. His voice had changed. It was calmer and sounded warmer. “Mr Ames, I wonder, is it possible for one to sign as a,” Malfoy seemed to search for his next word, “temporary or one-time Patron for a shipment such as this? I’ve no desire to keep you from your important work for longer than is necessary, but I’m sure you understand that I am hesitant to reinitiate a patronage contract without knowing exactly why the old one was apparently dissolved.”

Ames nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, yes Heritor Lord Malfoy! Of course. I assure you I do understand, it’s definitely a decision that shouldn’t be taken lightly, and I doubt I’ll have much more important work today!” He scrambled back around to the seat side of his desk and shuffled through the drawer once more. He gave up after a moment. He stood and looked at his desktop as if it might tell him where the form he needed was, and then it apparently did, as he sprang into action and turned sharply. “I’ll be back momentarily, sir.” He half bowed and scampered back into a corridor Harry hadn’t noticed before. Draco’s shoulders slumped, and he stepped towards the desk. He looked for a moment as if he might sit down, but didn’t. Perhaps he felt as if he’d not get up again if he did. He certainly looked tired enough.

The Ministry official wasn’t more than two or three minutes. Draco stood tall again as he saw the man around the corner.

“Here you are, Heritor Lord Malfoy. My apologies for the delay. Such formalities are usually taken care of before any items are imported, of course, but I see no reason not to go ahead and do it now.” He puffed his chest out a little, and Harry hoped that Mr Ames wasn’t doing something he’d get in trouble for tomorrow. He didn’t exactly seem the sort to break the rules, but then again, he did seem overly fond of using Draco’s mouthful of a full Title, and was perhaps a little, ah, in awe? It was strange to think that the man was probably earning more as an official here in Portkey Arrivals than Draco did in the Department of Mysteries, but still found it necessary and right to bow and scrape to a Titled Wizard. Harry decided he’d try to avoid coming to this part of the Ministry as himself rather than as James Evans. Mr Ames was the sort of bloke that might faint at the sight of the man who was not only The Boy Who Lived Twice but was  also now formally addressed as Lord Black.

Draco took the parchment when offered it, and looked it over as deliberately as he had the other pieces he’d read. “This is exactly what I was thinking of, Mr Ames. Thank you.” He nodded in a way that made it look as if he was bowing instead, then took off and pocketed his glasses as he said, “Where are the gentle-wizards and their cargo?”

Ames moved as quickly as he had when fetching the forms and ducked out in front of Draco. He walked quickly, but not so much that he wasn’t able to keep his body turned so as to still look as if his full attention was on Draco.

“They are in one of the shipment Portkey rooms, Heritor Lord Malfoy, this way. The goods are with them. The space isn’t large, but they insisted that they’d not leave the chests their ingredients are in. I believe Patricio Medeiros is the older of the two, and in charge. Emilio is the taller one. He received the post.” Draco almost lost step, but managed to not be seen by the man leading him. He looked straight ahead, chin held high.

Harry moved as smoothly as he could to keep up, glad that the Sunday morning foot traffic in this area of the Ministry wasn’t nil, but nothing that could be considered a crowd. He’d not been in this part of the building before and as they moved further Harry noted that the wall was lined with what were basically a row of big alcoves. Each was empty, and then not, as groups or lone travellers suddenly appeared. Most were gripping luggage or the hands of children, or both. Some of them looked as sick as Harry usually felt when he travelled by Portkey, and others seemed perfectly fine. He noticed that most brushed themselves off, checked their belongings or kids, and then headed out of the allocated spaces. If they dawdled an official would step in and move them along.

At the end of the hall were four alcoves that were significantly larger than the rest. Just one was in use. It held two dark haired wizards in their mid to late thirties who could only the Medeiros brothers. They had seven or eight large chests with them. Harry wondered momentarily how it was that they’d managed to travel with so much luggage. He leaned against the wall opposite and a little down from them, and hoped that he looked like he was waiting for someone arriving in one of the regular travel rooms.

Ames voice seemed extra cheerful in the face of one pissed off Draco and two time weary travellers. “Mr Medeiros and Mr Medeiros, thank you for your patience. I believe we should have you out of the building shortly.” He turned and motioned to Draco. “This is the Heritor Lord Malfoy, he is responsible for all of the Malfoy holdings and dealings.”

The slightly paler man stood up from the chest he was sitting on and stepped forward. He leaned forward just a little and bowed his head. “Mr Malfoy, thank you for coming to deal with this on a Sunday. I apologise for any plans we may have interrupted. My name is Patricio Medeiros. I am the current head of our family business. I’m sure you know that we’ve been sourcing and importing potions ingredients for your family for more than three hundred years.” He paused, as if to make a space between introductions and business, and then said, “I’ve had some time to think, but can’t figure any reason we are in this situation today.”

Draco nodded at him and then looked the man up and down. He noticeably did not look at the other brother, who was finally getting to his feet. When he stood up straight, Harry could see that the taller man had opened the owl post he’d received, folded the letter and shoved it half way into his robe pocket and thrown the envelope on the floor behind the chests. The yellow was as startling in this setting as it was in the other places Harry had seen it.

The Ministry official spoke up again. “I’m sure we can get this all sorted in due time, gentlemen.”

Emilio’s voice was deeper than his brothers, but had the same melodic lilt. He looked at the paperwork in Mr Ames’ hands with disapproval. “Is there much parchment to get through? I’d like to get home at some point today. There are some fire calls I have to make that won’t keep much longer than our goods, here.” Draco didn’t acknowledge Emilio. Patricio gave his brother a sharp look, but didn’t say anything. The younger sibling was peering at Ames’ pack of parchment with disgust, focussed on it rather than any of the people with him. His expression reminded Harry more of a petulant teenager than a grown man.

Draco finally spoke, again ignoring the second brother, “Has Mr Ames explained any of the situation regarding the ongoing patronage to you?”

Patricio glanced at the Ministry official and then nodded, “He said that the Malfoy name has been removed from our permits. And that without a Patron we unable to bring anything but ourselves into Britain. If you’ve seen our manifest you can understand that we are very much opposed to abandoning our cargo.” He motioned towards one of the trunks. “Not only is the shipment worth a fair number of galleons, but it also has some very difficult to come by items that I’m sure you don’t want us to leave to waste either, Mr Malfoy. Are you aware of why the patronage was withdrawn? I’m not even sure when it happened. We’ve been out of the country for close to three months and I know everything was in order before we left.”

Draco made an agreeing noise. “I certainly don’t wish to see any of your hard earned toil squandered. The waste of such potions ingredients would indeed be unfortunate.”

Patricio Medeiros looked honestly confused and definitely concerned, “Is there a reason our permits were changed, Mr Malfoy? We’ve not made any changes to our procedures or methods. I am happy to personally assure you that our wares are top quality and all completely legal.” Harry couldn’t see any lie in the wizard’s face.

The other brother just mostly seemed annoyed. Either Emilio somehow didn’t know that the Nathan Tronpe named in the Yellow Letter in his pocket was Draco Malfoy’s ex, or he was arrogant enough to believe that Draco wouldn’t know what was going on with that situation. Given the lean of his back against wall and the way he was picking at the fingers of one hand with those of the other, but avoiding looking at Draco? Harry thought there was a little guilt, but no worry. Emilio knew. It was likely that he just didn't care. Yet, he hadn’t seemed to make a connection between it and their current situation.

“I have my suspicions, Mr Medeiros.” Draco looked towards the Ministry official and took the parchment the man then offered. He refocused on Patricio. “Mr Ames has been kind enough to provide me with what I believe is a single use patronage contract. You can get home to your loved ones, I can take receipt of the items you’ve procured for me at the agreed price, and then we can investigate the reason for the original contract dissolving at a later time.”

“Single use, Mr Malfoy?” Patricio looked worried.

“I am a cautious wizard, Mr Medeiros. I am loathe to make serious decisions at such short notice. You will not need another contract for some time, I believe? I wouldn’t worry.”

Patricio seemed to accept that as an answer, and thanked Ames when he produced ink and quill for them to use on the parchment. He signed first, and moved to hand it to his brother.

Draco spoke quickly and quietly, “That won’t be necessary. One signature will be more than sufficient for this contract.”

Emilio sighed loudly, and spoke around the finger he had graduated from picking at to chewing the edge of. “So I’m not needed here? It would have been nice if I’d been told that two hours ago.”

Draco stiffened again. He took the quill and gripped it so hard that it looked as if it could shatter any moment, but otherwise he appeared calm. His voice was another matter, his words clipped and his tone sharp. “It would be nice if you’d take your fingers out of your mouth while speaking to your employer, also. Merlin only knows where you’ve had them.”

Patricio winced and gave his brother another withering glare. Whether he agreed with Draco’s statement or not, he was obviously worried about the way Emilio was behaving in front of the man who probably bought most of their wares.

Emilio stilled and looked at the envelope on the floor and then at Draco fully for the first time. His expression began to change to one of understanding and petulance, rather than just petulance. “Is that what this is about? Is that why we’ve been here, risking our hard earned for the last few hours? For Merlin’s sake!”

His brother looked from him to Draco and back again. “What are you talking about, Emil?”

“Nothing, Pat. Just sign the damn forms, get the galleons, and we can get out of here.”

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, or perhaps it was the sarcasm it was said with that did the damage. Malfoy’s entire countenance changed, and his voice went from sharp to flat and cold. “I’m afraid, Mr Medeiros, that I’m changing the terms of this agreement.” He scratched out something and wrote in its place. “For my trouble today I’m sure you’d agree to reduced compensation for your goods. I’m prepared to pay you a full seventy-five percent of the original price.” He looked directly into the older Medeiros’ eyes.

Patricio looked shocked, but cautious. He spoke carefully. “Mr Malfoy, the goods are still in perfect order, there is no reason for them to be worth less than they’ve been quoted at. I’d be more than happy to negotiate a different fee for future shipments, but for this one I don’t know how I could agree with good conscience.” He shook his head. “I might understand you asking for a small discount, but twenty-five percent is a very serious penalty.”

Emilio snorted and almost laughed. “Why should we be surprised, Pat? It isn’t as if the Malfoys wouldn’t have indulged themselves with changing contracts before. Rich guys always take whatever liberties they choose.”

The retort was out of Draco’s mouth before Harry could shift his gaze to him. “Perhaps you should have been more careful about how you indulged yourself and who you took liberties with, Mr Medeiros.” He gestured openly towards the yellow parchment in Emilio’s pocket, and Harry held his breath. This was not good, he couldn’t see anyone else paying particular attention to the conversation, but if Harry could see it, so could others. Draco continued, not lowering his voice or even attempting to be discrete. “Perhaps you’d like to inform your brother of just what and who you did to endanger your family’s centuries old contract?”

Patricio Medeiros looked completely lost as he responded to Draco’s words. He looked back and forth between Draco and his brother, “I don’t understand what’s happening here. Emil, what is Mr Malfoy talking about? Is that letter what this is all about? What did you do?” Harry forced himself to let out his breath and take another.

Emilio shoved the yellow parchment further into his pocket and sneered at his brother and the others. “The letter is personal. It’s nothing to do with any of this. I didn’t do anything to do with the business.” He stepped to the side a little and put his back against the wall again. He looked like a cornered animal. For the first time in the conversation Harry took a moment to look at the three strangers and figure out how they carried their wands. Draco’s wand arm hadn’t gone through its tell-tale twitch, and no one else’s had either. In Harry’s experience though, it was better to be ready too early than react too late.

Draco straightened his shoulders and spine and sneered right back, but his wand arm stayed at his side. “Oh, your brother definitely did something personal. He just neglected to realise that the different parts of one’s life are rarely able to be divided into separate little boxes.” He signed the parchment he had in his hand, and gave it to Mr Ames. Mr Ames, despite the conversation, was still smiling. Draco nodded at him, “If Mr Medeiros is amenable, file that immediately and have the goods delivered to the usual place in the usual manner. If not, it’s his choice as to how to proceed at this point. Thank you for your assistance, Mr Ames.” He took a step back and half bowed to the man, then turned and faced the older of the two brothers again. He looked calmer now, but still angry. “Rest assured, Mr Medeiros, I will have no issue doing business with your family in the future, and I will be sure to make up for your lower profit this time with more than generous increases in any subsequent deals we make. It will be entirely dependent on your brother not being included in any part of the process, however. That will be stipulated in any further contract that we enter into.” He bowed fully this time. “Good day to you.”

Harry watched Draco stride away, and only breathed out fully when his robes were no longer visible from where he was standing. He saw no one else obviously observing the situation, but if they had seen the Heritor Lord Malfoy’s near meltdown they’d likely already be off reporting it to the reporter who’d want to know. Harry wondered just how long it would take Skeeter to get it published.

The rest of Harry’s Sunday was definitely no longer simple. He would now be giving Lady Malfoy good news, that Nathan Tronpe was finally no longer in the British Isles, and possibly bad news, that the rest of the wizarding world may only have hours before they knew just why her son’s ex fiancé had left. He really wasn’t sure about that bit. He waited a few minutes, and followed Draco’s path out to where the nearest apparition zone was. He needed advice. He headed home so he could make a floo-call to, or maybe visit, Hermione.

✦✦✦

Draco’s Sunday night shower was far longer than he would usually allow himself. He felt as if the stink of the day had sunk into his pores and needed to be scrubbed out. He’d been in his potions lab all afternoon, and the odours of some of the things he’d worked with didn’t seem to want to leave his skin or hair or nose. He’d brewed until lunch, then unpacked, labelled and inspected the items Patricio Medeiros had apparently decided he would sell to the Malfoys after all. Draco tried not to focus on the fact that he’d deprived a hard working family of the money they were owed by changing their fee agreement. He would make good on his promise to reimburse the wizard and his company somehow during their future deals. He doubted that the Medeiros Family, no matter how loyal they felt towards Emilio, would want to have to find another Patron. It would not be an easy task, buyers such as the Malfoys were few and far between. Draco had basically left the elder of the two wizards with no choice but to cut his brother out of the company. He wondered if Charlie and George would have been as accepting of him at Hermione and Luna’s party if Ron had caused the same kind of issues with their family purse. He shook off the idea as he slipped into his pyjamas.

Draco had avoided his mother when he’d returned from the morning’s annoying outing to the Ministry. She was apparently happy to give him his space, although she had insisted, via the elves, that he eat properly at lunch and dinner. He was lucky to have her. He’d try to think of some way to make all this up to her once everything settled down again. He had no idea what he could do to even start to achieve that, however.

He sat on the edge of his bed and looked at his bare toes as he sipped at a hot chocolate laced with his Dreamless Sleep. The last few mouthfuls were bitter with the potion. He’d need to stop taking the full dose soon, as per the Healer’s orders. It was good that he had it tonight, though.

When he finally laid himself back and felt his eyes begin to close he had a thought that, if not for the potion, would have jolted him back into a fully awake state. He’d announced a link between the Yellow Letters and himself today. He’d announced the link, and he’d done it in a public place. Any idea of the consequences of that, though, didn’t have time to form before he slipped out of consciousness.

✦✦✦

Strange Happenings Abound
Daily Prophet
Monday January 12, 2004
Lesar Meek - Junior Political Correspondent

Yesterday evening the Daily Prophet was contacted by a senior member of the Wizengamot, the Wizard in charge of the War Reparations Committee, Member Pembroke Pettybourne.

In response to this reporter’s column yesterday about Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Mr Pettybourne wished to make his office’s position clear. He noted that the unusual vault movements recorded by the bank were not the only strange happenings since the turn of the New Year. He pointed to the recent slew of upheavals in the British and Irish Quidditch League, an unusual uptick in real estate turnover, and several other things as being of concern to the stability of the British Wizarding community. He stated that there may be reason yet to launch an investigative enquiry to establish if the happenings were in any way linked.

✦✦✦

Draco gripped his workbench and hoped that Granger wasn’t too far away. He expected that she was in her office, though. It was Monday, and if Fridays at the Ministry were about getting in all the meetings you could before the weekend, Mondays were full of parchment and reports and endless pots of ink. She’d probably be thinking about sharpening her quill at this point in the morning. It was generally a near non-stop flow of owls and memos until about lunchtime. It wasn’t quite eleven now. He really, really hoped she was having a normal kind of Monday.

She’d once confided in him that although she loved that the wizarding world had such brilliant ways of getting information around so quickly, she didn’t like that interoffice memos could be so annoying in their persistence. He’d hoped the fact that he’d managed to charm the one he’d sent her a bright red would be enough to get her attention. He was starting to worry that it hadn’t. It seemed forever since he’d sent it. Straight after he did it he’d flung his wand to the floor, afraid of what more he might do with it in his hands. He’d been staring at it guiltily since.

Granger’s office was only at the other end of the corridor. It was a mostly dark, usually quite empty hallway. The Department of Mysteries was a utilitarian space, in the offices and between them. There weren’t random people down here chatting to each other, or chairs where people sat to wait and read newspapers. She should have been here by now. Draco was about to reach out and summon his wand when he heard her. It could only be her. There were fast footsteps echoing against the hard Ministry walls and floors, then a buzz of resistance and the silence of the multi-purpose disarming charm all Unspeakables used working to release his wards.

Granger, as formidable as she was tiny, stepped through the door with her wand up and ready.

Draco watched her face as she scanned the room. It was a mess. Draco’s office was usually like all the others in this department, functional and neat. He couldn’t quite imagine what she thought she was seeing in front of her. His space was quite empty still, but it might appear to have been torn apart by something, perhaps. There were scorch marks on the wall and floor and ceiling, and great pieces burnt out of his workbench. Her eyes landed on him a moment, then skipped over to where his quill lay next to a toppled ink pot, it’s dark contents slowly dripping on to the floor from the edge of the bench and into an expanding puddle.

Draco wondered if she could see just how hard he was holding onto the workbench. He wondered if she could see he was shaking.

“What in Merlin's name did this, Malfoy? The memo said you had a level eight containment issue.” She drew in a deep breath and raked her eyes over everything again. Her gaze landed on the small, ornate box he’d been working on. It had been under a standard localised Protego charm when things got out of hand. She looked back at his face, and he hoped he could see the terror he was feeling. “What’s the level eight artefact? What do you need help containing?”

When he finally found his voice, Draco felt as if he sounded like a frightened ten-year-old. “Me. It’s me. I need containment,” he spluttered.

Granger’s face transformed into something flat, neutral. “You?”

Draco felt such a fool. He couldn’t hide in front of her, though. “Yes. I, I can’t risk picking up my wand again. I’m afraid of what might set me off.” He swallowed hard enough that Hermione watched his adam’s apple move. “I.” His jaw was tight, and he moved his hands a little and gripped onto the workbench again. “I did this because of a flitterby moth that was in the box.”

The look on Granger’s face said she couldn’t quite grasp that. Draco knew she thought of him as calm. She’d once called him analytical to the core. Right now she was trying to parse the situation and it wasn’t working for her. She looked at the blast marks on the wall, then at the ink on the floor, and her eyes were drawn to his wand. Draco felt disgusted that he’d thrown it. As with most wizards he felt as attached to his wand as he did to his hands or feet. To see it lying there on the stone hopefully helped Granger realise just how bad this situation was. She flicked her eyes up at him, and back at the wand, then spoke.

“Draco, I’m asking you this because you’ve said you're concerned and I want to help ease that, so we can get to the bottom of this.” She waited a moment and he half-nodded. “Would it be okay with you if I summoned your wand? I think we’d both feel calmer if it wasn’t on the floor.”

Draco felt his arms flex as he gripped the bench even harder, and tried to pull his mouth into a kind of agreeable smile. He didn’t think it worked. He nodded though, and said, “Yes. Please.”

Hermione looked at the wand, and then back up at Draco as it moved slowly to her hand. “I’m going to put it in my wand holster. It will be safe, and you know I will return it as soon as we’ve got this sorted. All right?”

“I, yes.” His voice was weak and he was still shaking, but he felt a little better once his wand was out of sight.

Hermione gave him a small smile. “Is that better?” He nodded again. “Good. Now, you said there was a moth?”

Draco looked down and pursed his lips and rubbed them together for a count of three or four. He stilled a moment and then looked up before he spoke. “It sounds utterly ridiculous. Yes, there was a flitterby. There often are when I’m dealing with a sealed container or something similar.” Hermione nodded at him to continue. “I. It was fine. They usually come out of the item and fly around a bit and then disappear. Sometimes they’ll still be in here at the end of the day, but if they are they sit near the candles or find someplace dark to hide, depending on what kind of flitterby they are. This one didn’t.” He breathed in long, but not hard. “It didn’t do what any kind of flitterby usually does. It kept flying around my head like a cross between a lunatic office memo and an exceedingly amorous Cornish pixie.” He looked down again and sighed frustration.

“And you blasted it?” She couldn’t seem keep her voice completely flat. It simply wasn’t doable. He could understand, it was an absurd situation. She breathed in and out, and on the exhale suddenly looked as if she was channelling a wise old house-elf used to dealing with over enthusiastic children.

He was still speaking quietly, but his words felt stronger. “Several times.”

“Well,” she breathed in and paused. “Was it the object?” She tipped her head at the little box.

Draco said, “I don’t think so. As far as I could tell it places a steady state, long term, stupification charm on whatever is placed in it. That the moth I was firing at was inert until I got it out of the box convinced me.” He sounded more like himself now. He could concentrate on being more like the usual Malfoy giving a report on a cursed item, not the idiot apparently so frustrated by a pest that he thought he should try to vapourise it.

Hermione hummed, than said, “Would you mind if I scanned it, and you? Something may have changed that you weren’t able to detect originally.” She sounded tentative, as if she was concerned he’d take it as an insult to his abilities. Once upon a time he might have. Right now though he couldn’t think of a better person to be checking his work for errors.

He managed to sound at least somewhat gracious when he answered, “Please do.”

She stepped closer. She ran scans over the box first, and seemed to decide that he was correct. She asked, “Where you planning on simply removing the curse on it, or changing the function?”

Draco almost snorted, she was trying to distract him. He raised his eyebrows in a way that would hopefully show her that he knew exactly what she was doing with that question. “I don’t see any point in trying to change it. I have no idea why someone would put such a curse on a box of this size to begin with. Although,” and well, it was working a little, even if he knew her plan, “It could have conceivably been a practice item? Perhaps I should alert the Aurors that the family who owned it may have a bigger version somewhere.”

Hermione’s lips almost curled into a smile, then her affect went flat again and she said, “I’m going to check you now, Draco. Is that still all right?”

He nodded and stayed very still as she turned and faced him. She took only half a step, looked him in the eye once more, and seeing no objection, proceeded. She started with the standard spells, and moved on to a few that most witches and wizards had never heard of, let alone learnt how to cast. She could apparently find nothing malignant, but she had that look on her face that said there was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She breathed in and out and her shoulders rose and fell. She looked up again with a solid question in her eyes. She’d thought of something.

“Draco, and I apologise for prying, but are you currently taking any potions?”

He was a little taken aback, but answered anyway. “I’ve been taking Dreamless Sleep, with the knowledge of my Healer, for just over a week.”

“Dreamless Sleep?” Hermione’s eyes darted up and down. “That’s basically Lavender, Flobberworm Mucus, Valerian and Sophorous Bean, yes?”

“And a few other things, depending on the brewer,” Draco replied.

“You are the brewer in this case, of course.” He made an agreeing noise, and she continued, “And what exactly are your few other things?”

He relaxed his grip on the workbench, finally, but didn’t let go. “Asphodel Stamens, rather than petals, about half as much Nettle Essence as most people use, and an equal amount of Freely Given Faery Wing Dust for an extra calm feeling.” None of which could be reacting to anything that was in that little box. The wood was cedar, and the flitterby was the most common form there was.

Hermione looked as if she was sifting through a list in her brain, ticking off the main basic qualities of each ingredient. “And you’ve not taken anything else in that time?”

Draco paused, but said, “I had Veritaserum the night that I began taking the Dreamless Sleep, but I made sure that it was out of my system before I took the sleeping draught. And I can think of nothing in either that would have reacted to each other, especially with more than a week’s delay.”

Now Hermione looked as if she was wrestling with something more difficult than a list in her head. Her voice changed, it was still no-nonsense, but it seemed warmer. “Have you had any other incidences of, well, snappiness before this, Draco? You seemed your normal, calm self at our place on Saturday afternoon.”

Draco thought of the way he’d behaved because of the importers yesterday. He didn’t quite hide the wince that crossed his face. Hermione didn’t seem to react. His words were stilted, “I, yesterday I woke in a foul mood, and the day only got worse. I,” he looked sideways and then back at her again, “I reacted to a situation, involving other wizards, quite badly. I think snappiness is a bit of an understatement, really.”

They both looked at the scorch marks on the walls.

She waited a few beats then said, “I think, perhaps, that your Faery Wing Dust is what’s causing you to snap.”

Draco blinked. It was the only thing he’d ingested recently that could cause any kind of tension in his system, but, “That would only happen if I had something like Bifurcated Mugworm in my system, and I’ve never, to my knowledge, ingested such a thing.”

Hermione tilted her head to the side, and then Draco saw something connect behind her eyes. “But if you were exposed to something that interacted with the Faery Wing Dust, it would reverse the desired effects, yes? And its negative aspect is definitely one of extreme irritability.”

Draco’s forehead wrinkled. “That I will concede, but I honestly can’t think of anything that I’ve been exposed to recently that might do it. I’ve not been to, or done, anything out of the ordinary.”

She actually smiled. “You are far more qualified than I am to deal with a question of potions ingredients, Draco.” She bit her lip from the inside, something he’d learnt she did when she was worried about speaking up in meetings. “Perhaps you should get checked out by a Healer?”

Draco considered it for a moment. He couldn’t see how she could be right, but he couldn’t think of any other possible explanation for the whole thing, either. “It would likely be a sensible approach to the situation, yes. However,” he couldn’t believe he was about to say this to Hermione Granger, the brains and beauty of the Golden Trio, “I don’t know that I’d trust myself to go alone at the moment. I don’t wish to alarm my mother, however. I, um.”

Thankfully Hermione wasn't going to make him actually say it. “I’d be more than happy to accompany you to the hospital, Draco. I don’t want to hear that something unfortunate has happened.”

Draco felt his cheeks heat. “Thank you, Hermione. However, I see a private Healer, in the alley opposite Madam Puddifoot’s. Ex-Death Eaters aren’t particularly welcome at St Mungos, no matter how many or how generous the contributions they make.” He clenched his fists and felt as if he might snarl if he said anything more. They should leave as soon as possible.

It was a good thing Hermione could see it too. She started speaking as fast as Potter did when he got nervous. “Your Healer is in Hogsmeade? Wonderful. That’s easy. Should we head to the apparition point on the second floor? It’s closer, but the one on the fifth won’t be as busy. I’ll follow your lead.” She nodded towards the door.

✧✧✧

Healer Wandwiggen had needed little persuasion to fit Draco in as an emergency appointment. One mention of the fact that he was, at this moment, having a friend carry his wand for him for fear of what he might do with it, and her receptionist had shuffled times and sent a pair of waiting patients for luncheon across the way. As the two women had walked towards the tea house the secretary had floo’d Madam Puddifoot’s to inform them that Healer Wandwiggen would be footing their bill. Draco had winced at the idea, and asked Hermione to remind him to pay for it as they left. She’d nodded in reply.

Hermione had been composed and thoughtful throughout the entire thing. She’d sat without asking and promised to wait when the Healer had opened her door to invite Draco inside. She’d patted at her arm holster with an expression that said she’d guard his wand with her honour. He had no doubt that she would. He had no idea what he’d have done without her in this situation.

Healer Wandwiggen had run the standard tests on Draco before letting him say a word, and then asked for a detailed description of everything he could think of that had led him to the spot he was currently in. He told her that after a pleasant Saturday he’d gone to bed very tired, but feeling quite relaxed, in the evening. So much so, in fact, that he’d considered not taking his now reduced dose of Dreamless Sleep. He had anyway, not wanting to lose the content feeling to nightmares. He had of course slept well.

He’d awoken in a ghastly mood on Sunday, and his pique had been growing steadily since. Every little thing grated on him: Every word others spoke, every noise he heard, every action people or things around him took seemed designed to feed his exasperation. It was less embarrassing telling the Healer about his confrontation with the flitterby than it had been telling Hermione, but it was nevertheless uncomfortable story to recount. He felt such a fool, but his concern overrode even that. He could feel his annoyance mounting at himself, if not anyone else. He breathed in as deeply as he could, and the Healer waited.

She spoke quietly when she asked, “And your friend, Hermione, has your wand currently?” She was scratching notes with a quill that looked as if it might be older than Draco. He wondered why he’d never noticed it before, and how she could stand to hold something that must be as filthy as it was. He nodded his head.

“Yes. I’m lucky that I work with someone I feel I can trust.” Draco found it difficult, at this moment, to look directly at Madam Wandwiggen, but he attempted to anyway.

“Well, if you were to choose a trustworthy someone, I’m sure Miss Granger would be high on the list of many.” The Healer looked up from her notes properly and smiled at him. It was soft, but real. “You said that the two of you discussed what might have caused you to lose control, and came to the very tentative conclusion that it could be because of an interaction with the Freely Given Faery Wing Dust you use in your brewing. I would have to concur.”

He’d already explained, though, “I’ve not even been in contact with Bifurcated Mugworm for years, let alone ingested it.” Draco shook his head and sighed as he spoke. It was the only explanation, he understood that, but it was also quite impossible. Healer Wandwiggen stood and went to the bookshelf on the other side of her room. He’d never seen her consult a text before. It did nothing good for his stress level to see her need to now.

“I think we may be dealing with something akin to Bifurcated Mugworm, rather than that particular ingredient itself.” She sat, then laid the tome on the table carefully and opened it to the index. She ran her wand tip down the lists, that Draco couldn’t read at the angle he was looking from, and finally came to a stop. She turned to a page around two thirds of the way through the book, and then read for a few minutes in near silence. Draco could see her moving her lips every now and then, but not hear any words she was murmuring. She turned again and looked at him. “Have you studied many of the New World ingredients, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco shook his head. “I would have if I’d taken a formal apprenticeship. As it is I’ve textbooks and memories to work with. Perhaps once the Ministry sees fit to release me from their service.” He felt his jaw beginning to tense and flexed his fingers. He told himself to relax, but it was a nearly impossible task.

The Healer whispered something definite this time as she flicked her hand at him. He relaxed. “That spell shouldn’t interfere with anything that you’ve been given. We use it with little ones when they start fussing in here. It won’t last however.” She smiled at him again, and Draco found himself smiling back, despite just being told he was being treated like a toddler. It was an odd feeling. “Well, if you’ve not studied that specific group of exotics, then you’ll not have heard of the North American Toothed Tubeworm. It’s not closely related to the European Bifurcated Mugworm, according to this author,” she gestured at the book, “but apparently it’s ground fangs have quite the same effect when added to a potion. It has similar interactions and contraindications, also.” She passed the book to him and pointed at the relevant passage.

Draco read it as she fetched another book. He put it back on her desk and muttered, “I see.” Which he did, but had even less of an idea of how he could have been anywhere near the teeth of a North American anything. Although… He tensed again as an awful idea hit him. But no, it couldn’t be possible.

“The question would be, of course,” the book she put down on the desk this time was smaller, but of a similar age to the other, if it’s cracked leather binding was any indication, “How exactly you came have contact with this particular beast’s ground up fangs. I’m hoping this book has the answers.” She looked at him carefully, and smiled again. “Mr Tronpe is American, I believe?”

Draco closed his eyes, breathed in, and opened them again. He breathed out, then answered. “Yes, his family is from the very south. He grew up in between Florida and Cuba, I believe.”

“Then this is the book for us.” She tapped its cover once, and then went through the same process as before, scanning the index and then reading the appropriate pages slowly. “There is a potion from that general region that I’ve heard of but not actually seen in practice. It’s not something one would expect in Europe or Britain. I doubt if I could find a recorded case here, to be honest. Those who brew it call it Lin de Myèl Preparasyon. We would probably go with Nuptiis Concoctio.”

Draco thought a moment to translate it. “A Honeymoon Elixir?”

Healer Wandwiggen nodded. “Yes. It’s designed to make the affected blind to the faults of the one who gives it to them. It can be administered via ingestion or contact. It was once tested for in certain areas of the world before all nuptials to make certain the participants had not been persuaded with it. I believe the most common ways to give it are in gifts of alcohol, on clothes or bed sheets, or in perfumes or cologne.”

Draco swallowed. Then he could hear himself speaking, but it didn’t sound like his voice. “He used the latter. He gave it to me not long after we began seeing each other. He said the sharp, spicy scent reminded him of me. I threw it out with everything else a day or two after I found out about his…” He let his words fade away, she knew, he didn’t have to explain again.

She glanced at her notes, then looked back at him. Her voice was soft and slow, “That was the Friday before last, yes? The day you first visited me concerning the situation. And you had stopped using it just before you threw it away?” He made agreeing noises. “So you’d had eight or nine doses of the Dreamless Sleep before you showed any signs of the interaction?”

He counted in his head. “Nine doses, yes.” He wondered aloud, even though he knew what the answer would be, “If I’d not taken Dreamless Sleep this past Saturday night, would it have prevented this reaction?”

She spoke more clearly now, “No, Mr Malfoy. If you’d not taken it more than once or twice, then you may not have had this severe a reaction. You would have, after a few weeks without exposure, had a grouchy fortnight or two, but nothing more. Victims of potions such as this generally think they’re just upset after a breakup. It’s a fairly insidious process, using this concoction on someone. It is so effective and so difficult to detect without testing for the Elixir directly. It can be hard work for the person doing the dosing, as it needs to be consistently given. On the other hand, after a few days it all but leaves the system and its presence can be inferred, but never proven.”

Draco understood, basically, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t making sense. How could he have been exposed to something like this for two years and not have known? “May I borrow that book, Madam Wandwiggen? I wouldn’t usually ask, and I can assure you I’ll take good care of it, I just need to try to understand a little more.”

“Yes, Mr Malfoy. If you are comfortable sharing the information with Miss Granger, I’m sure she’d be a good study companion.” Draco was quite certain the Healer was correct, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to tell Hermione, or anyone, exactly what was going on. He blinked the idea away as Madam Wandwiggen closed the volume and handed it to him. She sounded like her no nonsense Healer self, now.

“We have two or three things to consider at this point. Firstly, you need to cease your consumption of Dreamless Sleep immediately. Secondly, I’m going to give you a non-standard recipe Patience Draught. I can give you enough now to last you a few days, and I’ll have my assistant owl you the name of a supplier where you can purchase more. None of its ingredients are particularly difficult to source, but it takes around a month and a half to brew, so you’ll not be able to make it for yourself unfortunately. I’m going to suggest you continue taking it for at least three full weeks.” She stood once more and opened a cooling cupboard with a fairly strong locking spell on it.

Draco’s throat was dry, and each word he forced out now seemed to scratch his tongue. “Is there anything else?”

She put seven vials of a shimmering cobalt blue liquid in a small pouch and walked back to the desk. “It needs to be kept cool, but it can be stored with food safely.” She handed them to Draco and he balanced the little bag on the book on his knee as she sat down again. She looked him in the eyes. “There is an important something else, a good something else, I’d say, but you don’t need to absorb all of this now. I’m going to hazard a guess that you’ve not felt as sad or hurt as you thought you should be feeling after the breakup of a serious, long term relationship? You may have brushed the idea aside and told yourself that of course you were upset, that you were just numb still.”

Draco didn’t nod, but he felt more than recognition of what she was saying, it was familiar and right. He’d thought himself cold or insensible at the brunch the other day. If she was right, then maybe he had been neither.

She continued, “You aren’t numb. You have been angry, but that has been a combination of what I’ll call actual, righteous anger, and a gradually increasing potion interaction induced anger. You probably haven’t actually been sad. And, although you might think otherwise, your heart probably isn’t going to ache. You’ve lost someone, but the potion made you blind to his faults by preventing most of the development of the emotions you had surrounding him. That also includes the good emotions. You may have liked him, but, and it might be hard to hear, you didn’t get the chance to love him.”

Draco had no response. He couldn’t string words together in his mind, and there was no way he was going to manage it in his mouth. He looked at her and moved his head in a way that he hoped conveyed to her that he accepted what she was saying, but simply couldn’t, well, do anything at this point.

Madam Wandwiggen seemed to understand. “You’ve seven vials there. I want you take two this afternoon, and then one in the morning and one twelve hours later for the next full fortnight. You won’t be going back to work today. I’d recommend you are escorted home, and then have the potion as soon as you are able. You won’t sleep, as such, but after the double dose you will not be in any state to make decisions or function much beyond eating and resting. If you have access to Muggle television or one of their dee-vee-dee things, now would be the perfect time to make use of it. I doubt you’ll be able to even read. I am going to suggest that you take tomorrow off, too.”

To this, Draco managed an actual nod. The Healer stood and he followed her lead. He may not have been feeling numb up until today, but that was the sensation that was beginning to settle over him at this point. He clutched his little bag of medicine and fell into step behind her as she walked out into her waiting room.

“Miss Granger,” Madam Wandwiggen nodded her head in a bow of greeting, “Are you free for a little longer?”

Draco’s breath caught when Hermione began to shake her head. “I’m afraid not, I’ve a meeting in around ten minutes that can’t be put off.” She turned and looked at him instead. “I hope you don’t mind, Draco, I sent Harry a message asking if he could come. I didn’t know if you’d need help, but I did know that he was free this afternoon. If it’s not okay with you for him to, um,” she looked at her arm, where his wand was still holstered, “take care of everything? I’m sure he can at least sit with you until we contact your mother.” She looked earnest, and truly concerned.

Draco found his voice, finally. “I’d be happy for him to assist.”

Hermione’s face relaxed and she let out a half breath. “Good, good. I take it that you aren’t coming back to the Ministry this afternoon?”

Draco simply looked at his Healer, and she graciously explained in his stead. She mentioned nothing of the source or type of potion that he’d been surreptitiously given, but confirmed that their conclusion about the Faery Wing Dust had been correct. Hermione was nodding along with the explanation when Harry appeared at the door. The two witches who’d been sent across to Madam Puddifoot’s for tea followed him in, both looking at him a little more carefully than they would most wizards. Their presence reminded Draco that he needed to reimburse the Healer for her having to pay for sweet tea and iced cupcakes.

Healer Wandwiggen greeted Harry with the same head bow she had Hermione. “Good afternoon, Lord Black.”

Harry’s nose wrinkled ever so slightly, it was obvious that he didn’t like that form of address. Draco couldn’t actually recall having heard his old classmate referred to as that in public. He doubted many people knew Harry had the Title.

“Good afternoon, Madam Healer.” Harry nodded at her as he spoke, and the two witches who were now taking their seats seem to decide that the man they were looking at couldn’t be Harry Potter if the Healer was addressing him as Lord Black. His long shaggy fringe helped. Madam Wandwiggen smiled softly, a slightly conspiratorial glint in her eye, and Hermione’s expression matched it.

“Ladies,” the receptionist nodded at the waiting witches and they stood again and walked into the Healer’s room. Madam Wandwiggen turned to follow, but farewelled them each as she did. “Heritor Lord Malfoy, Unspeakable Granger, Lord Black. Good afternoon.” She bowed properly, and followed the women into her office and closed the door.

Draco looked down at his shoes a moment, and collected his thoughts. He could do this. First he needed to make certain his fee for this would include payment for his visit, the luncheon, the potions, and the inconvenience he’d caused the Healer. Then he could ready himself for having to watch one of the Golden Trio hand his wand to another of the Golden Trio so that the second, once his nemesis, could accompany him home.

“Madam,” he began, looking up at the receptionist and mustering as much of a smile as he could. The witch was wearing an overly ornamental robe for the situation, and more perfume than she should have used in a week. He knew, however, that she was horribly efficient, and quite trustworthy, both qualities that he should admire and appreciate in someone who worked in the place where he came at his most vulnerable. He tried to focus on that. “I’d like to settle my account for this afternoon, if I may. I’d like to cover the cost of sending your other patients for tea, also.”

She shook her head, and Draco gritted his teeth as the lace on the collar of her robe moved with her. He tried to look only at her face. “Mr Malfoy, in emergency cases, such as yours today, we are happy to settle at a later time. Though I’m sure Madam Wandwiggen will refuse your kind offer and will only take payment only for services rendered and the potions provided. Either way, she will owl you an account to be paid at your convenience.”

Usually Draco would argue and offer galleons on the spot, but today he knew that it wouldn’t be worth it, and could possibly cause more issues than solve. He stammered out a less than refined thank you, and turned to face Hermione and Harry.

“So, we’re heading to your place, Draco?” Harry had his own wand in his hand, and slipped it into his back pocket as he spoke. He watched Draco’s eyes and apparently saw him realise that he and Hermione had already done the handover of his wand. “I can make a wizard’s oath to return it, if you’d feel more comfortable.”

“No, it’s, it’s fine.” Draco said, and it was fine. He thought he’d feel more distressed about Harry having his wand, again, but apparently that part of their past was long enough ago for it to no longer bother him.

“I’m sorry to have to leave you, Draco,” Hermione said, she turned and started walking out the door to the street, but looked between him and Harry as she did so. “But you know what Nigel Popplewell is like about changing plans.” She held the door open, and shut it behind them as they exited the building. “If Harry wasn’t available I’d run the gauntlet and insist on rearranging with Picky Popple, but if you’re okay with it then this is definitely easier.”

Harry piped up, “And I’m happy to help. We can apparate, or we could floo if you’d prefer?” His cheeks coloured. “Unless you don’t want me knowing your floo address, of course. Which is perfectly understandable, really.” He glanced at Hermione, as if she might save him. She just stifled what was probably a horribly girlish giggle.

Draco rolled his eyes, “It’s fine for you to know our floo address, Harry. It isn’t exactly a secret, and besides, I doubt you’d abuse the privilege.” He resisted scuffing at the ground with his shoe. It was an old, old habit that he thought his father had hexed out of him before he’d gone to Hogwarts. Apparently though it was still there. He realised he was staring at his feet, and looked back up at the others before he spoke. “I’d prefer to apparate, however, if it’s alright with you?” Draco had no desire to go into any of the businesses in the area to use a floo and thereby announce to the wizarding world at large that he was heading home in the middle of the day, with Harry Potter. Skeeter would send him flowers.

“No worries,” said Harry.

“Well, that’s settled,” Hermione added, and nodded for effect. “I’ll let them know you are out for the rest of the day, and possibly tomorrow, Draco. I’ll tell them you’ve caught a 24-hour hex or something from that little box you were working on.”

He stumbled on his words again, but managed a, “Thank you,” before they reached the street’s apparition zone. Moments later Hermione was gone, and Harry was holding out his arm. Draco took it without hesitation.

✦✦✦

Harry was secretly quite glad that Draco had asked to be apparated rather than wanting to travel by floo. Not only was Harry still horrifically clumsy with floo travel, especially when he was nervous, but he also didn’t really want to be seen heading to Malfoy Manor, with Draco Malfoy, in the middle of the day. The gossip around it would be insane, and given Draco’s little outburst at the Ministry the day before, the less chance there was for extra publicity, the better.

Draco had taken Harry’s arm easily when offered, and they’d landed in front of the Manor’s gates soon after. Harry knew that the huge complex was now home to dozens of people and quite a large number of other beings, but in the winter landscape the place looked deserted. The gates opened by themselves, and an elf appeared after they’d taken a handful of steps inside the fence line.

“Master Draco is being here early.” The elf, Moxy, bowed low to Draco and then turned his eye on Harry.

Draco’s voice sounded stronger than it had at the Healer’s office. Being home was likely a good thing. “Moxy, this is Mr Potter.”

The elf bowed again, just as low. “Lord Black, sir, is being welcome.”

Harry dipped his head. He wondered if the elves of Malfoy Manor were free or still indentured or something in between. It wasn’t a conversation to have now, however.

Harry followed as Draco began walking again and said, “Moxy, would you please inform Mother that I am home. I believe she’ll be out on one of her walks at the moment.”

“Yes, Master Draco. The Mistress is being walking on the east side of the lake. Moxy is fetching her for you.” The last word was barely out of Moxy’s mouth before there was a crack and he was gone.

Draco sighed, “I hope he doesn’t alarm her.”

Harry smiled. “I’m sure that your mum won’t be stressed by an elf. She might be a little worried about you being home early, though?”

Draco veered off to the side of the house, avoiding the front entrance completely. He nodded as he stepped up to a dark wooden door, “Yes. I’m sure she will be.” The door opened, and Harry saw that they were in the front hallway of what must be the private wing of the Manor. As James Evans he’d only ever floo’d to their main guest chamber, not come to their new front door. Draco took a few more steps inside and put the book he was carrying on a high side table. Moments later there was the sound of an elf apparating into a room off to their left. Narcissa Malfoy strode towards them. She was wearing trousers and some kind of hiking boots, which neither Harry nor James Evans had ever seen before. She looked as perfectly put together as always, though.

She began speaking before she’d completely made it into the entrance where they were still standing, “Draco, darling. Are you alright? Why are you, oh.” She stopped mid-sentence. Moxy had apparently neglected to tell his Mistress that her son wasn’t alone. “My apologies, I didn’t realise you had a guest.” She bowed her head, “Lord Black.”

Harry made sure he didn’t let his dislike of the title show on his face here. He didn’t want to insult her or her maiden name. “Lady Malfoy.” He went to bow properly at the waist, but remembered that his wand was in his back pocket and managed to stop himself before he went the whole way. Hopefully it hadn't looked like a half-hearted attempt. “Please call me Harry.”

“Of course, and you may call me Narcissa.” She turned her attention back to her son, running her eyes over him and lingering a little on the small bag he was still holding. She apparently recognised its origin, “Draco, are you unwell?”

Draco looked more relaxed than he had earlier, but still not wonderful. “I, I will explain fully a little later, Mother, please. I have potions I need to take, and I believe Harry has something he should give you.” He looked sideways at Harry, and Harry hoped that the expression he gave back expressed that he understood. Draco walked off down the hall, possibly to get water or something else to wash the medicine down with.

Mrs Malfoy looked hard at Harry, but didn’t move or speak. He marvelled now, as he did when he visited as James Evans, at her control.

Harry pushed up the sleeve of his robe to reveal his wand holster, all the while watching Narcissa’s face. She blinked and drew in a very small sharp breath, but otherwise showed no outward reaction to the fact that Harry had Draco’s wand strapped to his arm.

“I promise you that this was freely given, Narcissa.” Instead of flicking the wand into his dominant hand as he would usually, he slid it out with his weak hand and offered it to her base forward. “I’m sure Draco will explain it to you. I don’t actually know what happened, but he needed someone to get him home, and I was happy to help.”

She gripped her son’s wand carefully when she took it, and didn’t put it down. “Thank you, then.” She looked down at her hand and only looked up again when Draco returned.

“Mother, you can return to your walk if you wish. Madam Wandwiggen informed me that the potions she has me on will make me nearly unfit for conversation. I can feel them already beginning to take effect. It should lessen in a few hours. We can talk after tea?”

“If you are certain?” She looked doubtful, but stepped backwards anyway. She bowed properly to Harry this time, and he returned the gesture. “Thank you for your assistance, Harry.”

“You’re very welcome, Narcissa.” Then she was gone and he and Draco were alone again. Draco looked much calmer but, “Is there anything I can do for you before I go, Draco? I don’t like leaving you without your wand.” Harry knew Draco was safe here, but it still didn’t feel right. It was like leaving a man naked in a storm.

Draco shook his head, “I’ll be perfectly fine. I have Moxy and several other elves who’ll come popping if I call for them. I suspect that a couple of them are currently hovering.” There were actually six, almost within arm's reach, by Harry’s surmising. Draco smiled and his teeth showed and Harry figured that the potion the Healer had given him was definitely beginning to take effect.

Despite the fact that he had his suspicions, he wanted to hear it from Draco himself. He seemed passive enough that he’d not take offense, at least. “Draco, I’m not going to ask exactly what happened to you. It’s none of my business. I would like to ask two, possibly three questions, though, if it’s okay?”

Draco blinked at him a moment, but focussed properly. “As long as you aren’t offended if I refuse to answer.”

“Of course not, we all have our secrets. Some of them we eventually share, many of them we don’t.” Harry settled on the best phrasing he could come up with, “Did someone do this to you, Draco? And if the answer is yes, are they in a position to do it again?”

Draco didn’t look shocked, but he wrinkled his brow a little before answering. “Yes, someone did this. But, no. I don’t think he could do it again.”

Harry breathed out. “That’s, that's good, Draco. That’s very good.” He nodded towards what he thought must be the kitchen, “And the potions that Madam Wandwiggen gave you, they’re all you need to treat the issue?”

Draco smiled wide again. “Yes. I’ll be fine in a week or so.”

Harry stopped himself from letting out another sigh of relief, or staring too long at that smile. “That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll, um,” he turned himself towards the door, “I’ll leave you to rest. If there’s anything you need then you know Hermione and Luna’s floo address, and mine is Grimy Grimmauld.”

Draco tilted his head to one side and smiled. “Were you all ridiculously inebriated when you chose your floo addresses?”

“Probably, yes,” Harry grinned. “They’re nice and easy to remember, though.”

Draco nodded, his gaze was beginning to soften again. “Well, good afternoon then, Harry. And, I, ah, I thank you and Hermione for your help. Don’t bother going back outside, you can apparate from here.” He waved his hand in what could have seemed a random pattern, but the look of concentration on his face seemed to point to it actually being deliberate.

Draco was adding him to the wards on the manor, Harry realised as he focussed on the swirls of colour that followed Draco’s hand. He wondered if Draco would reverse it immediately once he’d left, or only do so once the potion had worn off and he’d come to his senses. Harry decided that was another question better left for another time. He bowed, smiled at Draco again, and apparated to the Ministry.

✦✦✦

Chapter Text

✦✦✦

Maltreated Malfoy?
Daily Prophet
Tuesday January 13, 2004
Rita Skeeter - Lifestyle Correspondent

On this Sunday past, Dear Readers, an intriguing interaction was witnessed between the Heritor Lord Draconis Lucius Malfoy, and a Mr Emilio Medeiros. Mr Medeiros and his older brother, Patricio, are professional Potions Ingredient Collectors from Cardiff.

The witch who saw the exchange wished to remain anonymous even to the Daily Prophet, and as such we spent yesterday verifying her information.

We are now able to report to you that the source of at least one of the mysterious and now infamous Yellow Letters was almost certainly a wizard known to the readers of the social pages of the Daily Prophet, Mr Nathan Lancelot Tronpe. Mr Tronpe came to our attention just over two years ago as the then suitor of Heritor Lord Malfoy, and was as recently as December this last year announced as the next Mr Malfoy.

It would seem that wedding is no longer to be.

Our source informed us that Draco Malfoy was called to the Ministry on Sunday afternoon due to what was at first thought to simply be improperly filed paperwork, but what was actually likely to be the revocation of official patronage by the Malfoy heir. It became apparent during the conversation that followed that the withdrawal of the patronage was due to Emilio Medeiros receiving one of the dreaded Yellow Letters. The Heritor Lord Malfoy did not state any accusation directly, but it was plain from their conversation that Emilio Medeiros had partaken in a licentious liaison with Mr Tronpe, and that it had cost his family’s company what was referred to as a ‘centuries old business contract’.

Ministry Portkey records show that Nathan Tronpe left the country earlier the same morning and was bound for his native America. We were unable to locate him to verify his part in the developing saga.

Neither the Heritor Lord Malfoy, nor his good mother, the Lady Narcissa Malfoy, were available for comment.

✦✦✦

Draco sat back into the cushions on the sofa and was glad they’d chosen comfort for the furniture in this room rather than appearance. The potions Healer Wandwiggen prescribed him had settled in their effects overnight, leaving him feeling only as relaxed as he would be naturally in this situation. Which wasn’t particularly relaxed at all.

It had taken him the best part of the hour since lunch to explain the situation as it currently stood. Howard Harpham, senior legal-wizard at the advisory offices of Harpham, Harpham and Holsum, had sat almost motionless for that entire time. Only his gaze seemed to move. It was constant, his eyes darting back and forth under his almost non-existent eyebrows. His self-writing quill took down every word said without embellishment. The old man had only moved his body to take three sips of tea between Draco finishing his story and his mother beginning to add what she knew. She was almost finished her telling now, and the legal-wizard had sat stone-like through her forty-five minutes of statement, too.

Draco had the distinct feeling that if he hit the elderly wizard with something heavy the man would shatter rather than bleed.

Harpham’s whole body relaxed as his quill came to a halt and Draco wondered if perhaps only one of them could move at a time.

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy.” The legal-wizard’s voice had always struck Draco as syrupy, and it seemed strange to hear it coming now from a mouth that had been so still and hard for so long. “I’d just like to qualify something, if I may? You said that the Truth Seeker you retained, Mr Evans, reported actually observing the Ejice a Rete?” His quill recorded the question.

“Yes. He mentioned it as if it were an everyday statement.” She bent forward and filled her tea again, and Harpham watched her, eyes following her every movement, body not shifting. The quill scratched again as she leant back and continued, “Although, and I’m sure this is quite unusual even for one of such talent, he was unable to name what he’d actually seen.”

Draco started at that. His mother had likely mentioned that previously, but perhaps not. To avoid poking too hard at the topic of Tronpe she’d been cautious in what she’d been telling him recently, so it was probable that she’d glossed over anything not absolutely necessary for him to know.

Harpham bobbed his head as he spoke. “His reputation as a reliable and talented Truth Seeker is quite strong, despite him being relatively new to the profession. I’d not heard that he was a Sanctus Occulum, however. It can only be to our advantage, indeed, especially with one so obviously strongly gifted.”

Draco wondered at the fact that Evans had such a talent. It wasn’t obscenely rare, but it usually developed later in life and most of such wizards could only see spells they were abundantly familiar with. The man beneath the James Evans face might be older than his Truth Seeker identity, of course, but it was uncommon for someone to make use of a long term glamour that was overly far removed from their actual self. It was unlikely that the person beneath was much shorter or taller, older or younger, or a witch rather than a wizard. The fact that Evans could see a magic he’d not used or even witnessed, a magic he’d not known the name of? That was far more interesting. It seemed a waste for a Truth Seeker to have such a skill, but as Harpham said, it could only be of benefit, really.

“Not that there is any reason for you to need such an advantage, of course.” Harpham’s smile was genuine, but it didn’t quite remove the air of seriousness that his sparse eyebrows always leant to his expression. “I understand your concern regarding the Prophet ’s story, and at this point I would suggest a very simple statement in response. Although written with their usual absurd sensationalism, nothing the paper has printed was false.” He reached for his tea cup again finally, and Draco saw the tiny twitch in his mother’s smallest finger that said she was appalled that the wizard would consume something that must by now be beyond stale and quite cold. Harpham took a sip, apparently oblivious. “We’ll publish a statement that reiterates the facts that they’ve already uncovered. We’ll add nothing else. We’ll avoid language that might portray that we are annoyed or upset or happy or angry. We’ll make it clear that the private matters of the Malfoy family are private, and ask for the public, including the press, to respect that. They will likely all ignore it, of course, but we’ll be calm in requesting it, and we’ll not respond harshly unless it is absolutely warranted.” He punctuated the last two words by looking Draco straight in the eye.

It pained him to do so, but Draco nodded in agreement as he responded, “As much as I’d like to throw a slimey hex at the Skeeter woman, I am all for not drawing any more attention to myself than is absolutely necessary at the moment.” He looked down at his hands and lifted them, stretching his fingers wide, then bending them under so he was making fists. He relaxed them and put them back on his lap. “Besides, I’m quite sure that eventually someone at the illustrious Daily Prophet will say something about this that will warrant me legally throwing something satisfying at one of their reporters, or even their editor.”

Harpham smiled and nodded, “Honestly, other than the little parting hex you threw at your ex-fiancé, which even the most straight-wanded of the community will almost certainly sympathise with, everything you’ve told me is completely in line with the Ministry’s current Decrees for the Proper Use of Magic.” Draco hadn’t actually planned on telling the legal-wizard about the hex he’d landed as he’d left the restaurant that night, but his mother had reminded him that if Evans had noticed it, one of the others in attendance might have as well. “And, as Tronpe is no longer in the country, I doubt that anyone will be able to show that the curse you used on him wasn’t much more than a simple schoolboy prank.”

Draco felt himself pull his lips into a thin, hard line. “Plenty of my Slytherin contemporaries will know better, I assure you. I didn’t learn such hexes only because I was Severus Snape’s godson. The Professor wanted us all to make our mark on life, no matter in what area of it we were acting.”

Harpham lifted half of his smile into a smirk, “Oh, you were certainly a privileged lot to have been in the dungeons when Snape was teaching. I’m quite certain he also taught you that one of a Slytherin’s greatest abilities is knowing the right time for those actions, yes?”

Draco lifted an eyebrow in response. “Of course.”

“Then you all learnt that sometimes the best action is none at all.” Harpham put his tea cup back on its saucer as if to emphasise his point. “Your old housemates will not want to draw attention to themselves at this time, at least, and the others will follow their lead. They’ll huddle in dark places licking their metaphorical wounds. By the time any of them decide it’s safe to share what they know, the wizarding public will no longer care if you hexed Tronpe with impotence or impetigo.” Harpham glanced at the notes and quill hovering beside him, then looked back at Draco. “You said your Healer was the one to suggest alerting those possibly medically impacted by Tronpe’s promiscuity, yes?”

Draco pulled his mouth tight again. “Madam Wandwiggen assured me that because of what she’d found it was appropriate under the Ministry of Herbology’s current Wizarding Health Act.”

The old man nodded again, “She was correct. I will, with your permissions of course,” he glanced back and forth between Draco’s mother and Draco himself, “Send a request that she make a statement to the press independently. Such publicity will make it known that your hand was not the source of the notorious Yellow Letters, and yet as she’s bound by her Healer’s secrecy oaths no one will be able to question her on specifics of the case.”

Draco’s mother inclined her head once and said, “I can see no issue with that, and I can’t think of a reason she’d disagree.”

“And you, Heritor Lord Malfoy,” The legal-wizard flicked his wand at his quill and scroll. They shrank in the air and as he stood, and then flew into the top pocket of his cloak. He smoothed over them as if to check that they had actually made it to where they were instructed to go. “I have your permission, also?”

Draco stood, and finally let himself smooth a hand of his own over something, in his case the soft, spikey shaved skin above his ear. His mother’s pinky twitched again, and Draco dropped his hand as nonchalantly as he could. “You have my express permission, Mr Harpham. For that and all the rest of the announcements and such. I’m sure you and your esteemed colleagues will do a fine job. My mother and I are in your capable hands.”

✦✦✦

Harry smiled at the barkeep and ordered a pint of lager. He’d thought about skipping Tuesday night drinks with the Aurors, but it was the first such event of the year, and it would be a good way to gauge what some of the public was saying about the whole Yellow Letter thing. Harry had cringed at Rita Skeeter’s words in the morning paper, and been glad to hear that Draco had decided to take advantage of his Healer’s suggestion and had the day off work. Hermione said she’d seen more people than she normally would in a week appear in the corridor outside her office during the day. Harry knew that he wouldn’t be the only one coming to the pub tonight just to hear what others had to say about the situation. He wandered over to the two or three tables surrounded by murky magenta robes, and stood himself away from Ron.

“Harry! Good to see you matey. It’s been too long.” Seamus Finnigan hadn’t joined the Aurors himself, but like Harry, more often than not he ended up at their pub nights. “What’s news? Did you have a good Christmas? How’s that wee lad, Teddy going?”

Harry waved a hello, and then reached out to grasp Seamus’ offered arm. They half shook, half grasped, grabbing at each other's elbows in something akin to a hug and a handshake all at once. “I’m good Seamus. You? Teddy is great, he’s really taking after his mum. He spent most of Christmas and Boxing Days with half red and half green hair.” He nodded hello at Cho Chang, Alicia Spinnet, and Michael Corner, who were standing with Seamus at the table. “Have you all been here long? I feel like I’m a bit earlier than usual, but…”

There were definitely more people in the group than there were normally. It might be because it was the beginning of the year and people wanted to catch up with each other, or it could be because they were all hopeless busybodies and wanted to catch up with the latest on the dreaded Draco Malfoy. The wizard still wasn’t exactly popular with much of this crowd. Most of them acknowledged that he’d not been completely in control of himself at school, but Harry could see why it was hard to really make that fit with the memories of what they’d all been through.

Anthony Goldstein joined them just in time to answer Harry’s unasked question. “We're all here kind of early because of the Yellow Letter Scandal I’d say. Insatiable appetites for gossip, this lot. Well, them and me!” He put his beer on the table and added a basket of nuts. “Don’t tell me you didn’t read the Prophet today, mate?”

Harry figured that playing dumb was a bit wrong, but it was at most a white lie and wasn’t as if anyone here wouldn’t enjoy filling him in on the news. “I looked at the front page, but didn’t get much further than that. I didn’t even read the Quidditch scores, to be honest.”

“Oh, then Harry, my dear! You’ve missed the most sensational piece of trashy tattle that’s been inked by Rita Skeeter for years.” Padma Patil, soon to be Goldstein, put her arm around her other half’s waist and reached for the peanuts with her other hand.

Harry played along. “Didn’t Skeeter write about the Yellow Letters last week?” He wrinkled his forehead and reached for some nuts himself, hoping he was doing a decent job of feigning ignorance.

“Ah, but she added to it today,” said Anthony. “She did what she does best and actually named names. It seems our formerly Slytherin peer, the handsome Heritor Lord Malfoy, was mistreated by his now ex-fiancé, Nathan Tronpe. Apparently he’d been shagging around on him.”

“Hang on,” Harry said, “Malfoy shagged around on Tronpe? Or Tronpe shagged around on Malfoy?”

“Tronpe did the dirty. He’s apparently the source of at least some of, if not all, the Yellow Letters.” Anthony sounded sceptical even as he said it. “But I don’t know how anyone could actually believe that they were all because of one person.”

Dennis Creevey spoke up from the table next to theirs. “How many Yellow Letters do you reckon actually went out?”

Padma answered for her fiancé, “We figured there were at least a hundred.” She looked at her sister standing next to Dennis, and Parvati nodded her agreement.

“That’s an awful lot of messing around for one bloke,” Dean said. He was standing next to Ron. Harry wondered if he actually believed what he said, or if he was just trying to make himself feel better about him and Ginny shagging the bloke. He also wondered if Dean and Ginny knew about Ron, and vice versa. He somehow doubted it. Harry doubted Ron would stand that close to Dean if he knew he’d had sex with another guy, even if Ron had done exactly the same thing.

“Not if you do the numbers, not really,” Seamus started, “They were a thing for what, more than two years, yeah? If Tronpe started early it’s only about a person a week.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Dennis offered. “Who starts fooling around right at the beginning of a relationship?”

Harry couldn’t help himself. “Someone who never intended to not fool around.”

Ron snorted. “Maybe Malfoy’s just really bad in bed.” Dean laughed and Harry noted that they were the only two in the group reacting that way.

“You don’t sleep with a hundred other people just because your other half isn’t a good shag, matey.” Seamus said. “I mean, that’s not exactly normal, is it? That many partners in that much time. I’m all for variety being the spice of life, but that’s not variety, that’s compulsion.”

There was silence around their tables for a few moments, and several definite nods of agreement.

“So,” Harry said, “Do we know how Skeeter found out? Those types of notices have got to be covered in all kinds of privacy spells, right?”

“It was Malfoy himself let it slip.” Padma drained the last of her shandy. “He apparently quite publicly said something about a Yellow Letter being the reason he reneged on some kind of business deal.”

“Yep,” said Dennis. “A long term deal at that. It was one of a pair of brothers that supply him with potions ingredients. Apparently Malfoy decided that shagging his husband-to-be was enough of a reason to break their contract.”

“It’s pretty harsh.” Dean actually looked a little pensive. Harry wondered if that was because of remorse or for fear of reprisals on himself. Harry was pretty sure that neither Dean or Ginny, nor Ron for that matter, had benefitted because of anything from the Malfoys. No one seemed to have put that together with the Yellow Letters yet.

There was one last thing Harry wanted to figure out about how everyone was treating this. The question Greg had asked at Hermione and Luna’s had gotten him thinking. So he said, “It’s not as if the bloke wouldn’t have known he was doing Draco Malfoy’s other half. They are, or were, a pretty public couple.”

Seamus nodded, “You’d have to be a Muggle or living in a dragon’s cave.” There were murmurs of yes and definitely around the tables. Ron and Dean even seemed to agree.

“Well, I for one can understand not caring if I was doing something that might hurt Draco Malfoy,” Alicia spoke up quietly, “But I think you’d have to be a complete fool to not realise you’d be risking a lot if he found out. I can’t imagine him being okay with being cheated on. I wouldn’t be, and I’m not a spoilt brat from a horrifically rich, and magically and politically powerful family. I’d hate to be in the shoes of anyone Malfoy thinks has done him wrong.”

The tables quieted again, and Seamus came to the rescue. “Well, enough of that for now. I want another ale! Who’s up for getting us all a round? Ron! I think you owe us one or three.”

Ron half-heartedly grumbled but stood anyway and headed to the bar. The others broke into smaller conversations again, and Harry decided that with half a pint in him but no more, now was a good time to have the exchange he knew he was going to have to have with his ex-best friend. He made vague noises about heading off to the loos, but veered towards the bar after a few steps instead.

Harry reached Ron just before they made it to the front of the queue. He flicked up a quick notice-me-not charm around them both. He kept his voice low anyway, but made sure Ron wouldn’t have any difficulty catching his words. “So, Ron, is that what Tronpe told you when you two shagged? That Malfoy was bad in bed?”

Ron turned around and went red at the same time. “Wha- I don’t, what are you on about, mate?”

Harry concentrated on keeping his tone level. He could feel the anger in him building. “We haven’t been mates for ages, Weasley. And you don’t ever get to call me that again, especially now.”

“Then what the hell are you on about, Potter?” Ron’s gaze darted around, probably looking to see just who was watching. He didn’t seem to be able to look Harry in the eye, though.

“I had lunch with Charlie on the weekend.” Ron’s complexion morphed from red to white. “And besides, you got visited by a bright yellow bird in the middle of the Aurors’ office. You don’t really think so little of your colleagues that you honestly thought no one had noticed, do you?”

“I,” Ron started, then he snapped his mouth shut.

Harry let his anger rise, just a little. “So, how was it, mate ? How was it to be a dirty, filthy fag for a night? Or did it happen more than once? Did you go back for more? Tell me, did he let you fuck him, or did he fuck you?”

Ron’s whole body stiffened. He looked around again and Harry saw him realise that no one else was going to take notice of their discussion. That seemed to give him gumption. He bit out his words, “I don’t need a lecture from you, too.”

Harry barked out a laugh. “Oh, yes. I heard about the verbal bollocking your dear mother gave you when she found your Yellow Letter of shame. Was she more appalled by the fact that you’d fucked a guy, I wonder, or by the fact you’d fucked a guy who’s also fucked a Malfoy?” Harry took a sharp breath in to try to calm himself down. He didn’t need to blow up here, he really didn’t. It would lead to questions that he didn’t want to have asked. “I wonder, is that why you did it? To get one over on Malfoy? Or was it that you just couldn’t hold back on your unnatural, depraved urges a moment longer? Don’t even try to say Tronpe Imperiused you. The man had it off with anyone that caught his eye. He didn’t have to use hexes to get his leg over.”

Ron didn’t seem to have an answer to any of it. He clenched his jaw and his nostrils flicked in and out. He was back to being red in the face. “You know nothing about anything.”

Harry let himself laugh again. “Oh, Weasley, I know what I need to. I know you, one of the most vocally homophobic bigots I’ve ever had to deal with, had it off with a bloke. And I know that if I ever hear you, or hear of you, saying anything unpleasant about me or Charlie or Hermione and Luna or even Malfoy or anyone else not being perfectly fucking heterosexual, I will make certain that it isn’t just us and your family that know about you getting your dick wet with a guy.”

Ron’s shoulders were as taut as his jaw, and he’d balled his hands into fists. He flexed his fingers as if pumping up his arms ready to throw a punch. He spat his response, “If you ever.”

“Oh, please. You’re going to take a swing at the Saviour in a crowded pub? Even if you had the balls you know as well as I do that you’d not even make contact if you tried. And your wand work was always the worst out of the lot of us. You have no power here.” Harry felt his magic crackle under his skin and forced himself to think of the excellent time he’d had on the weekend, surrounded by some of his oldest friends and some of his newest. He breathed out and let all the tension he felt go. Ron might not have grown up much, but Harry had. “I think perhaps you should call it a night. I’ll get everyone’s drinks for them.”

Ron looked over Harry’s shoulder at the others, and then turned on his heel and headed for the door. No one looked in Harry’s direction, but a few people noticed Ron leaving. Harry would figure out something to tell them while he got the beers. He dropped his notice-me-not charm then stepped up to the bar and gave the barkeep his widest smile.

✦✦✦

Quidditch Dramas Continue
Daily Prophet
Wednesday, January 14 2004
Lee Jordan - Junior Sports Correspondent

Confirmation today that several teams in the British and Irish Quidditch League have set aside players for the next three to six matches in this season’s rosters due to what have been announced to be breaches of the Player Codes of Conduct.

League officials and representatives from all teams met yesterday in the offices of the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It was agreed to act under the 1538 and 1750 addendums to the League’s morality clauses. The clauses state that sexual conduct which attracts public notoriety should be acknowledged and dealt with in a timely manner.

The Prophet can confirm that eight of the League’s fourteen teams will be affected by the suspensions. Players from each received what have become known as Yellow Letters: Health Alerts from the Ministry of Herbology that we now believe all relate to intimate involvement with Mr Nathan Tronpe, ex-fiancé of the Heritor Lord Draco Malfoy.

No one from the teams, League, or Ministry would comment on the rumours that players or other staff had been permanently dismissed for related reasons.

The Malfoy Family has otherwise famously been linked to more than one team in the League, supporting several students out of Hogwarts as they entered the professional division, and providing funding to the Falmouth Falcons and Appleby Arrows due to damage to their training grounds during the war.

See Rita Skeeter’s coverage of the Malfoy family’s full statement on page 3.

✦✦✦

Harry had surprised Hermione and Luna with spicy, scrambled Flame-Billed Flamingo eggs and hot buttered toast for breakfast. He’d even remembered to bring plimpy fillets for Crookshanks. He’d been rewarded with a big kiss on his cheek from Luna, two cups of brilliant coffee from Hermione, and the allowing of an under-chin-scritching from the big orange kneazle.

The three of them chatted about everything but the articles in the paper for most of their meal, finally not being able to ignore the topic anymore when Luna announced she was going that afternoon to help her father with The Quibbler given the news recently.

“I didn’t realise your dad was that interested in Quidditch.” Harry picked up each of their plates and headed over to the kitchen sink with them. “I know he watches the world cup, but he doesn’t follow the regular season, does he?”

Luna followed him, coffee cups floating alongside her, and Hermione walking behind. “Oh, he’s not writing about Quidditch. He’s interested in the statement the Malfoys made. He floo’d me just after sunrise this morning to inform me that his lobes were itchy.”

Harry squinted at the growing number of bubbles in the sink as he added a bit more hot water, trying to make a connection between the Malfoys and itchy lobes. He couldn’t. “His ears?”

Luna took a clean, wet plate from him and tapped it with her wand to dry it. “Yes. Flightless Dapperblimps tug on them when they know there is more to a story than is being told.”

Harry stiffened. The idea that Draco might have two sets of reporters after him wasn’t a pleasant one.

Luna smiled sideways. “Breathe, Harry. Father is just concerned that the Malfoys might not be allowed to tell their full story, or that they’ll be accused of using dark magic when they haven’t. Basically he’s worried that the Prophet will only print what they think people want to hear. He’s been looking into the situation already, and he wants me to help. I believe he has an interview set up with the Ministry of Herbology about Health Alerts, and he’s trying to make a list of who seems to have been sent the letters, and what might have happened to them.”

Hermione reached past them both to get her packed lunch from the cold-shelf, and brushed a kiss across her girlfriend’s cheek. She stretched out her empty hand and squeezed Harry on the shoulder as she stepped away. “I’m off to the office.” She let go of Harry and said to Luna, “Sweetie, you could even ask Draco about it.”

Luna tilted her head to the side and smiled again. “I should. Have we invited him to our not-Birthday party for Severus?”

Harry paused, the last dirty cup in his hand. He’d completely forgotten about the not-Birthday with everything that had been going on.

Hermione seemed to be having the same realisation, “Oh. I’d completely forgotten it was that time of year.” She crossed the sitting room and looked back over her shoulder, “Your place on Saturday night then, Harry?”

He nodded and tried to figure out when he was going to have the time to sit down and write the owls for it. He could always just a send mini-Patronus to each of them, but that was a bit lazy. Not to mention that it would probably freak out Malfoy and Goyle, too. It was unlikely to be a method of communication they’d be used to.

Luna elbowed him in the side. “Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll do up some invites this morning. You’re obviously too caught up with work to do it,” she said. “I’ll send one to everyone we had here last weekend.”

Harry sighed out a thank you.

Hermione echoed it then added, “Does your place need a clean, Harry? You’re not exactly the world’s greatest housekeeper now that you’ve not got Kreacher to help.” She grinned and stepped into the floo before he could flick suds at her.

✧✧✧

It was nearly nine when Harry finally apparated from Looney Cottage to Diagon Alley. He’d said goodbye to Luna and slipped into his James Evans glamours as he was deciding where to head to. He’d finally settled on aiming for the same café he’d been to the week before. He side-stepped a few morning shoppers and stopped to pat the absurdly fluffy, dark chocolate coloured, alley-resident kneazle that always wanted his attention, whether he was Harry or James. She sniffed his fingers, possibly collecting information about the petting and plimpies Crookshanks had had that morning, and Harry lost himself for a while in the way her nose movements shifted her whiskers. The sound of Rita Skeeter’s shrill voice broke the moment, however, and rewrote any version of the plans Harry had for a second breakfast.

He looked up and saw that the reporter and a rather bored looking photographer were speaking to a pair of grandmotherly looking witches on the other side of the street. Harry gave the kneazle one last head rub and stood straight, flicking up a notice-me-not charm, just in case. Rita Skeeter had never spoken to James Evans and Harry didn’t want that to change. Given her recent columns however, he did want to hear what she was saying. He took a step along the wall. He didn’t quite catch the end of her question, but he heard the old ladies’ answer.

“Well, not that I’m much for gossip, but it seems to me that the young man shouldn’t really expect people to not want to know. He’s been in the newspapers enough in his life, and he’s from a well known family. You’d think he’d be used to it.”

The witch’s friend nodded, but didn’t elaborate when Skeeter looked at her. Skeeter waited a moment or two more before prodding them further. “And what do you think of the young Mr Malfoy’s actions? Do you think he voiced too vicious a verdict on the Medeiros family because of the actions of only one of their sons? Or do you think such jealous judgement is justified?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. The woman even spoke in alliteration. It didn’t seem to put off the two grandmothers, though. The one that had answered before did so again, her friend nodding agreement to every second or third word.

“Vicious? How can you call that vicious? You should have heard what Ignatia Ardglass did to her husband and his bit on the side when she caught them! Of course the Malfoy boy should have fired the little letch. Why would he not?”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t expected such a pointed reaction, not in Draco’s favour anyway.

Skeeter jotted down the two old biddies’ names and thanked them. She looked up scanned the street ahead of her before heading towards a couple of younger women sitting at an outdoor table of a café. Harry followed. He heard the full original query about expectations of privacy this time, and the pair’s answers to Skeeter’s repeated, and now obviously practiced, follow-up questions. The answers were remarkable in their similarity to the two previous women's. Neither young witch, both new mothers given the floating bundles beside them, thought that the Malfoy family could expect much privacy given that they were who they were. And both agreed they saw nothing wrong with the Heritor Lord Malfoy sharply cutting ties with someone who’d obviously known he was sleeping with the wizard his boss was set to marry.

And so it went. Harry followed Skeeter for around an hour and a half. She spoke to at least twenty sets of people during that time, and most considered Draco’s actions essentially fair. Her Quick Quotes Quill recorded statements that basically went along the lines of, “I wouldn’t want to work with the man my wife was having an affair with”, and “I’d do the same thing if I found out!”.

Yet, there were a handful of differing voices. One set of friends, all in their early thirties Harry thought, didn’t really answer the second question. They were all for knowing everything that there was to know about the misfortunes of the Malfoys, but when it came to Draco’s actions? They seemed to think that he must to blame for his situation. They didn’t spell it out, but it Harry got the feeling they thought he should have to suffer in silence.

The second type of dissenting group Harry found more disturbing. They reeked of leftover hatred from the war. Their answers reminded him of the way Emilo Medeiros had responded to Draco, yet theirs was an even deeper anger. They wanted Draco Malfoy to feel pain.

“Jealous judgement? Is that what you call it?” The woman and her four companions were all likely in their late twenties. She had her dark blonde, almost brunette hair in a neatly spelled bun and was wearing the kind of robes Harry associated with offices and desk work, but of a finer quality than you would see the average witch or wizard wear. “Try vindictive vengeance.” Her friends nodded.

Skeeter’s focus sharpened, “You consider his actions to be out of proportion, or...?”

“I consider anything a Death Eater does to be out of proportion. It’s not possible to maltreat a Malfoy. Dark wizards deserve anything bad that happens to them. They shouldn’t be able to get out of it just because they have money. He should be made to deal with the guy that slept with his ex, be made to keep him on his payroll. We should all be thanking Nathan Tronpe for getting one over on a Malfoy. And yes, you can quote me.”

At that Skeeter’s eyes all but twinkled. She was glancing over the notes she had hovering next to her when another voice entered the mix. Harry couldn’t see him to begin with, but the man’s words were clear, and his voice a little louder than everyone else’s. He addressed the young woman.

“I can’t say I disagree with you about dark wizards being deserving of,” the man stepped forward as he spoke. He paused and waved a hand in front of his quite formal robes as if grasping for the correct phrase, “Discomfort. Yes.” He was not young, but he still looked vital. His face was lined, but lightly, and the skin on his hands looked soft. He had a few ink stains on his fingers, but none of the callouses of a wizard who practiced a lot of wand-work. When he turned to face Skeeter, Harry could see the insignia on his robes that marked the man as a member of the Wizengamot. And, Harry knew that face, this was an all-around unlikeable person.

Skeeter greeted the wizard with a short bob of the head, “Member Pettybourne. You sound as if there is something you do disagree with, though?”

“Well, yes. In fact, there is something.” He looked from the reporter back to the young woman again. “You have a sensible attitude to dark magic and dark wizards, it seems. You’ll likely agree that they are not only evil in their intent, but also generally suspiciously cunning?” The young woman nodded, and Pettybourne continued. “I’m sure we can all accept the idea that any witch or wizard can be fooled once, no matter how crafty. But,” and with this he turned his attention back to Skeeter, raising his arm again and showing her his palm as if lifting up an idea for her inspection, “There was more than one Yellow Letter. Perhaps there has been more than one conversation like the one Mr Malfoy was witnessed having with poor young Mr Medeiros.” He stopped again, and looked around at all those listening. A small group of spectators had formed. Pettybourne waited until he’d gotten a nod from most, and then went on. “It’s difficult to imagine those of, well, a certain ilk, being so unaware of things that one could consider so unpleasant.”

Skeeter was following his meaning, but she was practiced at listening to the purposefully vague and sometimes over complicated phrases used in the courts. Many of those listening didn’t seem to understand what Pettybourne was getting at, though. Luckily for them, Skeeter was happy to do what she did best, and translated it into easier, and far more sensational language. She seemed to want to see the audience’s reaction to the wizard’s accusations.

“You’re saying, Member Pettybourne, that you think the Heritor Lord Malfoy was aware of his fiancé’s cuckoldry? You don’t think such a shrewd family could have been blind to such distinct disloyalties?”

“Well, yes, my dear. That’s exactly it. And why has this Tronpe fellow simply disappeared? Has anyone else suffered a similar fate to the Medeiros family because of this? We all know someone who knows someone who got a Yellow Letter. Will they all be suffering retribution from this, ah, ex-Death Eater?”

Pettybourne only just remember to add the ex to that statement.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Pettybourne’s audience began to mutter amongst themselves. They did all know someone who knew someone with one of the sodding Letters. The Wizengamot member looked rather satisfied with himself. Skeeter looked as if she could barely contain her need to get all of his not so subtle allegations into print.

Harry watched for a while longer. He resisted moving in closer when Skeeter and Pettybourne started speaking to each other in low voices. The reporter’s quill was motionless. They were, considering the ever increasing look of hunger on Skeeter’s face, possibly making arrangements for a full interview. Given the inflammatory flavour that the Wizengamot member’s barely veiled accusations already had, it wasn’t a news story that Harry would be looking forward to.

He stepped away and leaned against a wall. He probably wasn’t going to get much else out of the morning out on the street. He could definitely go for another coffee, though.

✦✦✦

Draco sat back and looked at the ghastly teapot he was still working on. No one had claimed the damn thing, so by rights he could have simply destroyed it. He wanted to fix it though. He found it delightfully perverse that something so ugly could have been used to tempt someone into the trap of using it. It was cursed so that anyone who drank tea made in it would believe everything else they saw was less appealing than its lurid pattern and design. It was basically just a lust spell turned inside out—drink and you lost attraction to everything else in the world. You lost your appetite for fun and family and food and would eventually fade away. The trick for Draco would be in creating subtlety in the replacement spell-work that was definitely nowhere to be found in the original magic. There was definitely nothing subtle about the ceramic itself.

Draco turned his head and stared at it from another angle, wondering if it had initially been part of a set and that was why he was having difficulties making changes.

There was a knock at the door. Draco didn’t look up until the specially charmed bell he’d set sounded. It told him that Harry Potter was apparently about to attempt to walk through the additional wards Draco had created. He didn’t actually want to hurt Potter of course, but he was intrigued by the fact that the speccy-git had previously been able to walk through fairly substantial protections without so much as an itch to show for it. Draco slipped his glasses off and put them the inside pocket of his robe. It felt wrong calling Harry a speccy-git if he was one too.

Draco smiled as he turned to face the door. Last time he visited this room Harry should have fallen into a heap on the floor in pain that incapacitated his limbs. It was a simple and standard set of precautions to simultaneously prevent fleeing and wandwork. This time Harry would be coming through that and a little something more.

And yet, Harry walked in as if there was nothing in his way. He smiled warmly as he said, “Hallo, Malfoy.” He was carrying a cardboard tray with two disposable drinking cups lodged in it. He didn’t even grip them harder as he came in. He looked back over his shoulder momentarily and his nose twitched. So much for the stink-charm attached to the extra security Draco had installed. He tried not to shake his head.

“Good morning, Potter. Can’t find Granger again?” Draco nodded at the coffee, and tried not to sniff at the cups. He wanted to know what was in them, but he didn’t want Harry to tweak to the fact that he’d just walked through something that should have smelt badly enough to have made the average wizard heave.

Harry’s complexion went a little rosier. “I, um. She’s not down here anywhere that I can see. I’ve not brought mocha this time, though you did like that, yes?”

Draco nodded and waved Harry towards a stool against the wall, “I did enjoy the mocha, yes.” Harry smiled and levitated the offered seat smoothly, and wandlessly, a little closer. He didn’t even move a hand. He likely had no idea he was showing off.

Harry put the coffees and their holder on the bench and sat. “Do you like nuts, Draco?” And his cheeks went far more than rosy. “I, um, I mean.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow and forced himself to not laugh. Harry was, as he’d learnt at Hermione and Luna’s gathering, quite easily embarrassed when confronted about complimenting someone. It seemed he was similarly easily flustered when faced with something a little bit suggestive, too. Draco schooled a flat expression onto his face and concentrated on attempting to obtain a surreptitious whiff of what was in the cups.

Harry continued, “I mean. Would you prefer caramel or… ?”

Draco smiled as he finally caught the scent and realised what was in the other coffee. “Is that hazelnut, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Yes?”

Draco chuckled, “I do love caramel, especially soft caramel. But it is possibly a little sweet for me today.” That, he thought, and my like for it has nothing on my adoration for anything noisette. “If you have a hazelnut flavoured coffee, I’d be more than pleased to sample it.”

Harry tilted his head and looked at the side of the cups, and chose the one that was closest to him. “I had the barista mark them clearly this time.” He handed one of them to Draco.

The not-paper cup was warm on Draco’s palm and fingertips, and the scent of the hazelnut was so much more delightful up close. Harry watched closely as Draco lifted it to his mouth and took a sip of the coffee. It was all Draco could do to not groan into the mug. Muggle brews shouldn't be allowed to be this wonderful. Countless Malfoy and Black ancestors were, Draco was quite sure, rolling in their tombs at the idea he was enjoying something so very base. He let himself smile some more around his words, “Delightful, Harry. I don’t know which I prefer more, the chocolate coffee or this.”

Harry’s face was suddenly awash with a smile. “I, um. I think they actually do a mix. Though, honestly, you seem quite taken with this one.”

Draco drank a little more and tried not to betray utter bliss on his face. Harry tilted his head to one side and blinked into a grin, then took a drink of his own coffee.

Potter didn’t restrain the noise of pleasure he made. “The caramel isn’t exactly horrible.”

They fell into an unexpectedly easy silence, each sipping their coffee. Harry looked quite comfortable atop his stool. Draco wasn't sure why the other wizard had actually come to visit, but he expected it was likely as Potter wanted to know if he was okay after having to usher him home earlier in the week.

The coffee was no longer hot but it was still palatable. Draco took another mouthful and then said, “My mother wished for me to express her thanks, again, for you escorting me home on Monday.” He looked at the centre of Harry’s glasses. “I took my healer’s advice and had yesterday off work, also. Unfortunately, however, it consisted mostly of us consulting with our legal advisors.”

Harry nodded, “Tell your mum that it wasn’t a bother. I was more than happy to help. I, um, I saw that you’d made a statement in the Prophet today. I’m surprised Skeeter isn’t camping on your doorstep waiting for a personal interview.”

Draco grimaced. “Well, avoiding such situations is hardly something we aren’t accustomed to doing.” He really didn’t want to talk about it though. Everything in his life at the moment seemed to have something to do with the lecherous Nathan Tronpe. Luckily there was a matter a little more interesting to speak of with Harry, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Draco’s recent relationship drama. “Something I’m not so used to is letters from Luna Lovegood requesting my attendance at Harry Potter’s abode to celebrate a, I believe the invitation said, not-Birthday for my late godfather?”

This time the colour in Harry’s cheeks was even deeper, moving into a red instead of the pleasant pink he’d been wearing before. He reached up and ran a hand into his fringe, momentarily exposing his forehead. His scar had faded a little, Draco thought.

Harry said, “We have a party for Severus every year. The first one was only Hermione, Neville and me. We, well, we completely buggered up the date the first time around.” He smiled. “Hermione was beside herself at first. My handwriting is still pants, but then it was even worse, and she’d read my January 9th as the 19th.”

Draco agreed, smiling, “I remember your quill work. I can understand such an error, even from Granger.”

Harry huffed. “Anyway, we’d snuck down to Hagrid’s for the evening, he was away for a week or so. We’d found his Firewhiskey and it was probably the reason we decided we were celebrating what we began calling a not-Birthday.”

Draco drained the last of the coffee. “And what exactly does a not-Birthday consist of?”

“We wanted to celebrate Severus Snape, the person. He was a nasty, fussy old bastard, but he was a bloody good wizard. A good man.” Harry took a deep breath. “We’d snuck out after curfew, drank alcohol, told stories about getting one over on him and, well, generally done quite a lot of things that the Professor would have given us absurd amounts of detention for. Hermione and I were busy giggling at something or other when Neville had a very, very profound thought.” Harry put his cup down and rubbed the top of one fist into his other palm. He focussed on what seemed to be the air between him and Draco for a moment, then looked up again. “Neville said that though Snape would have been appalled by what we were doing, the fact was he’d spent his whole life making sure that we could. Severus Snape gave his life, not just his death but almost every waking moment of his living, to make sure that we all had the freedom to do anything we bloody well wanted to.”

Draco blinked and hoped that his eyes weren’t glistening the way they felt they were. “You’re right. He’d have hated it.” And secretly been rather chuffed, Draco thought. He smiled, just a little.

Harry wasn’t doing as well with the tear hiding. “Yes! So, we decided the year after, and every one since, that we should take that a little to the extreme. We do mostly Muggle things, although we generally try to just act as un-Snape-like as possible. Luna wears her most outrageous outfits. Hermione cooks and purposefully gets the measurements all wrong. Neville tells us stories about how he’s trying to lure senior students from Potions electives to Herbology. You can imagine what George gets up to!”

Draco was intrigued. “And you spend the evening doing what, exactly? Going off on foolhardy, Gryffindor-esque adventures?”

Harry laughed, “No! But that would be an excellent way to celebrate. It’s not really that different to what we do when we usually get together actually. We do watch telly or DVDs and play Muggle board games though. Oh, and eat and drink of course. It’s probably a bit silly, but we rather specialise in silly.”

Draco stood and threw his cup in the bin, and Harry followed suit. “I’m beginning to understand that you do, indeed. What was your floo address again, Grimy Grimmauld?”

“Yes. Luna invited everyone we had at her and Hermione’s place on the weekend. It’s not a big group, it never is. It would be really good if you’d join us.” Harry took a step back and the stool levitated back to where it had been against the wall. He tossed his own cup into Draco’s dustbin, looking a little less relaxed now. “I, I’ll get going then. I’m sorry to have butted in again.”

“It wasn’t an unwelcome intrusion, Harry.” Draco nodded at the pocket of his cape, hanging behind the door Harry was about to walk out, you could just see the top of the pink invitation poking out. “I’ll send a response to Luna, of course, but I’m fully intending to be at the not-Birthday party.”

Harry beamed. “Brill. I’ll, um. We’ll all see you then.”

And with that, he turned and was gone out and down the hall. The door clicked shut behind him and Draco flicked his wand to remove the extra security that had done absolutely nothing whatsoever.

He sat and looked at the teapot again. Harry was certainly quite charming, even when he wasn’t attempting to be. Draco remembered seeing it at the pub nights they both used to go to. Harry’s open emotions were quite captivating and he was rather... Draco was certain his younger self would be in shock, but he couldn’t think of a word better than adorable for Harry when he was flustered over something that might be construed as flirting.

It was Wednesday, before lunch. Draco figured that he’d probably be able to finish with the hideous teapot either this afternoon, or at least by this time tomorrow. If he could, he decided, he’d reward himself with a not-quite-the-weekend evening out. He’d indulge in a trip to a bar, some dancing, and hopefully an attractive, anonymous liaison. He had just the place in mind, a Muggle venue where one could find what one needed and be home ready for a good night’s sleep. He’d not been in years of course, but he was sure it would still be in business.

There wasn’t any reason he shouldn’t spoil himself, and perhaps it would do him some good.

✦✦✦

All’s Fair in Love and Contracts
Daily Prophet
Thursday January 15, 2004
Rita Skeeter - Lifestyle Correspondent

Yesterday morning we took to the cobblestones on your behalf on a fact finding mission, Dear Readers. As more and more information comes to light about the Yellow Letter Scandal, we wanted to know how the average witch or wizard on the street was feeling about the recently exposed involvement of the Heritor Lord Malfoy.

Despite the dubious doings in the dapper Draco Malfoy’s past, most seemed quite unperturbed by the way he’s presently presiding over his personal life’s intersection with his family’s business empire. As Mr Randolph Rudolphus, a wizard visiting London from Cridling Stubbs, Yorkshire said, “I’d not want to work with man what shagged my missus!”

There were a few dissenting voices, however, Dear Readers. The loudest among them Mr Pembroke Pettybourne, the Wizengamot Member in charge of the Ministry’s War Reparations Committee. The esteemed Member has kindly agreed to an interview to fully expound on his views, and we’ll have that report for you tomorrow.

✦✦✦

Draco had managed to finish the teapot just after lunch, flipping its egoistic hex to a charm that helped the user see beauty in the world around them. He considered that near enough to the deadline he’d decided on, and although he’d not allowed himself to dwell on the idea much the night before, started to quite look forward to an evening out. He was looking forward especially to the chance to be someone other than himself. In the Muggle world he could strip off his name and reputation without the bother of glamours. For a few hours at least he’d be seen not as the Son of Malfoy the Death Eater, not as the Heritor Lord Malfoy waiting hungrily to take the full Title, and not as Draco the Foolish, burnt by love that wasn’t actually there.

✧✧✧

When Draco had finally left work he’d been bursting at the seams and practically bounced all the way home. He’d eaten quickly, said an early goodnight to his mother, and then spent longer than he had for a very long time grooming and dressing. He anticipated being able to dance, enjoying some attention, and hopefully finding the perfect man to help him forget everything for an hour or two.

Now, surrounded by a veritable sea of attractive and willing men, there wasn’t any reason he shouldn’t do exactly those things. But, Draco simply couldn’t bring himself to take the final step. The Common was almost exactly as it had been some years before. It opened earlier than the average gay club, but worked in exactly the same way as this particular type of establishment generally did. It had one main purpose, and that was to facilitate casual sex between more than amenable patrons. It had a bevy of useful back rooms, but was also in a part of the city that butted up against a handful of hotels if one wanted private comfort, or a wooded parkland if one just wanted quick and dirty. Draco wasn’t going to be having either tonight, though. Not tonight nor ever again if the feeling in his gut was any indication.

Everything had changed.

The music was still loud, the drinks were still overpriced and watered down, and the barmen still half-naked and oiled to distraction. Customers were still dressed mostly in the ubiquitous Muggle uniform of tight denims and tighter t-shirt. Draco had, as usual, ordered one shot of alcohol when he arrived, quickly downed it, and then stepped onto the dancefloor. Within minutes he’d attracted the attention of several men. Most hadn’t been so bold as to say, but their actions had spoken clearly of their intent. Just one had managed to speak over the music to explicitly state what he wanted to do to Draco and how he’d then like the favour returned. It was all to plan.

Draco had never met any of these men before, and he’d likely never meet them again. It was perfect.

It was terrible.

All Draco needed to do was reach out and take hold of what was being offered to him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t help wondering if the man in the white shirt and jeans had a boyfriend out of town. He thought the guy in faux leather pants and vest might be here just because his other half was stuck at work. The idea of doing what the tall, dark haired Adonis had suggested should have sent blood to Draco’s groin, but he only felt shivers of dread down his spine.

Merlin damn Nathan Tronpe to hell.

Draco knew it wasn’t just the idea that he might be participating in a betrayal of someone’s trust that was bothering him, though. He was, he’d thought, all for unattached and unrestrained pleasure when there was no one he’d be cheating on. The idea of touching someone he didn’t care for wasn’t something Draco had ever thought he’d find repulsive. But now he did. Tronpe had done that very thing over and over and over. There’d been no meaning to his relationship with Draco, nor his fucking of anyone else.

Draco quit the dance floor. He bought a bottle of water at the bar and headed up onto the street and then towards the park. If it was dark enough for illicit encounters, it was dark enough for a wizard to apparate home from.

✦✦✦

Harry, James Evans, took a moment to sure up his notice-me-not-charm as he followed his target out onto the dark street. Draco had only had one alcoholic drink all evening. He’d spent a very crowded hour and a half on the dance floor soaking up attention from all directions. But he was leaving alone. Which, considering the kind of venue, was not what Harry had expected. Draco had perhaps just wanted to lose himself for a while. Maybe the attention he’d received, and it was a lot of attention, was all that he had needed.

Harry pulled his jacket a little closer around him as he followed the curve of the footpath around to the edge of the park. He watched Draco stop, then open and drink most of the bottle of water he’d bought on his way out. Despite the winter cold he tipped the rest of it over his head and then threw the container into a dustbin. He was in front of the entrance to what was probably a nice place to eat lunch during the day. Right now though it was a perfect place for quick and dirty hook-ups.

Draco shook himself off, then laid his palm over the inside of one thigh—probably where he’d secreted his wand—and cast quick drying, then heating charms over himself. It would do until he apparated home, Harry supposed. The absurdly tight black denims and matching thin mesh t-shirt Draco was wearing certainly wouldn’t be of much assistance in keeping warm on a January evening.

Draco headed off the footpath and toward an outcrop of trees. It was likely as good a place as any to disappear in mid-air. Even on a cold night like this there were bound to be at least some Muggle men getting to know each other better in the park. They’d unlikely be distracted from their activities long enough to witness Draco apparate. The blond was just about to step behind a tree to do just that, Harry surmised, when two magenta-robed idiots appeared.

Harry thought idiotic was probably the nicest word he could use to describe Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas at this very moment. He didn’t think they’d know of each other’s indiscretions with Nathan Tronpe, but could imagine some kind of strange comedy of foolishness where each thought they were talking the other into doing something for them. That something, of course, being following Draco Malfoy in what was probably an attempt to exact some kind of revenge.

Harry had done a sweep of the club when he’d followed Draco in and there’d been no other wizards inside. Therefore, the two Aurors must have waited outside in the cold for more than an hour and a half for this opportunity to do whatever they were doing. What they could possibly planning here, though? Harry had no idea.

Luckily it was winter, or the two weird looking guys in capes would have quickly attracted someone’s attention. At this stage only Harry seemed to be witness to what was going on, thankfully. He widened his notice-me-not charm towards the three wizards in front of him to hopefully make sure it stayed that way, then focussed in on the conversation that had started.

“You need to hand over your wand, Malfoy.” Ron was using his I’m-an-important-Auror voice. Harry thought it always made it seem as if he was playing dress-ups rather than actually doing his job.

Draco was standing his ground, though. “I will not, Mr Weasley. Firstly, I’ve no reason to. Secondly, it’s inside my pants leg and I’m not stripping bare to give it to you.”

“Either way,” Thomas seemed to realise that like it or not, that was a sensible answer, “You need to come with us.”

Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And exactly what have I done that I would need to be detained by Aurors? I don’t believe I’m in contradiction of any of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s decrees.”

Ron snorted, “You were behaving suspiciously around Muggles, and, in our opinion, about to commit a crime against the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy by apparating in a public Muggle area.” Ron looked smug, even in the low light.

“What, like popping up dressed in red capes in front of them and waving magic sticks about isn’t attracting attention?” Draco said incredulously.

Ron sneered. “Don’t push your luck, Mr Malfoy.” He stressed the title.

Draco said, “Fine,” then stepped closer to Thomas, “But I’m not touching you, Weasley. Your partner can apparate us to the Ministry. And as soon as we get there, I’d like to speak to your supervising Auror.”

Harry concentrated and felt the apparition take the three to the foyer of the Ministry, then he followed. He landed only moments after them and trailed behind, still with his notice-me-not firmly in place, as they headed up to the second floor entrance area of the Auror Offices.

The three wizards he was following were a study in opposites. They were two scruffy but comfortable looking men in winter woollens and full Auror marked cloaks, and a particularly primped Draco in starkly Muggle attire that offered little covering.

Harry watched Draco wrap his arms around himself. He had been beginning to shiver in the park and here was not much warmer, though there was a possibility he was also attempting hide the scarring on his arm. Harry hoped all this wouldn’t take too long.

It didn’t. It started with Auror Calthorpe getting Draco a blanket, asking if he’d like something warm to drink, and then turning to look at Weasley and Thomas. He didn’t say anything, just looked at them out from under his huge, hairy eyebrows. Ron swallowed visibly then started rambling about following a suspicious wizard into a Muggle area, and acting to protect public safety and, after that, the Secrecy Statute. Thomas just nodded along.

Calthorpe breathed in deeply, then turned to face Draco. “Mr Malfoy, I’m sorry is it alright if I address you that way, lad? Heritor Lord Malfoy is a bloody mouthful.”

“It’s perfectly alright, Auror Calthorpe. Thank you for asking, however.” Draco seemed to force a smile and pulled the blanket a little tighter around his chest.

Calthorpe waved Draco over to a bench against the wall. He sat down with him. “Of course. Are you sure you don’t want some tea? Perhaps a hot lemon something?” Draco shook his head. “Alright then, now, for the record, may I ask you what you were doing out this evening?”

“I went dancing. As I’m a gay man, I predictably chose to visit a gay club to do so. As I’m relatively well known in the wizarding world and didn’t want to attract any attention, I decided on a Muggle gay club.” He was keeping his voice calm and his face remarkably blank. He still looked cold, though.

“I see.” Calthorpe turned to the two Aurors standing next to them. “What made you two come to the conclusion that there was any danger to Muggles in Mr Malfoy’s actions?”

Thomas spoke this time. “He was armed, and... He was armed in a very crowded space. And he then headed into the woods where there were several couples that could have seen him apparate.”

Harry wondered if Dean had been going to say He was armed and he’s a dark wizard.

Calthorpe turned back to Draco. “Mr Malfoy, were you armed? And if so, why?”

Draco sat up a little. “I had my wand with me, of course. I needed it to travel to the club, and to then get home. It’s currently strapped to the inside of my thigh. I most certainly did not expose it at any point. I don’t know that I’d call that armed, exactly.”

Calthorpe pursed his lips. “And, just so I have this completely straight, Mr Malfoy, when you were detained, what were you about to do?” Calthorpe was beginning to clip his words short.

Draco held his voice steady still. “I had had enough of dancing for the evening. The park near the club is dark and has quite a large number of very isolated spots. They are in fact so isolated that they are often used by couples for clandestine fornication. I was planning on finding an empty such spot to apparate home from. I believe my doing so would have complied with the Secrecy Statute. That was most certainly my intention.”

Calthorpe stood. His stance reminded Harry of a Peruvian Vipertooth about to attack. Harry almost, but not quite, felt sorry for Ron and Dean.

Calthorpe’s voice was sharp. “Right then. Mr Malfoy, I’d ask to inspect your wand, but I think that would simply be a further insult. On behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement I apologise for having interrupted your evening, for wasting your valuable time, and indeed for any offense my very junior colleagues may have caused. If you wish to keep the rug, please do so. If not, just leave it in the apparition bay you use on your way home.”

Harry wasn’t sure what impressed him more, the way Draco managed to look perfectly poised as he stood, clad mostly in a baby blue blanket, or the way Ron and Dean managed to look perfectly fucked as Matheus Calthorpe turned his full attention to them. Harry was sorely tempted to stay to listen to the right royal bollocking that the two were about to get. He really, really wanted to see if they had any kind of formal action taken against them. He’d find out soon enough, though.

He followed Draco down to the apparition points and tracked him to the Manor. He hoped the Malfoy elves had a good sized fire going for their returning Master.

✦✦✦

Chapter Text

✦✦✦

Dark Deeds Suspected
Daily Prophet
Friday, January 16 2004
Rita Skeeter - Senior Political Correspondent

Yesterday afternoon this reporter had the privilege of a private interview with Mr Pembroke Pettybourne, esteemed Member of the Wizengamot and Wizard in Charge of the Ministry’s War Reparations Committee. The topic of our conversation was that of dark magic, mysterious influences, and responsibility. Member Pettybourne stated that while always concerned for the welfare of both Magic and Muggle alike, in the last two weeks since the New Year he has become particularly worried about a disturbing trend he has uncovered.

Mr Pettybourne took care to remind us that on the first Sunday of this year, January 4, readers of The Prophet woke to news of a raft of alterations overnight in the holdings of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. While the bank’s spokesgoblin has stated several times that the changes they recorded were all in order, the bank has also repeatedly refused to make comment as to their cause or nature.

Mr Pettybourne also noted that since the Gringotts news we have seen numerous unusual issues arise in other Wizarding bastions, including trouble at St Mungos Hospital and a whole host of strife in the British and Irish Quidditch League. These were accompanied by a widespread possible crisis of health, with an extraordinarily large number of Infectious Hex and Curse Letters of Notice issued shortly after.

Member Pettybourne stated that he believes these happenings are of a deliberate and malicious nature, that they appear to be explicitly designed to cause chaos, and may have been specifically targeted to that effect. He has evidence that they can all be linked to one night, and to one wizard, the previously exonerated Death Eater, Heritor Lord Draconis Lucius Malfoy.

Mr Pettybourne informed us that when the Wizengamot sits for the first time this year on Monday, he will be calling on the body to initiate a full investigation into the matter.

✦✦✦

Harry opened his eyes and found that the red-head in front of him wasn’t the one he’d been expecting to see. Charlie said, “Morning, Harry!” then promptly whipped all the blankets off of the top of him, leaving Harry’s toes and other bits quite cold.

“Charlie? What are you doing out and about so early?” Harry stretched and levitated his glasses onto his face. Yes, that was definitely Charlie, not George. Yet Harry was more than certain he’d snuck into George’s apartment to crash, definitely not the Burrow, where he’d been sure Charlie was currently staying.

“I’m not actually out and about, really, Harry. Just got out of bed myself. I was wondering if you’d like me to make you some eggs too, or if you’d be a good bloke and do it instead? I’m not great at breakfast, and you’re bloody brilliant I hear. Apparently me crashing in George’s spare room cramps his style with the witches, so the price I have to pay while I’m here is all meals at my hands or expense, but…”

Harry sat up and grabbed one of the blankets back from Charlie, then shifted over so the other man could sit on the sofa too. He said, “I don’t know that I’m up for cooking right now, Charlie. But we could order in and split the bill.”

“That would be cheating,” came a voice from behind them. George wandered around and sat on the arm of the chair, next to his brother. “I wholeheartedly approve.”

They put in a floo order with the café up the street, and requested elf delivery. George stoked the fire a little higher as they waited, and the room began to warm some. Harry let the blanket fall loose.

“So, I’d never stayed at George’s new place before last night, Harry, but it looks as if you’re quite at home popping in and out,” Charlie said as he made a pot of tea.

George answered for him. “Harry is quite at home popping in and out of all our places. I think there is a Boy Who Lived shaped dent in all our couches.”

Harry winced. “Grimmauld is so damn big and empty. It gets lonely now that Kreacher has gone the way of his ancestors. He might have been a grumpy old bastard, but he was company.”

Both Charlie and George made agreeing noises, and Charlie poured each of them a cup, then made a toast, “Here’s to Kreacher, the grumpy old bastard.”

Their teacups clinked together as a young, uniformed house-elf appeared on the hearth. They exchanged the parcel she was holding for galleons, and she popped out. Then they portioned out the food: giant bacon, sausage, and egg butties smothered in melting cheese and brown sauce, each with a side of battered and deep fried potato scallops.

A few mouthfuls in Charlie said, “Not as good as one of Mum’s breakfasts, but pretty bloody close.”

Harry swallowed what he had in his mouth asked, “And what was it that managed to steal you away from your Mum’s breakfasts then, mate?”

“Some things aren’t worth even Mum’s food, are they Charlie?” snickered George.

“Definitely not.” Charlie put the sandwich down, dragged a potato piece through some of its sauce then stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, then said, “The only thing that can come between a Weasley child and his mother’s food is another Weasley child. In this case, it was our lovely sister and all her associated drama.”

George nodded as Charlie took another bite of his bacon butty. “It seems that our sweet Ginevra has moved back home. For a while at least.”

Charlie took a mouthful of tea and swished it around in his mouth, then said, “She’s been put on the bench at Holyhead for at least six weeks, and won’t tell anyone why. She seems to blame her other half for it for some reason, though. She’s spent the last two days ranting at Mum and Dad about it. Dean fire-called her at least six times yesterday and the day before. She wouldn’t talk to him, not even to tell him to stop calling. I finally got sick of it and left. Dad looked jealous when I told him I was bailing. Mum gave me a death stare, but even she didn’t try to argue.”

Harry shouldn’t, but he couldn’t not tell the brothers. It wasn’t as if what he’d seen in the corridor outside the Aurors’ office the other day had been particularly private, and it shouldn’t actually affect Malfoy in any way. He swallowed hard and put down his breakfast, then said the two magic words, “Yellow Letters.”

“What?” The pair said in unison.

“I didn’t say anything the other day, but well,” Harry took a deep breath and blurted, “I was at the Aurors’ office when Ron and Dean each got Yellow Letters.” George made as if he was going to throw a cushion. Harry added quickly, “It wasn't me, really. It was James Evans. He was there on assignment, and I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, okay? None of it was particularly private though. It wasn’t exactly easy to miss, either. Bloody bright yellow owls.”

Both George and Charlie rolled their eyes, but neither actually looked pissed off.

“And?” George asked as he poured them all more tea.

“They weren’t the only two of the Aurors who got the letters, but I have to admit I didn’t take much notice of anyone else. Ron got his, went the same colour as his robes, and ran out looking as if he was about to heave. Dean looked a bit more shocked than stressed, to be honest. Well, until Ginny arrived waving a letter, too.”

George fairly bounced in his seat. “I’d be annoyed at you for not sharing sooner, but the extra gossip makes up for it. So, they both got one? Then who cheated on who? It doesn’t sound as if Dean was angry when he got it, so was Ginny there to rip his bollocks off?” George enjoyed the discomfort of his siblings far too much.

Charlie said, “Hang on, why would her other half doing the dirty on her get her put on the bench for six weeks? I’m assuming it’s related, anyway. Having an unfaithful partner isn't really grounds for one of the Conduct Unbecoming charges they’ve been on about in the paper.”

Harry finished off his bacon butty and started on his potatoes. “Well, I’d still be wondering the same thing, but the happy couple cleared up the confusion for me when they had a barney about it in the hall.” He took half a bite of another piece of potato to keep them waiting. He might as well enjoy this a little, too. He chewed dramatically and only decided to start talking again when it looked as if George was about to pounce. It still wasn’t easy to say this. “They did it, um, the guy, together. More than once.”

Charlie spat tea all over the coffee table. Luckily most of their food was already gone. “Merlin wept. Really? Our sister had a threesome? Oh, Mum is going to have puffskein kittens.”

George let out a giggle-snort, “And, and… Oh, please tell me, brother mine, that Ron and Ginny haven’t figured it out yet? They can’t know. I want to be there when they find out they both did the same wizard.”

Harry shivered, “Better you than me, mate. You reckon your Mum doesn’t know about Ginny and Dean then, Charlie?”

Charlie stood and started clearing containers away from the table, and flicked his wand to clear off the tea he’d sprayed everywhere. “Dean? Unlikely. Ginny? Definitely no. When I left last night, it was just after dinner. Ron was on washing up duty again, and Ginny had just been given another slice of crabapple and butterbeer pie.”

“In other words, little brother is in the shithouse, and little sister is getting special treatment.” George leaned back. He looked as if he was barely restraining himself from rubbing his hands together with glee. “Excellent. Hopefully it will stay that way until next time the whole family is in one room. Dad’s birthday’s soon.” He stood up and twirled in his pyjamas. “I shall buy a set of yellow robes, pants and perhaps even a shirt and jumper to match.”

Harry laughed, “You’re an arse, George.”

“That I am, Harry, that I am.” He sat back down. His grin was wonderful. “You know, Charlie, I reckon you weren’t hearing that Ginny thought her suspension was Dean’s fault. I’d wager that she’s just pissed that she’s been given a bollocking by her bosses, and that he’s sitting pretty without so much as an office paper-cut to show for the whole debacle.”

Harry tried to swallow the correction that rose out of his throat, but it got stuck just under his nose and started him coughing.

Charlie patted him on the back and conjured him a glass of water. Harry gulped some down.

“Well then, out with it.” George teased.

Harry scrunched up his nose and waved his hand. “I really can’t. Truth Seeker vows and all that.” He thought a moment and said as much as he figured he could, “I just wouldn’t be sure Dean will end up completely unscathed.”

“And if he doesn’t,” George began delightedly, “Neither will Ronniekins, right? I think I’ll buy a yellow hat, too.”

✧✧✧

Harry left the Weasley brothers just before ten. It would be the latest he’d started work for quite some time. He thought he could duck home and shower, then go over to Hermione’s office. He’d check in on Draco via her, and then shoot back to Grimmauld Place to do some much needed cleaning before the party on Saturday. He should probably order in some food, too. He doubted that he had much more than eggs and bacon in the fridge.

He’d gotten himself clean and dressed, and was about to go to the Ministry when he remembered to pick up his copy of the Prophet from his doormat so he could read it if he had to wait for Hermione. He glanced at the headline just as he was about to apparate, and sighed. It was to be another day with changed plans. He hoped that the Hire-A-Happy-House-Elf place he'd used the other week for food did cleaning as well as catering.

✧✧✧

Harry, or rather James Evans, found Hermione working in her office.

“I was wondering when I’d see you today, James. I assume you’re here for the press conference?” She pressed her seal into the wax she’d just dripped onto a rolled parchment and flicked the door closed behind him.

Harry shook his head. “Press conference? No? When? I stayed on George’s couch last night. Is Draco here?”

She shook her head. “No he’s not, Harry. He sent an owl this morning to officially inform me that he’s been struck down with a second dose of what sent him home on Monday. He also suggested that I either eat in my office today, or take a late lunch. He made specific mention of staying out of the Atrium at midday.” She leant back in her seat. “And by stayed on George’s couch I’m assuming you mean you didn’t see the paper until you got home.”

“You know George and his No News at Home policy, so no, I didn’t. The three of us had a long, chatty breakfast.” Hermione raised an eyebrow at the number. “Charlie bunked there last night, too. And it’s probably not just for the one night.” Harry took off his coat as he sat down, and laid it across his lap. “I had news to tell you this morning, ‘Mione. More than one thing. It was news I thought would make today pretty interesting. Skeeter just had to go and one up me, even if she didn’t know she was doing it.” He sighed. “I knew she was interviewing Pettybourne, but didn’t think that she’d whack the story on the front page of the Prophet. And I didn’t think it would make it to press so soon.” Harry pushed his legs out in front of him and inspected his shoes. He needed to learn to clean them better. He missed Kreacher for more than the company. He looked back up at Hermione.

She waved her wand at the kettle to start it heating. “Okay, let me take this in order. So, Charlie is bunking with his brother instead of at home. What on earth made him do that? A Weasley boy doesn’t give up his mother’s food easily.”

Harry laughed, ‘That’s more or less what I said.”

She grinned. “And?”

Harry pushed his coat onto the chair next to him and stood up to make tea while he told her about Ginny’s apparent situation. Hermione had long since stopped taking notes about every little thing, but he imagined he could see her quill hand itching. For once Harry could understand. He almost felt the need to sketch out the happenings of the last few weeks on parchment, just so he could see everything clearly.

“So, that’s why Charlie is at George’s place, and why you may see George wearing an astonishingly large amount of yellow clothing for a while,” Harry finished.

“Well,” said Hermione as she bent sideways and fished a packet of Jaffa Cakes out of her drawer, “I can’t say I blame Charlie for vacating, or, and I hate myself a little for saying this, George for taking the opportunity to do what he can to mess with his little brother and sister.”

Harry leaned over and grabbed a biscuit. “That was the most recent news of the three things I had to share with you. The least recent happening was the bit about Skeeter and Pettybourne.”

Hermione took a swig of tea to wash down her biscuit and said, “That would imply that there was at least one more thing in between.” She smirked. “You have been a busy, busy Truth Seeker, haven’t you Mr Evans?”

Harry gave her a sideways look as he not-so-stealthily sneaked out a hand and grabbed a second and third biscuit. “I should have felt at least a bit guilty telling Charlie and George about Ginny, Ron, and Dean getting the Yellow Letters. But I really, really didn’t. Especially not about Ron and Dean. Not after what they tried on last night.”

Hermione sat back in her chair and said, “And what was that? Does it have anything at all to do with the highly confidential Department of Magical Law Enforcement memo that went around this morning? All Aurors and even Hit Wizards suddenly have to take mandatory refresher courses in appropriate reasons for surveillance and arrest.”

Harry grinned. “Highly confidential, indeed? You’ve been a busy Department of Mysteries spy, haven’t you Miss Granger?”

“A little. That’s all I know about it, though.” She finished the last sip of her tea and motioned to the pot. Harry looked at the clock on the wall and nodded. She poured another cup.

“It was one of the stupidest things I’ve seen Ron try to pull for years.” Harry sat back in his seat with his fresh cuppa and told her all about Draco’s evening out, Ron and Dean’s idiocy, and the look on Calthorpe’s face when he started to understand what had been going on.

Hermione opened her mouth in response when Harry finally stopped talking. She closed it again, breathed in deeply, exhaled hard, and then said, with an absurdly serious voice, “Those utter wankers.”

Harry spat tea on the floor as he started laughing, he’d not heard his best friend use such language for a very long time. “Oh, ‘Mione, I think hearing you say that might actually make Ron understand that what they did was more than just daft.”

Hermione looked up at the clock, and Harry followed her gaze. It was almost twelve. “Daft?” She stood up and took his cup with hers over to the side bench. “Imbecilic, more like it. Thank Merlin they’re not our problem.”

Harry turned to the door. “Well, not officially, anyway. I will be keeping an eye on them if I catch them around the Heritor Lord again.”

“I doubt your employer would have it any other way. Do you think Mrs Malfoy or Draco will be up there for the press conference?”

Harry slipped his coat back on, and glanced at James Evans in the mirror to check his hair. It was fine. “I doubt it. The statement they made to the Prophet before was through their legal guy. I’d bet on it being just him again.” He shook his head. “I definitely wouldn’t talk to the press myself if I could have someone do it for me. I’d avoid going near them today if I could. Can you spare me another 10 or 15 minutes, ‘Mione? I’d really like a second set of eyes up there for this.”

Hermione smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.” She grabbed her pale-grey Unspeakables cloak from the cupboard near the door and flicked a de-dusting charm at it. “I haven’t played Scary-Department-of-Mysteries-Unspeakable in quite a while. I love staring at the back of reporters’ heads dressed in this thing. It always makes them fidget so.”

✧✧✧

They stepped into the atrium just after midday. There were a handful of spectators beginning to gather around the absurd number of journalists. Harry could easily pick out Skeeter and her photographer, both being trailed by a wizard he thought was Lesar Meek, one of Rita’s apprentice writers at the Prophet. He also spotted Tovia Misslethorpe, granddaughter of the founder of Witch Weekly, and currently its editor. Harry had to resist pressing himself against the wall to avoid being spotted in return. It was only Hermione giggling out, “You’re safe I swear, James,” stressing the name, that brought him to his senses. Misslethorpe was worse than even Skeeter when it came to gossip about who was dating who.

Harry spent a little time wondering at the weird recording contraption the reporters from Wizarding Wireless Network were carrying, and then looked over the crowd again. He resisted waving at Luna’s dad standing in the other corner of the room. There were now almost three times as many regular Ministry workers as there were reporters. The noise level was attracting the attention of those on the levels above, and it was becoming obvious that there’d be even more people shortly. Hermione nodded at another light-grey clad figure a few feet from them, and he or she moved away. The crowd suddenly quietened, and the man Harry, or rather James Evans, knew to be the top legal-wizard in Draco and Narcissa’s employ, stepped up onto a small platform.

The man cast a subtle Sonorus charm with his wand tip against his throat. They were all going to have to listen very carefully if they were to catch every word he said. Harry liked this wizard’s style.

“Good afternoon, members of the press, curious public and esteemed others,” Harpham looked directly at Hermione and then at her cloaked colleague on the other side of the room, nodding at both of them. “Thank you for taking time out of your busy days to be here.” He produced a tiny scroll of parchment from his pocket, and it unfurled and hovered in front of him. He glanced at it and then over the tops of the heads of the people in front of him. “My name is Howard Harpham, of the legal advisory firm Harpham, Harpham and Holsum. I am here to make a statement on behalf of our clients, the Malfoy family.”

He flicked his eyes down at Skeeter at the very first sign of a noise from her throat. The look stopped her cold, her curls bouncing after she pulled her head back a little. Harry was very, very envious of that ability. Harpham said, “I will not be interrupted. If I feel that I, and by extension my clients, have been afforded the courteousness I require, I may answer some questions once I’ve finished speaking.”

There was a tittering amongst spectators and reporters alike, and a sharp squealing noise from the machine the Wizarding Wireless Network people had with them.

Harpham waited patiently until they made it stop. He looked back at his scroll, then up again.

“Thank you. Yesterday, scandalous and baseless assertions were made in print against my client, Draco Malfoy. The accusations spoke of proof of some form of wrongdoing on his behalf, but provided none. I am here to provide the facts.” He breathed in deeply, no one else seemed to move a muscle. “Over the holiday period, it was discovered that Mr Malfoy’s then fiancé, Nathan Tronpe, had cheated on him. As a result of the indiscretions, Mr Malfoy ended the engagement. Furthermore, he removed any favour he’d placed upon Mr Tronpe during their relationship. This included, amongst other things, taking back the engagement ring he’d gifted the man, and removing the Malfoy name from Nathan Tronpe’s lease.”

There were mutterings of approval and understanding. Harpham waited for them to die down before continuing.

“Unfortunately, despite Mr Malfoy’s obvious devotion to his then partner, it was discovered that Mr Tronpe had not been unfaithful just once. Although Mr Malfoy is in perfect health there was evidence of possible issues for others. Due to that, and the scope of Tronpe’s infidelities, Mr Malfoy’s Healer took the decision to properly inform the Ministry of Herbology. They promptly instructed her to issue Infectious Hex and Curse Notices to those concerned.”

To this there were gasps. Harry looked around. He wondered if the looks of shock and realisation he was seeing were just because of the number of Yellow Letters, or because some of the faces bearing the emotions were more intimately involved.

Harpham cleared his throat.

“We would like it made clear that the dissolving of the import contract patronage with the Medeiros family was in fact due to Emilio Medeiros having been one of Nathan Tronpe’s partners in indiscretion. Mr Malfoy simply did not feel comfortable trading with someone who had knowingly taken part in what he considers to be the destruction of his relationship with Nathan Tronpe. However, the Medeiros and Malfoy families will soon sign new contracts to replace the old. Furthermore, and finally, it is reasonable to expect that if Mr Malfoy discovered similar situations had occurred with others he is in business with, that those contracts or associations would also be dissolved or altered.”

There was silence as the little scroll in front of Harpham rolled itself up and slid back into his pocket.

“I will now take some questions, no more than one from each publication or wireless station. You first, Ms Misslethorpe.”

She glanced over at the reporter from Teen Witch and smiled wide. Her voice was far louder than the Legal Wizard’s, even without a Sonorus. “Mr Harpham, thank you. So we have been right, then, in calling that fabulous new hairstyle Mr Malfoy is sporting the Lord Heartbreak ?”

Harpham barely blinked. “I’m quite sure you can call Mr Malfoy’s hairstyle anything you wish. However, I would say that his choice of cut was a nod to the tradition of married and engaged wizards wearing their hair long, and his new status as being quite un-attached.”

Misslethorpe beamed, and again grinned at the young woman from Teen Witch. Apparently Draco’s hairstyle had been the most pressing thing on their combined minds. Harry resisted shaking his head.

Harpham nodded towards the wizards from the Wizarding Wireless Network. “Mr Bollarde?”

The oldest of the three spoke, the other two tweaked settings on their recording contraption. “Mr Harpham, if the Heritor Lord has nothing to hide, why he is not here answering for himself?”

Harpham shook his head. “Quite apart from the absurd accusations levelled against him, Draco Malfoy has just experienced the break-up of a long-term romantic relationship, one serious enough that he thought it would be his last. And, as with any young man in his situation, to be perfectly honest, he just isn't ready to talk about it yet.”

It was a good deflection, Harry thought. Entirely truthful, but still managing to avoid the stickier part of the implication of the question.

Harpham moved his attention on, landing his gaze on the young woman Tovia Misslethorpe had been gloating at previously. “Young lady? I’m unsure of your name, I apologise.”

“Camellia Castlethorpe, Teen Witch Magazine. We’d like to know if the Heritor Lord Malfoy is going to start dating again soon.”

Again the legal-wizard stayed stone faced, despite the inanity of the question. “As I’ve just stated, Mr Malfoy has just suffered the ending of a significant relationship. Tradition amongst the older families would call for at least a six-month abstention from romantic involvements. Draco Malfoy is his own wizard, however, and I’m sure he’ll make up his own mind.”

Castlethorpe tittered and her cheeks rosied. She looked down at what her Quick Quotes Quill had recorded and seemed happy enough.

Harpham almost sighed as he said, “One last question. I’ll give it to the Prophet. Mr Meek, I believe?”

The look on Skeeter’s face reminded Harry of the expression on a blast-ended skrewt just before it popped. He could feel Hermione trying not to laugh.

Lesar Meek looked as if he was going to faint.

“Um, yes. Mr Harpham, that’s right. My name is Lesar Meek. I, um.” His eyes went to the floor and back up again quickly. There was no reason for him to have believed he’d get to ask a question instead of Skeeter. She was waving her notepad at him, but he ignored her and finally said, “The precise number of Infectious Hex and Curse Notices hasn’t been made public, but can you confirm that Mr Tronpe was the source of all of those that have come to be known as Yellow Letters?”

Harry was slightly impressed, a double whammy on the fly. Surely the junior reporter would have hoped that he could have asked a question, but it was unlikely he’d practiced any. It was a good save.

Harpham seemed to think so, too. His eyes narrowed a little and Harry imagined he could see the legal-wizard memorising Meek’s face as someone to watch out for in the future.

“The matter of numbers is entirely the purview of the Ministry of Herbology. I’m sure that it would be inappropriate for me to make any statement to that. As far as how many of them were due to Mr Tronpe’s activities? I must stress that no one but the relevant authorities have read the actual list. We will say, however, that his indiscretions were not,” he breathed in deeply, “insignificant.”

The way he said the last word sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. It sounded just like Snape, right down to the over emphasised t at the end.

Meek didn’t seem satisfied with the answer, but he nodded his thanks anyway.

Harpham pulled a pocket watch out of his vest, read the dial, then slipped it back away. “Well, gentle persons, thank you again for your time today.” He bent into a very soft bow, but snapped back up again when Skeeter’s voice cut through the murmur that was building.

“So, you aren’t going to address the fact that the Heritor Lord was arrested last night? You won’t even deny that he was not charged with anything because he had legal representation most of us can’t dream of affording?” Skeeter smirked as she finished her questions.

Harry felt anger rising in the back of his throat and swallowed it hard. He had no idea who Skeeter’s spy in the Aurors was. She had to have one though, or she’d not know that Draco was dragged in there last night. She’d long lost the ability to spy within the walls of the Ministry in her beetle-Animagus form; after the war anti-Animagi wards were laid in the walls at the same time as the new anti-Imperious charms and alarms. What really annoyed Harry was that if she did have a spy, she knew perfectly well that Draco hadn’t called any bloody legal-wizards. She had a reputation for stretching the truth, but that was actually an outright lie.

Harpham appeared calmer than Harry felt. “Ms Skeeter, there is always one in a crowd who can’t go along with the guidelines that make everyone comfortable.” Oh, the man was channelling Snape again. “Draco Malfoy was not arrested last night. He was erroneously detained by junior Aurors, and very soon released with a full and gracious apology from their superiors. At no time during his ordeal did Mr Malfoy summon assistance from any member of my firm or any other person. A simple check of the Aurors’ mandatory recording scrolls would have avoided you asking such an embarrassingly fallacious question.”

Harpham bowed and stepped off his platform and walked away briskly. Skeeter had the decency to look at least a little embarrassed, but only for an all too fleeting moment.

Harry waited a few seconds, then followed Hermione down to her office to borrow her floo. He knew Harpham was probably already at the Malfoys’, and filling them in on everything that had just happened, yet he felt a pressing need to give his current employer an update anyway.

✦✦✦

Draco rolled his eyes at his mother, and wondered just who could be floo-calling them. Harpham was in the room, and there were very few others who could get through the wards. He almost smacked himself in the forehead when he saw whose head was in the fire. He was more affected by everything than he was admitting to himself if he hadn’t considered the Truth Seeker his mother would obviously still have under her employ.

His mother knelt on the floo-stool in front of the flames. “Mr Evans, thank you for calling.”

“Lady Malfoy.” The green head bobbed into a bow in the fireplace. Evans was nothing if not well mannered.

“Would you care to join us, Mr Evans? Mr Harpham has agreed to tea while he recounts today’s outing with the press. He has already informed us of your presence there, and that of at least two properly cloaked Unspeakables.”

Draco shifted on the sofa and wondered if Evans could see him from this angle.

“I’m quite sure Mr Harpham has all the information you need from today, Lady Malfoy. I just wanted to remind you that I was present during the incident in the Aurors’ office last night. After today’s Skeeter question it may be useful to have a Truth Seeker to call on as a witness.”

Draco felt himself pale. Well, that was embarrassing. He’d expected that his mother was having him followed, and had, until this very moment, actually liked the idea of someone being around just in case. The reality that someone else had seen his humiliation last night, though? Someone as put together as James Evans? It was horrifying. Thank Merlin his mother was facing the other way and Harpham staring at his notes.

“Thank you, Mr Evans. I had no doubt you were there.”

The head in the flames tilted to one side. “Is there anything more I can do for you, or Mr Malfoy at the moment, Lady Malfoy?”

His mother looked over her shoulder at him, and then back into the flames.

“There is a question you could answer if you are able, Mr Evans. My son is due to visit friends this weekend and is concerned that he might be exposing himself unnecessarily.”

James Evans frowned. “Are you worried about the people he’ll be seeing?”

Draco wanted to object, but his mother did it for him. “Oh, no, Mr Evans. They are all quite lovely I’m told. It is the possibility that the location they are meeting at may not be secure that has him baulking at attending. Have you had dealings with Lord Black, Mr Evans?”

Evans seemed to take pause at the question, but answered it anyway. “I have, yes. Is it his residence Mr Malfoy will be visiting? I’ve been there. It is very well warded. In fact, I’d say it’s close to the level of spell-work that you are currently using around Malfoy Manor. Although he has the added protection of a modified Fidelius charm.”

Draco felt better and worse all at once. He really wanted to go to the not-Birthday party. Mother had teared up at the description he’d shared with her and begun to make lists of what he could do to not-dishonour his godfather with the others. She’d even exchanged an owl or two with Gregory Goyle over it. Draco wanted to go for her, and for Snape. He thought Goyle would likely do alright without him, but it would be good to see him again so soon, too.

Draco knew though that he had a fear of feeling like an interloper again. They, the Loopy-Lot as he’d started calling them in his head, had made him and Goyle both feel perfectly welcome at their luncheon. And they’d not rescinded their invitation to the coming event, even after the damned Skeeter and Pettybourne column in the Prophet. There was no reason to feel that they’d be anything but welcoming again. He, just. Well. He really wanted to keep these people, loopy or looney or seriously ludicrous, as his friends. At the moment he felt that every new hour might bring something to jeopardise their growing relationships.

His mother had signed off the floo-conversation with Evans. She stood up from the stool and brushed lightly at where her skirt had bunched a little under her knees.

“See, Draco darling? There is nothing to concern yourself with.” She sat on the sofa next to him and motioned for tea, smiling at Minny as she poured them each a cup. “Now, Mr Harpham, please tell us everything you can about the press conference.”

✦✦✦

Casting One’s Net for Fair Judgement
Weekend Quibbler
Saturday, January 17 2004
Xenophilius Lovegood - Editor

In the modern era we wish to know the mind of each of us individually. In the past, ho w ever, in families, villages, and even official collectives such as the Wizards' Council and the later Wizengamot, the most ordinary way our community made decisions of judgement was through the use of a now nearly forgotten form of magic.

The Ejice a Rete is a powerful and equalising form of what is technically known as a passive incantation. It is so labelled as it is not cast with wand and words like a standard curse or charm, but instead invoked with the feeling placed behind a simple statement of action. This statement can be anything from a verdict in a criminal case to announcing the final choice of paint colour in a newly renovated room of a family home.

In recent days there has been some speculation that dark magics are afoot at the hands of one notable young wizard in our British magical community. There are whispers that he must have planned foul deeds of particular menace and spent time targeting specific persons to have affected so many lives in such a short time.

Yet, when I sat down and looked at the only known facts concerning this young man’s situation, and placed my own heart and mind into his position, my first thought was of a late summer afternoon as a child when the Lovegood family had gathered to celebrate Beltane. My aunt Iphigenia announced to us that her husband, Bert, had been caught abed with another woman. Iphigenia made other statements regarding Bert’s general behaviour. She allowed time for thought amongst her peers, then pronounced that she was done with her husband, and that she deserved his robes, books, and beetle-fly collection as compensation for pain rendered.

Bert was near naked within moments. Iphigenia had cast a net for judgement, and the family, upon contemplation, had collectively decided she was in the right.

I spoke to Alfons Adelbrecht, Specialist in Passive Incantations (Passive Beschwörungen) at the Zentrum Für Magische Studie in Hengstfeld, about the possibilities and range of the Ejice a Rete. For our complete conversation, see pages 4 to 13.

✦✦✦

Luna had come up with her most insane outfit to date. Next to her absolute riot of colour Draco’s all black get-up should have looked drab. And yet, here was Harry, leant against the back of the sofa and trying to look at something other than the Heritor Lord Malfoy, Titled Pureblood Wizard, in the tightest pair of denims known to man. They weren’t really denims, truth be told. The material had a slight sheen to it. It wasn’t fake leather and it wasn’t cotton. Harry had no actual idea what to call the pants, other than sprayed on. The look, especially combined with the tight mesh t-shirt Draco was wearing, was almost obscene. Harry could see the lines of Draco’s abs, his pecs and nipples, and the tops of his Adonis belt. It was absurdly difficult to not stare.

Harry had seen these same clothes the other night at the club. He’d noticed then, of course, but he hadn’t let himself really look. Truthfully, on the whole Harry preferred a more tailored and traditional look on men, but Draco was seriously fit in his Muggle clubbing kit. Harry decided to blame the fact that he was half erect on associating the pants and shirt with where Draco had last worn the outfit. Then, in the club, Draco had been surrounded by hot, sweaty men trying to get into his knickers. That must be the reason Harry was hardening, that and the fact that Harry hadn’t been shagged in quite a while.

It was very, very difficult to look anywhere else.

Hermione jabbed him in the side with a sharp elbow. “Stop drooling, Harry. You’ll undo all that good work the house-elves you hired did when they cleaned the place.”

Harry felt himself flush and spun around so that he was not going to get caught red-faced by anyone else in the room. “I’m not staring.”

“Oh, yes you are. I can see why, too. That’s not my idea of attractive attire either, and I’m having trouble looking away. I’m rather intrigued by the ridges of muscle he has going in and down from the tops of his hips. Is there a name for that?” She popped a corn chip in her mouth and crunched.

Harry groaned. “You know there is. You taught me it. You are a cruel, cruel woman, Hermione Granger.”

“Me?” She fluttered her lashes at him as Draco apparently said something that made Luna laugh.

Thankfully the floo chimed. Harry and Hermione looked to see Neville step through and put a basket on the hearth. He then turned to take Hannah’s hand as she followed. The green flames died behind them and were replaced by the yellow and orange of the regular fire.

Charlie was on his feet in an instant, and rushed over to greet the couple. He reached out and took Hannah’s hand. “Hannah, Neville. It’s wonderful to see you both, three? I’m never sure how to phrase this. I’m am sure though that Nev here gave you our congratulations, young lady, but allow me to back it up with a hug!” He lent in and gave her a swift peck on the cheek and wrapped his long arms around her..

Hannah returned the gestures. “Thank you, Charlie. Hi everyone.” She nodded and everyone echoed their hellos.

Neville greeted Draco with a firm handshake and said, “It’s good to see you again. I’m afraid, though, that Greg won’t be coming tonight.” He looked at Harry and Hermione and continued. “Hagrid sends his and Greg’s apologies. One of the Centaurs came into labour early. She’s expecting twins! Apparently it’s all hands on deck as a matter of course in a case like this, especially in winter.”

Harry glanced at Draco and saw his shoulders drop a little, but not too much.

Neville stepped back to the hearth and produced a silver-green bottle from the basket he’d been carrying, and turned back to Malfoy. “You are to tell us the story of this I’ve been told, Draco. Greg was quite insistent that I bring it and that we all, except Hannah of course, have a tiny sip. Well, unless there’s something we really need to decide tomorrow.”

Neville held the bottle out and Draco almost put his hands to his mouth to cover a gulp. He steadied himself and reached out to take the object instead. He held it carefully and sat down with it on his lap. He lifted it so that he could look at it from every angle. The bottle looked like the shiny chrome of a Muggle car’s bumper bar, but it shifted between silver and green as he moved it in the light.

Harry and the others soon joined him sitting. Hermione, Luna and the Weasley brothers sat on the floor, and everyone else on seats. Harry was opposite Draco, and eager to hear what he had to say about the fancy looking bottle he was holding.

“It’s the one we hid at school,” Draco declared. “The very same one. We only drank from it once. Snape realised what we’d had the next day and gave us such a scare that I think we forgot where we’d put it on purpose.”

Harry couldn’t help ask, “What exactly is it?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen a bottle of it in one of the tavern’s near the Dragon Reserve,” said Charlie. “If it’s what I think it is of course. I’m wondering how a bunch of schoolboys would have gotten it if it is, though.”

George was nodding beside him. Hannah and Neville knew what it was, and the look on Luna’s face said she did, too. Harry looked at Hermione and, hah! She didn’t know either. For once he wasn’t alone.

“Well, you’re probably thinking the right thing, Charlie,” said Draco then looked at Harry and said, “It’s Absinthe. Completely authentic. Not the slightly weird version Muggles make with just wormwood. This is the real stuff.”

Hermione sat forward and said, “Muggles don’t make Absinthe with wormwood anymore, they decided it causes hallucinations, which is apparently why they called it the Green Fairy.”

Harry had no idea how Hermione also kept absurd facts about the Muggle world in her head with all the wizarding stuff she knew taking up so much room in her brain.

“That’s not why it’s called the Green Fairy, sweetie.” Luna said.

Draco stroked the bottle and looked between Harry and Hermione. “It’s alcoholic, of course, but what gives it its real kick is dust from the trail of the Aoibhín Nymph. They shed it when they’re chased. It disorients the person or beast that’s trying to catch them. If you inhale enough of it, you can be lost for days.”

Neville smirked. “I can’t imagine Snape was happy with you lot having some. How did he figure it out?”

Draco laughed, and sat the bottle flat, resting between the tops of his legs. “We thought we were tough drinking it straight. We didn’t know that the real reason you have it with sugar cubes is to stop the dust from staining your lips. The Professor barely even glanced at us and he knew. We all got cauldron scrubbing duties for weeks.”

Harry felt an idiot asking, but, “It’s worse for teenagers to drink it?”

Draco nodded. “You can be physically lost, but also mentally lost. It’s okay if you’re an adult and you’ve, well, found your way in the world. But, you wouldn’t want someone who was trying to make a change in their life drinking it, for example. When we’re really young we don’t know where we’re going yet. It could have done a lot of damage.”

“Okay,” said George, “Someone has to ask. Who’d you nick it from?”

Draco paled a moment. “I don’t think you want to know.”

“Oh, matey, you don’t say that to a Weasley twin and not make them want to know more!” Charlie laughed.

Draco screwed up his face, took a deep breath, and then said all in one go. “Voldemort. He used to use it as a way to test his faithful. We figured he’d not notice one bottle gone. We were right. He never did.”

There was a moment of nothing and silence, then Luna started giggling and Hermione followed. Harry couldn’t help himself and started too. Soon everyone was laughing. Draco was alternating between giggles and what looked like flashes of relief.

Harry forced himself to stop and managed to spit out, “Well. Greg wins. He’s not even here and he wins the prize for thing that Snape would hate most to have known he’d helped us to get our hands on.”

George declared, “100 points to Slytherin!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry countered, “I think Ravenclaw should get at least 100 points for all Luna’s layers and bells.”

Luna smiled and stretched out her legs and swished her skirts so they jingled.

Charlie wiggled his eyebrows at Draco and said, “But Harry, surely you agree that Slytherin should also get at least 100 for scandalously-sexy Muggle wear?”

Harry just knew he’d gone bright pink. He was thankfully saved from too much attention by Luna saying, “Oh, I think that the parents to be should get top points tonight. If I’m right, I’m betting that you two are not three tonight, but four. Yes?”

Harry looked between Luna and Hannah, then to Neville and back to Luna. Hermione shrugged her shoulders at him. The other guys looked as confused as he did.

Hannah’s smile was small, but powerful. “I had to have something to surprise you all with after Neville got to tell you I was pregnant. What gave it away?”

Luna just shrugged and grinned wider.

Harry said, “Do you know what they’re on about, Hermione? Is this some only-a-witch-would-know thing?”

Hannah and Luna giggled, but Hermione just shrugged her shoulders again.

Hannah finally said, “If you’re handing out points, George, you need to give 100 to Gryffindor, and 100 to Hufflepuff. The centaur isn’t the only one having twins.”

Harry joined in the renewed cries of congratulations.

✧✧✧

George swallowed the last of the pork pie he’d been eating. “Well, Mr Potter, I’m glad you ordered extra food and didn’t just rely on Hermione’s cooking.” He winked at Hermione over the back of the sofa and ducked as she actually threw something at him. A cupcake, possibly.

“Oi!” said Harry, “You were the one earlier telling me not to mess up the floor, ‘Mione!”

She grinned and went back to her conversation about, well, Harry wasn’t sure what, with Hannah. Luna and Neville were chatting about organic gardening on the sofa. Charlie and George had Draco sitting with them on the floor. The evening was going well. Harry picked up an empty tray to take to the kitchen, but put it down and fussed a little over other things on the coffee table when he heard Charlie start to ask Draco something that sounded a bit delicate.

“So, Draco. Tell us to bugger off if it’s none of ours, of course, but we really, really have to ask.”

Draco was sitting with his legs crossed. He leant back and stretched out arm to support his weight and said, “I think I may know what this is going to be about, ask away.”

George rubbed his hands together dramatically. “We’ve put two and two and together, and we reckon we’ve figured it out, but...” He leaned in and dropped his voice a touch. “Please tell us it was Ron who arrested you last night and that that’s why he’s been suspended.”

Prepared or not, Draco froze a moment, and Harry took a deep breath and held it. He let it out again when Draco said, “Yes. It was your special little brother. And your little sister’s charming fiancé, I believe.”

Charlie snorted. “They’re a pair of right prats. Were we also correct in deducing that it had something to do with the fact that they both received pretty yellow owl post a week or so ago?”

Harry stiffened, but this time Draco didn’t really pause. He did shuffle a little though, shifting his hand on the carpet and bringing himself more upright. “Yes. I assume so, anyway. They didn’t actually come right out and say it to my face. I have no idea what they thought they were going to achieve.”

Charlie shook his head, then looked serious. “I’ve stopped trying to understand Ron’s logic and I never had a reason to try to understand Dean’s. But now for the important question. Would you like us to exact revenge upon the pillocks for you? We can guarantee to not bring up your name, but do you proud anyway! And, quite honestly, it would be our pleasure.”

Draco waved off the offer with a smile as he stood up. “I can see the dreaded Weasley twins learnt most of their tricks from one of their big brothers. It’s very good of you to ask, but I’m just happy they got any kind of punishment. And I’m quite certain you have plans that involve some kind of humiliation anyway, yes?”

The brothers grinned, and Harry breathed out properly and shifted his attention back to the platters in front of him on the table. He thought he had a least one more savoury one in the kitchen, and one more sweet. They also had the not-Birthday cake to go of course. He looked up when Draco said his name.

“Your bathroom, Harry?”

“Oh. It’s down the hall, toward the kitchen.” Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry wanted to smack himself. “Sorry, out the door to the right, then the second door to the left.”

Then he was glad he wasn’t already holding any of the food trays.

Harry was used to seeing the small magics of everyday life. Almost everything in the wizarding world had a slight glow. Some things—like the protection spells on Hogwarts or the wards on a big house—were intricate enough that he could, if left to his own devices, stare at them for hours. Every now and then he came across a curse with a nasty tinge, or something new that was pretty or unexpected. It still shocked him that he was unlikely to ever meet another wizard or witch who could see the same things in the same way.

Draco gasped and Harry watched now as what he’d later describe as a waterfall of power began to fall over and into his friend. It was a bright, clear silver with the tiniest hint of green. Harry had an urge to look at the bottle of Absinthe that was on the sideboard to compare. He didn’t actually move, though. He kept focus on Draco. What was pouring into him didn’t look at all evil, but it did seem thick and heavy. It kept coming and coming and then it stopped, and Harry barely made it around the table and into the doorway to catch Draco before he fell to the floor.

Draco felt warmer to the touch than Harry thought was right, and that seemed strange considering the magic had looked so cold. It felt as if Draco’s legs weren’t working. He leant all of his weight against Harry and slowly moved his hands upwards and found purchase on Harry’s biceps. Draco sucked in air hard, but his voice was barely there when he said, “My father.” It was louder as he let out a sob. That finally caught someone else's attention.

Hermione was on her feet and moving towards them, but stopped when Harry caught her eye. He was glad she understood that much. The others were looking now, too, all on their feet.

Harry knew what he must have just seen, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it in so many words. Lucius Malfoy was a dreadful person, but he’d still been Draco’s dad. Harry wrapped his arm tighter around Draco, and Draco gripped back and sobbed again. This time it was silent.

“I,” Harry paused when Draco pushed his face into this neck, “I think I need to get Lord Malfoy home.” He almost tripped on the title, but it was enough that everyone else now understood, too. Six pairs of eyes were shocked, and sad. Harry looked at each of them in turn, and decided he’d try for inside the door of the Malfoy’s private wing of the Manor, hoping Draco hadn’t actually rescinded his permissions.

He apparated.

✧✧✧

The entryway was lit with candles, and the space was warm. Draco was still holding onto Harry tight. An elf appeared and bowed low.

“Lord Black, good evening. You is welcome.”

It was the tiny one in the rainbow striped jumper.

“You’re Minny, yes?”

The elf nodded her head and then tipped it to the side, staring at Draco with eyes widening.

“Oh.” She nodded her head harder. “Minny is feeling the change in the house, but she isn’t sure why until now.”

Harry wasn’t sure how old Minny was, but she wasn’t young. It was conceivable that she’d seen Lucius go through something similar when his father had died. Or perhaps she’d been with the Blacks, or another family. “I’m not sure what to do, Minny. I brought him home straight away, but I didn’t go through what Draco is feeling at the moment when I became Lord Black. I’m not sure if it’s normal or something to be concerned about. Maybe I should have taken him to his Healer, or St Mungos.” He rubbed his hand up along Draco’s back. He was still too warm, despite the fact that he was wearing so little.

Minny tilted her head to the other side. “Lord Black is good to be worried about Master Draco, but this is not being a strange thing. Minny is fetching Mistress Narcissa. She is needing to know.”

There were two soft cracks as she popped out and another elf appeared, this time Moxy, one of the two Harry had seen at the restaurant with Draco.

Moxy bowed lower than Minny had. “Lord Black.”

Harry barely had time to nod a greeting when Narcissa appeared in front of him, holding Minny’s hand. She let out a cry of shock then wrapped her arms around herself.

Draco finally stood a little straighter. He turned his head and said, “Mother, Father has died. I, I’m sorry.” Then he fainted.

Harry took Draco’s full weight again, but then felt him beginning to lighten and realised that Moxy was helping.

“Moxy is taking Master Draco to his chamber, Lord Black.”

Harry just nodded, and let go. Moxy touched Draco’s hand, and they both disappeared.

A few moments later Harry realised he was sitting on a sofa, opposite Narcissa Malfoy, just as James Evans had done several times. He wasn’t sure what to call her now, though. Was she Lady Malfoy, or had she become Dowager Malfoy? Perhaps that was only if Draco married a woman who took the Lady Malfoy title? He tried not to think about what, if any, title Nathan Tronpe would have been given if he’d married Draco. Lord Consort Malfoy? He stopped himself from shaking his head as he accepted a cup of tea from Minny. The little elf’s rainbow colours seemed rather incongruous with the occasion. Her serious expression was quite perfect, though.

“Thank you for sitting with me, Harry,” Mrs Malfoy said. She fussed a little with her soft looking gown and Harry thought neither he, nor James Evans, had ever seen her this rattled. He was unsure, not only of how to address her, but also of what he should say. He decided to follow her lead on the name thing, at least.

“I’m happy to, Narcissa.” Her head shook a little as she nodded. She was not at all the composed Lady of the House he’d come to know through James Evans. Harry thought he’d stick with just being himself for the moment and said, mostly to his teacup, “I’m at a loss as to what to say in a situation like this. I had no love for Lucius Malfoy, as I’m sure you know. And I understand that both you, and Draco, had little contact with him over the last few years. But that,” he looked up at her and saw no sign of anger in her gaze, “that doesn’t mean that you won’t mourn. And it doesn’t mean that I can say that I’m sorry for your loss.”

She smiled softly, and it almost reached her eyes, “I had little love for my husband at any time in our lives, Harry. I did however lose someone important to me, even if that loss was to Voldemort, many, many years ago. I’ve already done most of my mourning, but I appreciate your sentiment. I’m sure Draco will, too.”

Harry itched to ask, so he did. “Will he be alright? He won’t need to see a Healer? Minny seemed to think he wasn’t in any danger when she first saw us. She’s seen this happen before it seems.”

Narcissa smiled properly now. “Twice or more before. At least once with the Blacks’ magics, and once before with the Malfoys’. Minny is much older than she seems. Of course I will ask Madam Wandwiggen to visit us tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll find nothing amiss, though.”

Harry was glad Minny no longer seemed to be in the room, he’d have found it very difficult not turn and look again at the little being’s face for evidence of her age. House-elf or not, that could hardly be polite.

He took a sip of tea to distract himself. “That’s, that’s good to hear. It was quite an experience to watch, but I can’t imagine what it felt like. I didn’t, um.” He shifted in his seat and put the teacup down so he couldn’t do something silly like drop it. “When I inherited the Black family magics there were so many other things happening to me physically and magically that I didn’t really, um. I didn’t notice.” He hoped he’d covered the wince in his voice and on his face.

Narcissa was staring at him intently, then she laughed. It was a light, clear sound. “It’s nothing to be concerned with, Harry. Every wizard experiences these things differently. I will ask, however, was Draco ill during the evening? Or was it more sudden? I’m sure he’ll be able to tell the Healer, but…”

Harry nodded. “He didn’t seem sick at all. It happened quite suddenly. One moment he was speaking, and then he wasn’t. The magical transference can’t have taken more than twenty or thirty seconds in total. I’m glad I saw it, though, or he might have fallen.”

“I’m glad too, Harry. Very.” Her head tilted slightly to the side as she smiled again.

✧✧✧

Harry arrived home to a very tidy front room and his friends sitting around his kitchen table drinking coffee and eating sweets that he didn’t remember buying. He sat, took the mug he was offered, and nabbed what looked like it could be a custard tart off the tray in front of him. He sighed into the coffee as he tasted it. No one said anything, possibly waiting for him to tell them what had happened.

He finished the tartlet, which was actually citrus instead of vanilla, in a couple of mouthfuls and washed it down with a swig of coffee. “I, um. Did one of you bring these? I think I’ll have another, it was quite tasty.”

There were a couple of snickers from the guys, and Luna twitched her head over towards a corner of the room. Harry bit into another tart, this time more orange than lime, and widened his eyes as he followed Luna’s hint. There was a not-unfamiliar looking elf standing in the corner, looking a little worried. He bowed very low, ears and nose scraping the floor, and said, “Good evenings, Lord Black. Rupert is sorry. Rupert came to help when he heard about young Lord Malfoy.” He looked sideways, and then back at Harry earnestly and whispered. “I am being Rupert.” Harry munched a little harder on his tart, that was an unusual name for an elf. “Rupert is leaving now. Good evenings.”

The elf popped out with noise more reminiscent of a squeak than a crack.

Harry finished the second tart and said, “What?”

Luna pushed the tray of pastries closer to him and said, “Apparently you have an admirer. We’ve all just been learning that Hire-A-Happy-House-Elf is run from the kitchen and grounds of Malfoy Manor.”

Harry twitched, and George chimed in. “They have about 45 elves of age there believe it or not. Rupert is one of them. He’s a free elf, but…”

“He’s looking for a new Master, mate,” said Charlie.

Hermione slapped his arm lightly. “Did Rupert say he was after a Master? No.” She rubbed her lip and looked at Harry, “Though he’d probably call you Master, if you were to take him on.”

Harry felt the confused look spread across his face, “What did he say he wanted then, if not a Master?”

Luna snagged another tart herself and said, “Apparently now you say you’re an elf’s Sponsor, not Master. Though that apparently still involves all the old things that binding a house-elf did. Except he gets to choose who he’s bound to.”

George was sing-song when he said, “And he likes you!”

Hannah flicked her wand and the coffee pot came sailing to the table. She topped her own cup up and offered some more to Harry, then said, “I’d bind myself to someone that made coffee this good, Harry.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he was taking this in. He breathed out, rolled his shoulders and picked up his fresh coffee and added milk from the jug on the table. It was really quite good. He wondered if Rupert could do lattes and mochas. He shook his head and decided he’d think about it at some other time. He had other things he needed to get figured out right now.

“So. I took a collapsed-under-the-power-of-his-family’s-magic-influx Draco home because his dad died, and got to be there when he told his mum that she no longer had a husband. And,” he grabbed another cake and waved it at them, “And you lot got delicious puddings, awesome coffee, and a lesson on the realities of modern-elfdom?” He bit into custard and apple and flaky pastry.

Charlie pushed back in his chair a little bit and said, “Yep. That sums it up quite nicely. Well, if you ignore the bit about the serious Draco-man-hug you scored, of course.”

Harry didn’t dignify that with an answer and he managed to not spray cake all over the table. He was quite proud of himself.

“You really should wear red more often, Harry,” said Luna with a grin, “It is quite fetching with your eyes.”

There were a few grins and giggles, then the table fell silent again.

Hermione said, “Life is about to get even more uncomfortably public for Draco, isn’t it?”

“No doubt,” answered George. He looked around at everyone in turn. “Tell me I’m not imagining this, but we’ve adopted him, haven’t we? Him and Goyle, too?”

“I wouldn’t argue with that,” Neville said. “And as much as my twelve-year-old self would hide, and my sixteen-year-old self would rage, my current self? My current self is wondering what we can do for the poor sod.” His face cycled through all of the emotions as he spoke, landing on resolute.

Harry wiped his mouth and sat up straight. “I don’t know that there is much we can do to help at this point, anyway. Let’s see what kind of absurdities get printed tomorrow, then maybe we’ll have a better idea.”

Luna looked up into nothing and her eyes narrowed, “They’re going to blame him for his father’s death.”

Harry swallowed the objection in his throat. No one here needed to be convinced. He took a deep breath.

Hermione reached over and grabbed Luna’s hand and Luna visibly relaxed.

Neville stared at her a moment, then said, “Well, he’s got a room full of witnesses to say he was here, at least.”

“Witnesses that will be happy to stand up in court, too. If I can face down a Hungarian Horntail, they’d better believe I’m ready to face down a pompous git in a fancy robe.” Charlie looked ready to face either dragon or git right here and now.

Hermione was looking at Luna, but spoke to everyone, “They, whoever they actually are, are unlikely to listen to reason. No matter how scary you look, Charlie.”

She smiled, and Luna copied, and then they all did.

Harry breathed out.

✦✦✦

Chapter Text

✦✦✦

Death Eater’s Demise
Weekend Prophet
Sunday, January 18 2004
Rita Skeeter - Senior Political Correspondent

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement released a statement in the early hours of this morning announcing the death while incarcerated of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, convicted Death Eater and formally Lord Malfoy. The prisoner was pronounced deceased at 9:47pm.

Lucius Malfoy was found guilty of 12 instances of death by the Avada Kedavra Unforgivable, 14 counts of Muggle Murder, over 50 uses of the Crucio Unforgivable, and several instances of the use of the Imperious Unforgivable, along with many other charges. He was believed to have been a close confidant of the Dark Wizard Known as Voldemort, and was the highest ranking Death Eater incarcerated after the Second Wizarding War.

The deceased’s body should be released to his son, the new Lord Draconis Lucius Malfoy, and his widow, the Dowager Lady Narcissa Malfoy, within the month. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has not yet released details regarding the cause of Lucius Malfoy’s death.

✦✦✦

Harry yawned, stretched his neck and pushed his head further into the pillow. He blinked his eyes into focus but couldn’t quite make the world look the way it should. Everything was soft edges and muted colours. He shifted his arms a little lower and tightened his grip on the warm skin he was holding on to.

He should probably get up and make them breakfast. Pancakes and strawberries or spinach and feta omelettes both sounded good. He could put on the machine and make fresh coffee to go with either. Or, of course, he could just sneak out and get a nice latte and pastries at the Muggle place down the road. He knew that would be appreciated.

Then again, Harry thought, he could just stay where he was for a few more minutes, or all morning, really. It was Sunday, they didn’t have to be anywhere. And there was no other place better than here, wrapped up and warm together. He pushed himself down in the bed a little further, wanting to get closer but trying to not wake Dra-

Harry snapped awake with a jolt. The sweetly scented blond hair he had been just about to press his cheek against disappeared. The warm body Harry had been wrapped around was gone, too. He breathed in sharply and was shocked to hear the sound he made when he let the air out of his lungs. It sounded awfully close to a whimper, awfully close to something that meant that what had just happened wasn’t just a dream. It was a Dream with a capital D: A want, a wish, a desire.

This wasn’t what Harry needed right now. It certainly wasn’t what the new Lord Malfoy nor his freshly widowed mother needed. For the sake of Harry’s friend, and the sake of James Evans’ employer, Harry would just have to pretend that there was no capital D involved. He turned his face into the pillow again and told his body to sleep a little longer.

✧✧✧

An hour or so later Harry rolled out of his bed. He tugged on an old pair of tracksuit pants, a threadbare t-shirt, and a big soft jumper Hermione had knitted him a few years before. He headed down to his kitchen and when he got there was met with the smell of fresh coffee and some kind of buttery something that his half asleep brain had no hope of identifying with his nose alone.

Luna looked up at him and smiled, “Good morning, Harry. You look as if you had wonderful dreams.”

Harry hoped that his general not-thinking-yet morning face would hide any reaction he was having to that statement. This pronouncement, like the one last night about Draco being blamed for his father’s death, could be taken as a kind of prophecy or vision. Harry never quite knew if Luna could actually see such things, or if she just had an unnerving knack of saying just the right thing at the right time. He supposed, or hoped at least, that even if she could see that he had indeed had a rather pleasant dream earlier, that she’d not know what it had been about exactly. He really wasn’t ready to discuss with anyone, even his closest friends, that he kind-of-definitely had a growing crush on Draco bloody Malfoy.

He swallowed and tried not to sound too invested in the answer when he said, “Yes, I did. And now I smell wonderful food. Have you and Hermione been up long?”

Luna smiled again. “My ‘Mione is still tucked up in bed. I was thinking I might take her breakfast there, but now that you’re up and about she’ll be down soon.”

Harry took a seat at the big kitchen table and looked at the pile of pastries in its centre. They looked to be an assortment of croissant and danish type things, some filled with sweet stickiness and some with savoury layers. It looked quite delicious and rather decadent and the house-elf tinted glow around them made Harry think that Luna hadn’t been out shopping this morning.

He focussed on what he thought was a ham and cheese croissant and said, “We’ve had a small visitor this morning, I take it.” He grabbed the pastry and took a bite.

Luna nodded as she sat across from him, “Yes. I think Rupert is quite taken with you and very, very keen to impress.” She leaned forward and picked up a coffee pot Harry didn't recognise and had apparently been delivered with the food. She said, “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of an elf doing this before. It’s very sweet.”

There were bare-footed steps behind Harry, and Hermione walked around to the other side of the table a few seconds later. She said, “Good morning, you two,” plonked herself next to Luna, and then asked in a voice just this side of serious teasing, “Is there something you aren’t telling us, Harry?”

Harry stilled a moment, wondering if he somehow had writing on his forehead that proclaimed to all that he’d dreamt about snuggling with the new Lord Malfoy. He took a deep breath, internally shook off the idea, then licked his lips, picking up stray croissant crumbs and the lingering taste of Swiss cheese and triple-smoked ham. He raised an eyebrow rather than answering Hermione’s question.

She waved at the pile of food before saying, “You appear to be being pursued by a house-elf.”

“Yes,” agreed Luna, turning to look at her girlfriend, “Though his methods would be cliché if they weren’t so true.”

Harry let out the breath he hoped neither of them noticed he was holding and blinked at both of them in turn, trying to figure out just where this conversation was heading.

“The way to a wizard’s heart really is through his stomach, Harry,” said Hermione, and nibbled at the edge of a danish that could have been apricot or peach given the colour of the filling.

Harry slumped a little in his seat. “I can’t really argue with that, and I definitely am being almost, well, courted, aren’t I? I’m not sure what to do.” In truth, Rupert seemed quite the catch, if that could be said of a house-elf, and Harry hadn’t had help in the place for quite a while. It wouldn’t be bad to have someone else living under Grimmauld’s roof.

Luna sipped on her coffee and eyed another pastry as she spoke, “The binding is very easy, Harry. The house-elf’s magic does most of the work, yours just has to agree.”

Hermione added, “You just need to have a conversation with Rupert beforehand about things like payment and clothes. As he’s wanting to be bound, he probably won’t ask for anything tricky in either case.”

Harry hoped that his face showed how shocked he was. They’d not talked much about house-elves and other creatures or their rights since Hermione took the job in the Department of Mysteries. He kept his voice as flat as he could, but raised his eyebrow again carefully. “Miss S. P. E. W. doesn’t have a problem with me binding to an elf.”

Hermione grinned from under her still sleepy eyes. “No, Harry. Not anymore. You’ve not been avoiding finding another elf because of that, have you? They have rights now, and either way, I know you’d not do anything to harm one. Rupert would be lucky to have you as his new Sponsor.”

Harry leaned forward and poured another coffee. It really was good. He’d end up having it all the time rather than tea if he wasn’t careful. “So, how do I do this?”

Luna cut her next pastry in half and said, “Say his name, Harry. Sometimes all you have to do is ask for what you want.”

✧✧✧

Rupert came, Luna and Hermione went home, and James Evans left for Malfoy Manor with far shiner shoes than he’d had for quite some time. Harry’s alter-ego hadn’t yet received any requests from Narcissa Malfoy this morning, but he thought a quick visit and look around might be in order anyway.

The snow covered lawn of the Manor was pristine as far as its fenced edge, and then dotted with small groups of witches and wizards, and covered with footprints for much of the space in between them. Most of the people present were reporters, but there also seemed to be a handful of otherwise apparently interested parties. The only person amongst those groups that he recognised was the strident witch who’d told Skeeter that Draco’s actions were ‘vindictive vengeance’ the other day in Diagon Alley.

Harry skirted the edge of the space, staying almost hidden in the woods that butted up against it. He pulled out a small camera and took pictures of the strident witch, her friends, and a few of the other people he didn’t know to be press of some sort. He doubted that anyone was going to cause any trouble, but pre-emptive information was never a bad thing.

Most of the groups were sitting around or milling between little camp-style fires, warming their hands and drinking from thermoses and tin-cups. Skeeter herself was there, half-heartedly listening to someone speak, scanning back and forth along the front of the main building just in case someone inside did something interesting. Harry left the cover of the trees and wandered amongst the different groups for a while, listening for signs of unrest or unpleasant planning, but heard nothing that worried him.

He decided to do a quick lap of the house’s perimeter. The only signs of life he saw were from a group of children, who must have lived in the converted part of the Manor, having a very enthusiastic snowball fight. The Manor’s wards let him see that it was happening, but made it so he couldn’t focus on any one child with enough attention to be able to see their faces properly. It was an uncommon, but very effective, kind of defence spell. He stared at the wards a minute trying to see if he could pick out the particular sections that were having that effect. There were too many layers to have a chance at that without some kind of guidance.

When he got back to near the front gate none of the groups of reporters and such had changed much. There really wasn’t a lot he could see, or do, here. He decided to head home. James Evans could owl or floo Mrs Malfoy from there to firstly give his condolences and secondly see if she wanted any assistance. He thought that after that he’d settle in with a nice book or something. Rupert would probably enjoy showing off his lunch making skills for him.

Harry had the feeling that tomorrow he’d need all the energy he could possibly build up today.

✦✦✦

Draco wrapped his soft blanket a little more firmly around himself and resisted wiping a hand across the window’s glass to see better. They didn’t have much of a view of the front of the house from their wing of the building, but his brewing room had a large lucarne for light, and it faced the front gate. He should probably have still been in bed. Other than being rather tired he was feeling well though, all things considered. So, he’d come to the only window he could think of to see the circus outside. He watched as James Evans moved amongst the people crowded around and felt happy that someone on the other side of the fence was on their side, even if it was just because the man was on the Malfoy payroll. He didn’t think it was only that, though. Evans likely wouldn’t have taken the original Truth Seeker job with his mother if he’d had a problem with her or her son.

Evans made it around all the press and gawkers twice and then headed off widdershins along the fence line. The wizard was certainly thorough. Draco expected that he’d see him coming full circle from the other direction soon.

Draco sat back in his seat and twitched his wand hand under the blanket to stoke the fire a little more. He didn’t think he was capable of brewing today, and he probably wouldn’t even get far into a book given the hangover from the headache he’d had. Madame Wandwiggen had made an unusual house call for them earlier and pronounced that Draco should feel no more side effects from the Title’s magical transfer after today. She’d reminded him to keep taking the potion she’d given him earlier in the week, then left the same way she’d come, via the floo.

It begged the question of why there were reporters or others on the grounds at all. It wasn’t as if anyone in the house, let alone the Malfoys in the house, needed to walk outside for any reason. Perhaps the press thought Draco or his mother might come out to make a statement. Perhaps they hoped that he, or his mother or someone, anyone, would come from inside and scream at them to go away. That would give them something juicy to write about.

No one was going to walk the front path, or the side path, or any other path here today. Even the Ministry of Law Enforcement had sent an owl rather than a person to deliver the official pronouncement of Lucius’ death. No one would spare any steps or words for Draco’s father today.

Draco didn’t really have a problem with that. He thought he might call for a hot chocolate, or see if the elves might be able to make him mocha. Draco watched as James Evans returned from his circuit around the house and then as he apparated away.

✦✦✦

Wizengamot Session Opens for the New Year
Daily Prophet
Monday, January 19 2004
Rita Skeeter - Senior Political Correspondent

Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt will be joined today by a near full quorum of the Wizengamot to officially open the 459th Session of the Wizarding court.

As always, the public will be invited to witness the traditional invocation in Merlin’s name and the subsequent swearing in of any newly appointed Wizengamot Members in attendance. Notable absences today will include the newly Titled Lord Draconis Malfoy, who has reportedly been granted a stay of duty due to magical complications caused by his sudden, and earlier than expected, ascension to the position.

The afternoon portion of the Session will be closed to spectators and press, and is likely to include the introduction of several controversial new topics for debate and investigation.

As it is the first sitting for the year, there will be a special edition of the Evening Prophet released after the standard briefing when the Session has closed for the day.

Steal or Splurge #427: Spell or Potion ?
Teen Witch Magazine
Monday, January 19 2004
Camellia Castlethorpe - Beauty Adviser

You asked and we listened! This week’s Steal or Splurge is on easily the most asked question owls have been bringing us over the last fortnight. Unusually, you’ve been asking not for yourselves, but for your uneducated brothers and boyfriends. Never fear! We have the answers.

So, your question: How can you get the coveted, but tricky, Lord Heartbreak undercut to stay looking perfect all day long?

Splurge : The man himself, Lord Draco Malfoy, is known to prefer potions whenever he has the opportunity. He was reportedly a bit of an outstanding brewer at school, and given his green striped tie, it’s probably something he’s still spectacular at. He’s not sharing his recipes, but we think we’ve found a good substitute or two. Try Parthenia’s Perfect Pomade in Dragon Strength (14ʛ for 3 drams) or Gairbheith Glossy Goop for decent hold and some extra shine (10ʛ for 3 drams).

Steal : Why spend your hard earned knuts when you have a perfectly good wand in your hand? We’ve put together a seriously great how-to for you on this one. Turn to page 27 for a step-by-step walk through of a hair friendly variation of the Insideola charm.

✦✦✦

James Evans had received a reply to his letter to Mrs Malfoy late on Sunday afternoon. She’d informed him that her son was well, despite the unexpected death of the previous Lord Malfoy, but would be taking a day or so at least to rest and stay out of the public eye. She’d thanked him, on behalf of herself and Draco, for his perusal of the guests on the Manor’s lawns that morning. Then she’d asked that Evans attend the opening of the Wizengamot Session and the subsequent press briefing with an eye for anything that might be important for her family’s interests or safety.

And so now Harry was standing at the side doors of the Wizengamot Chamber at about five minutes after five on Monday evening, trying to avoid looking Skeeter or any other reporter in the eye. A cloaked Hermione had accompanied James Evans to the morning’s official opening of the Session, but had decided to duck off so she could look as if she was actually doing some work after lunch. They’d also figured that it might draw unwanted attention to Evans if he was seen too often in the presence of an Unspeakable.

Harry didn’t think he was going to learn much from the official press announcements, anyway, which was why the said same Unspeakable James had been sitting next to before had managed to wheedle her way into the Wizengamot Chamber for the afternoon’s proceedings. Harry would listen to the press briefing now, like a good, unconnected, Truth Seeker would, then they’d discuss what actually happened inside later. Harry was going to pick up Indian and ale on his way to meet his co-conspirator at Looney Cottage.

Harry leant against the cold wall of the Ministry hallway while he and the rest of the press and others waited impatiently. He tried to focus on the situation, but his mind kept wandering. He wondered if floo-calling Draco to see if he was alright would seem out of character for a just-friend, a newish-just-friend, at that. Of course he knew that if he hadn’t realised he was developing a thing for Draco that he’d have done it without question. But, of course, he had realised he’d developed a thing for Draco, so it was a moot point. Harry could probably get Luna to call for them all tonight when she got home from work. Hermione had said her girlfriend would be a bit late back from her dad’s, but half seven or so at night wasn’t too late to floo-call, was it?

There was a not-quite rumble as the Wizengamot Chamber finally opened, and a very small, grey and blonde haired witch stepped out. She didn’t speak until the door closed behind her, and didn’t use an amplification charm of any kind.

“Thank you for your patience, everyone. For the record, I am Member Margaret Mistfield, and this is my sixteenth year sitting on the Wizengamot. I have been appointed as this Session’s press liaison. Also for the record, I will not be taking questions tonight, nor any other evening when I make statements, unless I say otherwise. Failure to comply with this will see you, and the press or other entity you are here to represent, banned from the three following briefings. I will not be lenient in my opinions on this matter. Is that understood?”

Mistfield looked pointedly at Rita Skeeter, and waited until she had a full head nod from the witch to continue speaking. She pulled a very Muggle looking notepad out of one of her robe pockets, read it over a second, and then said, “This year’s Wizengamot Session was opened with only three Members not in attendance. Each was deemed to have a reasonable cause to not take their seat today.

“The afternoon’s proceedings consisted entirely of conversation on a topic raised by Member Pembroke Pettybourne.” There was an uptake in the sound of Quick Quotes Quills against parchment, and several reporters, including Skeeter, opened their mouths to speak, only to remember to not do so and close them again.

Mistfield continued speaking once the pens’ movements ceased.

“I’m sure you’re all aware of Member Pettybourne’s basic concerns. He raised them officially today. After much,” she paused, apparently sorting through the options she had to phrase what followed, “animated discussion, it has been decided that there may be merit to his opinion.”

The sound of the quills was far louder in the otherwise silent hall this time. Harry was having difficulty keeping his face from breaking into a scowl. He wrapped the fingers of his wand hand around his other wrist, tight.

Mistfield’s voice was strong, and she over-enunciated the next few sentences, scanning back and forth across the faces in front of her. “Let me make myself very, very clear. No one has been charged with anything. No one is being brought to trial for anything. No wrongdoing whatsoever has been substantiated.”

She paused again, and looked at each person in turn, including James Evans. He stayed still, as did everyone else.

She dropped the volume of her speech a little, but kept each word precise. “Member Pettybourne’s motion to investigate Lord Draconis Malfoy as an Aspirant Dark Lord was fairly swiftly rejected. However, a second, less severe, but still serious question was agreed upon. The records will show that the Chamber decided to investigate if Lord Malfoy’s actions of late have been such that he could be found guilty of the Deliberate Purveyance of Chaos.”

That, Harry thought, was just another way of accusing Draco of wanting be a Dark Lord. He sighed.

Mistfield looked down at her notebook again. “For those interested in the history and use of both of those charges, a parchment pack with relevant cases and precedents is being put together as we speak. There is nothing else to report today. Please remain here if you want one of the parchment packs, as one of the Wizengamot’s archivists will be here shortly.”

✧✧✧

Harry leaned back into the little sofa. He, or rather Evans, had owled a letter off to Mrs Malfoy as soon as he got to Looney Cottage. He expected one back quite soon. He and Hermione had polished off most of the chicken curry and naan he bought, but managed to leave some aside for Luna if she wanted it when she got home. They were each on their second ales.

Hermione said, “Now we can talk about what happened today.” Harry groaned at her, but couldn’t argue when she continued as she put the food away, “You don’t think well when you’re hungry, and you barely touched lunch, Harry. Don’t think I’m above telling Rupert you’re not eating properly.”

She smiled as he faked a groan this time.

He sat himself up a little straighter again when she sat opposite him. “So, tell me oh great and mysterious Unspeakable, what happened in the Wizengamot Chamber this afternoon?”

Hermione tucked one foot under herself on the seat and put two glasses of water on the coffee table. “Actually, I think I’d like to hear what actually got revealed to the press, first.”

Harry flapped a hand in the direction of the evening newspaper lying on the kitchen table. It had arrived halfway through their dinner and they’d both decided to ignore it until after. He took a deep breath and filled her in on what Member Liaison Mistfield had said, and she skimmed the list of contents of the parchment pack he’d stayed around to collect.

“They brought up these precedents in the Chamber. I didn’t think they’d have had a pack ready so quickly, though.” Hermione put the parchment stack down and picked up her water. She sipped. “Despite Mistfield being as particular as you said she was about stressing that no one had yet been charged with anything, it’s hard to see how Skeeter and the like aren’t going to turn this into a smear campaign.”

Harry nodded. “How was the actual animated discussion in the Chamber?”

Hermione snorted. “It was certainly animated. Several people almost got up and walked out, on both sides of the argument.”

“So not everyone immediately agreed with Pettybourne? They don’t all think Draco’s a Dark Lord wannabe?”

“It was strange, Harry. I honestly thought more of them would be jumping up and down, demanding that Draco put locked up and the key fed to a dragon. I think though,” she stared at the flames in fireplace a moment and said, “I think there is more empathy out there for him than we’d realised.”

Harry felt a little hope starting to rise in his bones. “Really?”

“The people who spoke, and not all that disagreed with Pettybourne did, understand, but those who did, they mostly spent their words distancing Draco from Lucius. I think they were focussed on the fact that they’d all seen the scarring on his arm. They’d all heard his testimony about what it felt like when the tattoo dissolved and what he’d felt like when Lucius’ Imperious was lifted. Several of them made reference to the Healers’ opinions on the blood curse his dad had put on him.”

Harry nodded. “That’s, that’s good, yes? But,” he shook his head now instead, “But they still decided that they should invade his life for an official investigation.”

Hermione tucked back some hair that had escaped out of her ponytail. “It was Lucius going and dying that did it. Pettybourne went on about it for almost fifteen minutes. There is always an autopsy and investigation into deaths in custody, but he made it sound as if it was only being done because of Draco acting suspiciously. He barely managed to keep himself from saying that Draco killed his father. I got the feeling that he was holding something back, though.” She swapped her water glass for her beer bottle, took a swig, and then rested it against her knee. “I think the investigation can only be a good thing. The fact that it’s a public enquiry, an official undertaking, means that it will have to be documented six ways to Sunday. They’ll have to cross their Ts and dot their Is and make sure they don’t stick their wands any place they shouldn’t be sticking them.”

Harry finished off his own ale. “Pettybourne actually thinks Draco killed his dad? What an arse.” He wrinkled his nose and stopped himself from reaching up to rub his scar. “When will the trial start? And can we help?”

“The Malfoys will get official notice tonight,” she said, “But I’m pretty sure that the only things you’ll be able to do about this, if we don’t want to get in the way, will be as James Evans.”

The light in the room changed and Luna stepped through the floo. She put her bag down, stepped over to the sofa and bent to kiss Hermione on the cheek. “Hello, love. And you Harry. Did you two manage to not eat everything? And have you called Draco yet?”

Harry was glad, sometimes, that his friends could be predictable. “There’s food and beer left over. And we were waiting for you to make a call. Neither of us have actually read the Prophet yet. James Evans went to the press briefing, though. That was bad enough.”

Luna nodded, and then motioned for them to both come over with her to the floo again. She knelt on the floor and they sat behind her. She cast and the flames grew green again. It was Mrs Malfoy who answered their call.

“Mrs Malfoy, we’re sorry to disturb you at this hour, and at such a time. I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Luna Lovegood, Xenophilius’ daughter. I’ve got Hermione Granger and Harry Potter with me. We were wondering if Draco, my apologies, if Lord Malfoy was alright?”

✦✦✦

Draco had sat up hard and straight when their more private floo had flared. Harpham had reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him from answering it.

“I know it’s the private hearth, Mr Malfoy, but let’s be on the safe side, shall we?” He’d said, and looked at Draco’s mother, “Mrs Malfoy, would you be so kind?”

His mother had summoned the floo stool and answered the call. Draco saw her shoulders stiffen and then relax when she saw who was calling and responded to the greeting.

“Good evening, Miss Lovegood. I’d not forget such a lovely face. And good evening to you, too, Miss Granger, Lord Black.”

Draco couldn’t see the other two in the fire properly, so he couldn’t see if Harry had winced at his Title being used. He knew his mother had done so because Harpham was in the room, but he didn’t know if Harry would understand that.

His mother continued. “My son is well, thank you. We’re in the middle of a meeting with our legal-wizard, but I’m sure he can spare you a moment.” She looked back over her shoulder and Harpham nodded.

Draco stood and took his mother’s spot when she got up. “Luna, Hermione, Harry. Hello. As you can see, I’m all in one piece.”

Harry’s voice came over Luna’s head, “The Prophet said you’d had complications from the Lordship transfer. I, ah, we thought it was a crock, but we didn’t want to bother you too soon to find out.”

Draco felt his breath hitch. Harry was worried about him. “I, I’m fine really. I wouldn’t have minded you, any of you, flooing or even visiting. The Prophet was being annoying and I really didn’t want to be in the Chamber today, not guessing what bloody Pettybourne was going to come out with.” He hoped he didn’t look as embarrassed as he felt, “Some people are disoriented for a few days after a sudden family transfer, so it wasn’t hard to get everyone to believe I needed some time.” This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with his mother and legal-wizard present, but, “Thank you for bringing me home, again, Harry. And for not letting me crack my head open or something. Thank you for catching me.”

Luna smiled and said, “We’re glad you’re alright, Draco.”

Hermione spoke around her this time, “Draco, is there anything we can do for you? I, um. If you thought it might help we’d be happy to go to the Prophet, but somehow I think they’d manage to twist having most of the Golden Trio speaking for you into being bad.”

Draco shivered at the idea that he might somehow bring them into disrepute. That was not something he’d ever want to do. Behind him Harpham muttered something insulting about the Prophet and Draco’s mother sounded as if she agreed. Draco wanted nothing more than to change to the floo-call to a floo visit. He could step through the flames and be in Looney Cottage and forget the Lord part of his name existed for a while. The idea of sitting around and chatting with these three was more enticing that he’d have thought possible even a few weeks ago. He couldn’t, though.

“I’m sorry to cut you short, but I have to. We’ve a lot more legal stuff to talk about tonight. I,” he looked at his hands a moment, “I probably won’t be able to come to any more get-togethers for a while. We’ll have one here when all this is over?”

“That sounds lovely, Draco. We’ll be waiting for your owl.” Luna looked over her shoulder a moment. Draco couldn’t see if she was speaking to Hermione or Harry. She turned back to face him and said, “If you do need anything in between, and we mean anything, just let us know, okay? Myself, ‘Mione, Harry, George, Charlie, Neville and Hannah, we’d all be happy to help if we can.”

✦✦✦

The owl for James Evans had arrived shortly after Harry had left Looney Cottage and gone home. He’d sighed in relief when he’d read what the Malfoys and Harpham, Harpham and Holsum had planned to deal with the Aurors turning up to do their investigations.

The Aurors, or rather Member Pettybourne who had come with the Aurors, weren’t happy with their plans, however. It was Tuesday morning, and Pettybourne was standing in front of the Malfoy Manor gates, apparently confused at the fact that Draco and Narcissa had a legal-wizard who knew what he was doing. And Harpham definitely did, thought Harry again, as he stood behind the man in his James Evans glamours.

“I’m afraid, Mr Pettybourne, that you’ve been misinformed about just what my clients’ residence consists of,” Harpham’s voice was steady, and quiet.

Pettybourne looked as put together as he had when he spoke to Skeeter on the street the other day, but unlike then he was far from in control of the situation. “The Aurors are here to search Malfoy Manor, Mr Harpham. That is what they are going to do.” It was a cold morning, and Pettybourne’s breath was forcing white condensation plumes out in front of him as he spoke.

Harpham was much calmer, and his white breath seemed less invasive to the air in front of him. “Mr Pettybourne, you are indeed correct, and that is exactly what they are going to do. Malfoy Manor is now only a section of the main building on this property however, a fact that was registered with the Ministry only a few months after the end of the War. The other areas of the building, and the surrounding smaller structures, have different designations in the Ministry’s records. As such, you do not have a permit to search those places. I’m sure the Supervising Auror can have this checked for you.”

Harry wanted to grin, but he stood still and forced James Evans’ face into an uninterested but serious expression.

Pettybourne looked as if he might pop. “It will be checked. In the meantime, you will stand aside, sir, and allow these good people to go about their work.”

Harpham nodded, but didn’t yet move. Harry readied himself to step forward. “I will, Mr Pettybourne. As per sub section 14D of the Department of Law Enforcement’s regulatory codes, however, we are exercising our right to have an impartial witness present at all times during the action. As we have access to only one witness at such short notice, it means that no more than two Aurors will be permitted to search at a time, and that they must work as a team.”

Pettybourne started to bluster out an objection to that, but faltered even further when Supervising Auror Griselda Greygoose, a woman Harry hadn’t dealt with much personally, but knew to be a stickler for the rules, simply said, “Of course, Mr Harpham. Who is your chosen witness?”

Harry stepped forward, which put him level with Harpham’s shoulder as the legal-wizard said, “This is Mr James Evans. He is a Ministry licensed and recognised Truth Seeker. I believe he is acceptable.”

Greygoose glanced at Harry and then waved all but two of the Aurors with her off to stand along the fence line, she probably wanted to keep them safe at hand, for the time being.

Pettybourne’s voice rose considerably over what it had been before, “Is he currently employed by the Malfoys? You can’t be serious if he is. He’ll not do. You’ll need to get someone else if he’s who you’re offering for this witnessing.”

Harpham looked as if he was about to answer, but Greygoose did it for him. She barely looked up from the paperwork she was adjusting to say, “Actually, Member Pettybourne, a Ministry licensed Truth Seeker is perfect for the job, no matter who his current paycheck is coming from.” She signed one of the pieces of parchment in her hand and looked up at him properly. “James Evans is a known Truth Seeker of good reputation. His oaths to the Ministry come before those to his client. He is acceptable to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Pettybourne looked as if he was going to argue, but simply said, “Very well. If there is anything missed because of this, Auror Greygoose, I’ll make sure you are held responsible.”

He stepped aside to let the Aurors past, but again Harpham didn’t move. “Auror Greygoose, there is one more thing I’d like to qualify, if I may?”

Greygoose nodded, “Of course.”

Harpham produced the original paperwork and skimmed down the page a little, then looked up when he found what he was searching for. “Your permit states that this is a preliminary fact finding investigation. As such, I’d like confirmation from yourself, and the Auror team you choose to deploy, that only spells of diagnosis and detection will be used inside.”

Greygoose simply nodded again, and repeated herself. “Of course.”

Harpham looked at the two Aurors remaining behind her, and they also nodded. He appeared to accept their reactions, but then said, “I feel it necessary to add at this point that Mr Evans is not only a licenced Truth Seeker, but also on Ministry’s registry as a Sanctus Occulum.”

At this, Pettybourne and one of the two Aurors behind Greygoose paled. Just like the Animagus registry, the Sanctus Occulum one was technically public, but neither were something you could just inspect on a whim. Harry hadn’t really wanted to advertise that his alter-ego was able to see magic, but he could see now why Harpham had asked his permission to speak about it. From those small reactions alone it was pretty obvious that Member Pettybourne might have been planning on having something planted in the Manor during the search.

Harry looked at the Auror who had paled. His face was vaguely familiar, but the man looked fresh from training and Harry had no idea what his name was. His senior partner, Tarquin Taylor, was someone Harry had known as an Auror and not particularly liked. He was insanely bigoted against both Purebloods and anyone he thought too wealthy. Despite that, Harry knew, the wizard was almost as straight-wanded as Greygoose when it came to regulations. The man was going to enjoy turning the Malfoys’ home over, but he wouldn’t be open to bribes or suggestions of helping along the evidence against the new Lord. He probably wholeheartedly believed that he was going to find a cauldron full of incriminating evidence, though.

Harpham finally stood aside, but did so in a way that obviously placed himself between Pettybourne and the gates. “As requested, Lord and Dowager Lady Malfoy are not on the property. The search team is welcome to all parts of their private domicile. Mr Evans will show you to their door.”

✧✧✧

James Evans followed the Auror partners around inside the Malfoys’ place for over six hours. Auror Taylor and his young partner, who Harry learned was Auror First Year Ridgewell Munt, were ridiculously thorough. He had no idea what they thought they’d find in the tea caddies in the small kitchen, or within the pages of the romance novels Narcissa apparently enjoyed, but they looked. Taylor requested for permission, albeit indignantly, to record the names of all of the potions ingredients Draco had in his brewing lab so that they could be compared to the records of what the Ministry had given him rights to have in his possession. Harpham had agreed readily. Five hours and twenty minutes into the search they finally came to the last room in the wing. Harry had been given a whirlwind tour that morning by Narcissa, and she’d pointed it out as a guest room that was yet to be used. When Taylor and Munt went to enter the room, however, it was locked. Moxy appeared and tugged on James Evans’ sleeve. The Aurors eyed the situation with suspicion.

“Mr Evans and the Aurors are not needing to go into this guest room, sirs. Moxy knows there is nothing in there they will be needing.” Moxy didn’t stutter, but his ears flapped back and forth with each word he spoke.

Harry knelt on one knee so he could look Moxy in the eye and said, “I’m afraid the Aurors will need to see in the room, Moxy. The Ministry has ordered it, and your Mistress and Master have given their permission.”

Moxy shook his head emphatically.

Munt’s eyes widened, and his lips started to curl up at the ends. “Is there something in this room that your Master doesn’t want us to see, elf?” He looked down on Moxy with an expression so reminiscent of Lucius’ face in the old days that Harry had to stop himself from putting himself bodily between the elf and the Auror.

Moxy was trying to stay in control but he looked quite distraught. “Master Malfoy is not wanting anyone to see in this room. Master Malfoy is…”

There was a blue glow and a harsh crack, and Harry lookup up to see that the wood around the lock on the door had been splintered.

Munt lowered his wand. “We’ll see about that.”

Harry wondered a moment if he was allowed to use the same spell on Munt that Munt had just used on the door. He took a deep breath instead and looked at Moxy and said, “I’m sure Mr Malfoy will appreciate your efforts, Moxy. I will make sure he understands you tried to help. I can take this from here. It would be best if you leave, please.”

Moxy nodded at Harry, glanced over his shoulder at the two Aurors, then started at the broken door for a moment or two. He sighed, his ears and shoulders drooping, then left with a quiet pop.

Harry stood and focussed on Munt. “You realise I could have you charged with wilful property destruction? There is no magic holding that door in place. A simple Alohomora would have worked to open it.”

Munt jeered, “Please, Evans. You really need to rethink your line of work. I heard rumours you were an Auror at one stage. Why the hell are you here protecting Death Eater rejects when you could be wearing the uniform with pride and doing some real good?”

Taylor reached forward and put his hand on Munt’s shoulder. He didn’t pull him back, but made it clear he could and would. Munt had inched forward while he was talking and was almost right in James Evans’ face. Evans was, of course, as short as Harry. Wizards didn’t usually dare with The Chosen One, but a lot of men seemed to think that they could intimidate the Truth Seeker by standing over him physically.

Harry simply chose to ignore the outburst, and aimed his words at Taylor. “For that, I will be reporting the damage as an official complaint. It was a completely unnecessary spell, and contrary to the assurances given to the law-wizard this morning.” He looked at Munt now. “You will not be going into this room. If you can’t be trusted to open a door without using a barely legal cutting curse,” Munt paled in the same way he had outside, it seemed he had forgotten already that James Evans was a Sanctus Occulum and could therefore see what he’d used to blast the lock with, “I don’t think you can be trusted with whatever is behind it. Send Auror Greygoose in, and then the search can continue.”

As Harry watched Munt leave he breathed in and out to a count of five and tried to stop himself from gripping his wand too tightly.

✧✧✧

Greygoose had been extremely apologetic about the door and spell use, but had forgotten it quickly once she and Taylor had started searching the guest bedroom. Harry could see why the space and what it contained might seem strange to someone not in the know.

He hadn’t really been able to figure it himself when he initially saw what was in the room. To the right, in the corner farthest from the door, were six professional quality racing brooms. Beside them, hanging on a rack that looked decidedly Muggle in origin, were five Quidditch League uniforms. There were piles and piles of more regular clothing on the large bed, and a variety of what looked like potions ingredients under a stabilising charm on one of the bedside tables. The opposite bedside table was stacked high with belts, watches and a few other types of fashion accessory. There was a mattress leaning up against another wall, and a small pile of other furniture that had been shrunken for storage at its foot.

It wasn’t until Harry spotted a couple of wands poking out from under a pile of books that he understood. This was what he’d called the elves’ pirate-booty at the restaurant that night. These were the some of the possessions of those who’d had gifts recalled by Draco’s Ejice a Retes. It was likely that anything particularly precious—gold, galleons, or jewels—had ended up in the Malfoy vaults. The stuff here didn’t warrant that kind of protection, though, and where else would the Malfoys keep it? Draco probably didn’t want to deal with any of it yet.

Harry forced himself to keep James Evans’ face indifferent. He wanted to smile as he realised Moxy hadn’t been trying to hide something bad from the Aurors, just something that Draco probably found a bit embarrassing.

Harry leant against the door jamb and tried not to yawn. They’d found nothing incriminating as far as he could tell. Eventually Greygoose stepped back from what she was doing and took Taylor’s cataloguing notes from his hands. She read over them, flicking through from the beginning, then focussing on the last couple of pages.

“Well, Mr Evans,” she started, then stopped and sighed. “I’m not sure what we have here. There’s nothing that screams out to me as evidence of foul play, except, well.” She looked around the room. “This lot looks a lot like a thief's stash.” She looked at the side table with the potions on it, “And that lot looks like it’s not part of the Ministry’s records for what Lord Malfoy should have in his possession.”

Harry resisted the compulsion to snort. “It’s not my place to share the exact circumstances, but I know that the Malfoys have a valid reason to have all of these items in their home.”

Taylor smirked, “Well, I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you give evidence for them at their trial. Theft and illegal potions ingredients aren’t the stuff of a good citizen’s life.”

“A pile of household stuff doesn’t exactly scream Deliberate Purveyance of Chaos though, does it now?” Harry asked.

Greygoose looked a little conflicted, but she shook her head. “Unfortunately, I have to agree with Auror Taylor on this. I’ll back you on the claim you want to lay against Munt for the broken door, and he’ll be disciplined. That isn’t going to do much for the Malfoys though, I’m afraid. I’m giving you notice, Mr Evans, we will be confiscating the contents of this room, including the furniture, for further inspection.”

Harry nodded. “And I am reiterating to you that it’s unnecessary, but accepting the notice. I simply ask that it is still only you and Auror Taylor that take care of it. I assume that you’ll be shrinking it to take it back to the Ministry?”

He watched as they did what they had to do, and followed them outside with their supposed evidence in Ministry approved evidence-trunks. The day wasn’t over. Harpham would want to see the morning’s highlights, especially the last hour, in a Pensieve, he was sure.

✦✦✦

Draco almost jumped up from the sofa when Harpham told them what had happened during the day. He’d not noticed anything amiss when he returned with his mother from their shopping trip. Mr Evans had apparently done quite a good job of not allowing the Aurors to destroy the place as they searched it. The guest bedroom was in a corner of the wing far from much else, though, so he hadn’t thought to check it. He eventually couldn’t wait any longer and excused himself so he could see what damage had been inflicted.

He stood in the hall outside the room and stared at the damaged door, and told himself it could have been far, far worse. He pushed the wood and it swung inwards to reveal a perfectly empty room, floor boards shining. They’d even taken the rug.

Well, it was empty other than the elf sat trembling in the corner.

Draco stepped inside. “Moxy, are you alright? Did someone hurt you?” He felt anger rising in his chest. “Did one of the Aurors something to you?”

Moxy didn’t answer and didn’t look up at him. Draco took a step closer, and the elf seemed to shrink in on himself.

Draco stepped back, shocked. “Moxy, please look at me.” He hoped the direct order would force the situation, no matter how unpleasant.

Moxy lifted his chin, but his eyes stayed lowered. “M-, Master Malfoy will be punishing Moxy. Moxy is ready.”

Draco shook his head, “Why would I punish you, Moxy?”

“Master Malfoy will be making Moxy punish himself?” His voice cracked on the last word and his little body shook, apparently in disbelief.

“Moxy.” Draco dropped his voice as he lowered himself onto the floor in front of the elf, trying to choose an angle that wouldn’t make the small creature feel as if he was trapped. Draco folded his legs and sat them crossed under him. He tried to make himself short enough that he had to look up at Moxy, rather than the other way around. “Moxy, I don’t understand why you think I want you to be punished.”

Moxy finally looked forward, but then quickly down again. “Master is Lord Malfoy now. Lord Malfoy always punishes mistakes. Moxy is making mistakes. Moxy is not making the Aurors stay away. Moxy is letting them see Master’s secrets,” he gulped, “Moxy is letting them take Master’s secrets.”

Draco reached out, as slowly as he could, and as strange as it felt to do so, he put his hand under Moxy’s chin and lifted it gently. Moxy whimpered, stiffened, then began shaking again. Draco shushed without realising he was doing it.

“Moxy. I am Draco. I am not my father, nor my grandfather.” He’d felt anger at Lucius and Abraxas before, but this felt sharper and much closer to his heart and it was honed with an edge of shame. “I know that before the end of the War I was far more like them than I am now. But, you know what Lucius did to me, yes? Mother told you all what had happened?”

Moxy looked up, finally, and nodded, his ears pulled back flat against his head. “M-, Master Lucius used bad, bad blood magic on Master Malfoy.”

Draco breathed in and tried not to be too loud when he let the air out of his lungs. “Yes, he did. He used horrible magics that made me more like him and Abraxas. But I am not really like them, Moxy. Firstly, you did nothing wrong.”

Moxy started to shake his head, but Draco reached out had lifted up his chin again to make him stop.

Draco kept his voice as soft as he could. “No, you did your best. Mr Harpham told me what Mr Evans said. He said you asked the Aurors to stop, and that you obeyed him when he said you should leave. That was the right thing to do, Moxy. You did the right thing.”

Moxy’s head suddenly felt heavy in Draco’s hand. The elf was beginning to relax.

“Secondly,” Moxy looked up now with a little fear in his eyes still, but there was also curiosity, “Even if you had done wrong, I would never, never do to you what my father or his father did. They were cruel, cruel wizards, and I regret that I was ever like them. Even if it was because of the blood magic, I didn’t fight it hard enough. We all do things wrong, Moxy. All of us. Sometimes they are mistakes, and sometimes the situation is just beyond our control.”

Draco could feel the tears welling in his own eyes, matching those in Moxy’s. The little being was at least twice his age. He’d been Draco’s constant companion in the Manor as a child, especially before Hogwarts. It was strange to realise it, but Draco knew he had more love and affection for this creature than he’d ever had for Nathan Tronpe. He could cry now for the time wasted with Tronpe, but that would be nothing to the pain he’d feel if he saw Moxy cowering in a corner again.

The elf’s words were as clear as they were quiet. “Master Draco is a kind, kind Master. Moxy is lucky to have Master Draco.” Then, as fast as Draco had ever known an elf to move, Moxy was wrapped around him, hugging with all his might.

Draco tensed, but then softened into the embrace, bringing one hand up to rest on Moxy’s back. He was Draconis Malfoy, Lord of this Manor and all its ground and creatures and beings, but only because they asked him to be. He’d hug a sodding elf if he wanted to. He almost hoped father’s ghost was near to see it.

✧✧✧

His mother looked concerned when he returned, but smiled at him when he sat and then at Moxy who hovered close by.

Draco thanked Minny when she poured him fresh tea and then said, “My apologies for being so long, Moxy and I were discussing what happened. The guest room is completely bare. The Aurors even took the carpet.”

Harpham grimaced. “They were nothing if not methodical. As I was saying previously, Evans reported that they opened every drawer, book, and bottle they could find. The only time he saw anything untoward was with the door, however, which is at least something.” He put his own cup down on the table. “I believe at this point we should be expecting some kind of trial. I still don’t understand how they are going to turn a handful of belongings into a legitimate Chaos Purveyance case, but at the very least they will try to charge you with Unlawful Possession of Potions Ingredients.”

“That, in itself, is quite ridiculous, Mr Harpham.” Draco said, he could feel his annoyance outweighing his anger now. “The elves removed any dangerous ingredients from those that were in the returned items before they stored the rest. They were destroyed for the very fact that there would be mounds of parchment to fill in to keep them.”

Harpham pursed his lips together. “May I ask what your plans for the other items in the room were? Especially the other potions ingredients.”

“We were going to donate them to a charity, Mr Harpham,” said Draco’s mother. “We didn’t do it straight away as I wanted Draco to look through the items to see if there was anything too personal to be given away without some alteration.”

Harpham just looked at Draco, waiting for his confirmation.

“That’s right. But,” he looked down. He hated the embarrassment that still went with whole situation. “Really? I just wasn’t ready to look yet. A lot of the clothes and the like belonged to my ex. I would have sent the professional Quidditch uniforms back to their respective teams. I planned to send the brooms to Hogwarts to be distributed to players that couldn’t afford their own. I was going to buy two more for the pile so that there would be two for each House. The rest of the things, barring the potions ingredients, I was going to offer to some of the newer residents here, and send what was left to a charity.”

“And the ingredients?” Harpham asked.

“Honestly I think I was just going to destroy those, too. The paperwork the Ministry would have asked for simply wasn’t worth the time to keep them.”

Harpham shifted in his seat. “Well, that all makes perfect sense to me. We just need to figure a way to have it make sense to the Wizengamot.”

Draco almost didn’t want to ask but, “Do you really think they will take this to trial? They’ll inspect the things they took and find that none of it is stolen property. Surely with all the information they have they’ll see that there’s nothing dark happening. Couldn’t it all be decided with a few Auror interviews?”

His mother could apparently hear the distress creeping into his voice. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrist.

Harpham tactfully pretended not to notice the movement. “That would be so if this was a normal accusation, one made by a regular citizen or even an Auror. This was put before the Wizengamot, however. The arguments and accusations were begun in the Chamber, and because of that tradition and legalities dictate that they must be finished there.” He stood and smoothed a hand over his waistcoat. “It will likely take most of tomorrow for them to inspect the items they took. As you said, they’ll find nothing dark or stolen amongst them. Pettybourne will therefore be forced to save face by bringing you under examination in the Chamber as soon as he is able.” He looked over at the fire, then said, “A case like this would normally be put off for weeks, but you should be ready to face the full court on Thursday or maybe Friday at the latest. I’ll owl Mr Evans to let him know that he will be required for his testimony. You should both rest. It is likely to be a long, long week.”

✦✦✦

Hermione put the letter down and squeezed Harry’s hand.

“It will be a closed session, at least. Which is good for two reasons.”

Harry looked at her and decided that repeating was about as good as his brain was going to get at the moment. “Two reasons?”

She nodded, then pulled him into a hug. She spoke into his ear, “It will seriously annoy Skeeter.”

Harry let himself laugh at that. “And?”

Hermione pulled back, but kept her arms wrapped around him. “Draco won’t have to wonder why his friend, Harry Potter, isn’t in the room supporting him.”

✦✦✦

Chapter Text

✦✦✦

Chamber of Chaos
Daily Prophet
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Rita Skeeter - Senior Political Correspondent

Today will see the return to the Wizengamot Chamber of Member Pembroke Pettybourne. Mr Pettybourne has been on two days leave from other Chamber business while collecting further evidence to support his charge of Deliberate Purveyance of Chaos against Lord Draconis Malfoy.

On this Tuesday past, the Daily Prophet brought you news of the lesser charge being considered, instead of the original claim of Aspirant Dark Lord that Pettybourne made against Malfoy. The accused’s home was searched by Aurors on Tuesday, and the evidence collected was reportedly inspected by senior staff of the Auror department over the following 29 hours.

Also in the Chamber today, the New Lord Draconis Lucius Malfoy will be sworn in to take his seat in the court for the first time since his ascent to the position. Sources report that it will be a short first sitting, and perhaps his only one, as Pettybourne is planning to bring him to trial immediately.

Neither Lord Malfoy nor his legal advisors, Harpham, Harpham & Holsum, would comment on the situation.

Member Pettybourne was unavailable for comment regarding the unusual speed at which he appears to be pursuing the legal action.

✦✦✦

Harry frowned as he looked at the suit Rupert had laid out for him on his bed. The white shirt was perfectly pressed, the dark grey waistcoat and trousers looked neat and fresh, and the underwear and socks looked new. Black formal robes were hanging in mid-air next to the bed and his best-matched shoes were sitting flat below as if waiting for Harry to step into them. Rupert had apparently not been able to decide on a tie, as there were three different green ones laying in deft rolls next to the shirt.

“Rupert,” he said, trying not to sound upset. He just needed some advice, really. Harry had been in front of the Wizengamot several times after the war, but James Evans hadn’t ever had reason to. The Truth Seeker’s reports and photographs were sometimes presented as evidence, but the man himself had never been called before.

Staring at the bed now Harry was a bit worried that someone would make the connection between him and James Evans because of the clothes.

Rupert appeared with a soft pop and bowed low. It wasn’t as low as he’d been doing originally, but still lower than Harry liked. He wasn’t going to bring that up right now, though.

“Rupert, I’m sorry, but I need your advice. You’ve had a look through all of my clothes, yes?” The elf nodded. “Do you think I can be appropriately dressed, but look, well, less like Harry and more like James? James has never worn very formal stuff, really.” The elf hadn’t even blinked when Harry had told him he had two identities, but he stared at Harry now as if he’d just been asked to answer Muggle trivia question or something equally unlikely.

Rupert finally blinked, then nodded, “Well, Master Bl-, Master Potter.” The name thing was proving a challenge, but Rupert was obviously trying hard to get it right.

Harry breathed in, he was far too stressed about a trial he’d hardly be taking part in. In reality he’d probably have to answer all of three questions. He’d likely have to be in the Chamber for a whole five or six minutes. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up about it.

He shook away the idea that kept trying to creep into his head. There was no way Draco could be convicted of the stupid charge they’d made against him. Anything James Evans could do would only assist in that.

The elf looked a little worried at Harry’s expression. “Rupert is sorry he can’t answer quickly, Master Potter. But…” He looked sideways at the pile of clothes, “But Master Potter is a powerful wizard. Master Potter could be glamouring his clothes to a different colour as well as his hair. Rupert thinks a brown suit, shoes and cloak would look right for Master Evans. With a cream shirt, and the plain tie.”

Harry looked back at the bed, and then at the elf, and smiled. Sometimes things were that simple.

“Thank you for your help, Rupert.” Rupert bowed again, just as low, and when he stood up his cheeks were pink. Harry hoped it was with pride.

✧✧✧

Harry, already glamoured as pale-brown-suit-and-robed, cream-shirted and dark-green-tied James Evans, decided to apparate to Looney Cottage lest he get himself covered in floo powder. He greeted both the girls with quick kisses to the cheeks, and then accepted a coffee from Luna as Hermione told him what she knew about the day to come.

“I talked Mr Ezrath,” she made a face at her boss’ name, “into getting me a place in the Chamber for the trial. He decided it was efficient, of all things, for Draco’s Supervising Unspeakable to be there to observe.”

Luna topped up Hermione’s coffee and said, “You should make sure you take some calming-potion before you go in, sweetie, and top up before he gets you to put your memories in a Pensieve. You know it gives you headaches.”

Hermione reached into her robes and pulled out a vial. “I have some for Harry, too, if he wants it.” She slipped it back into her pocket.

“Otherwise it’s going to be a closed trial, though, yes?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded as she pulled her hair back and tapped her wand against it to fix it into a neat bun. “Yes. No press at all. They’ll be doing a sweep at the doors to make sure no one has any recording spells running, and the witnesses will be kept isolated and only brought in one at a time.”

Harry groaned. “Wonderful.”

“I know, but it’s better in the long run. It’s a good sign, too, that this is being taken seriously. I’d be far more worried if the Wizengamot as a whole wanted to parade Draco about before hearing what’s to be heard.” She picked up her coffee again. “You’ll be sat in a big room with all the other witnesses and supervised by Aurors for the entire trial. I have no idea what will happen if the damn thing runs over to tomorrow. They’ll probably just have you take a time-limited silence oath on the subject. Then again, if it looks like it’s almost done, they might just keep it on into the evening.” She sipped her drink. “Draco will be in the Chamber for the entire day, with a legal-wizard or three. And they’re allowing his mother, too. Both she and Draco will have to have their wands out in front of them, but they’ll not be confiscated.”

“It does sound as if at least someone is trying to be fair.” Harry thought the whole thing was actually unfair, but still. Not stripping Draco of his wand meant they weren’t assuming, off the bat, that the Malfoys were guilty of something.

“It does.” She put down her cup and came around the kitchen benchtop to look at him. “James Evans scrubs up nicely. Is that a new suit and robe?”

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s the one I wore to the Battle Day speeches last year. Rupert suggested I glamour it. He had me stop when I got to this colour. Is it, um…” he didn’t know if he wanted to ask if it looked good, or at least right for the situation.

Luna hummed and reached out a hand to run down the sleeve of the robe. “It’s quite official looking, James. It rather suits you. I’m sure the Wizengamot members will be appropriately impressed.”

Hermione grinned and nodded. “They won’t be impressed with any of us if we’re late, though. I get to see Draco sworn in before they start to try to rip him apart. I promise I’ll put that bit in a Pensieve for you before I share with Mr Ezrath.”

✦✦✦

Draco shifted in his chair, but took care to keep himself very upright. He was seated with his mother at this point, and although he’d normally be leaving her side and joining the Quorum after he was sworn in, he suspected that today that wouldn’t be the case. He looked around at the seating available and wondered if Harpham and his assistants would be sitting next to them or in front during the actual trial. The box they were in was small, and other than the five of them, there was no one else bar a few administrative staff on this side of the room. The Wizengamot members were slowly trickling into their stadium-like seats opposite. The lighting was such that he couldn’t really see their faces, so he had no idea if he was already being judged.

He moved again and his mother reached out a hand to steady him. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Now really isn’t the time to forget that you are capable of not fidgeting for hours. I don’t want you creasing those wonderful robes before you are sworn in, little Dragon.”

Draco stilled. The noise from people chatting as they moved into their seats was loud enough that no one would have heard even his mother’s regular speaking voice, but still. He was half-horrified at the fact that she’d used the term of endearment in public and half glad that she wanted to make him feel loved. She shouldn’t have to be going through this. Neither should he, but he felt far guiltier for those who would be being judged by association. His mother, well, she had scolded him that morning for even thinking that she’d be better off without him or at least distancing herself.

Thankfully none of the Loopy-Lot had gone and been absurdly Gryffindor-esque and spoken to the Prophet or something about being his friend. He didn’t need to feel as if he’d been the one to drag Harry or Hermione or anyone else’s name through the proverbial pond slime.

Draco knew he wasn’t in control here, but he could at least let himself feel that he had some things handled.

No one who shouldn’t be publicly associated with him currently was.

Some of his property had been confiscated as evidence, but none of it was anything he deemed important. He decided in that moment that if it wasn’t returned, he’d replace it all and give that to charity as he’d originally planned.

He’d received notice by Department of Mysteries owl this morning that as his work for them had been decreed to be served by the Heritor Lord, not Lord, Malfoy, he was no longer necessarily employed by them. He should soon be able to choose his own vocation.

And, importantly, Tronpe was gone. Draco was free of a vicious and poisonous parasite that had been attempting to suck him dry financially and emotionally.

Things could be worse. Though of course they were worse, if he was honest with himself. He was about to be sworn into the position his father had held until he’d been arrested, a position that before that had been held without interruption by their ancestors for centuries. He’d finally have it back in the Malfoy name. Then, probably only moments later, he was going to have to start a fight to keep it longer than a few hours.

Draco felt adrift, even with his mother sitting fast next to him. He wanted something more to anchor him. He wished he could have some of the Loopy-Lot here, or even just something that reminded him of them. Draco closed his eyes and thought of Hermione and Luna’s horrible shag-carpet, George and Charlie’s atrocious hair, Goyle’s stupid grin, Neville and Hannah’s bountiful glow, and the scent of Harry’s warm skin when, oh.

Draco stiffened. His mother gave him a quick look and then scanned the Wizengamot members, obviously thinking that something one of them had done had startled him. Something had startled him certainly, but it wasn’t in the Chamber. It was in his head. It was entirely plausible to be having feelings for someone so soon after his breakup, given that his attachment to Tronpe had been manufactured. It shouldn’t be plausible for those feelings to be for his childhood nemesis, though, should it? Harry was, well. He knew exactly what Harry was, didn’t he?

A movement on his other side stopped him from providing himself with the answer. Draco turned to see an Unspeakable, his or her robe a shade or four lighter than his own, sliding into the booth to sit next to him. The cloaked figure nodded, then flipped her hood back just far enough for Draco to make out her face. A few moments ago the fact that Hermione Granger had come to sit with him through his trial would have made him feel like he’d eaten the contents of an entire box of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes Happy Bubbles. Now, though, now he was glad that dressed in her official livery she shouldn’t be seen talking to him or even looking at him. It was probably the only way he’d avoid not admitting he had a burgeoning affection for Harry bloody Potter.

Today was going to go on forever.

✦✦✦

Harry looked up at the clock over the door of the Chamber, and then down again. He really, really didn’t want to interact with anyone in here. Not that he could really talk to anyone with the Aurors overseeing them all, but he didn’t want to engage in a game of eye tag, either. And he couldn’t use one of his comfortable notice-me-nots while waiting to give evidence in a court-case, unfortunately. He slumped further in his seat and tried to look uninteresting.

The ante-room was crowded and cooler than it needed to be. He glanced at the fire in the big hearth in the corner and muttered an Additamentium under his breath, and the flames reached a little higher. He hoped no one else in the room didn’t want it warmer.

He rubbed the soles of his shoes against the shiny floor.

He couldn’t remember how long the official start of the Wizengamot day took, and he definitely didn’t know long it took to swear someone in as a Member. He doubted Draco would be going to give a long speech or anything.

There was a small commotion in one corner of the room as Emilio Medeiros seemingly growled at the Auror in front of him. His brother reached out a hand and made him sit back down. Seeing the Medeiros brothers made Harry think of Nathan Tronpe. Thinking of Nathan Tronpe made Harry angry. Harry looked down at his feet and tried to think of anything but them or Draco Malfoy. The first made his blood boil and the second his heart flutter. Draco didn’t need a raging beast of a Harry, and he didn’t need a love-struck Harry, either.

Draco needed a cool-headed, straight-talking James Evans.

Harry breathed out and in, out and in, working to calm himself.

He wished they'd been allowed to bring a book for the wait. He sighed, then focussed on being the most useful James Evans he could be.

✦✦✦

Draco had barely taken a step back from the lectern after making his Wizengamot vow when Pettybourne was on his feet and close to shouting his demand to be heard.

“I stand to accuse you, Lord Draconis Lucius Malfoy, of the Deliberate Purveyance of Chaos driven by your aspiration to become a Dark Lord.”

Harpham and his assistants had ended up seated in front of Draco's mother and Hermione. Draco turned and looked at the legal-wizard now to see if there was any particular reaction or some change in what they’d planned. With the words he’d just used, Pettybourne might as well have laid the stronger charge, the one he’d originally wanted, Aspirant Dark Lord.

Harpham looked straight at Draco, breathed in and lowered his eyelids in an imitation of a nod that said simply, Do as we planned.

Draco turned back to face his accuser and the rest of the Wizengamot, and said what he’d been practicing to over and over again. “My flesh and heart were torn under forced servitude to a Dark Lord. I have no desire to cause such pain to any other person, being or creature. I am exercising my right to defend and deflect any charge you lay against me, and as such have legal representation and those who will speak in my favour and stead.” He turned slightly, and then changed his mind. He would say this directly to Pettybourne. He walked back towards the wizard, and stood as close as he could before he spoke. The man was in the second tier of seating, so Draco had to look up at him, but he kept his voice low and measured as if their positions were reversed. “As the speaker of this allegation, Member Pembroke Pettybourne, the onus of proof sits with you.”

It might have been a trick of the light, but Pettybourne, for half a moment, didn’t look so sure of himself anymore. Draco turned and hoped that he hadn’t just done a too-good impression of a Death Eater.

Pettybourne didn’t begin speaking again until after Draco sat in the box, back where he’d been before. He had Hermione, cloaked in her Unspeakables robe on one side, his mother, wearing a pale gold, fae-spun gown and cloak on the other, and Harpham, wearing tweed, accessorised with three legal assistants, in front.

Pettybourne cleared his throat. “You have been waging a quiet war of chaos creation for the last several years. You planned well, waited until our world had settled into something of a semblance of normalcy, and then struck. You upturned the lives of those around you and started a plague. We may yet find out that you even killed your father.” He stood still a minute, then continued. “Even without proof of the last I will show that you have deliberate and dark, dark aspirations, boy.”

Draco sucked in a breath and gripped the chair he was sitting on. Killed his father? It was absurd. He wanted to turn and look his mother in the eye and tell her it wasn’t true. She reached out first, though, and put her gloved hand over his bare skin, and he calmed.

Harpham was on his feet only moments later, thankfully. “Gentle Witches and Wizards of the Wizengamot, and esteemed others,” he didn’t turn to bow to Hermione, but he not-quite glanced over his shoulder at her. Harpham had been delighted when he’d heard someone from the Department of Mysteries would be attending. He planned to show deference, and then, if necessary, remind everyone that Draco had been part of the same part of the Ministry for quite some time. “The charges against Draco Malfoy are preposterous. I'll thank you for your patience, in advance. This hearing is going to be a long, boring list of people coming forward to say that Lord Malfoy doesn’t like them anymore, and has taken back the toys he lent them.” Harpham looked across to those in front of him, possibly waiting for an interjection, possibly just stretching his neck. Draco couldn’t be sure. “I will take this moment, also, to remind Member Pettybourne that Draco Malfoy is not only a full Member of this Chamber, but also a Titled member of society. Mr Pettybourne, of course, is entitled to call Mr Malfoy by any name he pleases, but perhaps is doing himself no favours by reminding us all how young and inexperienced the new Lord is.”

Unbelievably there was a small snigger from the top right of the Chamber. Draco had no idea who was there, but at least someone was enjoying this. He looked back down when the awesome voice of Minister for Magic Shacklebolt sounded out.

“Thank you, Mr Harpham. I agree. Member Pettybourne, this is a Chamber of protocol. You will refer to the wizard you have accused as either Mr, Member or Lord Malfoy. Nothing else. You will also refrain from mentioning accusations you have no support for. Is that understood?”

Pettybourne didn’t have the grace to look chastised. He nodded sideways at the Minister instead.

Shacklebolt flared his nostrils as if he didn’t want to accept that, but had to. “Very well. Member Malfoy, you’ve stated that you are represented and supported? You have your legal-wizard, Harpham and his associates, Lady Dowager Malfoy, and?” He nodded towards Hermione, eyebrows raised in query.

Harpham spoke for Draco, as he had said he would for most of the trial. “Mr Malfoy also has one of the Unspeakables he works with in the Department of Mysteries here, at the Department’s request. We have two other people sequestered in the ante-room, and the statements of several more at our disposal. Of course they can be called to give evidence if needs be.”

Shacklebolt turned and spoke to his assistant, then looked directly at Draco. “Do you have a request to make at this time, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco stood, and in a voice a little louder than he’d used on Pettybourne before, but purposefully not that much stronger said, “I would like to request my right to a questioning under Veritaserum. There is no need for the Ministry or Chamber’s valuable time or resources to be further wasted on ascertaining information I can give readily.”

There were a few solid nods, and a few disappointed looks from the other members of the Wizengamot. All eyes turned to Pettybourne. Did he want answers, or did he want a trial?

Member Pettybourne shook his head slowly, as if he was trying to explain to a child that they couldn’t have sweets before dinner. “I’m afraid that to accept such answers would be to invite being brazenly hoodwinked. Mr Malfoy has a reputation for skills in potions. He is of course not a trained or recognized Master, but…”

He let the words slide off, the insult hanging. Some of the Members nodded at this as fervently as they had the offer of a Veritaserum questioning. The word fickle didn’t seem strong enough to describe them, Draco thought.

Shacklebolt turned and looked at Harpham for his response.

The legal-wizard simply said, “Then, as accepted by common law and practice, Draco Malfoy cannot be questioned directly by his accuser.”

Harpham sat when Shacklebolt motioned him to. The Minister then returned his attention to Pettybourne. “You have witnesses and evidence to present?”

Pettybourne smiled. “There are seventy-two witches and wizards of good standing waiting in the ante-room.”

To that there was a mixed response. The sounds of interest and appreciation were obvious, but amongst them were several groans at the sudden realisation of just how long all this might be going to take.

Shacklebolt heard them too, apparently. “Seventy-two? I’m giving notice now on behalf of the Chamber and our sanity. You will have no two people give the same evidence twice. If you’ve two or more giving the same story, they will be acknowledged, but not heard. Understood?”

Pettybourne capitulated all too easily, apparently having planned on the absurd number of witnesses being rejected. He looked satisfied to simply have the total recorded. He called over a member of the Chamber’s administration and handed them what was likely a pre-prepared list of who to tell to go home.

Draco resisted slumping in his seat. He really didn’t like the smug look on Pettybourne’s face.

✦✦✦

Harry was trying hard not to take too much notice of just who he was in the room with, but it was hard not to make lists and put everyone into little boxes in his head.

Other than himself and Healer Wandwiggen, Harry thought that the roll-call would read like a who’s who of those who’d been hit hardest by Draco’s Ejice a Rete. An absurdly long roll-call. There were St Mungos employees, professional quidditch players and team owners, business people who’d lost contracts, most of the ex-friends that had been at the dinner that night with Draco and Tronpe, and more. Harry wondered if Pettybourne thought that quantity would make up for the fact that most of those here couldn’t really say anything against Draco. At least the Gringotts’ spokesgoblin they’d summoned wouldn’t be backwards in coming forwards about the perfectly legal changes that had happened within their vaults.

The door to the Chamber opened and Griselda Greygoose, who Harry hadn’t seen yet that morning, but was apparently the Auror in charge today, too, stepped through. She walked to a central enough position in the room and all eyes landed on her.

“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for your time today. I’ve been instructed by the Chamber that most of you are no longer needed for today’s proceedings.” There were a few mutters of discontent. “I’ve been asked to assure you that although you’ll not be testifying personally, your statements will be being referenced, and I will also apologise for any inconvenience you’ve experienced by coming today. Now, if I read your name, please stand and make your way to the door where your wand and identification will be checked and you’ll be free to go.”

Harry sat still, and only Madam Wandwiggen and the goblin didn’t otherwise move. The rest of the witnesses stirred in their seats, likely hoping that they’d be gone soon. Greygoose began reading, and two Aurors appeared at the outer door to the ante-room. It was Ron and Dean. They were both wearing the two-toned robes that told everyone who looked at them they there were trainees again, not fully fledged officers of the law. Well, at least that was something to brighten Harry’s morning.

He dragged his eyes away from them and looked at who was now queueing to leave. There were five professional Quidditch players standing, only one still seated. None of them were wearing team ties or dress uniforms, but he recognised most of them. Their faces were familiar, and professional players tended to a certain build, strong but not large, muscular shoulders and slim hips, similar to that a Muggle would associate with a swimmer’s build, only a bit smaller. The player left sitting was ex-Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley.

Harry kept his head mostly down, but let himself glance up to see who else was staying. Blaise Zabini was the last ex-friend from the dinner, Pansy Parkinson the unlucky one of the four Healer Trainees, a wizard Harry thought was the Real Estate Agent who handled Tronpe’s apartment sat back down, Emilio Medeiros, and quite a few more people Harry just didn’t know.

What he did know of those still in the room when Greygoose left was that most of them were similar to him in age, and many of them were Slytherins, or people one would think Draco would side with rather than oppose. Harry wasn’t sure what that meant Pettybourne had planned, but he had an unsettled feeling in his gut.

✦✦✦

As the accuser, Pettybourne made his case first. Draco was happy to see that the wizard took no issue with any of the witnesses he’d called being questioned under Veritaserum. But despite the fact that the Minister had cut the list of those to speak dramatically, it was still a long process. It was playing out much as Harpham had predicted. Pettybourne asked each witness how long they’d known Draco or the Malfoy family and what kind of relationship it had been, and then he asked them if their lives had changed at all during the last week or two, and if it had been for the better or worse.

When Emilio Medeiros took the stand, as one of the first to speak, there was spitting and yowling for all in attendance to experience. He was quite happy to express that he felt he’d been targeted as a pawn in a larger game. He seemed to need to tell anyone who’d listen that nothing that had happened to him could in any way be his fault. It was an unpleasant twenty-five minutes, and it left a bad taste in Draco’s mouth.

He was happy to see that his old classmates, at least, weren’t eager to air their dirty cloaks for all to see. Each answered the questions they were asked succinctly, and without much to show in the way of sentiment, in any direction. Draco’s only concern was the way Harpham seemed to be trying to draw emotional reactions out of them.

In most cases the legal-wizard had the same two questions for each person brought before him: Had they recently received a Yellow Letter encouraging them to be tested for sexually transmitted hexes and curses? And if so, who did it name as the reason they’d been sent it? The privacy spells on the Letters of Notice crumbled easily under the power of the Wizengamot Chamber. Once Harpham heard the name Nathan Tronpe, which he did in each case, of course, he’d start prodding the witness to describe exactly what they’d lost, how much, and how long it was going to take them to earn it back, if ever. It wasn’t a approach they’d discussed taking before the trial started, and it was beginning to make Draco worry. It had been almost amusing to see Medeiros overreact to the query, but it was uncomfortable information coming from people he’d once called friends.

Draco wasn’t sure if he worried more or less after lunch when he finally had a chance to ask Harpham about it. The tactic the legal-wizard was employing was obvious, really, or should have been to an ex-Slytherin trained under one of the greatest analysts of his or any other generation. Snape would have been ashamed of him for not seeing what was in front of his face. Pettybourne wanted Draco’s contemporaries to look as if they weren’t blaming him. Pettybourne wanted them to look as if they were part of a great, dark conspiracy engineered by the new Lord Malfoy to cause mayhem. Their unwillingness to speak more than they absolutely had to while under examination was playing straight into that aim. Draco had been blind to not see. Harpham explained it quite calmly, calmly enough that Draco realised he must be looking quite distressed about it.

“I want to show that your withdrawal of favour from those who were nearest to you was not a small thing. Most of the Wizengamot were educated at Hogwarts. They’ll recognise those sitting in front of them as people who spent their school days sleeping in the dungeons.” It wasn’t a difficult thing to see. Pansy still wore emerald earrings to advertise her youthful allegiances, and Blaise usually had snakes embroidered on his tie. “It is easy for us all to imagine a Slytherin undergoing a small amount of discomfort to further an aim, but it’s almost impossible to imagine that they’d sacrifice more than something superficial.”

As he took his seat in the Chamber again after the break, Draco tried to shake off the twin feelings of shame at not understanding his opponent’s tactics, and the renewed hurt he was suffering remembering his ex-friends’ betrayals.

✦✦✦

Harry hated not knowing what was happening next door. He hated not being able to speak to Hermione about what she was seeing in the trial. The people coming back into the ante-room looked agitated and tired. They’d all been served lunch, and eventually dinner, and it looked as if they might be having a late supper here, too. The Malfoys only had two people support their argument, and the last of Pettybourne’s witnesses, the goblin, had been lead into the Chamber after dinner and taken a whole ten minutes to be questioned by both parties.

No one was going to want this to go on for a second day if they could help it.

Harry sat up straight and waited to be called.

They ushered out Madam Wandwiggen first.

✦✦✦

Draco tried to look enthusiastic about finally hearing from someone who was on his side. Even if it wasn’t easy knowing that his Healer would be exposing the most humiliating episode of his after-war life in graphic detail. Madam Wandwiggen answered Harpham’s queries efficiently. She spoke evenly, and practiced a true clinical detachment few of the other witnesses had managed. When it came to cross examination, Pettybourne’s huffing and posing did little to ruffle her calm. When he accused her of being on the Malfoy payroll she’d simply stated that she took no more compensation from them than any other patients. When he tried to make her tut over the number of partners Tronpe had had, she’d said nothing, letting the statement he’d made hang in the air until several members of the Wizengamot had started giggling.

When she left to be guided back to the waiting area, Draco sighed relief. He knew it might be premature, however. Both accuser and accused had the right to recall one particular witness with which to end the testimony. If they had to, Harpham would be recalling Madam Wandwiggen so that she could reveal Draco had been drugged for two years of the time that he’d supposedly been planning to take over the world.

Draco hoped beyond anything he’d done for a very long time that James Evans was as good a truth speaker as he was Truth Seeker. If the man could convince the Chamber with his evidence, then Madame Wandwiggen wouldn’t have to return.

James Evans’ testimony started a little differently to most of the other people who’d been questioned. A Truth Seeker’s livelihood relied on them being anonymous, and for that reason they couldn’t be given Veritaserum unless in the direst of situations. Instead, they had oaths that bound them to the Ministry, oaths that required them to report certain things to the Aurors, and for situations such as this, a single Wizengamot Member who stood for them to guarantee their truthfulness. The identity of that Member was usually unspoken, but it wasn’t actually a secret.

Harpham had warned James Evans that he’d be asking the question, but still, Draco thought the  wizard looked unhappy to be having to answer it.

Harpham began, “Please identify yourself and your Wizengamot Sponsor to the Chamber.”

Evans swallowed, then said, “I am Truth Seeker James Evans. My Wizengamot Sponsor is Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic.”

Draco wondered if his mother had known that when she’d hired Evans. It was certainly a step above the usual.

Harpham let the twittering in the Wizengamot’s seating die down, then said, “Thank you, Mr Evans. We’ve heard already this evening from Mr Malfoy’s Healer that he was cheated on by his then fiancé, Mr Nathan Tronpe. You were the one who discovered this, were you not?”

Evans nodded, “I was. I was hired by Mrs Malfoy to do a standard investigation into her son’s betrothed before they were wed. I discovered his indiscretions as part of that investigation.”

“I see,” said Harpham, “And you continued your employment with Mrs Malfoy after that?”

“I did.” Evans looked in their direction and then back at the other side of the chamber. “I was uncertain as to why, but I accepted her request. I thought she might want me to act as a bodyguard for her son, or even collect some of Mr Malfoy’s belongings from Mr Tronpe at some point. Arguments about property are not uncommon at the break-up of a relationship.”

Draco wasn’t sure that the segue was completely planned, but he’d not be surprised if the legal-wizard and the Truth Seeker were running to a script of sorts.

Harpham actually smiled as he said, “Retrieval of property wasn’t an issue, though, was it Mr Evans?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Evans paused a moment. Draco wasn’t happy that this issue would further expose Evans’ talent as a Sanctus Occulum, but he was very, very glad that the wizard had the skill to be exposed. “On Saturday, January the third, I was present, concealed, at a dinner attended by Mr Malfoy, Mr Tronpe, and several of their friends. Before the conclusion of the evening I witnessed three uses of the passive incantation known as an Ejice a Rete. All three instances were invoked by Mr Malfoy. The first and second related solely to the ending of his personal relationship with Mr Tronpe. The third was aimed at ending the relationships, personal or professional, that Mr Malfoy had with anyone who’d committed infidelities with Mr Tronpe. The incantations withdrew gifts and support from those concerned.”

Draco didn’t think he’d heard Evans say so many words before.

Harpham nodded at Evans, but then turned to look at the Members of the Wizengamot as he asked his next question. “Withdrawal of gifts would explain the collection of belongings the Aurors found at Malfoy Manor, and the transfers of money and the like into the different Malfoy Vaults that the Gringotts spokesgoblin told us about. The same kind of withdrawal of favour would explain everything from lease changes to loss of business patronage.” Harpham ran his eyes over the Wizengamot Members, then looked back at Evans. “Did you see Mr Malfoy cast any curses that night?”

Evans said, “One.” There was more tittering in the Wizengamot seats, and Harpham watched the Members carefully as he waited for Evans to say, “It was aimed at, and hit, Mr Tronpe. I believe it was an impotency spell.”

The honourable Members of the Wizengamot were apparently not going to judge a wronged lover for that kind of harmless revenge. Draco’s mother squeezed his wrist lightly as Harpham smiled at their laughter then asked, “Did Mr Malfoy do anything else of note during the evening?”

Evans said, “He put Veritaserum in his and Mr Tronpe’s bottle of wine. It is a little unusual, but legal. It’s how he persuaded Mr Tronpe to divulge the names of the people he’d been unfaithful with.”

Harpham turned back to Evans to ask the last question. “Did Mr Malfoy hear or see those names?”

“No. Mr Tronpe wrote them on a scroll, and Mr Malfoy sealed it and sent it straight to his Healer. He didn’t read it.”

Harpham stepped back and bowed to Evans as he thanked him, and then took his seat back in the box with his assistants. He didn’t look concerned, and he didn’t look triumphant. Draco didn’t know how to feel.

Pettybourne stood and apparently took a few moments to decide how he was going to ask his first question. He started at the beginning again.

“Mr Evans, yes? You’ve quite the pedigree if you have Minister Shacklebolt for your Sponsor.”

Evans looked at him for several seconds, but apparently decided to answer the not-question anyway. “I knew him before he was appointed to the position.”

Pettybourne didn’t seem happy with that, but kept going, diving straight into what he must have thought was going to score him the most points. “You’ve just told us that you, and I quote,” he looked at a piece of parchment to read, “Witnessed three uses of the passive incantation known as an Ejice a Rete.” He looked back up at Evans, eyes twinkling. “You witnessed them? You are on record with the Ministry as being a Sanctus Occulum, but even wizards such as yourself can’t see things they’re not particularly familiar with. You’ve been to many occasions where Ejice a Rete are thrown about have you, Mr Evans? Perhaps you’re really Xenophilius Lovegood under your glamours?”

The last question brought out more laughter than Harpham’s questions had. There were actually a few guffaws. Apparently even Members of the Wizengamot read the Quibbler these days. Pettybourne looked victorious.

Draco forced himself not to shuffle forward on his chair. His mother squeezed his wrist in sympathy.

Evans remained quiet until the rest of the Chamber was quiet too. “No, Mr Pettybourne. I am not Xenophilius Lovegood. Though he would be more educated, I’m quite sure, on Sanctus Occulii than you.”

Pettybourne huffed and started to say something, but Evans just kept talking.

“There are 24 recorded levels of my particular talent. Anyone who can use a wand is a Sanctus Occulum Level One or Two, which is why we can all see things such as the killing curse. From Level Five upwards we must be registered with the Department of Mysteries. From Level 10 upwards we must be tested regularly, and from Level 15 upwards we must be trained to ascertain the true scope of our skills.” He paused, for effect this time, Draco was sure, then said, “I am a Sanctus Occulum Level 19. I am one of two at the must-be-trained-level in the last century. I can see magics most of us will never hear of, let alone cast or experience, Mr Pettybourne.”

Draco was impressed. More than impressed. It seemed that everyone bar Shacklebolt, and strangely Hermione, gasped at the kind of power the Truth Seeker just admitted to. Maybe she’d been one of the Unspeakables involved in his registration?

Pettybourne seemed to waver in his stance. He actually reached out and steadied himself on the desk in front of him. Draco felt hope for the first time since breakfast.

“Do you have any more questions for me, Mr Pettybourne?” Evans asked, he sounded almost querulous. Draco wondered if he was more upset about having to discuss his talent publicly, or that he’d basically been accused of lying about it.

Pettybourne glared at Evans. “I will ask you as many questions as I wish, Mr Evans, and at the pace I wish to do so.” Evans just nodded at him as if to invite the queries. “So, you can see magics you’ve not seen before, and you saw Lord Malfoy invoke three Ejice a Rete?”

“That is what I said.” Evans looked bored now.

“And why should we believe you?” Pettybourne snorted.

Draco almost snorted himself. Why? Because Evans was a Department of Mysteries registered Sanctus Occulum of extraordinary talent and a Ministerial Oath bound, and Minister of Magic Sponsored, Truth Seeker. Pettybourne was grasping at phoenix feathers.

Evans didn’t seem to want to answer, but he did. “I am a Truth Seeker. I seek, and speak, truths. I am bound by my oaths. And, quite frankly, I have no reason to attempt to do otherwise.”

Pettybourne smirked. “Oh, I’m sure we can think of a few, Mr Evans. Truth Seeking isn’t exactly a lucrative business, is it? You’ve been employed by Mrs Malfoy for how many weeks now? She’s probably paying you more than you’ve earnt in the last year. Or is it that under those glamours you’re another one of the Lordling Malfoy’s fawning minions? How do we know that you aren’t a scheming little snake in your everyday life?” Pettybourne was becoming louder and louder with every word he spoke.

Draco gripped the seat so that he didn’t reach forward and take his wand. He felt his mother grab the arm she was closest to, and Hermione reach out and steady the other. Thank Merlin and Nimue for the strong women at his side.

Evans seemed to be in need of his own pair of strong someones to stop him from hexing Pettybourne. Draco tore his eyes from the Truth Seeker and looked at the other side of the room. The Wizengamot gallery were engrossed, apparently on the edge of their seats waiting for him to respond.

Evans sat a little taller in his chair and breathed in deeply then said, “I consider myself lucky to be able to choose to work. I am independently wealthy and thus do not need to do so.” He paused, possibly selecting carefully what to say next. “I am not one of Lord Malfoy’s fawning minions as you put it. I have seen no evidence that he has followers.” Evans wasn’t going to rise to Pettybourne’s goading. Draco was again impressed. “I believe your reference to snakes was to somehow accuse me of being a Slytherin. Firstly, there is nothing wrong with being in that House. Secondly, I was in a different one at Hogwarts, as Mr Shacklebolt can confirm. Lastly, as none of us are any longer children, our school houses are quite irrelevant.”

The Minister nodded at what Evans said, but no one else moved. Draco didn’t want to blink in case he missed whatever was going to happen next.

Pettybourne looked over at Evans and curled his lip. His voice was no longer as strong, but he hadn’t yet lost all of his spark. “Then perhaps, Mr Evans, you are one of Mr Malfoy’s victims, also.”

Evans drew his head back on his neck and his forehead wrinkled. “Excuse me?”

Pettybourne looked him straight in the eye. “Were you coerced into giving false testimony, Mr Evans? Have you been threatened by the Malfoys in any way?”

Evans seemed rather close to losing his calm. Draco wondered offhandedly if the wizard’s Sanctus Occulum skills were a sign that he was powerful in other ways. It would certainly be satisfying to see Pettybourne hexed wandlessly from the witness box. Evans simply spoke, however, apparently resigned to answering the same question asked a different way. “I was not coerced by anyone, Mr Pettybourne. I was not threatened. I have not been seduced. I have not been promised riches or power. I don’t really understand what more you’d like me to say. You obviously don’t believe me. Which, by extension, means you don’t believe the Minister for Magic. Is there anyone you would believe?”

There were a couple of laughs from the gallery again, and a few comments.

“Maybe if we got Merlin in here?”

“How about The Boy Who Lived?”

“Perhaps you want us to get Dumbledore back from the dead? Or would just his portrait do?”

Pettybourne turned and looked around in disgust at his fellow Wizengamot Members, but then focussed back on the whole of them as a group. “You can joke all you like but this is still serious. You’ve heard the evidence. As impressive as this young man’s testimony might be, there are still questions. He is only one wizard.”

Draco looked up at his judges and deflated. Some of them were actually still listening to Pettybourne.

A question cut through the tittering. “Would Merlin or Dumbledore or Potter suffice?” Evans’ voice was restrained, but clear.

Draco saw all the eyes in the room suddenly fall to the Truth Seeker. Harpham was on his feet in a moment. Hermione felt as if she was coiled to strike.

Pettybourne curled his lip again. “You ask that question as if the answer was realistic. Are you insane? That’s certainly wouldn’t help the accused’s cause.”

Evans stood, and said again, “Would the word of Merlin or Harry Potter or Albus Dumbledore have you drop this farce of a trial? Would you believe such testimony?”

Draco thought that Evans must be angling to have Pettybourne look as if nothing but the impossible would convince him. Harpham wasn’t stopping him, so there wasn’t much to be done.

Pettybourne’s shoulders dropped and he chortled out, “Why, yes. Yes, it would.”

Evans mirrored the more relaxed stance. “Swear it.”

Now there were oohs and ahhs from the gallery, wondering if Pettybourne would back down or continue with his swagger.

Hermione sat forward next to Draco and said in a low, and almost hesitant voice, “There were no outright lies. Remember that,” and then she stood up.

Draco didn’t have a chance to turn to look at her.

Pettybourne said, in a more serious tone, “Fine, yes. I swear to it.”

Evans said, “Thank you.” And then his robes and his hair were dark and he wasn’t Evans anymore.

He was Harry sodding Potter.

Draco almost knocked his chair over as he stood. He hoped no one heard the noise that came out of his throat.

✦✦✦

Harry waved a hand to Accio his contact lenses from his eyes, and shoved them in the pocket of his robes. He wasn’t going to need them any time soon. He blinked to wet his eyes as he pulled his glasses out of another pocket. He really, really wanted to turn around and look at Draco. He’d also have to explain himself to Hermione, and even Kingsley.

He needed to focus on the situation in front of him first, though. He looked around the Chamber to figure if there was anything that he could see to tell him that Pettybourne’s oath had been binding. He tried not to sigh too hard. There were so many webs of magic in here that he’d have had to have studied them before for weeks to tell if anything was different.

When he’d dropped his glamours there’d been a sharp commotion from where Draco, Hermione and Narcissa was sitting, and then the whole place had erupted with the sounds of the Wizengamot Members. They seemed to be going back and forth between shock and marvel. Harry swept his gaze over them, and finally landed it on Pettybourne.

“Member Pettybourne. Member Pettybourne!” Harry didn’t like shouting, but he not only needed to get himself heard above the din, but Pettybourne seemed to have been shocked frozen.

Shacklebolt’s rich boom joined Harry’s voice over the racket. It was much more effective. “Order! Order! Take your seats, everyone. This hearing is not yet over.” He waited until everyone, including Pettybourne and Harry sat. “Now, we will continue. Member Pettybourne?”

Pettybourne was pale, but he stood easily and seemed quite steady on his feet. “I demand an Auror inspection of the wizard in the witness box. How are we to know that the façade we are looking at is not a glamour?”

Harpham spoke from his seat, “We have no objection to the inspection, Minister. Not so long as it is done here, in the Chamber.”

Kingsley looked at Harry, and Harry gave him a quick nod. The doors opened and Greygoose was called in. At least it wasn’t someone with a heavy hand. She looked at Kingsley as he motioned her forward to stand in front of Pettybourne. She took a few steps in the Wizengamot Member’s direction, and almost didn’t falter when she saw that James Evans was now Harry Potter.

Pettybourne looked down at her, “Auror Greygoose. I’d like this man inspected for glamours and other kinds of deception. If none are evident, then test him for the Imperious spectrum of curses.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed. “No. She’ll inspect me for deceptions and glamours, but I refuse to be poked and prodded over anything to do with an Imperious. If I could break one as a child, I can do so now. Or have you not read one of the stupid number of books that came out about me after the war, Mr Pettybourne?”

There was laughter from those around him, and Pettybourne’s skin started to take on a mottled look around his neck. Harry watched him sit, and took special notice of where the wizard’s wand was. He didn’t think that the man would try anything stupid, but then again, anything could happen when a wizard was backed into a corner.

Greygoose turned and looked at Harry, then waved at him to stand up. She took several minutes to scan him with a host of different kinds of detection spells, and even checked his wand to make sure it was the one he had registered. It was, of course, and she smiled softly when she told him to sit down.

She turned back to look at the Wizengamot as a whole. She seemed to avoid looking at Pettybourne, and spoke to Kingsley instead.

“Minister, this man is Harry Potter.”

Kingsley chuckled. “Of course it is, Auror Greygoose. Thank you for your time and expertise. Now, where were we?”

Harry really didn’t want this to go on much longer, but he couldn’t help taunting Pettybourne a bit, “Well, Member Pettybourne. Are you satisfied with my testimony while I looked like James Evans, or would you need me to answer all the questions again with my glasses on and scar showing?”

Pettybourne huffed, and seemed to look anywhere but at Harry.

Harpham said, “I believe that Member Pettybourne swore to believe the testimony of Merlin, Albus Dumbledore, or Harry Potter. He has the last. I call for this trial to be dismissed, and my client to be cleared of all charges.”

A voice came from the back of the Wizengamot gallery said, “All in favour say aye.”

The chorus was near unanimous.

Kingsley boomed out, “The vote will be recorded, but was unnecessary.” He held up a scroll of some kind that he’d just been handed by one of the administration staff. “It seems that the Chamber itself recognised the validity of the vow before some of us sitting in it did. The record states that Lord Draconis Malfoy has not been cleared, but instead found to be wrongly accused. We, as a Quorum, thank all involved for their time.” He handed the parchment back to the witch who’d given it to him, then looked up and around the room. “As it is very late, and today has been quite intense, I am declaring tomorrow an official lay day for the Wizengamot. Normal Sittings will begin again on Monday morning.”

And with that, an exodus started. Harry turned to see the back of Draco’s head as he swept out of the room towards the apparition points.

Kingsley was next to him when he looked back.

“And I thought you liked your job, Harry.” There was a glint of pleasure in his eye, which was good.

Harry sighed. “I did, but Pettybourne is an arse, and I wasn’t going to let him make this go on forever. I know what it’s like to be under the lens of the press for all the wrong reasons. I couldn’t.” He stopped and let his shoulders drop. “It’s not right to let someone suffer for something they didn’t do.”

Kingsley smiled wide. “I am in complete agreement with you on that, Harry. And, even if the man himself didn’t stick around, I think there is someone else who wants to talk to you. We’ll speak again later.” He looked over Harry’s shoulder, then stepped back and was set upon by several admin-types in moments. Harry was glad that wasn’t his job, at least.

“Lord Black,” Narcissa’s voice was quiet, but clear even amongst the noise of people chatting as they left the Chamber.

Harry pivoted on one foot to look at her, and bowed, “Lady Dowager.”

She wasn’t smiling, or frowning. “Thank you for your service, and your sacrifice. I’m not sure I completely understand what you’ve given up, but I know that it was no small gesture you made. Ms Granger managed to expose herself with the gasp she let out when you removed your glamours.”

Harry tried to smile. “Please don’t tell anyone she did that. Her boss is very particular about them being mysterious when they’re wearing their Unspeakables kit.” He probably shouldn’t ask, but he had to. “Is Dr—,” he stumbled on the name, “Lord Malfoy okay? He, he left very quickly.” And didn’t even glance at me when he left, he thought.

Now she smiled, it was barely there, but it was definitely a smile. “Lord Malfoy does not like surprises. He doesn’t even like gifts that are wrapped. When faced with them, however, he generally just takes a little longer to appreciate what’s inside the box.”

“I, um.” Harry stared at her a moment. He didn’t know what to say to that. He felt the need to give her a hug, but that would probably not have the desired effect. He stumbled over saying, “I, I’m afraid James Evans is no longer available for service. Harry Potter, or um, even Lord Black would be happy to help you with anything you need now, though.”

She nodded, her face back to the not-smile, not-frown. “Thank you, Harry. Good evening.”

✧✧✧

Hermione hadn’t said anything at first. She dragged Harry down to her office, proffered and watched him swallow a vile of calming potion, downed her own, then hugged the life out of him.

When she finally let go she said, “Come on you, you’re staying at our place tonight. You can bring Rupert if you think he’ll worry.”

She hung up her Unspeakables robes and grabbed her bag and they left. Harry almost made it out the door behind her when he stopped. “Don’t you have to do your Pensieve extractions for Mr Ezrath?”

She turned and gave him a dirty look. “Well, yes. But as someone I know decided to out himself as a Truth Seeker without warning, I’m going to need to take a little time to edit out my reaction to it. Mr Ezrath doesn’t like it when his Unspeakables use profanities.”

She smacked Harry on the arm for good measure, then marched him out to the apparition point, their elbows entwined.

✦✦✦

Draco heard his mother come home. She asked Minny for tea and something small to eat. Draco didn’t move when she sat next to him on the sofa, but he let her pull him close.

She sounded as if she was going to sing him the lullaby she did when he was a child and couldn’t sleep because of nightmares. She didn’t, but her voice was still soothing.

“You’re a free man. Tomorrow will be another day.”

He nodded, but could bring himself to say anything other than, “He lied.”

“He did. Draco,” she waited till he turned his face to look at her. She seemed almost angelic in the firelight. The age she wore on her face melted away, and Draco wished he could close his eyes and open them and see his life as it had been twenty years ago before he understood that things weren’t always good. “I want you to promise me something, little Dragon. I want you to use your logic as well as listen to your heart. They aren’t opposites. One needs the other to make sense.”

He swallowed nothing and accepted a cup when Minny offered it. “Nothing quite makes sense at the moment.”

“It will, darling, it will. You just need to stop and breathe and let yourself understand.”

✦✦✦

The Boy Who Kept Secrets
Daily Prophet
Friday, January 23, 2004
Rita Skeeter - Lifestyle Correspondent

We finally have some answers, Dear Readers, as to just what Harry Potter has been doing with his life since he retired from the Auror Department almost three years ago!

He has, it seems, been hiding in plain sight amongst us, working as Truth Seeker James Evans. He was exposed yesterday in a dramatic turn of events while giving evidence to save his childhood nemesis, Lord Draconis Malfoy.

In the case of the Malfoy family, they hired a Truth Seeker to prevent a bad marriage, and inadvertently started the Yellow Letter Scandal the Prophet has been covering for you. But what of other cases?

Have you ever hired James Evans? Did you have any idea that you had Harry Potter working for you? What truth did he find for you? We’d love to know.

Malfoy Not Chaos Creator
Daily Prophet
Friday, January 23, 2004
Lesar Meek - Junior Political Correspondent

Yesterday’s fourteen-hour trial of Lord Draconis Malfoy on the charge of Deliberate Purveyance of Chaos ended in the wizard walking free in uncommon circumstances.

Member Pembroke Pettybourne’s case was not considered strong, but collapsed completely when in a shock development, Truth Seeker James Evans, the Malfoy’s star witness, was revealed to be Harry Potter. Pettybourne was forced to abandon his action against Lord Malfoy following the revelation.

The trial was concluded when the Chamber and Quorum found that Mr Malfoy had been wrongly accused, a stronger verdict than if he had been found not-guilty, as it suggests the original charge was erroneous.

Neither Member Pettybourne, representatives for the Malfoy Family, nor Harry Potter, were able to be contacted for comment.

✦✦✦

Chapter Text

✦✦✦

Azkaban Death Ruled Natural
Daily Prophet
Monday, January 26, 2004
Rita Skeeter- Senior Political Correspondent

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement today released a statement confirming that Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, convicted killer and Death Eater, had died without suspicion.

Ministry Curse Breakers and Unspeakables were unable to find evidence of any suspicious spells or potions in the prisoner’s belongings, cell, or on his person.

Ministry Healers have since confirmed that Lucius Malfoy died from complications due to curse injuries received during the First and Second Wizarding Wars. The injuries were extensive, and at most likely to have been received at the hands of his Master, the Dark Wizard Known as Voldemort.

The Malfoy family issued a statement shortly after through their legal advisors Harpham, Harpham and Holsum, reiterating their public renouncement of the association they had with the Dark Wizard Known as Voldemort, and condemnation and explicit apology for actions they were forced to take in his name.

The Malfoys have also requested privacy at this time, and stated that the deceased would be buried following family tradition, in a private ceremony, sometime this week.

✦✦✦

The mausoleum doors were finally sealed and the celebrant had said his closing words. There were now only the offers of condolences to be heard.

Draco pulled his cloak a little closer around his shoulders. He thought the cliché was fitting, his father should be laid to rest on what was likely to be the most unpleasant day of the winter. The week had begun cool and clear, Tuesday had seen snow and light squalls, and today there was sleet and strong winds forecast.

Draco tried not to look as if he was standing too far under the eaves of the family tomb, but in reality he wanted to hide, and not only from the weather.

His mother was by his side, dressed in a way that left no watcher in doubt that she was happy to be free of her husband. Her wedding band was gone and her hair had amethysts woven into its intricate chignon. Despite the chill her shoulders were almost bare, and under her black cloak she wore a heating charm and summer-weight gown of glistening lavender. Most in attendance would see a woman freed. Draco saw a woman openly rebelling for the first time in her life. Lucius Malfoy had hated purple. Draco thought the colour looked lovely on his mother.

He had decided on something more formal for himself. Under his own black cloak he wore the darkest grey suit and robes that he owned, and the same coloured tie, shirt and shoes. They were fine, but austere. He’d chosen to avoid his usual pinstripes or fine pattern. He was unsure what his choice to forego wearing the family’s official regalia for the day would say to those in attendance, but he took note of who looked a little too long at his jewel free hands, neck, and lapel.

Most of the mourners were dressed to declare their intentions and allegiances—family crests as pins or hand-painted on ties, embroidery edging their cloaks or their lapels. They stepped one after the other, not quite making a line. They bowed and preened to each other in practice for doing it in front of the Lord and Dowager Malfoy. Only one set of people seemed to stand apart from the dance.

Draco watched the Loopy-Lot out of the corner of his eye and kept his voice low when there was finally a moment when he could ask what he’d been wanting to all afternoon. “Why did you invite them, Mother?”

She didn’t bother to look at him as she answered, or at the people in question. “Because they’re your friends, Draco. You should have them near in times such as this.”

Draco supposed he should. He’d thought he’d been hallucinating when the two Weasley brothers had apparated in front of the gates. As had many of the other guests in attendance, judging by their shocked looks and upturned noses. Charlie and George looked every bit the Purebloods they were, though; strong featured and well-tailored. Their crimson livery clashed with their colouring but marked them as well as any crest would. They also looked sincere when they’d nodded their greetings across the lawn. Unlike most.

The bulk of those who’d come today were there simply to shore up their business holdings with the Malfoys. These were the people who’d escaped the Yellow Letter Scandal and were looking to leverage expansion into the spaces left by those who hadn’t. Draco wondered if the men who’d regularly done business with Lucius were concerned that George and Charlie were there to do more than pay their respects. He wondered what they thought of those that soon followed them in arriving.

Hermione and Luna, and Xenophilius Lovegood had appeared shortly after. Gregory had arrived with Neville and Hannah, and was almost as attentive to the pregnant witch as her husband. Harry had come last, alone. He was the only other titled witch or wizard there not flaunting his family’s colours. He was wearing the smallest token of the Black family that he could probably find, a tiny moonstone and jade snake pin that sat perfectly on his dark robes. He looked the part of a staunch Pureblood Lord until he saw his friends and his smile cracked his face wide and he greeted each of them with hugs. Lucius would have done more than just frown. From what Draco knew of the Black line they would also have been quite unamused at their current Lord’s behaviour. It was as refreshing as the purple splash of life his mother was showing.

Draco wanted to run to Harry, he wanted to share in the embraces he saw between the Loopy-Lot. He wanted Harry’s arms wrapped around him. He wanted to bury his face in Harry’s neck and block out the world and the sycophants that inhabited the most part of it. And he hated that he wanted it.

Draco suffered through the bowing and scraping of the mourners as they each said their piece, and focused on remembering all of the well-wishers’ names so he’d not have to think about being lied to or made to look the fool. It took almost an hour to speak to everyone that had attended. The Loopy-Lot had all waited at the end of the line. Again, as it had been when George and Charlie first greeted him, their emotions and sympathies were real. Greg and Hannah hugged him. George, Charlie and Neville shook his hand and told him they were there if he needed them. Hermione nodded at them, then pushed Harry in front of her and stood back and watched.

“Lord Malfoy, Lady Dowager Malfoy, I’m sorry for your loss.” Harry, damn him, was speaking quietly and respectfully, his eyes lowered slightly as they should be, his wand arm behind his back to show he was not hostile. Draco supposed that The Chosen One had attended too many funerals after the Battle of Hogwarts to not know the traditions. He was irked, still, that Harry actually looked as if he meant them.

Draco’s mother didn’t bat an eyelid when she broke protocol and reached out and took Harry’s hand and said, “Thank you, Lord Black. It was thoughtful of you to come.”

Harry gave her a tiny smile, then finally lifted his eyes to meet Draco’s. Draco wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Neither his heart, nor etiquette, would allow it.

He forced himself to hold Harry’s gaze.

Harry breathed in a little too deeply before saying, “I’m truly sorry, Lord Malfoy. If there is anything I can do…” Harry let his statement trail off. Draco just nodded, and then looked over Harry’s shoulder to Hermione and Luna, and focussed on the ridiculous attire of Xenophilius Lovegood.

He hoped Harry didn’t notice him swallow, nor the way he was shaking.

✦✦✦

Luna topped up everyone’s coffee with firewhiskey and left Hannah looking longingly at the bottle. They all needed it after the funeral. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they’d not discuss it, though.

“So, Harry, what are you going to do now that James Evans is no more, mate?” George was lying on the floor, looking at the ceiling of Hermione and Luna’s sitting room. He’d bend his head up every now and then to take a swig of his drink. His formal robe had been flung off as soon as they’d arrived, his blood-red tie abandoned in a pile next to the couch.

“I have no idea. I could just live the life of luxury everyone thought I was living.” Harry loosened his own tie and undid his waistcoat.

“Well, I’d offer you a job, but I think Charlie will be taking that, so…” George said through a smile.

“Really?” Luna asked and bounced forward on her seat a little as she did. “You’re coming back for good?”

Charlie nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I’ll probably head back to the reserve to help for the start of mating season, and then, well. I can’t be a dragon keeper forever. It’s too physically demanding.”

“And it’s not as if working with George won’t satisfy the cravings you have for a little danger in your life.” Neville added with a grin.

“A few harmless explosions are part and parcel of the game, my dear sir,” George sniffed. Then took another sip of his coffee and laid back, smiling.

“Where will you be staying, Charlie?” Harry asked. “I’ve got plenty of room if you don’t want to continue cramping George’s style with the witches.” Harry laughed and the others joined in, they’d all heard about what Charlie was currently paying in board to his brother and why. This felt right. Harry definitely needed this time with them all. He was glad they’d not let him go straight home after the Manor.

George rolled onto his side and looked at Charlie. His face fell serious for a moment, “Actually, there’s a spot next to my place for another house. Fred and I planned it that way, I mean.” He watched Charlie’s reaction hopefully.

“If you think he’d be okay with me using it?” Charlie said quietly.

George grinned. “I think Fred would be right pissed with you if you didn’t.”

“That’s sounds wonderful.” Hannah said. “When does mating season start?”

Charlie smiled now, too. “Towards the middle of February? I’ll stay around for a little bit after Dad’s birthday party, then head back to Romania. It’s only for about a month, so I’ll be around when your bundle of joy arrives, hopefully. This is me officially putting my hand up for babysitting duties, by the way.”

Harry screwed up his face. Everyone else’s life was falling into place. Babies and coming back to England were big changes. There was a catalogue on Hermione’s office desk for Muggle engagement rings.

Maybe he needed a big change, too. “Perhaps I could go work on the dragon reservation for a while? I’m really not looking forward to having to face the papers over all of this.”

Hermione leaned over and planted a kiss on his head. “We’ll do a formal press release. That should hold them off for a while.”

It would. And besides, there was a different kind of dragon Harry need to tending to at the moment. He wasn’t sure if it was something he could fix, though. Draco had all but looked through him today. Narcissa had been warm, though, and he was going to hold on to that fact as a sign of hope. Harry knew the Malfoys well enough to understand that if she had given him the cold shoulder then he’d have a real problem. But, she’d given him thanks after the trial, and taken his hand today. It was, it wasn’t hopeless. It couldn’t be.

He could aim to simply try to win back Draco’s friendship. Perhaps Harry wouldn’t ever know what it felt like to hold Draco the way he’d wanted to today at the funeral, but... He took another sip of the coffee he was holding and tasted the heat of the added firewhiskey against his tongue. No. He couldn’t just be Draco’s friend without at least trying to be more. There had to be a way.

He leaned over and waved at Luna for a top up. He hadn’t been very drunk in quite a long time; perhaps today was as good as any to break that streak.

✧✧✧

Harry squinted against the light that was shining across his face. He was sure he’d not gone to bed with the curtains open. Even if he had, Rupert would have shut them, wouldn’t he? He rolled over to look at them and fell off the sofa.

“Good morning, Harry.” Luna’s voice was far, far too cheery for a Thursday, or any day. Any day when Harry had consumed outrageous amounts of firewhiskey the night before, anyway.

He sat up very slowly lest the room move and cause him to be unpleasantly reacquainted with some of the alcohol. “Is it a good morning, Luna? I can’t quite focus to see.” He turned in her direction and rubbed at his eyes to show that he was at least attempting to do so.

She giggled and waved something back and forth in front of him. He summoned his glasses and found that once on, they didn’t help much.

“It’s a hangover potion. I’m fairly sure you’ll want to have it before anything other than tea. I’ve just made a fresh pot.” She walked over and sat a vial sized thing and a teapot and cup on the coffee table in front of him.

Harry leaned forward and skulled the potion and then took a sip of the tea. It was wonderfully warm and it seemed to sink in with the medicine. He blinked as his head stopped aching and the world came into focus. He tapped his glasses to get rid of the smudge across the left lens, and realised he was being judged by a very unimpressed looking Crookshanks. The kneazle stood, stretched, and sauntered off in the other direction.

Harry just had a little more of the tea. “Thank you, Luna. You are truly a goddess amongst witches.” The potion got rid of the pain, but not the aftertaste of a night on the grog.

Luna said, “Thank my ‘Mione. She ducked out and got it for you before she went to the office this morning.” Luna disappeared out of his view and came back with toast and marmalade.

He thanked her again and reached out to take the plate. “What time is it?” Harry probably didn’t want to know the answer to that, but.

“It’s not quite eleven. Given the state you were in last night when we put you to bed I’m surprised you’re already awake. I got out the books you asked for, by the way. Given that it’s not really her thing, Hermione doesn’t have that many. But it’s more than any of the rest of us will have, I’m fairly sure.” She tilted her head to the short stack of books at the end of the sofa.

Harry looked at them, then back at her. “Books? I asked for books?”

Luna smiled. “Yes. After the others had left you decided you needed a night cap. You had three extra shots of firewhiskey one after the other, stared at the fire for about fifteen minutes and then jumped up declaring you had the answer. You asked for Hermione’s Muggle recipe books. Well, the ones about puddings and cakes, anyway. There’s only seven of them, but hopefully they’ll have what you’re looking for?”

Harry put his plate down, had a sip of tea, wiped his hands on his pants and then leant over to pick up the books. Luna sat next to him.

“I, um.” Harry stared down at the recipe books. He had absolutely no recollection of that part of yesterday. He remembered going to the funeral, coming back to Looney Cottage with everyone, talking about jobs and the future and Charlie coming home, but not much else. “Did I say what I needed them for?”

Luna looked at him knowingly, then in a blink, she was wearing the face none of them still believed was innocent or unaware. “You didn’t give us any specifics. I know you were talking about chocolate and nuts. That and saying something about catching dragons with their stomachs.”

Harry knew that he’d gone pink the moment she said the word dragon. Last night’s epiphany suddenly extracted itself from his memory, “Oh. I think I remember now.”

“Does it have to be a Muggle recipe you use? I’m sure we can scrounge up more choices for you if you were okay with magic ones.” Luna didn’t have the sneaky, faux-naïve look on her face anymore, just an earnest need to help.

Harry loved his friends. Luna and Hermione probably heard everything he thought about Draco last night, and all they wanted to do was see him make it happen.

Harry reached forward for the teapot. “I’m not very good with magical cooking. I could get Rupert to make something amazing, of course, but I want to do something for him myself.”

Luna leaned over and put her arm around him. “I’m sure he’ll love whatever you make him.”

✧✧✧

“So, Harry, this is what a Muggle grocery shop looks like. It’s, um. It’s noisier than I expected.” Charlie sort of looked like a Muggle in the long-sleeved t-shirt he’d borrowed from Harry, but he still didn’t look normal.

“You said you’d help, not make a spectacle of yourself, Charlie. Close your mouth, you look as if you’ve never been in a Tesco’s before. The rest of the people here don’t need to know that that’s true.” Harry grabbed a trolley.

“I’m in a Tesco’s because I’m helping a mate bake a cake for the man of his dreams. Which is an amazing thing. Seriously, Harry, if you weren’t like a brother to me, I’d so want to jump your bones. You’re a keeper, mate.” Charlie reached out and touched the trolley and gave it a little push. He smiled when it only moved an inch or two.

Harry grabbed it again and headed off to the aisle he thought the baking stuff would be in. He slowed when he got to the display, and looked at Charlie. He was staring again.

“Ogling things won’t make them fall into the trolley, mate.” Harry looked down at the list he’d made. “Grab me three, or no, make it four bags of the nuts. There is no way I’m getting this figured out in one bake.” Charlie did that and made a show of putting them carefully into the trolley. “I apparently need cocoa powder as well as actual chocolate? Hermione said she’d read the imported stuff was best, so look for a label that’s not just in English?”

Charlie stepped to his right and looked over a couple of packets. He picked a brown and white one up and said, “This one’s, um, is that German? Dutch?”

Harry leaned in and looked. “No actual idea, but I think that’s it. It’ll do anyway.” He took it from Charlie to put it in the trolley. Charlie grabbed a couple more boxes and put them in, too.

There was a giggle from behind them, and Harry turned to see a couple of older ladies staring. He smiled what he hoped was a good We belong here, really smile.

“That’s the best quality one, dear.” The woman was small, and stout. She had pale, near translucent skin and not quite purple-tinted grey hair. She was wearing a cardigan that looked as professional as Hermione’s early S. P. E. W. efforts.

“Thank you,” beamed Charlie. He was a little more like his father when it came to Muggles than Harry was comfortable with, so he pushed out an elbow to try to get the Weasley to stop talking.

“It’s alright, dear,” said the other woman. She had dark, dark skin, and was wearing a dress that reminded Harry of Aunt Petunia. That, and the fact Petunia shared a similar opinion of gay men to Mrs Weasley, did nothing to immediately endear the stranger to him.

The strangers apparently didn’t share either his aunt’s or Charlie’s mother’s bigotry, however. “We don’t judge. It’s nice to see such a lovely young pair of boys having found each other.”

“What Mavis said,” chimed in knit-wearing woman, “Love is love. And I will say it’s wonderful to see the younger generation taking an interest in baking.” She stepped forward and looked over the sparse contents of Harry’s trolley. “Are you using these for a cake you’re making, dear?”

Harry managed to squeak out, “Yes,” before Charlie could answer.

“Well, then. You’ll not be wanting the one’s you’ve chosen. They’re salted. You don’t want to use salted nuts in a sweet recipe unless it specifically calls for it.”

Harry looked at the packet she’d picked up. “Um. Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“Yes,” chirped Charlie, and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist, “Very kind, thank you.”

✧✧✧

Harry dropped the Tesco bags on his kitchen bench and then turned around and smacked Charlie on the arm. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

Charlie grinned and said, “It was an experience, yes. I never knew little old Muggle ladies could be so helpful, and the supermarket was wonderful, too! So many different kinds of food. Dad’s going to die when he finds out I’ve been. I should have gotten him one of their shiny paper catalogues as a gift.”

Harry pulled his face into what he hoped was at least a passable looking scowl, “Muggles aren’t usually that okay with homosexuals. Some of them can be downright nasty.”

Charlie snorted, “What, like my mum, you mean? I’ve been there and done that, mate. So have you.” He started pulling things out of the bags. “I know that it’s not as accepted, but surely it can’t be that bad?”

Harry shook his head. “It can be that bad. One summer during school when I was at Privet Drive? I saw my cousin and his mates kick the stuffing out of a guy because they just thought he might possibly be gay.” He closed his eyes, remembering how he’d just stood there, not knowing what to do. He wanted to protect the kid, but he’d had no idea how to without a wand involved. He looked up at Charlie. “I just, your mum is a right cow about us being gay, but she’s never actually threatened you or anyone else physically because of it, has she?”

“No. No she hasn’t.” Charlie put down what he was holding reached out and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you saw something like that. I can’t imagine, well. I can imagine it for other things, because people, Muggle and magic, are arseholes about all kinds of shit.” He breathed in and let it out slowly, then said, “Don’t hate me for asking this, but is this one of the reasons you’ve never told anyone but us lot about you being gay?”

Harry smiled. “No. It was at first, but I quickly realised that it wasn’t the same in the wizarding world. And then,” he leaned against the benchtop, “Then I honestly just wanted to be able to keep something about me to myself, if that makes sense.”

Charlie squeezed Harry’s shoulder, then dropped his hand. “It does. We Weasleys got enough press after the war, let alone what you got. I just think you might need to rethink it now, if you’re going to be doing things like baking cakes for the infamous and not particularly press shy Draco Malfoy.”

Harry looked sideways, “Everyone’s going to know, aren’t they?”

“Eventually, yes. None of us are going to go about announcing it, you know that. And I doubt that Draco or Mrs Malfoy will say anything to start with, but,” he started pulling things out of a bag and arranging them on the bench in neat lines, “Think about it. Draco’s not backwards with the press when it comes to these things, is he? I don’t think he’ll be okay with you never telling the world. You won’t be either, eventually.”

Harry groaned and let his head tip back a little. He knew it was true. He knew he was going to want to shout it from the rooftops. It was a new, but not entirely unpleasant feeling. He pulled himself up straighter. “No, I won’t. If I snag Draco Malfoy, I’ll want to tell everyone so I know they know he’s mine. I’ll want to show him off and be seen with him, the way Hermione and Luna do.” He looked down at his hands. “That came out wrong.” He looked back up at Charlie. “I know they aren’t affectionate with each other in public just to, I don’t know, mark territory or something. They hug and kiss and hold hands because they want to, and they want everyone to know they want to.”

Charlie emptied the last of the ingredients and said, “That’s the truth of it. And if Draco is a guy who has you wanting to bake cakes to impress him? Then you’re going to want to advertise it when it works out.” He folded the empty bag and then turned to face Harry straight on. “May I suggest that we let the Prophet and everyone else who’s watching know you’re gay in general before they find out that you’re gay for an ex-Death Eater?”

Harry managed to raise an eyebrow instead of turning bright red. “What do you have in mind?”

✦✦✦

The Chosen One Chooses Differently?
Weekend Prophet
Saturday, January 31, 2004
Rita Skeeter - Lifestyle Correspondent

We were shocked last week with the news that The Boy Who Lived Twice had hidden his Truth Seeker occupation from us for so long. But it seems that was only the beginning of his secrets! Not only had he not shared with us his true vocational calling, but also his true heart’s desire.

Yesterday, Mr Potter was spotted shopping with his close friend Miss Luna Lovegood, and someone we’d not heard from for quite some time, Mr Charles Weasley. Mr Weasley and Mr Potter were seen several times during their shopping outing not only holding hands, but also sharing the occasional sweet kiss and embrace.

Mr Weasley, of course, fought in the Second Wizarding War alongside his brothers, parents, and other members of the now famous Harry Potter-led Order of the Phoenix. Since then Mr Weasley has been installed on a far-flung Romanian Island as a Dragon Tamer and Trainer.

We can report today, Dear Readers, that Charles Weasley is planning on returning to Britain permanently within the year. Perhaps the distance from what and those he holds dear might finally have become too much for him to bear.

✦✦✦

Draco knocked tentatively on Hermione’s office door and tried to not reach up and rub along the freshly shaven side of his head. He kept his palm flat against the door instead, and pushed only when he heard her say, “Come in.”

He stepped inside as he said, “Good morning, I know you’ve probably a pile of letters and memos to deal with, but I was wondering if I could have a little of your time?” He was having difficulties, he thought, not sounding like a simpering idiot. “I can come back later if it’s more convenient?” No, that was no better.

Luckily Hermione didn’t appear to notice. She simply smiled and said, “No, no. Come in now, please! Save me from parchment and ink overdose.” She shuffled a pile of the stuff to one side of her desk, and then flicked her wand at her visitor’s chair to unburden it from the same. “You’re a welcome sight on a Monday morning, believe me. Tea? I have some biscuits too, if you don’t mind Muggle.”

Draco managed a, “Please,” that he didn’t think sounded too strange. He watched as Hermione flicked her wand at her tea service this time, then leant down and extracted a dark and light blue, plasticky looking packet that said McVitie's Chocolate Hobnobs on the side.

“Chocolate okay?” Hermione looked, well, hopeful. Draco relaxed. She was nervous too.

“More than okay. Thank you, Hermione.” He sat and waited as she stood and fetched the tea to go with biscuits. He tried not to show shock when she didn’t ask how he took it, but made it perfectly anyway. “There are a few things I need to talk to you about, really.”

Hermione still looked worried, “Of course. Nothing on my desk is exactly urgent. What can I help you with?”

The tea was warm and welcome on his tongue. He sat the cup back in the saucer and resisted reaching out to take a Chocolate Hobnob just yet. “First of all, thank you for attending Lucius’ funeral. It was nice to have faces there that weren’t just trying to get in my good books for business reasons. Which, well, that’s the second thing.”

Hermione pushed the biscuit pack forward and said, “Of course we were going to be there, Draco. Now, take a bickie quickly, or I’ll eat them all myself. I didn’t get to breakfast before I left home this morning.”

Draco did, and took a bite. Despite being ready for the taste of chocolate, the biscuit was far sweeter than he’d imagined it would be. He washed it down with a mouthful of tea. “I know that my service in the Department of Mysteries is officially at an end, but I’d like to stay on? Perhaps just two or three days a week? If that isn’t possible, I was hoping to at least be allowed to train a replacement.”

Hermione grinned and swallowed the last of the second biscuit she’d taken. “Thank goodness. Mr Ezrath has sent me a memo everyday asking if I’d managed to talk you into not resigning. He didn’t seem to understand that you hadn’t exactly quit, because didn’t actually have a contract. If you’re here a couple of days a week, on the normal pay rate for a Level 12 employee, which is what you are, by the way, that will equate to about what you were getting before per week as a junior apprentice, so I won’t have to do costings and things up and try to make him understand.”

Draco couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Breathe, Hermione.” Then he thought to ask, “They were paying me as a junior apprentice?”

“Yes. That’s what was on the original service order from the Wizengamot. I tried to get them to increase your salary when they moved your section into our Department, and then every time you did something that would have otherwise increased your pay. The sods in the War Reparations Committee wouldn’t ever budge.” She grabbed another biscuit and stared at it as if it was somehow to blame. “Now that we’ve seen Pembroke Pettybourne in action on other things, though, I can see that I might as well have been trying to get gold from a goblin.”

Draco didn’t have much to say to that. He just nodded and said, “I think I’d like at least the rest of this week off, if that’s acceptable? Other than that, I have no need to work on particular days. Given everyone else’s workloads, however, I’d probably skip coming in on Mondays and Fridays.”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable. I’ll make sure I have the paperwork done for you next week. Ezrath will be beside himself.” Hermione sat back and sipped her tea.

Draco leaned forward in counterpoint and considered taking another biscuit. They were growing on him, and he might need the sugar boost to ask what was next. “I also wanted to speak to you about the potion side-effects you witnessed on me. Madam Wandwiggen is preparing a report for the Department of Herbology, as it’s so unusual to see that type of potion here. I,” he swallowed nothing, “I asked my mother to extend the secrecy vows that James Evans and his Department of Mysteries contact had with her to allow me to speak with them. I am assuming that contact was you, of course.”

Hermione had the grace to look slightly sheepish. “It was, yes.” She paused and then said, “Would you like me to speak to the Healer directly, or?

Draco thought a moment, trying to decide how to ask what he really wanted to know. “That would be good, yes. I would also appreciate hearing any insight you had. Are you, ah.” He took another biscuit, just for something to do with his hands. “Are you aware of what I was exposed to?”

Hermione blinked. “No. Other than what you told me the day it happened, well, and the fact that I’d heard about your incident the day before from Harry. James Evans was there when you spoke to the men at the Portkey bays.”

Draco felt his face heat. “But, you aren’t, you don’t know what was given to me?”

“Other than the fact that it contained something that reacted to the Freely Given Faery Wing Dust you use to brew your Dreamless Sleep? No. I knew, or, well, I assumed that Nathan Tronpe had given it to you. Other than those two things though, I don’t know what it was.” She topped up her tea and wrapped her hand around it.

Draco looked her in the eye, then dropped his eyes to her tea cup. “What does,” he pushed out what breath he had left in his lungs, “What does Harry know?”

Hermione’s face was soft when he looked back up. “He saw you react at the Portkey bays. He knows you didn’t trust yourself with your wand, and that you needed an escort home. I told him I suspected a potion. He told me that he asked you if your illness was because of someone else, and if they could do it again. That’s it, honestly. I’m sure he’d be happy to talk to you or Madam Wandwiggen about what he saw the day before you visited her if it would help.”

Draco put his cup down. He was worried he’d drop it. He didn’t want to hear how happy Harry would be to help him. Harry had lied to him, and, even if he hadn’t, Harry wasn’t someone who could be more than a friend. There was plenty of time between now and the next time they’d need to be in a room together. There was nothing Draco wanted to say to him.

He stood and brushed off his robe. “Thank you, Hermione. I’d appreciate if you could pass the request along to Harry the next time you see him and Charlie.”

He caught the blank look on her face before he started to turn. Then she shook her head and took a big swig of tea. “You didn’t actually believe Skeeter, did you? You know that woman can brew a storm in a cauldron about nothing.”

“What?” Draco couldn’t manage more than that.

She smiled, “Skeeter took the barest of facts and expanded them to in fill her column just as they planned. I didn’t get my breakfast this morning because of Harry and Luna wanting to read out loud what she’d written. Over a floo-call. With bloody hand actions.” She rolled her eyes, now.

Draco rubbed his lips together and tried to think of how best to reply to that. A straightforward question would have to do. “Harry and Charlie weren’t canoodling in public yesterday?”

Hermione snorted. “Oh, they were canoodling, yes! That’s an excellent word. Luna will love it.” She rubbed her hands together in utter glee, and Draco was glad she’d put her cup down as soon as she’d drunk from it. “The handholding and hugging and cheek-kisses were out for all to see. The three of them had a grand old time. They kept baiting the photographer following them, and dropping hints about setting up house. Charlie is coming back to England to stay, and he will be setting up house, so...”

Draco’s complete confusion must have been more than obvious on his face.

She took pity. “We’ve learnt over the years that the best time to make news is when you’re already in the news. If you overload the Quick Quotes Quills they lose steam much faster than if they get fed the stories one at a time.” She reached back into her drawer, and pulled out another pack of the same biscuits. She waved them at him, offering for him to take them home. “For some reason, Harry decided that now was the right time in his life to announce to the world that he far prefers wizards to witches. Sometimes you want to keep things all for yourself, and other times you just feel the need to share.”

✦✦✦

“Put it down here, Harry.” Hannah pushed the tea kettle and cups aside to make room for the tray he was carrying. “We need a cake slice, and some plates.” There was a sharp crack and an elf appeared with the things she’d said they wanted. She said, “Thank you,” and the elf disappeared again. Hannah shook her head, but smiled at Harry. “I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to that.”

Harry smiled back. “I have trouble enough dealing with one elf at my beck and call. Are you guys usually both here on a Wednesday afternoon? That’s a very good schedule if so.”

Neville appeared with a handful of books and put them on far end of the table. “Nope. It’s only because we went to St Mungos after lunch to have the birthing-witch check everything is okay.”

Harry looked at Hannah and she said, “The babies are both fine. I’m fine. Neville’s more worried than everyone else put together.”

Neville’s face went soft. “I’m glad there are elves here, really. I worry less with them around. It’s one of the perks of living at Hogwarts. We still haven’t decided if we’re going to get a cottage in town yet, or stay here while the babies are young. The elves are one of the reasons I say we should stay.”

Harry nodded, “I can see that having them around would be more than useful. But you could find an elf of your own, couldn’t you? If you moved?”

Hannah screwed up her nose and laid small plates out in front of each of them. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with it? I know that witches and wizards have been using elf-nannies forever, but it just seems a bit weird?”

Neville kissed her on the head as he passed her and then sat as he spoke, “It’s understandable for you to find it strange. You probably do too, don’t you Harry? You’re as Muggle-born as an actual Muggle born in that respect.”

Harry thought a moment. He liked having Rupert around, and he probably wouldn’t feel any different if there were kids involved. He wouldn’t have wanted Kreacher near children, of course, but, “I’m okay with it, actually. Rupert is just kind of there. He’s not a bad bloke, really. I’ve almost talked him into calling me Master Harry instead of Master Black or Potter, and he’s very, very keen on teaching me how to cook. I thought he might be offended at first, but he’s loving it.” He looked at the cake he had brought with him for taste testing, it wasn’t great, but was much better than the ones he’d made before. “I think it’s fine as long as the elf isn’t being forced to be with you. They’re just another part of the family. I could ask Rupert if he knew of any unattached elves who like kids? I’m sure there are lots wanting to be part of that kind of household again.”

Hannah ran a hand across her still mostly flat belly. “I suppose if the elf actually likes kids it’s no different than someone wanting to be a primary school teacher or something. I,” she looked up, “Could you ask him? I probably wouldn’t be tempted if we were having just one, but every time I tell a witch that I’m expecting twins their whole face changes. There’s a flash of pity and then they plaster on a huge fake grin. It’s a bit unsettling, really.”

Neville apparently agreed. “It would be good to have backup, Harry. But only if Rupert knows someone who’s looking, okay? Anyway.” He looked hopefully at the chocolate mess on the table, “I want some of this cake. George told us all about your second attempt. He said it was tasty, but, and I quote, tougher than an old dragon hide boot. What number is this?”

Harry laughed. “He said the boot thing to my face, then he served himself a second, huge slice. He just hit it with a softening charm before he shovelled it into his gob.” He stood and cut into the round cake. “This is attempt number five. I’ve actually run out of some of the ingredients finally.” He cut a thin slice for Hannah first, and hit it with a de-alcoholing spell, then gave the same amount, with the alcohol still in it, to Neville. “I’m going back to Tesco’s this afternoon for more stuff. I’m not making the mistake of taking a Weasley with me this time, though. Never again! Not without a calming potion beforehand, anyway.”

They giggled as he added a slice to his own plate, and watched carefully as his friends dug in.

Hannah had two spoonsful before she said, “It’s good. The cake is a bit dry? But that might be because you tweaked it for the pregnant witch. The creamy stuff on top and inside is really yummy.”

Neville finished his slice off before he spoke. Harry thought that was enough of a compliment in itself. “I’m with Hannah. The creamy stuff I could eat by the spoonful. But the cake is dry even with the grog still in it. I like the slight coffee flavour in it though, it makes it not just a big storm of sweet.”

Harry grinned and tasted it himself. They were right. “I thought I didn’t have enough sour cream when I was mixing it, but I got a bit bamboozled and just kept going anyway. It really does taste okay, otherwise? Don’t hold back just to be nice. I need brutal honesty here.”

Hannah laughed, and reached for the cake slice. She poked the side of the cake with it gently. “Well, other than what we’ve said? It looks like it barely survived an earthquake. I can see there was an attempt at presentation, but...”

Harry groaned and rested his chin on the table. Neville cut himself another, bigger, slice. “Do we have any cream on the cold shelf, Hannah? That would fix what can be fixed at the moment. Do you want anymore, Harry?”

“No, mate. I’m pretty sure that at this rate I’ll be eating nothing but cake for the next week and a half. Do you think I can get this right before, well, you know?” Harry was getting used to being constantly red-cheeked around his friends.

Hannah smiled, “It’s the fourth today. You’ve got nine or ten more days to get the cake right. You can bake during the day, then sit by the fire and study for the second half of the gift at night. You’ve got more than enough time, Harry.”

All three of them looked at the pile of books Neville had fetched for him, and then Hannah cut herself another piece of cake, and called to the castle’s kitchen elves for cream.

✦✦✦

Draco began unwrapping the box carefully, unsure as to how the item inside would have been packed. He was certain, given the calibre of shop he’d purchased from, that it would be well protected, but caution was never a bad thing when dealing with something of this value.

His mother walked into the room behind him and looked over his shoulder. “A box from Magnifique Bébé Boutique ? Is there something you aren’t telling me, little Dragon?” She teased.

Draco smoothed back the inner lining of the parcel and looked down. The image in the catalogue really had not done it justice. “Can you feel it?”

His mother stood beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Yes, I can. It’s not a wonder when it’s twice the regular size. You didn’t tell me the Longbottoms were having twins. How delightful.”

His voice was as soft if there were already babies here to keep asleep. “Do you think they’ll like it?”

The mobile was stunning. Draco had checked with every avenue he knew to find an establishment which magically guaranteed they only used ingredients that had been ethically harvested. It had taken longer than he thought it would, but now he could see that it had been worth the time. Each silvered faux fairy hung on a separate unicorn mane hair. It was that that they could feel. The hair that meant any child sleeping under it would have only sweet dreams. It cost almost as much as a small cottage, but he was hoping that none of the Loopy-Lot would be aware of that. He folded the wrappings back over. He didn’t want to take the mobile out of the box lest he tangle it putting it back in.

“I’m sure they’ll love it, darling. Can I ask why this particular item, though?”

She took his hand and lead him to the settee.

Draco couldn’t look her in the eye. “I can’t imagine the nightmares Neville must have had as a child,” he sucked in a breath and tried to not choke on it. “Not after what Bellatrix did to his parents. I can’t go back in time and change that, but I can try to make sure his little ones can’t suffer the same terrors.”

His mother lifted a hand and used it to raise his chin, then placed a kiss on his forehead. She looked into his eyes and said, “I know that the mirror might try to convince you otherwise, Draco, but if not for your features, no one could think you were your father’s son. He knew neither guilt nor shame. You feel those, and also love and compassion. I never saw him give either.”

Draco tried to look away. This was not the kind of conversation he was used to having with his mother. She loved him, he knew that, but she’d always showed it in far more Pureblood ways. This was so very direct.

“I have you to thank for teaching me.” He swallowed and lent forward to brush her cheek with a kiss.

His mother laughed. “Oh, we don’t do this well, do we? We will learn though. I know we can. Perhaps one day we’ll be like your new friends, greeting each other with embraces at funerals, and showing that we mean what we say with our eyes and smiles.” She sat back and relaxed a little into the back of the chair. “Speaking of your friends, have you thought over what I asked of you?”

Draco sat back himself and took a moment to understand what she was referring to. “When you told me I should use logic and my heart together, that they complement each other?” His mother had said nothing further on the subject since.

“Yes. Have you realised the query you should be tasking your logic with? The one that will likely ease the discontent in your heart?” She took his hand, now. He suspected she was simply trying to make him stay in one spot to answer the question. She had given him more than enough time. They were learning to be more open about what they felt, but somethings would likely never change. A task set must be completed.

Draco shook his head and looked at his hand in his mother’s. He thought of everything he’d tried to tell himself over the last few days, everything he’d not wanted to let himself believe. “I think what I need to ask myself is fairly simple, although I’ve not wanted it to be.” He squeezed his mother’s hand and tried to use a steady voice. “I need to consider at what point in the time after you hired a Truth Seeker Harry Potter could have realistically declared to me that he was also James Evans.”

His mother squeezed back, “And have you come to a conclusion?”

Draco had. He’d thought about James Evans taking on what likely should have been a simple pre-matrimony check, knowing exactly who he was working for. Then he’d thought of Harry Potter realising what he’d uncovered and calling in Hermione Granger to help him. He’d thought about them each apparently choosing their words very carefully through the entire drama, but never slipping, and never asking anything inappropriate or pushing Draco for information he hadn’t been ready to give. He’d thought about Harry and the rest of them including Draco and Gregory in their lives when they had no need to. He’d thought about the joy in Harry’s face when Draco had accepted the not-Birthday invitation, and the spark of the same there’d been for the luncheon before. He’d thought about Harry holding him tight when Lucius had died, and the sincere need to know that he’d heard in Harry’s voice when he’d asked if Tronpe could harm Draco again.

“I have come to a conclusion, yes.” He let the corners of his mouth curl up a little, and knew that his eyes were smiling, too. He dared a look at his mother.

She was pleased.

“I am glad, little Dragon, and I wholeheartedly approve of your choice.”

Draco let himself smile wider, then slumped. “I have no idea what to do about it, however. Courting him is a bewildering concept. Even a daunting one.”

His mother laughed again. It was a warm, vibrant sound that Draco realised he was finally becoming accustomed to. “That, my son, is the wonder of being interested in a Gryffindor. There is no need for you to do anything but wait for him to act.”

✦✦✦

Harry stood back and looked at the way he’d arranged the chocolate coated hazelnuts. It might be a little too much, but no one had ever accused him of being subtle. It was mid Saturday morning, he was on cake attempt number nine, and well. It seemed just about perfect.

He turned and looked at Rupert, and the elf came a step closer. He had his serious judgement face on.

“Master Harry is making a mostly even looking cake.” It had been at baking attempt number three that Harry had definitively become Master Potter instead of Master Black, and at attempt number seven he’d permanently morphed into Master Harry. It was nice.

Rupert was still simply Rupert, of course.

“I think it’s better than the last couple, that’s for sure.” Harry shifted around the table to look at it from another angle. “It doesn’t look like the creamy layers are all different sizes, and they aren’t thicker than the cake bits.”

“It is looking tasty, Master Harry, very tasty.” Rupert moved to the other side of the bench and took a piece of the trimmed sponge Harry had left so they could test the flavour of the actual cake. “Master Harry’s cake is much better. Mixing three liqueurs is very good for the flavour. It is moist, but it is not soggy.”

Harry sighed with relief. He reached for the knife to cut into it and stopped himself. The cake itself was a good texture. He knew the creamy stuff was awesome, he’d perfected that several attempts before and only had to stop himself from using too much. He’d managed to get the chocolate coated nuts to sit perfectly this time, and none of them had jumped out and run away, either.

Perhaps... “Do you think this is as good as I’m going to get, Rupert? I don’t want to keep going and end up making mistakes because I’m trying too hard.” He pulled his forehead into a frown.

Rupert looked at the cake, then at Harry, then back at the cake again. “Rupert is thinking Master Harry is thinking well. But Rupert cannot make this cake stay lovely for more than a few days. One whole week is not possible, Master Harry.” He looked down, obviously upset with his inability to do something that was probably actually impossible.

Harry hated that kind of face. “Well, Rupert. Maybe I can just be a bit early? It’s only a week, right? If it wasn’t February anyway we wouldn’t have been trying to get it ready for a particular day, would we? I could. Um.” Harry looked at the clock. He had no idea if Draco would be at home this evening, but there was a good chance that he’d be there until late afternoon, at least. “Rupert, florists are open into Saturday afternoons, aren't they?”

Rupert nodded. His ears didn’t flap as much as some elves’ did, but the effect was much the same. “Florists is, Master Harry.”

“Well then, can you put the cake under a stasis spell for the afternoon? I’ll go and get changed and, um, change my face a bit? I don’t really want to give the newspapers anything else to gossip about at the moment.” Rupert stayed in one spot, watching Harry as he walked across the room. “Then we can go out to get the flowers I need.”

Rupert perked up. “Rupert is putting the stasis spell on the cake, and fetching Master Harry’s flower list.”

The expression on the elf’s face gave Harry hope. He could do this. It might be a week before Valentine’s Day, but now was as good a time as ever.

✧✧✧

Harry stood, in not his best but certainly not his worst outfit, at the side door of the Manor House, waiting. He knew that someone had to know he was on the property. It was cooler than he’d been expecting, and it seemed it might start to snow at any moment. He hoped that they’d at least come to the door to tell him to leave rather than just let him stand outside to freeze to death. He was worried about the cake and the flowers in the weather. Well, the flowers more than the cake. He knew that Rupert’s stasis spells meant there was nothing to be concerned about, but when he saw the first snowflake hit the petal of one of the blue violets he’d gone to four different florists to find, well, he started to worry anyway.

The door finally opened and he was greeted by Moxy. The elf blinked at him, and then at the flowers and cake in turn, and seemed to be about to do something about the fact that Harry Potter was on the doorstep when Narcissa came into view behind him.

She greeted him with a simple but warm, “Good afternoon, Harry,” but didn’t quite get to the end of the three words without reacting to what he was holding. Her voice shifted and her eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly.

He thought, perhaps, that he should be regretting the way he’d arranged the hazelnuts on the top of the cake, when he realised she was more interested in the flowers. Her eyes went from top to bottom and side to side and bottom to top and all over again on the floral arrangement. Harry had studied Neville’s books as well as he’d been able, but really? It was all a little over nuanced for him, so he’d picked a few things that seemed to say what he thought he wanted to say and, bugger. Narcissa was holding her face in a nice, non-expression expression, but her eyes were sparkling with delight.

He finally managed to return the greeting with, “Good evening, Narcissa. Is Lord Malfoy home?” Which was a strange way to say it, he thought, as he should probably call the son by his first name if he did the mother. He just, he knew things weren’t right between him and Draco, and besides, he was trying to do this whole wooing thing right.

Narcissa didn’t bat a lash at the phrasing of the question. She simply nodded her head to imply that Lord Malfoy was indeed in, looked back and forth between the two gifts again and said, “I’m spending the evening with some friends.” She then turned to look at Moxy and said, “I’m not sure I’ll return tonight, please don’t be concerned if I don’t.” She put her hand out and summoned her cloak, nodded to Harry, then in the most un-Pureblood like thing Harry had ever seen her do, turned her head and near shouted over her shoulder, “Draco, darling, you have a special guest. Don’t keep him waiting in the snow.”

✦✦✦

Draco put down the book he’d been unsuccessfully attempting to read and went to see who on earth would coax his mother to act in such an uncouth manner as to announce a visitor with a raised voice. He smoothed down his cashmere jumper and hoped he was dressed suitably to receive whoever it was waiting for him.

The answer to who it was, he thought when he reached the door, should have been obvious.

Lord Black, The Boy Who Lived Twice, was standing on the doorstep. Harry looked as if he was dressed to attend a fine restaurant. Even his hair seemed a little tamer than usual. His stance looked less than relaxed and perhaps even difficult to hold. Given that he was apparently bearing relatively cumbersome items in both hands, however, that could be understood.

Draco knew he should say something, but when he dragged his eyes off Harry’s hopeful face and saw what the man was holding, he lost his voice. He flicked his eyes between Harry’s two hands and couldn’t decide if left or right was more compelling.

In Harry’s right hand, his wand hand, was an arrangement of flowers that alone would have sucked the breath out of Draco’s lungs. It was so perfectly absurd it was astonishing. It looked to have been physically arranged by someone with some training, but no florist could have allowed such a cacophony of blooms lest someone trace the monstrosity back to them. Draco was fairly sure that Harry must have sourced the flowers himself and then had them arranged by a house-elf. Draco blinked in the late afternoon light, he could see more than ten different kinds of flowers in the heavy looking vase Harry was holding. It was an absolute muddle of blue and purple and white.

In Harry’s left hand he was carrying a silver serving tray with a handle attached. On the tray was a slightly misshapen, yet not actually lopsided, four-layer cake. It was undoubtedly chocolate, with the cream topping a slightly lighter brown than the sponge. Around the edges of each layer of filling there were round chocolate coated somethings. The same chocolate coated somethings were arranged in a fairly neat outline of a love-heart on the top of the cake. Draco blinked when he realised that one of the chocolate coated somethings on top wasn’t coated. It was a bare hazelnut.

Draco’s sharp breath must have been audible as Harry reacted with one of his own. Harry’s expression turned from hopeful to worried, and he said quietly, “I know you’ve not long broken up with someone, Lord Malfoy, and you’re supposed to wait six months before you even consider someone else, but. I,” Harry swallowed and said, “I’d like to announce my intent to formally court you if you’re amenable.”

Draco looked into Harry’s concerned eyes and finally found his voice. “Moxy,” the elf was already beside him, and simply looked up, waiting for direction, “Could you take Lord Black’s gifts inside, please?” Moxy blinked in and out in front of Harry twice, taking an item each time, and then was gone.

Harry let his now empty hands drop, and rolled his shoulders a little and Draco stepped out of the warmth of the house so he could be closer to him. It was barely one full stride, but it was still too far.

Harry started to bow at the waist, but Draco stopped him with a reached out hand. He gripped onto Harry’s shoulder and knew that he was using the contact as much to support himself as anything else. Harry was looking straight into his eyes, and Draco felt there was only one thing he could do right now the would explain what he was feeling.

He lent down the inch or so and kissed Harry Potter.

✦✦✦

Until the moment Draco’s lips touched his, Harry hadn’t been able to figure if all the curiosity in the other man’s face had been good or bad. He decided as Draco’s skin touched his that it had been good. It wasn’t just good though, it was brilliant.

Draco’s lips were softer than he’d expected, and as wonderful as he hoped. It was a barely there brush of a kiss, almost off to the side of Harry’s mouth. He had a horrifying moment of worry that he’d not shaved well enough, and then that was gone in the understanding that Draco was moving closer, not further away. Draco shifted his position, pressing himself tighter along Harry’s body and dragging the hand he had gripping Harry’s shoulder higher. He cupped Harry’s chin and lifted it so that he could kiss him again.

Harry had no problem with that, no problem at all. He closed his eyes and leant into the touch, letting Draco move him to where he wanted. The next kiss was more purposeful, more centred. It was unhurried and smooth. As was the one after, and the one after that. Harry breathed in and let himself contemplate the mix of scents that filled him, the feeling of Draco’s soft jumper in his hand as he ran fingers up Draco’s arm and to his shoulder. Draco pulled back a little and Harry angled his head a touch more and returned to the pressing of closed lips against closed lips.

Harry smiled as he realised that he was more well shaven than Draco. The smile opened his mouth slightly, and then all the gentle that had been in Draco’s attention was gone. In its place was a hunger.

Draco’s kisses turned insistent and demanding. Harry barely had enough time to breathe before there was no chance of it happening again for a while. Draco had both of his hands on Harry’s face now, almost as if trying to pull him closer. Harry moved both of his to Draco’s waist and held on tight. The slick rush of heat between them was more than he could have imagined. The rasp of Draco’s stubble on his lips was spectacular, the taste of Draco on his tongue was spectacular, the weight of Draco’s chest against his was spectacular.

Harry couldn’t help it, he pushed his hips forward. He needed to know that Draco was hard like he was.

He was.

Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth and broke the kiss, then moved his whole body back half an inch or so, just enough that they were no longer leaning against each other. Harry opened his eyes and saw that Draco still had his closed, but not tightly. His lashes were just brushing against the tops of his cheeks. He was pulling in short sharp breaths, each only a little shorter than the next. He still had his hands on Harry’s face, and dragged one thumb along the line of Harry’s chin. Harry shivered.

Harry was torn. He wanted to move closer again, kiss Draco some more or just lay his head against Draco’s shoulder and breathe him in. But he also wanted to take a step away so he could see properly what Draco looked like, to see if his lips were kiss-red, if his cheeks were pink like they never seemed to get. But he stayed where he was, pressed his fingers into Draco’s jumper, and waited.

Harry smiled when Draco finally opened his eyes. Draco smiled back.

“Lord Black, would you, um.” Harry smiled wider, a lost-for-words-Draco was as good as a rosy-cheeked one. “We should. Inside. You must be cold.”

Harry nodded and leaned in as he felt the tug of apparition.

He moulded himself in tight and really didn’t want to let go. He felt right with his arms wrapped around Draco’s waist and his face tucked in under Draco’s chin. They stood together for a few moments and Harry felt the warmth of the man with him and the fire next to them in the hearth. It was still late afternoon and the flames from the hearth were only just starting to glow in a way that made the room seem as if the lanterns might need to be lighted.

Harry moved his head up a little so he could maybe look at Draco’s face, maybe kiss him, maybe both. When he raised his eyes he realised, as he took in the sight of pillows and sheets and a wide space to lay over Draco’s shoulder, that Draco had apparated them straight to his bedroom. He tried to keep the smile off his face.

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Harry finally moved a little, but thankfully left his arms tight, and Draco thought that maybe he was going to get another kiss. Instead Harry blinked at what he could obviously see over Draco’s shoulder. Draco realised, with a start, that he’d brought them to his chamber instead of the main room and Harry was staring straight at his bed. He tried not to feel completely mortified. It wasn’t easy. He slid his own arms around Harry’s shoulders and hoped that he could keep him close.

He hadn’t meant to appear so presumptuous as to bring Harry straight to his bedroom. The feel of Harry hard against him had been full of promise and most certainly something he’d like to explore, sooner rather than later, but it hadn’t actually been his immediate intention. There were things that needed to be said.

“Keen are we, Lord Malfoy? Am I to assume this means you’re amenable?” Harry’s voice was teasing. He didn’t sound offended, but he didn’t sound as if he wanted to get naked straight away either. Both were a relief.

Draco decided to match Harry’s tone. There was at least one serious topic that needed to be broached, but it didn’t have to feel serious. “I am. I am rather keen on having some of that cake, Lord Black. Or perhaps hearing your Exposition on the flowers?” Besides, Draco was sure there were things he really, really needed to be mocking Harry for before he thanked him for them. He turned his head to look at where Moxy had put the cake and flowers on his low table.

Even in fading light Draco could see the wonderful shade of rose Harry almost immediately developed across his cheeks. Harry pulled back a little, loosening his arms but not actually letting go. “Exposition? I,” he stumbled on his words a little, “I thought their meanings meant I wouldn’t have to be doing any, um, expositioning.”

Draco let himself laugh in his chest a little, knowing Harry would feel the shake, then bent to brush a kiss across Harry’s cheek. “Whose book did you borrow?” He pulled back to look at the answer as much as hear it.

Harry scrunched his nose and said, “Neville’s.”

“And did he tell you to read the introduction as well as the lists of meanings?” Draco dropped his hands and ran them down Harry’s arms. He reached behind his own back to take Harry’s hands in his and bring them around between them.

“Yes, but.” Harry now looked like a child who realised he hadn’t gotten away with a shortcut in his homework. Draco was hit with a wave of nostalgia. He blinked and was faced with a teenaged Harry, ready to explain to Flitwick why his 12 inches on Cheering Charms was only 8 inches. He blinked again and Harry was still looking guilty, only now there might be the threat of a beard shadowing through his skin.

Draco lifted their hands and placed a kiss on the back of one of Harry’s, then let the other drop. He moved them the step or two over to the table, not letting go and making sure they were standing close. “Should I explain to you how astoundingly perfect this appalling attempt at Floriography is, then?”

“Is it that bad?” Harry made to take a step away, but Draco held his hand tight. He took a moment to swap hands and wrap his left arm around Harry’s middle. Now they were both standing facing the flowers, Harry in front of Draco, Draco leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. He used both of their right hands to gesture at the vase.

“It’s terrible.” Draco waited a breath or two before he said, “All the books and lessons I had on Floriography taught that the average giver of flowers should keep to two or three kinds of bloom per message, perhaps with an added foliage to support the sentiment. Only a truly gifted speaker of the language of flowers should try for even four or five kinds in one statement.”

Harry didn’t slump, but he did breathe out hard. “Oh.”

Draco wanted to make something very, very clear. “This?” He used their hands to wave an arc over the arrangement. “This proves all the books and teachers wrong on all accounts. I can’t imagine you giving flowers in any way but the way you’ve done it. If you’d presented me with a perfectly structured posy, with a perfectly structured message, I’d have known you didn’t style it. This vase, with its what, twelve different flowers? It’s wonderful, and completely and definitely from you. Thank you.”

Harry relaxed and squeezed Draco’s hand, then turned his head over his shoulder to look at him. “There are fourteen things in it, if you count the ivy.” Draco smiled into the light kiss Harry pressed against his lips before Harry said, “I mean all the things they say. I won’t,” he looked all over Draco’s face, and spoke so quickly that Draco was surprised he heard everything, “I value our friendship, and want it to grow. I really want to get into your pants. You’re one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. And I would more than happily give you an Unbreakable Vow, as long as you would agree to have it dissolved if one of us wanted to end our relationship. Not because I think marriages aren’t permanent kinds of things, but because I wouldn’t want you trapped the way your mother was.”

Draco went still. He was stuck between the reality that Harry had just called him beautiful and the fact that he’d thought to say all that right now, before they really began. Draco had loathed that his mother hadn’t been able to see herself happy. He hadn’t been able to imagine her with anyone but his father, but he knew he’d have rathered that she’d have had the choice. Pureblood wedding vows were so all-encompassing though, he’d not thought to consider it could be done any other way.

He leant the full weight of his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I think that sounds like a very sensible way to approach things, and I’m happy for all fourteen parts of the message. Thank you.” He pressed a kiss back to Harry’s lips. “I have to admit though that I would have loved to have seen Mother’s face when she saw all of them.”

“She looked something like a kneazle that’s just figured out how to spell cream into existence. I was more concerned about her reaction to the cake when she first appeared at the door, but when she looked at the flowers I started to worry.” Harry leant back into Draco’s arms, relaxed now.

Draco asked, “Why were you worried about her reaction to the cake?”

“I,” he paused, and Draco just knew Harry’s complexion would have reddened again, he wanted to turn him around and kiss the spots on his cheeks that were darkest, “The decoration is a bit naff, considering it’s a week early. But I finally got it right and I didn’t want to over practice.”

That, that Draco had to see in Harry’s eyes, he dragged his arm around Harry’s waist until he was standing in front of him again, then wrapped his other arm around, too. “You practiced? You made me the cake?”

Harry denied any eye gazing by burying his face in Draco’s neck, and laughing. His words were a little muffled, but the hot breath on Draco’s skin was wonderful. “Yes, I made it. And of course I practiced. I’m fairly sure you remember just how bad I was at Potions. I’m pretty good at cooking things like bacon and eggs, but when it comes to something that needs mixing? I’m pants.” He leaned back a little, but not enough for Draco to see his face. “I promise it’s edible, though. I was house-elf supervised and every round of cooking was taste tested by mostly willing volunteers. They’re all still alive. I’m fairly sure Charlie and George will be disappointed that I decided number nine was as good as it was going to get, actually.”

Draco blinked into Harry’s hair and pulled him a little closer. Harry bloody Potter had spent, what? A week? Maybe more, practicing to cook him a cake, apparently for Valentine's Day. It was absurd and marvellous all at the same time.

“Can I ask why a cake?” He wanted to ask why Harry had managed to remember that he adored hazelnut after one exposure to the fact, when in two years together Tronpe hadn’t even managed to buy him the right kind of coffee or red wine or his favourite anything when he even bothered to pretend to try. He refrained.

Harry leaned back enough to look up at Draco now, “I. When I was a kid, I didn’t get gifts. From anyone. My cousin was showered in presents by his mum and dad. He got so many. They were expensive and shiny and I wanted them so much.” He breathed in and buried his head again, barely leaving enough space for his mouth to make words. “The first thing I ever remember being given was a cake. It was horrible looking, partially squashed and lopsided, and I didn’t even get to taste it before my cousin had it stuffed in his gob. But, it was still mine. It’s a little thing, but I wanted to give you something important, Draco.” He took another deep breath and stepped back, extracting himself from Draco’s arms, but taking each of his hands. Harry lifted each and kissed them one after the other, then stepped back in and did what Draco had outside. Harry’s hands were warm on Draco’s face, and then they were dragging along the shaved sides of Draco’s head, then tangled in his hair and pulling him down for a long, breathless kiss.

Draco took what Harry was giving, content fall into a rhythm and feel himself pulled into a tight embrace again. They were both obviously aroused, the line of Harry’s cock pressed alongside of his own, the heat of their mouths and what skin they had against skin only increasing his want. Draco managed to drag his lips across Harry’s cheek and whispered in his ear. “Thank you for telling me that, Harry. And, thank you for making me something. No one has ever made me a gift before. Thank you.” He kissed Harry’s ear, “Thank you.”

The sun had gone from the sky outside. Draco thought they should light the lanterns, but also thought Harry looked perfect in this light. Though right now, Draco realised, Harry would look perfect in any light. He walked Harry backwards, around the cake and the flowers and the table to the loveseat, and they used it to their best design.

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The Chosen One Has a New Love?
Daily Prophet
Friday December, 1 2017
Anita Skeeter - Lifestyle Correspondent

It came to our attention, Dear Readers, this week, that our beloved Wizarding Saviour has found love, yet again. It was I, I will admit, who thought that his long-term romance with Lord Draconis Malfoy could not become any deeper. How wrong I was! The husbands are not often seen in public, but yesterday afternoon The Boy Who Lived Twice was spotted in a close embrace with his spouse of eleven years.

And, Dear Readers, what can I say? Though they’ve occasionally been seen escorting their friends’ children, this time they were out with a far more precious bundle. The warm wrap they had their little thing in was a pale green, and we’ve not been able to reach the family for comment, so we’ve no idea if the new Malfoy baby (the child had a shock of white-blonde hair) was a little witch or wizard.

We’d be hard pressed to say if Mr Malfoy or Mr Potter had the more smitten look on his face over the tiny child.

Our congratulations to the proud fathers!

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