Author's Notes: Written in 2007 prior to the release of Deathly Hallows, so goes AU from HBP.
Harry knew he looked entirely too nervous and suspect. The waiter who guided him to his table obviously thought so as well.
"Don't worry, sir. Just coming to a place like this usually impresses any first date."
Harry frowned. "It's not a date. It's a business meeting."
The waiter raised his eyebrows pointedly at the candles arranged as the centrepiece of the cosy table for two. However, he only said in a mild tone of voice, "Of course, sir. My apologies."
Harry grumbled under his breath as the waiter left. That was the problem with these expensive Muggle restaurants. The waiters all thought being polite and helpful was going to get them an enormous tip. And perhaps it worked when they aimed the charm at rich Muggle customers. However, Harry would be damned if he was wasting his increasing limited reserves of money on them. They had the whole upper echelons of the Muggle world from whom they could earn their money, while Harry could think of hundreds of people and organisations in the wizarding world that had no source of income at all.
That was, in essence, why he was here.
"H. B. Prince, I presume?" a voice said from behind him.
Harry swivelled in his seat in surprise as the man rounded the table. He hadn't expected the person he was meeting to arrive quite so soon. Certainly, he hadn't expected this particular person to meet with him at all.
"Malfoy!" he barked in surprise, and then quickly glanced around sheepishly to ascertain whether he'd drawn any unwanted attention with his outburst.
"Potter," Draco Malfoy said calmly as he claimed the empty seat across from Harry. "I had a feeling it might be you. You're one of the few who might be bold enough to use that alias since Snape died. A word of advice, though; you may be a half-blood, but you don't strike me – or anyone else, I should think – as very princely." Malfoy paused thoughtfully. "Then again, neither did old Snape, I suppose. Ghastly sort of fellow, when you really think about it. People using names that associate them with royalty should really be at least decent to look at."
"Only you, Malfoy, honestly," Harry rolled his eyes. "He helped us win the war. I should think that would be more important than how 'royal' he looks. Not that you'd care, since you probably wanted Voldemort's side to win, anyway."
Malfoy brushed aside the end of the comment. "Oh, come off it, Potter. You disliked him a lot more than I did. And in the end, sure, he helped you defeat the Dark Lord, but all he really won was his own death. As well as the Ministry's right to control everyone else to a greater extent than the Dark Lord ever could, on top of that."
"You disagree with them?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Obviously. I wouldn't be here if I didn't, would I?"
Harry graced him with a disbelieving look.
"No, really," Malfoy continued. "If you only learn one thing in your life, which is quite possible considering that you're… well, you… then remember that no one tells a Malfoy what to do."
"Except Voldemort, right?"
"Now, Potter, that kind of talk is hardly conducive to us having a long and happy relationship," Malfoy chastised.
"Good," Harry muttered. "I'll remember to keep it up. Seriously, get out of here, Malfoy."
"I don't think you really want that. I have something to offer you."
Harry sighed. "What's that? Endless frustration? Pain?"
Malfoy smirked. "Only if you beg me nicely for it, Potter." Harry made a disgusted face which Malfoy ignored. "No," Malfoy said, "I came to let you know that I'm the answer to your problems."
"You are my problem right now!" Harry exclaimed.
"No, that problem that you have with the money and the Muggles," Malfoy said. "You know the one."
"I do," Harry said simply. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Though I don't know how you do, or how you know about the H. B. Prince enquiry. It's not like I advertised it to the whole world."
Malfoy shrugged. "Ever hear of magic?" he asked wryly.
Harry snorted. "If you could use magic, you wouldn't be here."
"No, I wouldn't," Malfoy replied. "But I am here, and though I may not be able to use magic, that wasn't the only skill I ever gained. My father taught me that there were three important things in the world… before you sent him to Azkaban to rot, that is." Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but he didn't push that particular sore point any further. "Those three things are political power, magical supremacy and finances."
"Sounds like you're set for life. Except, oh, you don't have any magic anymore, let alone magical supremacy. You're also not part of the Ministry, so you're worth less than dirt in politics. And speaking of dirt, I hear you've been dirt poor since the Ministry cleaned out your father's vaults. That must have been humiliating for you. You're just like the rest of us commoners now. Eh, Malfoy?"
The waiter appeared then to ask them if they were ready to order. He looked hesitant, as he'd obviously realised a moment too late that they were fighting, and probably didn't want to be interrupted.
Harry tried to reply in the negative, but Malfoy was already ordering some expensive-sounding wine that Harry had never heard of. Harry was barely even surprised that Malfoy obviously had the wine list of a place like this committed to memory.
When the waiter had retreated to obtain the bottle, Malfoy turned back to him.
"I may not have magic or political power," he admitted, "but I can still handle your money better than any other witch or wizard out there."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You can certainly spend my money better than most, if your choice of wine is anything to go by. And you know I wouldn't trust you as far as I could hex you without my wand. Which is to say, not at all. What makes you think I would trust you with my money?"
Again, the waiter interrupted by suddenly appearing before them in order to pour two glasses of wine and subsequently place them on the table in front of them. Holy hell, Harry thought with a frown, that had been quick. He wondered whether the waiter might have a bit of magic up his sleeve. He'd be one of the few, these days.
They waited until the bottle of wine had been deposited in the centre of the table slightly away from the candles and the waiter had disappeared.
"Because you need to keep your little group afloat," Malfoy continued in a very certain tone, as if they hadn't ever been interrupted, "and that means as much money as possible. And you need someone who isn't friendly with the Ministry to get it for you." He tasted the wine. "Ah, very good. You should try this." Harry glared at him, and Malfoy shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, as for the first, I can triple your money in just a few weeks, see if I can't. And we've already mentioned just how friendly I am with the Ministry these days."
"Triple?" Harry gulped, his eyes going wide. That was a very nice offer indeed. Without really thinking about it, Harry threw back a mouthful of his wine, which caused Malfoy to look at him as if Harry was most common person he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. "How are you going to do that? You know nothing about Muggles or their money."
"Honestly," Malfoy complained half-heartedly, "just because I despise their culture – other than this wine, that is, and you're really meant to sip it not toss it back like whisky. You're so unrefined. Where was I? Oh, yes. Just because I hate Muggles doesn't mean I'm ignorant of their ways. Malfoys have had to resort to many unsavoury Muggle-loving relations in the past to survive. This will be no different. And money is money, really, as long as Gringotts is happy to convert it."
"Right," Harry said, drawing out the word disbelievingly. "And you're in with the Muggles well enough to triple my money?"
"Yes, guaranteed."
Harry made no attempt to conceal his sceptical expression.
"Don't believe me?" Malfoy asked. "Well, how about you give me an amount that's too small to really put a dent in your vault, but big enough to actually do something with, and I'll show you what I can do. Say, a hundred Galleons, converted into Muggle money. I'll have at least three times as much back to you in no time. Then we can discuss further business between us."
"What's in this for you?" Harry asked.
"Why, I get to support Harry Potter!" Malfoy said sarcastically. "No? Fine, fifteen percent of your profits. That's as reasonable as anyone is going to offer you in these hard times, Potter. And if you employ me rather than someone else who isn't as good at what they do, your remaining profit will be so big you'll barely care what percentage of it you aren't getting.
"And also, one day when you've proven your point and the wizarding world is bowing mindlessly to you once again, I'll be associated with you, and they'll quickly forget that the Malfoy family was ever out of favour." Malfoy raised his eyebrows in challenge.
"You won't ever be politically powerful now that your father has tarnished your precious pureblood name," Harry pointed out.
"Money is power, Potter," Malfoy countered, "and so is knowledge. I already have a brain at my disposal, whatever jokes you might make to the contrary. When this is all over, I'll have a hefty sum in my bank account once again as well. It'll be as if my father was never disgraced. Believe me, Malfoys know better than most how short the attention span of the masses runs. If that wasn't the case, we would have lost any political power we had a long time ago."
Harry privately doubted that anyone would ever forget what had happened with Lucius Malfoy – short memory span or not – at least within his son's lifetime. And he wasn't at all sorry to admit it. Harry personally thought that of all the people who would deserve to be out of favour with the wizarding world, Draco Malfoy would be high on his list. He was the worst kind of backstabbing Slytherin. Speaking of which…
"How do I know you won't run off to the Ministry out of spite? I bet you still hate me more than them."
Malfoy smiled almost wickedly. "Good question, Potter," he said. "Quite simply, you don't know. And you never will. But what choice do you really have? It's either going to be me or someone you've probably never met before. Either way, you aren't ever going to be able to trust whoever you employ. It might as well be me."
"Better the devil I know, is that it?" Harry scoffed.
Malfoy, on the other hand, looked at him as if that was an entirely serious thing to say. "Exactly, Potter," he said, his sharp eyes appraising Harry thoughtfully. "You know, I do believe you may have a brain cell or two after all."
Harry glared at him. "So, all right, say that I consider this over the next few days. How will I get in touch with you on the off chance that I decide to take you up on your offer?"
Malfoy smirked. "Don't worry, Potter. I know where to find you."
Harry gave him an incredulous look. Surely Malfoy couldn't possibly know where they were based? But then, he wouldn't really put it past him. Malfoys always had connections. Obviously that persisted regardless of whether or not they had the money or legitimate influence to back it up.
Malfoy lifted his glass and sipped down the last of his wine. Harry wondered how he had failed to notice the rest of it disappearing.
"I'll leave you to pay the bill, since we both know you can afford it better than I can these days," Malfoy said.
Then Malfoy stood and exited the restaurant, leaving Harry completely gob-smacked.
All around, that hadn't exactly been how he'd expected a meeting enquiring after a financial advisor and manager to play out. But then, he supposed nothing much ever worked out precisely the way he expected. He certainly wouldn't have thought even five years ago that he'd be in this position now, for one thing.
When the waiter returned, Harry ordered for himself, figuring he might as well get a decent meal out of this strange endeavour. It had been a while since he'd really had time to sit down and eat a proper dinner. Once it arrived, Harry sat eating in near silence, deep in thought.
Malfoy was right about one thing, he considered. The wine was exquisite. It was a shame he wasn't anywhere near as sure about anything else his old enemy had said. And it was also sad that he didn't have quite have much of an appetite after putting his trust in a man that he'd hated with a passion since their first meeting.
"Incoming!" Bill Weasley called out as he approached the room.
He struggled to get through the narrow door while hauling a middle-aged looking woman over his shoulder. Augustus Pye rushed forward to hook his own arms under the woman's legs. Together he and Bill turned her around and then hoisted her face-up onto one of the tables that served as make-shift gurneys.
"What are we dealing with here?" Augustus asked.
"Spell damage," Bill replied shortly. "I saw a Blood-Boiling Curse hit, at the very least. And, as you can see, there was obviously a Furnunculus in there somewhere, probably thrown by one of the less talented among them. I only got there for the end of the duel, though, so there could have been much more. I can't be sure."
"An examination charm or two certainly wouldn't go amiss around about now," Augustus muttered deprecatingly.
"Was it the Aurors?" Harry asked from the corner of the room where he stood by the potions cabinet, already retrieving a Boil-Cure Potion and a powerful Muggle pain-killer that Augustus had warned him to use with care. Although it was fairly easy to replenish, unlike most of the potions they used, wizards had been known to react in strange ways to Muggle medicines. Hell, Muggles often reacted badly to them as well, from what he'd heard.
"Yes," Bill replied with a scowl. "Isn't it always Aurors?"
"She looks to have been stunned as well," Augustus said thoughtfully. "Nothing we can really do about that but wait it out."
Bill looked surprised. "I thought she'd just lost consciousness from the pain. Someone must have got her while Fleur and I were helping her out of there. I'm surprised they didn't aim for us, if that's the case. We were the bigger threat, by that stage."
"But it's likely that they've a warrant for her arrest," Harry said. "Whereas you and Fleur were unknowns. The Ministry can't take any more bad publicity for attacking innocents."
"It's probably a good thing that they stunned her, though, really," Augustus said. "At least she can't feel any pain if she's unconscious. No one should ever have to feel the effects of the Blood-Boiling Curse. Nasty thing, that."
Harry privately agreed, though he said nothing out loud. Augustus was in charge when they had a patient, and Harry liked to leave him to his work as much as possible. He was only really there to help out, after all.
After Augustus had given the witch the correct doses out of the vials Harry had handed him, he slumped back into one of the seats set up against the wall just far enough back from the table to allow easy access.
"That's the third person we've dealt with since yesterday afternoon," he complained. "Surely the Ministry haven't restarted the raids?"
Bill shrugged. "I don't know. I wouldn't have thought so. The last round caused a fair bit of public outcry, and I don't think the Ministry wants to risk any more opposition than they already have. Things have been getting a little shaky on the political front lately, it seems. The bank is seeing a lot more disgruntled customers, for one."
Bill, of course, was one of the lucky ones. He'd retained both his job and most of his immediate family, including his wife and two children, as well as remaining largely the same person throughout the end of the war and the years following it; a few scars, as obvious as they might be, were a small price to pay for those things, really. A lot of the witches and wizards that Harry spent his time around these days couldn't say that they'd managed the same. Harry numbered himself among them. Sometimes thought he'd lost so much of himself that he was surprised people still recognised him.
"Should we be on the lookout?" Harry asked.
Again, Bill shrugged. "No more now than usual, I don't think. The Ministry knows that the PA exists, but they don't really know what we do, and they definitely don't know where we're based. So, even if they decide that it's worthwhile to raid our headquarters based on what little they know, they'd have to find it first. No one who actually knows its location is going to be willing to give it up, especially to anyone associated with the Ministry."
"Right," Harry agreed. "And speaking of which, when she wakes up," he gestured to their latest 'patient, "offer her shelter here until she's recovered, and if she declines make sure someone who's available – possibly you, Bill – escorts her out of here blindfolded. The fact that the Ministry let you take her away without much effort to stop you is suspicious, and even though there are other explanations, we don't want to take any chances that she's a Ministry plant."
Bill nodded. "No problem."
Harry nodded his goodbye and then paced out of the room, leaving the patient to Augustus. He could handle her, and Harry knew he'd be alerted if another poor soul was hauled in. He didn't doubt that there would be another. There always was. The Aurors seemed to be particularly wand-happy at the moment, as if having so much more power than the rest of the wizarding world was finally getting to their heads. Harry wouldn't put it past them to abuse their power. He didn't trust anyone in the Ministry, and the Aurors least of all.
Apart from a select few, of course. He thought that, with all the action in that quarter lately, Tonks for one would be stopping by any time now to fill them all in. Whenever she could sneak away from the watchful eyes of the Ministry, that was.
He returned to his office just up the stairs, only to find Fred and George both standing in the doorway.
"I thought you two were meant to be guarding the entrance," he said, confused.
Fred – or, at least, he was fairly certain it was Fred – opened his mouth to speak.
However, a voice from further inside the room interrupted him before he could make a sound.
"So you're an apprentice Healer now, Potter? I'd never have guessed if I hadn't heard you messing around with your patient a few rooms over."
Harry stepped into the room, bringing Malfoy into his line of vision. He was sitting at Harry's desk with his feet kicked up as if he owned the place, despite the three people who were now looking at him as if he was the most unwelcome thing on the planet.
"How did you get here?" Harry demanded.
"Your thugs dragged me up the stairs. How do you think?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Not to my office, idiot. I mean, how did you find the building?"
Malfoy shrugged. "It wasn't that difficult. It isn't like you have any security to speak of, these two goons aside. Anyone could just waltz right in. Not that they would want to." Malfoy gave the cracks in the greyish concrete wall in front of him a pointed look. "The place isn't exactly inviting, is it?"
If Harry had had a wand, he would have trained it right in between Malfoy's eyes. As it was, he had to settle for a menacing glare.
Malfoy scoffed, "Well, honestly. It's quite simple to find the place if you know that the eldest Weasley is one of the scouts in your little resistance. Trailing him back here was easy. He's not exactly observant. And he hardly blends in with all that red hair. Not to mention those enormous gouges across his face."
Fred and George seemed ready to attack at Malfoy's mention of Bill's scars.
"You're right, Malfoy, you're not to mention those. You really want to stop talking right now," Harry said dangerously, "because you don't want to remind any of the people here in this room how you let Greyback into Hogwarts that night, making those scars on Bill's face almost entirely your fault. I already have enough of an urge to hurt you. Same with these two."
He gave George and Fred a scrutinising look. They really did look like they were going to lunge at Malfoy at any second. "You two can go now," he said. "I can take care of Malfoy on my own."
They looked unsure, but they thankfully followed his order without question. George sneered at Malfoy as he disappeared through the door, which Harry promptly shut behind him to ensure his conversation with Malfoy couldn't be heard by everyone in the building.
Then he realised that he'd effectively sealed himself in with Malfoy. And now he felt like a total idiot for doing so. Especially since, if the indifferent expression on Malfoy's face was anything to judge by, Harry was more worried about him at this point than he was about Harry.
"How are you going to 'take care of' me without ganging up on me with your Weasleys, Potter? With your wand? Oh, wait, you don't have one, and the only people who could lend you one are the Ministry. I don't think they're going to be all that inclined to give Harry Potter, of all people, the means to properly use his magic. That would kind of defeat the purpose of this whole regime, since it was because of your show of power in the war that they freaked out and imposed all of these ridiculous laws in the first place. While we're on the topic of blaming people for things they couldn't help, that is."
Harry scowled. "I haven't done any magic in three whole years, Malfoy, and I'm still here. Don't presume I haven't found other ways to cope with everything, even you."
Malfoy's eyes widened. "Three years? But the stations…"
"The Ministry's magic stations are of no use to me. As you just pointed out, they'd be stupid to hand me a wand, even if my use of it would be completely surveyed. And they aren't going to let me use any of the few magical items left behind from the purges for the same reason. Hell, the Ministry won't even give me a handout like the rest of the people who were left unemployed, because they think I'm going to use it to fund some super secret organisation bent on overthrowing them and restoring order."
Malfoy looked around pointedly. "Yes, because you wouldn't ever dream about doing something like that," he said dryly.
Harry really wished he had a wand to use even more than usual right then. He wouldn't hurt Malfoy. Not really. But a nice jinx shot in the bastard's direction would really give Harry that satisfied feeling he craved so much.
Instead, Malfoy was unfortunately allowed to continue speaking unimpeded. "You know, you're hardly as secretive about your efforts against the Ministry as you obviously think you are. We've all heard about the resistance you house in this little building of yours, though most people obviously don't know about the building itself or you'd be properly screwed by now, wouldn't you? Anyway, we all know that you call it the PA. Right? The Phoenix Alliance, bringers of truth and justice. Everyone also knows that you're the one who heads it. They were starting to refer to it as Potter's Army, last I heard. Just like Hogwarts all over again, isn't it? It made the Ministry very nervous back then as well, if I recall."
"That's hardly the point," Harry said brusquely. "It's just another example of the inequality they're enforcing on us."
"Merlin, do you ever stop whining? 'Woe is me; I have to fight Dark Lords, Death Eaters, Dementors and evil Ministries all on my lonesome. How shall I ever survive?'" Malfoy faked a swoon, then reached out wildly to grab the desk in front of him when his chair nearly fell backwards.
Harry clenched the armrests of his own chair in frustration. "You never change, Malfoy. I don't know why I said I'd even consider dealing with you."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Then hand me the money and I'll walk out. Then you won't have to deal with me again for a while longer."
"I haven't said I'm going to employ you yet."
Malfoy laughed. "Of course you are. You can play hard to get all you like, but you're not going to turn down this opportunity. I'm exactly what you were looking for, like it or not."
Harry glowered, but withdrew a heavy sack of coins from his robes nonetheless.
"All right, then. This is a hundred Galleons, just like you asked for," he said. "Now how do I know you won't go withdraw some money from your own bank account to make it look like you've tripled my money and then run off once I've given you a more tempting amount?"
"You don't," Malfoy replied simply. "You don't know anything for sure with me, Potter. I thought we'd already covered this. But let me say that if I actually had two hundred Galleons lying about in my Gringotts account to give back to you with your hundred, I wouldn't be living in the Leaky Cauldron, eating semi-stale food and choking on the dust that flies out of my bed every time I so much as touch the damn thing, let alone sleep on it."
"The Leaky Cauldron isn't that bad," Harry protested.
"Once upon a time, Potter, it was almost adequate for short-term occupancy. Very short time, and only for those people like you who would have settled for cheap accommodation in the first place. But I'm guessing you haven't visited it in the last few years. It, like everything and everyone else in the wizarding world bar a lucky few people who are in with the right parts of the government, is going broke fast. Upkeep costs money, so they just rent the rooms out for less instead. It's not like most of their customers can afford to complain too loudly, even me."
"But you were rich," Harry said with a frown. "I know the Ministry took away your money, but still. Your house, at least …"
"My father was rich," Malfoy corrected. "He was arrested before I came of age, so I couldn't stop the Ministry from taking over his Gringotts accounts and the Manor itself. By the time I was seventeen and within my rights to claim it back, there was nothing left. The Manor was purged and then burned to the ground, just in case there was any Dark Magic left inside. I wasn't really surprised.
"And that, Potter, is one of the main reasons why I hate them more than I hate you. You may have had a hand in putting my father away in Azkaban in the first place, but at least you didn't set out to purposely ruin my livelihood purely based on what he did. As far as I know."
For a split second, Harry felt vaguely sympathetic. No wonder Malfoy was helping him. He had a personal vendetta. However, he then reminded himself that this was Malfoy, and that he had probably earned his near-poverty far more thoroughly than the rest of those in the wizarding world who were suffering the same fate. After the way Malfoy had always taunted Ron, it was like an ironic sort of justice.
After several long seconds of the two of them staring at each other, Malfoy rose from his chair and rounded the desk. He snatched the coin satchel out of Harry's hand impatiently.
"Can I go now?" he asked, suddenly sounding angry. "Or does the great Harry Potter wish to reminisce for a little longer?"
Harry's eyebrows rose. "As if I'd want to spend more time with you than is necessary," he said. "Get the hell out of here."
Malfoy shoved past him and flung the door open, nearly knocking Hermione – who was waiting outside the door with crossed arms and a tapping foot – over in his haste to get away.
Hermione and Malfoy took a moment to glare at each other, and then Malfoy took off down the stairs. Harry watched him until he reached the front entrance and disappeared through it. Fred and George gave him a shove as he went for good measure.
When he turned back to look at Hermione, she was looking very pissed off.
"I know, I know," Harry sighed. "And I'm sorry you had to wait for our meeting, but it was a bit of an emergency, him being here."
"You let him go," Hermione accused. "He's going to tell all his Death Eater friends, and possibly the Ministry, where they can find us."
Harry looked back towards the doorway. "He's not a Death Eater. But you're right, he's not trustworthy. I'll double the security."
"You shouldn't have let him inside in the first place," she said.
Harry shrugged. "He knew where we were already, whether we let him inside or not. It's probably better to give him what he wants, that being the case."
Hermione seemed unconvinced.
"And besides," Harry said, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth even before he said them, "as much as I hate to admit it, we really do need him."
"Neville!" Harry called out.
Neville, who had been on his way down the corridor, stopped.
"Harry?" he asked. "Wow, it's been a while."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry I haven't been a little more hands-on with your job."
Neville bit his lip. "It's fine. I never expected you to be. You use the potions. You don't brew them. So there's really no need for you to spend all your time with the ingredients-gatherer when you have so many other things to do around here."
"But you're not just an 'ingredients-gatherer'. You're my friend, Neville," Harry said. "That should be enough reason for me to arrange to see you more than maybe a half-dozen times a year, if we're lucky."
Neville shrugged. "It's okay."
Harry shook his head, but didn't continue talking about it. It wasn't okay, but it would only make things more awkward if he pressed the point any further. "Look, I just wanted to say congratulations. You and Luna, eh?"
Neville blushed lightly. Harry imagined everyone must have been ribbing him about it for the last few days.
"Yeah. It just happened, you know, what with us spending so much time in the field collecting ingredients for the PA and whatnot together. We didn't expect it to last, but it has. There's going to be an engagement party three weeks from Saturday, actually. I'd love to see you there."
"I'd love to go," Harry said with a wistful sort of smile, "but I'll really have to wait and see, as always. Things always seem to come up at the last minute, don't they? Merlin, though, I can't believe you're getting married. I feel so old, that one of my old dorm mates is settling down."
Neville smiled. "You're positively middle-aged, Harry," he teased.
"Sometimes I feel like I am," Harry replied seriously.
The grin faded off Neville's face at Harry's tone. "I know what you mean," he said. "I feel like we've been fighting one war after another for decades rather than a few years. And whoever thought I'd be a soldier, anyway?"
"A lot of people, actually. I don't think anyone was surprised when you offered to help with the Phoenix Alliance. You're a good man, Neville, and everyone knows it."
Neville's blush darkened.
Harry, sensing the conversation potentially leading to emotional things he really didn't want to deal with right then, steered it in another direction.
"By the way, did Hermione tell you that we're running out of snake fangs? Not to mention all the plants we need. You and Luna are going to have to venture out soon."
Neville nodded. "It'd be easier if we could go separately. She's available to go out gathering potions ingredients a lot more often than I am. But you know Luna, she's a bit prone to wandering off looking for more interesting things if someone isn't there to rein her in a bit."
It was said with enough affection to make Harry's chest hurt. He wished he had someone to look after like that – or to look after him, because he certainly needed it sometimes – but he honestly didn't have time for a relationship. And anyway, the only girl he'd ever really liked had been among the many casualties of the Ministry's raids.
Harry remembered receiving the news that Ginny and Ron had been killed. He was fairly certain he hadn't let himself be close to anyone but Hermione since, and even that relationship was beginning to suffer under the strain of all they'd seen and all they knew they had to deal with. Particularly, she was still shooting him foul looks every time they crossed paths because he refused to move their Headquarters now that Malfoy knew their location. It wasn't practical, he'd told her, but as usual she seemed to be trying to out-stubborn him.
The only person he'd really spoken to and bonded with lately seemed to be Augustus. Since they were partners of sorts in the Healing aspect of the resistance, he'd had more time to get close to him than to many of the other PA members. It was just a matter of letting himself, and Harry was still wary of doing so. Augustus was, after all, one of the wild cards in the PA. Most of the others had been friends of his, or among the more active members of the Order of the Phoenix. He didn't like to say that he didn't trust his fellow Healer, but there was some element of uncertainty there that made Harry wary.
"Right, speaking of gathering ingredients," Neville finally said a bit uncomfortably, "I have to be off. The Bubotubers are ready to have their puss squeezed out."
Harry made a face, which Neville saw. He grinned in response. "You know, Bubotuber puss is used in several of your healing potions, so don't screw your face up like that. You'd be out of a job if I didn't collect you the gross ingredients as well as the harmless-seeming ones."
"I know," Harry replied. "And for that, I thank you, really. But I wouldn't want to be the one to have to do it."
When Neville had disappeared around the corner, Draco Malfoy stepped out from the room beside where Harry was standing.
Harry started. "Fuck! How did you get in? There are four people guarding the entrances!"
"Simple, Potter," Malfoy replied lazily. "It's called the 'changing of the guard'. Trust you to be predictable enough to have them all swap over at once. It's not a very strategically sound plan, let me tell you. I'm surprised Granger didn't try to bite your head off about it."
"Fuck you, Malfoy!"
Malfoy ignored him, instead withdrawing the same pouch that he'd taken from Harry a few weeks before. It looked quite a bit larger in volume now.
"Two hundred and eighty-nine galleons," he announced. "After I took my cut, of course. I could have made it so you'd have your whole three hundred in another few days or so, but I decided you probably favour speed over accuracy in all of your endeavours."
Harry had the feeling he'd just been insulted, but he let it slide. He seized the money bag and opened it to look inside. There was a lot of gold, that was for sure. Harry decided to take Malfoy on his word on the exact amount, not because he trusted him, but because it looked like about that much, and counting it would take a lot of effort that he didn't want to expend. Diggle dealt with the money issues generally; surely he could do it later, Harry thought wearily.
"Satisfied?" Malfoy asked. "Are you ready to do some real business now?"
Harry wasn't at all sure that he was ready to trust Malfoy with his money in any shape or form, or that he ever would be, but he nodded all the same.
"I'm willing to entrust two thousand galleons to you, for now. That's quite a bit of money, Malfoy, and you'd better not lose it."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You make nothing, I make nothing, Potter. I'm not about to try to screw you over if it's going to have a worse effect on me. After all, you can afford to lose that money. It's being used for your Phoenix Alliance, I assume, rather than to keep you alive. I can't afford not to get paid."
"Right," Harry agreed. "Well, just make sure you don't conveniently forget that at some point. I know how spiteful you can be. Don't think I've forgotten that you broke my nose for no real reason."
Malfoy sneered. "Whatever you say, Potter. I'll be back on Tuesday for the money. Have it ready."
Malfoy turned to go but then stopped and looked at Harry speculatively.
"By the way, Longbottom and Loony Lovegood? I hope they never have children. The world could do without any more hopeless cases."
Harry bristled. "Well, I bet they hope the same of you."
Malfoy laughed bitterly. "I don't think there's much chance of that, Potter. Honestly, don't you ever read the gossip columns?"
Harry knew he looked completely unimpressed. "You're joking, right? I don't even get the paper anymore. Why would I want to read complete trash like that?"
Malfoy sighed. "Oh, I don't know, Potter, maybe because otherwise you get so caught up in what you're doing that you forget there are unimportant things out there, and that for some odd reason people actually care about them. But that wouldn't be an issue for you, would it? I doubt you've ever been too busy with your work to pay attention to your friends and their insignificant social lives."
Harry was fairly certain Malfoy was only referring to the conversation he'd just overheard between Harry and Neville, but Harry couldn't help but think of Ron and Ginny, and how he hadn't really been there for them in the end, either. Bringing that up was the kind of thing he would have expected of Malfoy a few years earlier, but perhaps not anymore. Hopefully not anymore, at least, because he didn't like to think he was putting some amount of his trust in someone who would still taunt him that way.
Harry sighed. "Why do you care about Neville and Luna, anyway?"
Malfoy shrugged. "I like to know who I'm working with. I was just wondering whether there was anyone in this little club of yours that isn't completely incompetent or insane. Or doesn't have indecent amounts of red-hair and freckles, and isn't unhealthily attached to someone who does. You have anyone like that?"
Harry scoffed at the question. "I don't trust you enough to tell you that."
Malfoy examined Harry for a moment before nodding as if impressed.
"Good for you, Potter. You're learning. There may be hope for you yet. But then again, probably not."
"Bite me, Malfoy."
"You wish I would, Potter."
Harry wasn't quite sure what Malfoy meant by that, but he wasn't about to look foolish by asking.
"You really should just give up on posting your little 'guards' at the doors."
Harry practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of Malfoy's voice. He whirled around to face the other man.
"Anyone who really wants to get in can do so without hassle even with them there," Malfoy continued, "and I'm guessing you have few enough witches and wizards in your organisation without pulling them off their other duties to watch a door or two."
"Merlin! Don't you have something better to do than find ways into our headquarters and sneak around so that you can scare me?"
Malfoy snorted. "I'm here for the money you promised me. And anyway, I was hardly trying to scare you. It's not my fault if you're completely unaware of your surroundings. What kind of leader are you, anyway?"
Harry sighed and led Malfoy through the corridor and into his office, where he withdrew a large bag of Galleons from a combination-locked Muggle safe and pushed it in Malfoy's direction. Malfoy picked it up with a grunt.
"Right, you've got what you're here for. Now go away, Malfoy," Harry sighed. "Go do your job. Make us both some money. Or go jump off a bridge if you really want to. Just… Whatever it is you feel like doing, do it somewhere else."
"But I like it here," Malfoy said. "Well, not really, but it's interesting, at least. I like seeing you run yourself ragged needlessly. You never seem to take a break."
"I sleep," Harry countered. "That's a break."
Malfoy shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't know. I don't tend to follow you home at night. Assuming you have a home."
Harry laughed somewhat bitterly. "You know where the secret location of the Phoenix Alliance Headquarters is, but you don't know where I live? I thought you, at least, would read the gossip columns."
"As if anyone wants to gossip about you anymore, Potter. You have no life to speak of."
"And you do?"
"Of course." Malfoy looked down his pointy nose at Harry. "I could show you the best time you've seen in years without breaking a sweat, Potter."
Harry shook his head. "Maybe some other time," he muttered sarcastically. He turned to stride away, not really caring whether Malfoy followed or not.
But Malfoy seemed to think he was being serious. "Right. Some other time. I'll remember that, Potter."
Harry turned around to tell Malfoy to get stuffed, or something equally as pleasant, only to find that he'd disappeared from sight.
If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn Malfoy had used magic.
But no Ministry officials swooped down on him for unauthorised use of a wand, so he wrote it off as more of Malfoy's weirdness.
Harry had spent the weeks since Malfoy had first appeared at the Phoenix Alliance headquarters on constant alert for a Ministry raid courtesy of Malfoy's back-stabbing. He'd also been constantly watching for Malfoy himself, but after well over a month had passed, he relaxed the guard. Malfoy had been right, really; if someone wanted to get inside, particularly the Ministry members who had magic at their disposal, a couple of unarmed witches and wizards weren't going to stop them. And if Malfoy had been intending to sell them all out to the Ministry, he'd surely have done it by now.
So when Malfoy appeared yet again nearly two months after his previous visit, Harry was in a better mood than he'd been in during their past encounters.
Even so, he couldn't say he was entirely happy to have Malfoy strolling around the building whenever he pleased. Harry wished he could use magic now more than ever when he thought about the poor security on the building. They couldn't even put up Muggle locks, because they were meant to be a haven for those who needed a respite from the Ministry, and to lock out those people would completely defeat the purpose of having the Headquarters. Harry didn't like to think about them not being able to help those who needed it, for there had been many they hadn't been able to get to in time.
The Ministry had a lot of blood on its hands, these days.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked.
"I was having a slow day and I decided that you never gave me the grand tour of this dump. You're not really a very good host, Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't really want you showing up here in the first place, in case that failed to register in your tiny brain. And now you want me to encourage it?"
Malfoy shrugged. "It's up to you. I could just sit outside the entrance scaring off any people who show up looking for help instead. Hell, I could go outside and attract suspicion to this whole area, if you liked."
Even though it sounded like it should have been taken as a threat, Harry didn't hear even a hint of malice in Malfoy's tone. He supposed that that was the reason he didn't throw Malfoy out by his ear, or simply beat him to a pulp where he stood.
"Whatever," Harry grumbled. "I suppose it's about time I did the rounds, anyway. You can tag along if you really want to."
Malfoy snorted. "Oh, come off it, Potter. You aren't fooling anyone. If your conversation with Longbottom a while ago was anything to go by, you aren't really in the habit of 'doing the rounds' all that often. I bet you don't even have a clue who's in this building with you right now, do you?"
Harry scowled. "Well, as I said, it's about time I did them, isn't it?"
Malfoy merely smirked.
Harry showed him around the building. He must have seen half of it in his sneaking about anyway, Harry reasoned, so it could hardly hurt them too badly that he have the 'grand tour'. Knowing the location of the building itself was more potentially harmful to them than knowing what went on inside each particular room. Or, at least, he hoped so, as that was what he'd told himself to stop the voice in his head that was screaming how wrong it was to be doing this.
"And this is where you Healers do your thing," Malfoy said as they reached the last room on the tour.
Harry hadn't precisely shown Malfoy everything, but he'd still taken him to most of the more interesting rooms. Malfoy had even met the children Hermione tutored and managed not to either scare them witless or get their hackles up. Harry was impressed, really.
"Yep," Harry confirmed. "This is where I help out Augustus."
Augustus himself was staring at Malfoy with a curiosity that couldn't quite be hidden.
"Augustus, I assume?" Malfoy asked. "I'm Draco Malfoy. Pleasure to meet you."
Harry was shocked. Malfoy hadn't spoken a single word to any of the adults in the resistance he'd come across today, and he'd barely said two words to the students either. It was entirely unexpected that he should suddenly be attempting to act… well, friendly. What sort of evil plot was this?
"Er, you too," Augustus returned awkwardly. The guarded look had morphed into something more like morbid fascination, Harry thought. It hadn't gone away by the time he and Malfoy finished their introductions and Harry had been dragged back out of the small hospital room.
"Nice guy," Malfoy said innocently.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "You're a strange man, Malfoy."
"Yes, well," Malfoy sniffed, "who really wants to be normal? How common."
Harry snorted. "Whenever you try to sound like your father you just end up sounding even more like a completely pompous git than usual."
He realised a second too late that he probably shouldn't be bringing up Lucius Malfoy if he wanted to keep the peace with his son. It was undoubtedly a sore point. However, Malfoy acted as if it didn't matter to him. In fact, it was as if Harry hadn't spoken at all. He just continued walking along heedlessly until they reached the entranceway. Harry hadn't even realised where Malfoy was leading him, and felt a bit stupid that he hadn't been paying attention. Malfoy could have led him into some sort of trap, and he would have been none the wiser.
Still, it didn't seem believable that Malfoy would be working against him anymore. He'd had ample opportunities to hand Harry and the whole PA over to the Ministry since he and Harry had first crossed paths, and he'd done nothing of the sort.
Harry was stunned to realise that he actually trusted Malfoy, even if it was just a little.
"Why does the leader of an operation like this decide to become a Healer's assistant in his spare time?" Malfoy asked. "I mean, you aren't even a real apprentice. Doesn't that feel like a demotion? You were the saviour of the whole world once upon a time, if the descriptions in the papers are to be believed."
Harry shrugged. "Well, actually, it's good to do something a bit less obviously important for once." Harry looked Malfoy in the eye for the first time since their meeting in the restaurant. He'd forgotten just how intense that grey colour was. "One day I aim to have this whole 'The Ministry as Judge, Jury and Executioner' thing well and truly behind us, and then I won't be a leader of any sort. I don't really want to be a leader all that much. I never did.
"But when that time comes, I'll need a profession of some sort. And I like helping people, so being a Healer would be just as good as anything else. I figure I should get some of the knowledge now. Get a foot in the door, you know?"
Malfoy nodded distractedly. "That could be the first time you've actually ever thought ahead, Potter. Well done."
Harry was silent, considering. He realised that just might be the truth.
It didn't occur to Harry until after Malfoy had left that he hadn't actually told anyone, even Augustus, his reasons for helping out with the Healer activities. He couldn't really remember anyone asking him about it.
So why had he told Malfoy?
"Malfoy, I know you don't have an actual home, but surely you have somewhere better to be than interrupting my classes."
Harry heard Hermione's angry words echoing down the hall, and he quickly changed his direction, zeroing in on the fighting pair.
"I'm hardly interrupting. I'm giving you a hand. It's nice and all that you're teaching them an abridged version of history that will make them feel safe at night, but they have the right to know the truth."
"The truth? You're making yourself sound like a hero! If you want to tell them the truth, go in there and bare your arm for them. Let them know who they're all fawning over."
They came into view just as Malfoy was jerking up the left sleeve of his robes.
"See?" he said angrily. "No Dark Mark. I wasn't a Death Eater. Not really. Do you think Potter would have trusted me if there was any chance that I had been? He's an idiot, certainly, but not to that extent."
Harry hung back just around the corner of the hallway, just out of their sight. He was fairly certain that he wasn't meant to be a party to this little confrontation.
Hermione's expression was set in a grimace. "Fine," she said. "You can come back and see my students again. But some other time, please. And only because I trust Harry to send you away if you become too much of a liability."
"All right," Malfoy agreed, not sounding any happier about that than Hermione was.
"And if you don't watch your mouth more closely, I'll throw you out on your ear, I swear. Literally, if need be. I may not have the ability to curse you like you deserve anymore, but I'm sure you remember that I've got a decent slapping arm."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Maybe when you were thirteen, Granger. But I hope you've grown up a bit since then. The rest of us have."
Then he turned and practically flounced away from Hermione before she could say anything. She scowled and whirled on her heel as well, heading back into the classroom a few steps down the hallway.
Harry saw a whole classroom worth of students caught with their ears at the door as Hermione jerked it open. Harry similarly didn't have time to duck out of sight by the time Malfoy rounded the corner.
"Potter," he greeted. "I suppose you heard that?"
Harry nodded.
"Do you have a problem with our deal?"
"No. It's Hermione's decision, I think, what goes on in her classroom."
"Good. I actually was looking for you, before I heard Granger feeding absolute rubbish to those impressionable young minds. I wanted to give you this."
Malfoy held out a very large coin bag. Harry reached out for it and felt immediately weighed down by it. He missed magical purses.
"Just a little return on your investment to prove that I haven't appropriated your money all for myself," Malfoy said. "You might want to get that to Gringotts as soon as possible. I've seen the kinds of charity cases you get in here. I don't doubt that if any of them got wind of you having that sort of money lying around here, they'd take off with it in the blink of an eye."
And then he continued on his way down the hallway as Harry looked into the bag.
"Holy fuck," he whispered at the sight of all that gold.
Malfoy might have been a prat, but he certainly hadn't been lying about how well he did his job.
The Ministry raid on the Phoenix Alliance headquarters occurred only two weeks or so after that. Harry had been almost prepared for it to occur as soon as Malfoy had begun to acquaint himself with some of the inner workings of the resistance, Hermione's classes and Augustus's work most prominent among them. Malfoy had been at the Headquarters every day, sometimes spending hours at a time lazing around watching everyone else do their jobs.
Instead, though, the raid had taken place just as Harry was beginning to adjust to Malfoy's presence.
Harry hadn't actually been there at the time, but Malfoy – unsurprisingly – had. However, instead of joining with the Aurors who'd stormed into the building, he'd actually been forced to flee himself.
Harry heard later from Hermione about how Malfoy had burst into her classroom announcing that the Ministry was here, and he hoped she knew where on earth to find that idiot Potter, damn it.
Harry hadn't let anyone in on his plans to visit Gringotts and deposit some of the money Malfoy had earned him, as Malfoy himself had suggested, so they hadn't been able to reach him right away. He'd almost walked into the building while it was swarming with Aurors, and he hadn't found where the others had moved until he'd come across Malfoy hours later at the Leaky Cauldron.
Hermione had told Harry about the slightly panicked expression on Malfoy's face and how he'd informed the students that if they had any intention of spending the remainder of their lives outside Azkaban's walls, they should follow him, and Merlin help them if they fell behind because he certainly wouldn't save them.
If anyone would know of the sole secret passageway out of the building to relative safety, Harry wasn't at all surprised that it would be Malfoy. It explained how he'd let himself in past the guards all of those times. And he seemed in his recent visits to have made a career out of finding places to hide from Harry – and from the others – so that he could listen into private conversations and interject at the most embarrassing moment possible.
Harry could hardly believe that Malfoy had actually seemed to give a toss about anything related to the PA other than the money, and that he had even shown it in his own way. But then, he shouldn't have been so surprised. There had to have been a reason he allowed Malfoy to know more and more about the PA. And about himself, at that.
Malfoy was starting to get under his skin. Harry wasn't sure whether he was comfortable with that or not.
Of course, it didn't matter how secure (or not) he felt with Malfoy constantly under foot. His old rival appeared to be around for keeps regardless of how Harry felt. Harry often found him spending time telling the children stories and making himself out to be a war hero more often than not, with Hermione rolling her eyes from the corner of the room and interjecting whenever he got too out of hand.
"Why do you do that?" Harry asked him once after dragging him away. "Spend so much time with them, I mean."
Malfoy shrugged. "They're young. They look up to me. In fact, they're the only people around here that don't look at me like I'm scum at least half the time. Every adult here, especially Granger and the countless Weasleys still milling about, has that look in their eyes that says, 'I know what you did during the war and I still hate you for it'. Even you, Potter."
Harry refused to let himself look away guiltily.
"But all those kids know of what I did in the war is what I tell them, and they worship me for the person they think I am. The person I could have been. In short, spending time with the children here makes me feel more powerful than I really am. It's exhilarating, as very few things are these days."
Harry frowned. "If you love power so much, why didn't you become a Ministry official?"
Malfoy sneered back at him. "Oh, please. Malfoys do not get low-paid, under-appreciated jobs where we will blend into the host of others who do exactly the same thing. Malfoys do not work. We achieve our power through influence. Blackmail, if necessary. But never actual labour."
Harry's frown deepened with incomprehension. "So what do you call being my financial agent, if not work?"
Draco waved him off flippantly. "It's preparation for the day that I will be the most influential wizard in the world, of course. I can't do that until I've earned a little money. And it tickles me that Harry Potter is helping me do just that, so I also call it amusement. There's little enough of that in any of our lives these days."
"Oh please, Malfoy, don't go getting all maudlin on me."
"Don't worry," Malfoy replied, "you cry enough over every little thing for both of us. I wouldn't dream of stealing away your favourite pastime."
Harry would have poked his tongue out at his old nemesis, but he felt much too old to still be doing such childish things. Instead, he whacked him soundly about the back of the head.
That, of course, wasn't childish in the slightest.
"Watch it, Potter!" Malfoy said, but he didn't sound angry. Strangely, a small smile was creeping onto his thin lips. "People will start thinking that you like me if you keep that sort of thing up. And then where will we be?"
Where would they be if everyone – themselves included – decided that Harry liked Malfoy, and that it might possibly be mutual? They hadn't actually fought since the war, for all that they bickered practically non-stop. That, if anything, was more a comfort than any real show of animosity. The world would surely stop spinning if Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy weren't sniping at each other during every spare moment, and sometimes even when there was no time to be doing so. Harry would miss it.
He would actually miss Malfoy, he realised, or at least something about him. Good Lord, what was wrong with him?
"The Ministry's having trouble yet again!" Harry said happily as he charged into the hospital area.
The last thing he expected to find in there was Augustus being pinned against the wall by Malfoy, who seemed intent on sinking his teeth into the Healer's neck.
Augustus, panicked by the sudden interruption, shoved Malfoy away from him. His face turned a shade resembling the red of a Muggle fire truck in the space of half a second.
"Harry," he greeted, his voice slightly shaky. Harry's eyes darted in between him and Malfoy, trying to figure out what on earth he'd just seen.
"Er, I didn't know you were gay," he finally breathed. "Either of you."
Malfoy sighed. "Honestly, Potter, you are so incredibly thick. Remember when you mentioned me never having children? The hint I dropped was more obvious than a hag doing a naked can-can across the Ministry."
It was Harry's turn to blush. "Oh. Right."
Malfoy muttered something like, "Clueless."
Neither of them noticed Augustus mumbling something that might have been – and probably was – an empty excuse, and stumbling out of the hospital room.
"So that's why you were so nice to him when you first met him," Harry said. "And why you've been spending a lot of time down here."
Malfoy shrugged. "You're down here all the time as well. Who else am I going to follow around when Granger kicks me out of her classroom?"
Harry laughed, and suddenly the whole thing seemed less tense and somehow funnier. "Right. As if. You hate me, Malfoy."
Malfoy frowned. "Of course I do," he agreed quickly. "And that's why I follow you; to annoy you. Honestly, why else would I go near you?"
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Whatever. So, is this why you've been spending so much time at Headquarters lately? Because you and Augustus…"
Malfoy seemed, for a moment at least, a little offended. Then he sneered, and whatever other emotion he might have been feeling was hidden.
"One day, Potter, you'll learn that it doesn't have to be all or nothing. You can be involved in something big like this little group of rebels and still find time for a quick snog against the wall. It doesn't have to mean you want to devote your whole life to that person, but everyone has needs. You can't go on forever without acknowledging that."
"I don't want to know anything about your needs," Harry said. "I think I've seen enough of them for one day, thanks all the same."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I'm not just talking about sex, Potter, Merlin. Like I said, you're all or nothing. People need other things."
He seemed to get a strange glint in his eyes, then, as if he'd just had a brilliant idea.
"Like right now, I think what you need is to forget about the PA for a day. A whole day, mind, Potter. We'll go out into Muggle London and I'll drink you under the table, what do you say?"
Harry would have liked to have said no, actually, but Draco didn't actually leave him with the choice in the end, for all that he seemed to like giving him the illusion of one. Instead, he dragged Harry out of the building. Harry sighed and decided that letting himself go for one day couldn't hurt too much.
It wasn't as if his day had gone particularly well so far, the news of the Ministry's woes aside.
"So Augustus says you're more or less qualified as a Healer. Or as much as you can be with only theoretical knowledge in a lot of areas, that is. Since, you know, there's that whole lack of magic-using thing holding you back. He says you shouldn't have a problem getting accepted into a proper apprenticeship in that field once this is all over."
Harry was really quite annoyed that Malfoy could still use big words all strung together like that. He obviously hadn't been drinking anywhere near as much as Harry had been. The dirty cheat.
"Once we can use magic again, that is," Malfoy added.
"Shh!" Harry giggled, suddenly not so pissed off. "Can't talk 'bout that here. Muggles, 'member?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "People talk about stranger things than Healers and magic in Muggle bars, Potter, trust me. And you're one of those people. You do realise you've told me you're not gay no less than eight times since we arrived, don't you?"
Harry frowned. "You keep asking me back to your place!" he slurred.
"So that you can sleep it off," Malfoy said, exasperated. "Get your mind out of the gutter. Honestly, Potter, that's it. You're coming to the Leaky and going to sleep even if I have to drag you. I won't have you continuing to make a fool out of me. I've got a reputation to uphold, even among some of the Muggles."
Harry couldn't see how he could possibly be making a fool out of anyone. Well, maybe himself, he supposed, if he was actually as drunk as he imagined. But then, Malfoy always made everything about him. It was annoying, really, and Harry was annoyed that he didn't feel more annoyed. How annoying was that?
Right, he thought, coherency and sense had apparently long since departed his brain. Yep, he was definitely drunk.
Harry therefore allowed himself to be pulled back to Malfoy's room in the Leaky Cauldron. He, unlike Malfoy, didn't even really notice the dust flaring up around him as Malfoy dumped him on the bed. Malfoy was just picky, was all. Such a prick. Picky and pricky. Harry giggled.
He had a feeling he was going to have a really enormous hangover in the morning, but for the moment he could hardly bring himself to care.
"Just sleep it off," Malfoy ordered.
Harry wasn't sure whether he complied or not. He supposed he must have fallen asleep for a while, because the next thing he knew there was a banging jerking him upright.
His head definitely was pounding quite a bit already, and it was still dark outside. He hoped he wouldn't feel any worse than that by morning.
"Was'sat?" he asked.
"Ministry of Magic," a voice announced loudly from outside the door. "Auror Department. Open up." The insistent banging on the door resumed.
Harry looked wildly around the room only to find Malfoy leaning casually against the wall in the corner, eyeing the door speculatively.
"Malfoy!" Harry hissed. "We have to get out of here!"
"Where exactly would you suggest we go, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "We're trapped in here. There's nowhere to run."
"We have to try," Harry insisted, clutching his aching head. "They're here for us. They must know something."
Malfoy smiled grimly. "I'm sure they do. But you're wrong about something. They're here for you, not us. They don't give a fuck what I've done. After all, I'm just your 'financial advisor'. You're the one who's been teaching magic and growing those 'illicit' plants they found on the roof of your Headquarters and sheltering people who the Ministry are warranted to arrest."
"You're abandoning me?" Harry gaped.
Malfoy shrugged. "You could say that. But actually, it's more like I'm turning you in. How do you think they knew you'd be here? Come to that, how do you think they knew exactly what you'd been up to? Just a few months ago, they'd heard nothing but vague whispers about some 'Phoenix Alliance' that may or may not exist and may or may not be headed up by Harry Potter. Now they suddenly have enough to charge you."
For the first time Harry grasped the enormity of what was happening. As the Aurors outside the door presumably grew impatient and decided to blast the door down, Harry clenched his eyes shut and turned away from both the sight of the Ministry officials rushing in to take him in hand and the sight of Malfoy just standing back and watching it happen.
There had been a time not so long ago when he'd expected nothing less of Malfoy than to stab him in the back. That time had passed. So had the time to be angry about it.
All Harry could feel was the hurt and betrayal.
He noticed Malfoy didn't meet his eyes from the start of Aurors' siege on his room to the moment when he was led out the door. He wondered whether that meant that he felt guilty. But then Harry realised that it didn't matter. Malfoy's feelings weren't going to be any help to him. Nothing could help him now.
When Draco went downstairs in the morning to collect his paper – for the Daily Prophet was no longer sent by individual owl, of course, since most owls were in lockdown under Ministry supervision – he wasn't at all surprised to see a Muggle photograph of Harry Potter's shocked face taking up most of the front page. Nor was he surprised, when he opened the paper to the main article on the next page, to see his own name repeated several times throughout the text, each time in a much more positive light than the press had written the name 'Malfoy' in years.
That just went to show how much of an influence the Ministry had. The Daily Prophet would never in a million years have said anything even vaguely positive about Draco without the Ministry leaning on them.
He wasn't exactly stunned when owls – obviously commissioned from the post office, since it was illegal to actually own an owl – began to fly in and out of his window steadily throughout the morning, leaving behind no trace of their presence but for the many smoking red envelopes that threatened to explode into screeching voices at any moment. They seemed to be waiting until all the Howlers had arrived so that they could all assault his ears in one co-ordinated attack. Draco would have to evacuate the room before that happened or risk being permanently deafened by the noise, he suspected.
He wondered what Ministry idiot decided that Howlers were one of the few 'necessary' magical items that should be capable of being made at the Ministry's magic stations.
When Hermione Granger burst into his room, Draco merely sighed, for he'd half expected that would happen as well.
"Have you told the Ministry all about the PA?" she demanded, her voice as shrill as any of the waiting Howlers could hope to be. "For once in your life, Malfoy, be a human being and tell me, so that we can save ourselves from the Ministry. There are innocent children involved, remember? Those children look up to you!"
"Oh, relax Granger; I haven't given anything about your resistance away," Draco snorted. "Why would I have? It would have served no purpose."
"You betrayed Harry," Granger said, "and he's our leader. That's a pretty huge thing to give away, I think," Granger pointed out bitterly.
There wasn't much Draco could really say in response to that, but that didn't stop him from being offended by her tone of voice all the same.
"How very astute of you, to have figured that out," he said bitterly. "I thought I'd hidden that fact quite well, what with my name being splashed all over that article and the thousand and one Howlers scattered all over my room."
Granger seemed stunned. "You aren't even sorry, are you? I thought you'd at least regret it just a little. Harry trusted you."
"No, I'm not sorry," Draco admitted, "and you shouldn't be either." He paused to allow her to take that in. "There may have been no reason to hand over your resistance, but there was certainly a reason for Potter's demise."
Hermione grimaced. "Do I even want to know what reason you might find for pretending to care, even just a little, about someone and then getting them locked away in Azkaban?"
Draco shrugged. "You don't have to listen, Granger. You can head right back out that door and I won't be sorry to see the back of you. But if you do want to hear it, let me put it this way. Potter was born to be a martyr. The only difference is that this time someone other than himself martyred him."
"Why? What is it you think you gave him up for?" Hermione asked, looking like she was on the verge of being completely horrified if he gave what she might consider to be the wrong answer.
Draco forced a smirk onto his face. "Give it a day or so and you'll see."
He turned to leave the room, since Granger obviously wasn't going to do so, and he didn't want to be in the same place as her any longer. Besides, those Howlers were beginning to look extremely ominous, as if they were gathering themselves for the big moment.
"Malfoy, stop," Granger ordered abruptly. "Half the resistance is waiting for you downstairs. You can't run."
Draco turned to look at her. "Who said anything about running?" He withdrew the thin, long piece of wood that was hidden up his sleeve. "I was planning on walking out. Sauntering, really."
Granger eyed the wand with more than a little fear, as if it was a dangerous object in and of itself, rather than because Draco was dangerous when he was holding it. "The Ministry will arrive the moment you cast a single spell," she said. "They can track wand use, or have you conveniently forgotten that as well as everything Harry did for you? You'll get both of us put in Azkaban right alongside him."
Draco ignored her entirely and cast a full body bind spell on her. Her limbs snapped into place and she fell onto the floor of his rented room, her eyes still wide. Those same eyes darted around as if trying to see everything that was going on in the room.
Except nothing was happening. After a few moments of still silence, Malfoy said, "Oh, look at that. No one suddenly appeared. I am so surprised!" Then his eyes hardened and the sarcasm left his voice. "The Ministry has bigger worries right now than me or you, Granger."
Draco turned once more and this time left the room and walked out of the Leaky Cauldron itself. He found himself feeling a little surprised that there weren't any members of the Phoenix Alliance waiting to ambush him, because he'd never really pegged Granger as the kind to be capable of a believable bluff.
But then, perhaps they had been gathered here, and had since been swept away in the chaos that he was certain awaited him just a few feet away.
Whatever the case, he was a little disappointed that he wouldn't see their faces as well as Granger's when he used his magic without any measure of Ministry control or consequences for the first time in years. It was exhilarating. He felt powerful again.
He walked out into Diagon Alley and the first sounds of angry yelling and perhaps even rioting reached his ears, as he'd expected. A man who appeared to be an Auror was frantically casting spells at the crowd that was descending upon him, but they easily overwhelmed him with their sheer numbers.
"That'll teach you to lock innocent wizards in Azkaban!" one elderly sort of witch screamed as she hit a Ministry official who'd lost his wand with her handbag.
"And that's for the Chosen One!" another witch yelled, waving a stolen wand about dangerously and getting a few spells off.
It had been a sad thing that he'd had to do, really. He would have preferred more time with Potter and his PA, at the very least. Though he doubted he'd ever admit it aloud, he'd grown somewhat attached to all of it, Potter especially. But considering that the public had already been annoyed at the Ministry due to their latest enforcements, it really had been the perfect time to put his initial plan into action. There had been nothing for it.
Draco forced a smile onto his face and walked into the near battle, drawing his wand once more and shouting his own accusations along the way just to add to the hysteria.
He watched as the Aurors retreated from the rebelling public and normal citizens brandished wands freely for the first time in several years.
People usually did exactly as Draco wanted, whether they realised it or not. It just so happened that this time his wants coincided with the majority's as well.
And if one person had to be sacrificed to achieve those ends, Draco decided he could live with that. He could make himself live with that.
Even if that person had to be Potter.
~FIN~