Disclaimer: Those wonderful characters are not mine. The Harry Potter universe (including all recognizable characters mentioned all institutions, situations, events and happenings) is copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and her corporate affiliates. The following work is fanfiction, which means that no commercial use is intended. Nor is any revenue being made from it or any website which it may be archived on.
Notes: Originally had the idea when I was signing in for hd_hols. Anyway, I decided to run with it. Currently unbetaed and needs tweaking... Feedbacks are always appreciated!
Summary: Harry's relationship had rather run its course; like a good stubborn Gryffindor, he was reluctant to acknowledge that despite he was the one who told Ginny they should spend some time apart. In the pursuit of a lead in his investigation, he was forced to go to an orgy, hosted by Marcus Flint. Who better to accompany him than a certain blonde? - Otherwise hopefully known as 'the seven days and nights that changed the course of Harry Potter's life'; under the surface, nothing was as it seemed.
Warnings: None for this chapter; unless the general concept of orgy offends you.
Hold the Mirror Up to Nature
"Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing so o'erdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature: to show virtue her feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure."
- Hamlet Act 3, scene 2, 17–24
Act I Nothing can come of nothing
"Nothing can come of nothing: speak again."
- King Lear (I, i, 92)
'Ginny, it's not about that – '
'Tell me what this's about then – ' While speaking anxiously, her head wavered in green flames. 'I've already explained to you… We had no idea Helena's date was working for Rita Skeeter… and I didn't say those things about you – she twisted my words around in her article again… you know how she's like…'
'I know,' said Harry, fervently. He ran his fingers through the dark, unruly raven hair, trying to push it back but his attempts were failing miserably. Every now and then the Rita Skeeter alike would fill the gaps in newspaper or magazine with whatever stories featuring him they decided to write. It irritated him to no end, something never changed, not even six years after the war. He didn't blame Ginny for that stupid article. He honestly didn't…
'So why don't you believe me?' asked Ginny, the hurt in her voice unmistakable.
'It's not that I don't believe you,' Harry heaved a sigh. 'I do. I really do. It's just – we're having some problems. Things between us aren't how they used to. We're – in different places right now. So I think we should spend some time apart, just to work things out – '
'You wanna spend time APART to work things out?' interrupted Ginny. 'Since when do people have to be apart to work things out? Besides, with the European Cup coming up and the training, I only get to see you once every month as it is. Sometimes even longer than that... You're in London and I'm always in different places. That's not APART enough for you?'
Harry felt dreadful. This wasn't the first time they had been down this road. If there was a word to describe him and Ginny, uneventful certainly wouldn't be it. Their first big relationship row happened not long after they got back together. Ginny was mad at him for spending time with everyone but her, despite the soon-to-ended summer. She was going back to Hogwarts and he was starting Auror training. Back then he was rather occupied by many things, in which case Ginny was understandably upset.
In a relationship, once one party admitted guilt to the other, the rest usually proceeded fast; he apologised, they then made up, and everybody was happy.
The second time around a sharp disagreement occurred when he took Luna to one of the Ministry's fundraising event for war orphans. At the time Ginny just signed up with Holyhead Harpies, and had been adjusting to the busy life of a professional Quidditch player. Luna was a good friend. It wasn't as if Harry had anything untoward in mind. Once he found out Ginny wasn't available on that day, he naturally assumed asking Luna to step in as his date wouldn't be a problem.
Ginny thought otherwise. According to her, Harry should've told her about the function before making the decision to take someone else, even though it wasn't an intentional mistake. Ginny was a feisty girl. That was one of the things Harry liked about her; she wasn't afraid to speak of her mind, to Harry or anyone. A heated exchange of views took place, with neither of them willing to back down at first. One minute Ginny was shouting, next minute she sat there sulking for saying unpleasant things to him.
After that they agreed that they should always be able to talk about their problems, in the events they had any. So they talked, through all their arguments, down to their two rescheduled wedding. Truthfully, Harry didn't know what had changed. He loved Ginny. But recently, actually it had been longer than what anyone could call 'recent'- they had been having disputes more often, over many things.
'Harry James Potter, look at me in the eye and tell me,' demanded Ginny in a solemn tone. 'Are you breaking off the engagement?'
'No, of course not,' drawled Harry, taking a moment to organise his words. 'Don't you see? I put my job before anything and so do you. We hardly ever get to spend time together. Our wedding has been put on held twice. And this business with the newspaper, like all those other things – so trivial, I know I shouldn't have cared but I do. It hasn't been great. Not for a while already. And we both know it. So maybe it's time we figure out what we want – '
'I'm not the only one to blame here,' Harry opened his mouth to speak. Ginny ignored him. 'We agreed we'd do it when we're both ready… Last time it was me. But you know I had to. I couldn't leave the team when Jessie went on maternity leave. How about the first time? It was you who wanted to wait until you qualified.'
'Gin, love, I'm not saying it was your fault; in fact, it's not anyone's fault. I just think carry on wedding preparation might not be a good idea right now – ' His voice tailed away into silence. That he had reasons for this, he knew full well. Enough had been said; keep going on would only mean repeating himself. Now it was up to Ginny.
Ginny glared at him. Her pretty face hardened, her lips pressed together in a thin line. 'Fine,' hissed Ginny finally. 'Have it your way. I mean, it's not as if either one of us is bothered enough to make plans for the wedding anyway…'
'Gin, don't be like this…'
Her mouth had fallen slightly, and her glistening eyes seemed more pronounced on her face. Harry lowered his head; he had not wanted to upset Ginny, however, it would be unsustainable to continue as they were.
'… I just need to ask,' snapped Ginny, the sudden stiffness made him clench his fist. 'What if I meet someone during this…' She paused for a few second, then she said to him, '… this so called separation. In fact, you could meet someone, too. Is that something you're OK with?'
Harry felt his stomach lurch: the momentum he had been building to talk to her was going to go right out the window. Straightening his shoulder he exhaled the breath that he didn't know he was holding. Briefly he sensed a tiny sliver of sureness – that had not happened in a long time, not in this way.
'That's the chance I'm willing to take.'
Some words changed everything, once said out loud.
xxx
Two months later
'You want me to WHAT?'
His voice reverberated, bouncing back and forth between the walls of the Minister's office. Too stunned to move, Harry was feeling a mixture of awe and horror; in return, Kingsley, Robards and Percy looked back at him with equally pained expressions. Percy went all red within seconds, and the resemblance was remarkable: the colour on his face was almost the same as his hair, just like his younger brother and sister when they were agitated. No. It was not a good sign, but how could this be? Last time he checked, fool's day was April the first, which came and went six months ago.
'Come again,' Harry said, keeping his voice as calm as possible. 'I don't think I heard right.'
His immediate supervisor exchanged a hesitated glance with Kingsley, waited until the Minister nodded. Then he turned back to face Harry. 'Harry, you see,' said Robards, coughing to clear his throat. 'The case you've been working on before Neville resigned, that one of dark artefacts being transported to England… '
Prior to Neville's departure for Hogwarts, where his friend and former partner took over the position as Professor of Herbology, they were investigating a case of dark artefacts being brought into the country for sell, by whom they initially thought to be a ring of strugglers. A pattern had begun to emerge after some time. There was no criminal organisation; it was leading to one person who had the means and the methods to target and blackmail different individuals with non-apparent overlaps in their background into carrying the artefacts.
The carriers didn't even know what they were forced to transport in exchange for silence, let alone the identity of their blackmailer, despite they all had shady past that was worth blackmailing. Once an item was brought in, the carrier and the buyer would meet at a private party to change hands. Any monetary consideration would be paid in the form of travellers' drafts, ordered in Gringotts and sent to the Leaky Cauldron in advance. By the time Harry and Neville caught up with the money trail, all those gallons would've been withdrawn in a foreign country, where they had no jurisdiction.
Some of the artefacts were retrieved before the end of summer. But there wasn't much to be done; the Wizarding Law was very old, written at a time in which Dark Magic was largely tolerated and Dark Items were considered 'artful'. The Ministry had been trying to pass a new bill to appropriately class and control Dark Items for years. To do that, they'd first have to deal with the rather ambiguous legal definitions set in the same era.
'… We have reason to believe another artefact will be brought in shortly and passed to the buyer at a country house party. Since it's your case, we thought you should be there – '
'Hang on,' said Harry, shaking his head. 'What evidences do we have to suggest the artefact, whatever it is, will be taken to this party where people are having an…' Having difficulties to say the word aloud, he swallowed hard. Dear Merlin, this was madness! 'ORGY?'
The effect was instantaneous. Kingsley and Robards stopped dead, their mouths opening and closing like goldfishes; Percy groaned, and from the look of him, he was about to burst into flames.
'Harry,' Kingsley managed a weak smile. 'I am given to understand that people go to this kind of parties to practice certain form of – liberation… you don't have to participate in their activities while you're there.'
And that was a real comfort?
For a minute or two none of them spoke. Harry grasped the arms of his chair, feeling their gaze on him. 'Is the lead concrete?' he said, finally.
'Well, a Madam Blanc came forward with the information. There were rumours going around in her establishment – apparently the seller will come to the party to deliver in person.'
'And this Madam Blanc… as in the owner of Ivory?' asked Harry.
'Yes.'
Brilliant, a brothel madam reported that a dark artefact was going to turn up at an orgy.
'If you don't want to go, it won't reflect poorly on you. But you know this case best. And we're being taunted.' Robards gritted out every sentence through his teeth. 'It's been said that this would be the last job. Since we came no closer to the person behind all these previously, this brute is fairly confident we can't catch him this time either.'
Harry had a very bad feeling about this; however, his curiosity was piqued. 'This party, what should I know about it?'
'Right, where was I?' Percy piped up, having seemly recovered. '… The party starts on next Monday. The event lasts seven days – hosted at Marcus Flint's country house. Attendants are mostly his business associates – a small, elusive group of people who share very – specific interest. It's by invitation only and every guest must bring a companion…'
Robards' voice chimed in. 'Which is why Mr Shacklebolt and I agreed that you should go in disguise, under the pretence of a companion. It'll be easier for you to gather information that way, and given that this party is so close to date, seeking out corporative guests will be difficult and risky. It may jeopardise your cover and cost us the investigation. Weasley came up with the best plan. We do have someone currently employed by the Ministry, who has a personal connection with Marcus Flint. His presence at the party won't raise any suspicion…'
Harry blinked; Robards couldn't have meant –
'… As far as we can tell, those guests are esteemed members of the society,' Robards snorted, 'that's another way of saying this kinky lot are rich, influential, arrogant and annoying…'
'Gawain, it's a private function,' said Kingsley in a reproaching tone. 'Unless we've evidences indicating illegal activities, which we don't, what they do in their own time is their business.'
'Are we sure they're not doing anything illegal?' said Robards doubtfully.
'Well, I guess that's another thing Harry can observe and find out,' replied Kingsley offhandedly. 'Having unpleasant personality isn't a crime.'
'… Anyway, this person has close ties to all old families. In fact, he is from an old pureblood family. So he will fit in there seamlessly…'
If Harry didn't think the dilemma could get any worse, it just did. Because there was only one person fit the said criteria in the entire building of the Ministry.
'Wait, WAIT, you're not talking about Malfoy, are you?' asked Harry incredulously.
'I'm afraid so, Harry.'
'I can't go with Malfoy,' wheezed Harry. His head felt like it had been pounded repeatedly by bludgers. 'For one, he's not even an Auror. Besides, I can't work with him…'
'It has come to my attention that you and young Malfoy aren't exactly friends,' said Kingsley patiently. 'But I do expect certain level of professionalism from both of you. Believe me, Harry. This is for the best. It's a closed group. People who go there are either somehow connected or know each other. He can get Marcus Flint to cooperate. Mister Malfoy is a highly competent wizard. He'll be able to assist you with the investigation. More importantly he fully comprehends the need for everything to remain confidential – '
'I can't believe this,' Harry blundered. 'Can we not just… maybe he can take Susie… wouldn't he prefer to take a girl to this party?'
'We suggested,' said Percy. 'He said "taking a girl with that figure would guarantee a failed investigation" and frankly I can't say I blame him…' It earned him glares from three of them. He held out his hands and added, 'his words, not mine.'
'Alright, alright, if we're done with discussing the appearance of my staff,' Robards waved a hand in his general direction. 'Harry, she's a second-year trainee. That single-handedly makes her unsuitable.'
He knew it was lame. It was his case, in all eventualities he should see it through, and Susie, a hard-working trainee, was one of the only two female staff in the Auror Division. The other one was Robards' secretary: a sweet, motherly mid-aged lady would've made great friends with Molly. Regrettably the division didn't choose applicants based on their looks at recruitment, and considering how long this orgy thing was going to be, many disguising methods they adopted would be difficult to administrate at that length of time.
'Okay. I'd do it.' Harry murmured, sighing in defeat. 'But I need to speak with Malfoy first. I want to get a grasp of what's what before I go there.'
'Percy will escort you to his office right now,' said Kingsley assuring. 'Just so you know… Mr. Malfoy has extensive knowledge of the Wizarding Law. His insights might really help you.'
Of course he did.
Harry cursed under his breath: better to get this over with before he started scowling.
xxx
Draco Malfoy
Junior Undersecretary to the Minister
Harry had never been to Malfoy's office before; occasionally he walked passed it, a pretty blonde girl sat behind a desk outside the office that had Malfoy's name on the door, looking busy with a nail file in her hand.
She jumped from her chair at the sight of them. 'Mr. Weasley, are you here to see Mr. Malfoy? And … Mr. Potter,' the girl burst into loud, high-pitched giggles. 'I'm Sicilia. I'm Mr. Malfoy's secretary – you see, I'm the secretary to the secretary…'
Percy rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to mutter 'Don't ask'.
'Oh, hi, Sicilia,' said Harry, with a polite smile.
'Should I make tea?' Sicilia asked excitedly.
'No. Mr Malfoy is expecting us.' Percy said flatly, knocking the door with a gold pledge. 'Just go back to whatever you were doing… Leave us.'
'Come in,' a muffled voice came through the door. Following Percy, Harry stepped into a small, neat office. Size-wise, Percy's office was easily twice as big; that was the office once belonged to Dolores Umbridge before she was tried and shipped off to Azkaban. Percy moved into that one when he was promoted to Senior Undersecretary after some much needed re-decoration.
Harry looked around. One wall was lined with glass-fronted cabinets, which revealed precisely aligned thick books and bounded volumes. On the other wall were two paintings, and a few chairs stacked up against the wall, next to a strange plant that had glossy, big, green leafs in the corner. Even with the smallness of the room, everything was well-kept. Behind a wooden desk, a man dropped the quill in his hand and looked up: there sat Draco Malfoy, short, platinum blonde hair brushed off his face, combed and parted to the side, sliver rimmed spectacles balanced on the end of a straight nose, and a pale face that seemed undoubtedly harsh even when it was expressionless – his old nemesis, snobby, condescending, one look at him made Harry's skin crawl…
'Good morning,' greeted Malfoy, directing his gaze at Percy.
'Morning,' said Percy, sounding more cheerful than he did minutes ago. 'I don't know how you put up with that half-witted girl. Can you imagine she just told Harry that ridiculous "I'm the secretary to the secretary" line? Honestly she has to stop saying that to everyone comes to the first floor – Harry, let's get seated first…'
Malfoy turned his head, as if he'd noticed Harry's existence for the first time. 'Oh, Potter,' he got up and pulled two chairs from the stack by the wall. Percy went over to help him, leaving Harry standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room.
'Take a seat, please,' said Malfoy, with overly elaborated casualness. 'I didn't hire her. It was Minchen's idea. Don't mind her – just think of her as an embellishment… at least she makes good tea.'
Percy gulped sharply.
'Embellishment? Embellishment? You're not saying Minchen has… put his hand in the jar, so to speak…'
'I can't confirm or deny anything I don't know of,' said Malfoy, smirking.
The smug smile that crept its way over the man's face was nauseatingly familiar: he'd seen it more times than he cared to count during and after his school years. Harry closed his eyes, picturing a world, in which hexing that stupid smile off Malfoy's face wouldn't land him months' worth of desk duty.
Draco took out a bottle of Portnahaven, which he kept at the bottom drawer in his office for times like the present; if he was to survive this meeting with his sanity intact afterwards, he couldn't think of a more appropriate beverage to numb himself, preferably lots of it.
'It's only eleven o'clock in the morning.' Potter eyed the three glasses disapprovingly.
Draco regarded the man in the chair; messy, uncontrollable black hair poking to all directions, criticising green eyes behind a pair of round glasses, dishevelled shirt under standard Auror black robes, and black tie hanging loosely around his neck. For a quick second, Draco thought, nothing ever changed.
'I think the circumstance calls for it,' quipped Draco, who didn't stop pouring. 'You're welcome to join me.'
'Relax, Harry,' Weasley pushed a glass into his hand. 'I wouldn't be surprised Mr. Shacklebolt and Mr. Robarts are having a drink as we speak.'
'So – since we're here, let's get this started, shall we?' Draco began, taking a long sip of Firewhisky. 'I've corresponded with Flint about the matter, and he – er – declares that what goes on in his country house, is simply the manifestation of… some aspects of life, expressing nothing but needs of people who wish to relieve themselves from social, and perhaps religious constraints, while the essence of the party may be contrary to – traditional morality – it is participated by consenting adults. The guests and their companions, during their stay, have a choice whether they'd like to take part in, what may be viewed as debauchery… It's not different from any other house parties in many ways, except at some point people will engage in – '
'That part I don't need to know,' said Weasley quickly. 'You two can talk this over in details without me.'
Draco resisted the urge to sniff at that. Apart from being overbearing, which Draco would rather not speculate where he got that particular attribute from, Weasley wasn't a bad supervisor; there were a lot of people in the Ministry, all of whom would've gladly made his job impossible if they had been in Weasley's position.
Still, what was he doing here if he wanted to be spared of obscenity? Draco took a calming breath and let it slid. For a house praised nobleness and bravery, Gryffindors' abnormal sensitivities were always an eye-opener. He should've known: the concept of nobleness and bravery was not without its merit separately; together they made a tiresome combination, and their persistent tendency to dig their noses into things which even they knew they wouldn't like what was underneath, while the reason was beyond Draco, it was, however, not his primary concern at the moment. The centre of his problem was sitting right in front of him, holding a glass with hesitation, the very picture of tenacious righteousness and likely to be the most abnormally sensitive of them all –
'Malfoy, this is not a judgement over people's choice of… lifestyle.' Potter hung his head with a low sigh, fingers pressing his temple. 'I need to know what I should prepare and bring to the party…'
'Okay. Whatever Auror stuff you'd need, of which I wouldn't know about – the important thing is, once you're there, stay close to me. If people say anything, or behave in any way you don't comprehend, ask me – or at least don't act like you don't understand… and you should have appropriate clothing…'
'I have clothes, and dress robes, too,' said Potter indignantly.
'Do you mean the same dress robes you wore to last year's Christmas Party and the year before that?' asked Draco, in the tone one would use to inquire other people's health.
'Yes. What's wrong with my robes?'
Perhaps Potter should rephrase his question to what was right with his robes.
'You need new attire. Your usual dress sense…' More like the lack of it, 'at that party would only draw unwanted attention. I've taken the liberty to book an appointment for you at Twilfitt and Tatting's, after work, six o'clock. They're fully booked. It wasn't easy to convince them to stay open after their normal hours. Anyway, it's done. It can't be delayed since they need time to make the clothes. So it's in everyone's best interest that you make this appointment…'
Potter's cheeks flushed. 'I don't think the division will let me expense that.'
The dry, somewhat defensive tone clearly said that Potter was offended by the implication. What was Draco supposed to do? Let Potter wear those hideous Muggle clothes he constantly had on whenever his snapshots appeared in Daily Prophet? That would go down well.
'Look, I sympathise. But people who go to this party have certain dress code.' And ill-fitted Muggle clothes definitely weren't it.
'All right,' Weasley moved, picking up where Draco left off just in time. 'Harry will make that appointment. What else will he need?'
'I will arrange transportation for next Monday. Until then, that's all Potter needs.'
'All sorted then. I shall be on my way.' Weasley gestured at two of them before he got up. 'You two, discuss.'
The room temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees once Weasley was out of the door. Draco didn't speak for a few minutes. He traced the edge of his glass with the tip of his finger until Potter broke the silence.
'So what do I need to know about the party?'
The golden boy wouldn't know what was about to hit him. Even though Potter was hardly a boy at the age of twenty-five, the media still insisted on calling him those silly names. And the idiocy of hero worshipping never got old; everything Potter did, the general public followed.
'Well, the guests are Flint's associates, or their associates. They can either bring their spouses, or hire escorts for this event…'
'Escorts?'
'Yes. Courtesans, rent boys, but only the pricy ones from the best establishment…'
'Best establishment?'
Merlin's balls! Did he have to stop and explain every little thing?
'For instance, Ivory – surely even you've heard of it,' snarled Draco.
He waited for the retort, but it did not come. Potter looked troubled. Avoiding Draco's wondering gaze he took a sip from his glass.
'As a matter of fact, I have. What I want to know is… what exactly do those people do there?'
'I've never been to one of Flint's parties under this variety. I'd assume it would be like any other orgies, you know, the usual stuff, twosomes, threesomes, moresomes, toys, bondage…' To Potter's credit, he hadn't choked on his drink yet. 'It's a weeklong event. An entire week of people having tea parties, luncheons, dinners… It may come as a surprise, they're no different than any other respectable, civilised human beings on the outside… although I can't speak for their mentality… In any case, probably at night, they'd fuck anyone they can get their hands on…'
'Okay, okay, I get the picture!' Potter said loudly, the blush on his cheeks deepened to an almost crimson colour. After a long pause, the boy wonder himself spoke, 'Why did you agree to do this, Malfoy? Won't people think it's odd you showing up with a man?'
'To answer your first question,' said Draco, with a smile of what he hoped to be enduring. 'I was asked by the Minister to help. So here I'm, trying to help. As to the latter, you have to be more specific. Why would people find the prospect of me going to the party with a man any less than ordinary?'
'Well, I don't know,' said Potter dully. 'Are you gay?'
So much for subtlety, to think that he hadn't exchanged two words with Potter in years, the man most definitely didn't hang about with his questions. Once again Draco thanked Merlin for small mercies; at least he had the foresight to have a glass of Firewhisky in his hand.
'I've had sex with men, and women,' Draco replied coolly, 'assuming that answers your question. I was brought up believing the word meant merriment or bright coloured.'
'Oh,' was the only sound came out of Potter.
The room fell into silence again. Draco swirled his glass in concentric circles, pasting a smile to his face but the warmth didn't touch the bottom of his eyes.
'Anything else you'd like to know now?'
'No, not for now,' Potter mumbled.
'Excellent. I'll see you at Twilfitt and Tatting's six o'clock sharp.'
'You're coming as well?' asked Potter, his eyes widened.
'I thought I'd save you time and trouble, unless you rather undertake the daunting task of choosing fabric and cut on your own.' Draco answered with a hawkish grin.
Harry didn't loathe Mondays in general. Today was, however, a different matter. After his less than pleasing meeting with Malfoy, he spent the rest of day running around, trying to put things in some kind of order. Firstly he had to agree with Robards on a cover story, which he later fed to the people in his division, including his current partner, Roger, a first-year trainee. They were told that he was taking time off for personal reason next week; only Ron and Robards knew otherwise.
He barely had time to deal with Ron's sparked outrage before going down to the Accounts Department to face a grumpy wizard who had a nickname of 'crazy old bat', which might have something to do with his ragged, dirty robes. No one would call him that in his hearing – that was because they'd end up in his office for expenses sooner or later. Personally Harry didn't have anything against him. He was such an ancient bigot, and there was a touch of comedy to it: you got to give it to the man – it couldn't be easy to be awful completely, thoroughly and consistently to everyone. Besides, he always gave in anyway, even with the epic rambling.
Harry sat and listened to his lengthy complaint, which was as dry as Billywig stings in Fizzing Whizzbees, and kept on going while he counted two hundred gallons one by one. All Harry had to do was to nod every once a while – yes, a note from the Head Auror wasn't the standard authorisation of staff expense; yes, it should've been an approved form of request sent via Interdepartmental Memo; yes, how was he supposed to account for this in the Annual Audit; and yes, those auditors were an absolute nightmare, whining about every little thing, whose entire purpose of existence was to make his life miserable, although it'd be impossible to imagine that he be more unpleasant.
Twilfitt and Tatting's was situated above a bookstore on one of the less popular off-roads. Harry had never been there since Madam Malkin's suited him just fine. Diagon Alley was quieting down when he got there, and he was getting late, so he darted down the pavement, with a bag of gold tight in his hand until he reached the door. The sign said 'Closed' but the light was on. A bell rang as Harry rushed through the door, racing upstairs.
'There you are.'
Only one room had its door open. Harry entered and found a beaming Malfoy sitting on a white sofa. He took a small step back, having seen the blonde man smiling like that in such close distance was perturbing. Determined not to be affected by the disconcerting feeling he was currently experiencing, Harry gave him a curt nod. The glass of bubbly in Malfoy's hand didn't escape his notice.
Truthfully, guilt had become his norm for the better part of the day, especially hindering in the hours he spent pretending that resources allocation was a matter of life and death. It wasn't his intention to sound judgemental, and he didn't even know how the conversation got awkward, which sex stroked Malfoy's fancy wasn't any of his business, that part he understood but he was going to an orgy with the man for seven days. Shouldn't he find out that sort of thing before he went?
This was too soon after the earlier encounter. Normally he hardly ever bumped into Malfoy –
'Champagne?' asked Malfoy, gracefully.
What was he on about now?
'Sorry, I got caught up,' said Harry, watching him closely. 'I don't like champagne that much. But thanks anyway.'
'Never mind,' said Malfoy, swivelling on the sofa to look the other way.
Harry glanced around uneasily: it was a spacious room, very expansively decorated. That figured, since he doubted Malfoy had brought the champagne. Railings were installed onto the opposite walls, and to his surprise, not many clothes were on display. There was a low table in front of the sofa, with lots of what looked like catalogues on it. They weren't alone; a wizard and a witch stood not far, both of whom stared at Harry with open interest.
'As I was saying, Oscar,' said Malfoy in an overly sugary voice. 'My good friend, Mister Potter, needs a new wardrobe for an upcoming announcement – very important – regarding a private matter…'
Astonished, Harry puffed. What was Malfoy talking about? What upcoming important announcement? Malfoy shot him a warning glance and continued, '… I do realise it's rather short notice. But the time is of essence here. And I know you're the best in the trade. Never compromise the standards of your service no matter what – Mr. Potter would really appreciate your timely assistance and consider it a personal favour. Wouldn't you say so, Harry?'
Harry nearly jumped. Out of all the bizarreness he came upon, hearing his given name slipping through Malfoy's mouth was one occurrence that was deadly close to the top of the chart. Making it worse, the blonde head turned as Malfoy gave him a dazzling smile. Before he said anything, the little old wizard hurried forward, grabbed his hands and shook erratically. 'Mr. Potter, it's – it's an honour,' the wizard muttered, voice trembling, 'please call me Oscar.'
'You should know that – ' said Malfoy, pointedly, 'only a handful of people get to call Mr Tatting Oscar.'
And Malfoy was one of those people. Harry felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. Never a moment like right now that he fully understood why Ron still referred to Malfoy as 'the slimy git' years after the war.
'Sure… Oscar…' Harry said, trying not to let his irritation show. 'I am a medium in size. Does this help?'
Suddenly everyone in the room was looking at him. The slimy git laughed. 'Oscar, why don't you take Mr. Potter's measurements while Elaine and I sort out the rest?'
Then Harry was led to a huge fitting room, surrounded by mirrors, and was asked to remove his cloak and jumper. Standing in a thin shirt and trousers, Oscar Tatting, the tailor, instructed Harry to stretch his leg, hold out his arm, bend down, all sort of poses that he had no idea of the significance. Everytime Oscar pronounced a measurement, a quill moved elatedly, recording lengths, girths as such onto a parchment laid flat on a small, antique-styled table by the glass wall. An interesting device.
And no, customers should be addressed by their titles and surnames, so Harry was informed. Oscar was very polite, a little bit too courteous; in less than five minutes he had already expressed his gratitude twice: how much a privilege it was to him that his shop was chosen to make clothes for Harry's 'upcoming important announcement'. Grounding his teeth, Harry made a mental note. He needed to have a serious word with Malfoy as soon as they were done.
When Oscar apologised, asking him to sit on his knees and keep his back low, Harry couldn't keep quiet anymore.
'Mr. Potter, this is for causal trousers, in case you need to wear it for sports, like Quidditch.'
'Do people have trousers made especially for that?' asked Harry, shocked.
'Of course, well-fit clothes make the man,' replied Oscar wistfully. 'My father always said that.'
'Right,' said Harry softly. After a few more poses, he got bored. 'So – do Mr. Malfoy and his family always shop here?'
'Er – no, I mean, yes, begging your pardon, it was like that before the older Mr. Malfoy was… put away. After that there were Mr. Malfoy and his mother. Then the war happened. They stopped for a few years actually,' Oscar said, marching towards the small table. 'It's been a difficult war… hard on all of us… many of our clients were not doing so well… and the Malfoys, the Ministry came down on them really hard… of course, Mr. Malfoy would've have told you all about it…'
He wouldn't have, but the tailor didn't need to know that.
'…A lot of people say they had it coming, but I always thought Mr. Malfoy was a very aspiring young man… My wife – Elaine's particularly fond of his mother, Mrs. Malfoy's ever the proper lady, always treats us with kindness, not at all like the new money, of whom I don't wish to name…'
Harry raised an eyebrow; he bet Madam Malkin and the Malfoys' house elves would have something to say about it.
'The older Mr. Malfoy's a gentleman with certain status, perhaps not so easy going, but not uncommon amongst the gentlemen of his rank… He's the type of man, how can I put this delicately… if he steps into the shop and I'm sitting down, I'll stand up immediately …'
That Harry couldn't agree more.
'With his parents moved to France, Mr. Malfoy is all alone in England. My wife worries about him sometimes. Those passing years haven't been easy for him; I'm so glad – didn't see this coming though – you and Mr. Malfoy are friends…'
Neither did Harry.
'Mr. Potter,' said Elaine, when Harry came out from the fitting room. 'It's all settled for you. We just need your address for delivery. And you would need to come in again for a fitting…'
'Another fitting?' asked Harry. Should he be worried that Malfoy chose clothes for him?
'Oh, it won't take long,' explained her husband, 'it's just that some minor adjustments may need to be made. Half an hour would be sufficient. Would Thursday do, Mr. Potter?'
'Fine, I come by at lunchtime then.'
After he stood by the counter in the centre of the shop, writing down number twelve, Grimmauld Place on a form, he picked up the invoice Elaine just placed on the counter and read:
Twilfitt and Tatting's
It is hereby agreed as follows:
1. 8 day robes;
2. 8 dress robes;
3. 1 winter cloak;
4. 8 under shirts;
5. 8 dress shirts;
6. 4 causal trousers;
7. 4 formal trousers;
8. 1 cashmere scarf;
9. 12 pairs of socks;
10. 12 undergarments;
11. 1 pair of leather gloves;
12. 1 pair of long boots;
13. 1 pair of short boots;
14. 1 house coat;
15. 4 sets of pyjama;
….
Harry didn't bother to read on. His jaw dropped, turning his lips into an 'O' shape. Questions swirled inside his head; he wanted some answers and he wanted them now. Striding across the room to where Malfoy was sitting, the poncy twit had his head behind newspapers.
'What is this?' hissed Harry, holding out the invoice.
The papers dropped. Malfoy casted a puzzling look, 'Can't you see? Is there something wrong with your glasses?'
'Malfoy, I swear to god…' said Harry angrily, in a low threatening voice. 'Why on earth do I need this many clothes – enough to last someone for a lifetime…'
'I'd hardly call that enough,' Malfoy let out a quiet snort. 'Some basic essentials – that's all… Before you blow up, it's not the place to have this conversation. Wrap it up… you can yell as much as you want with a Silencing Charm later.'
Harry shot him a furious glance. He couldn't wait to hear what Malfoy had to say.
'So how much do I owe you?' asked Harry as he put down the bag of gold on the counter. Those clothes could easily be several times over what he had in that bag. He took out his wand, ready to sign the receipt with magic so they could draw funds from his Gringotts vault.
'Already taken care of,' said Elaine, flushing. 'It's not my place – if you don't mind me saying so, Mr. Potter, what a great friend you have… and generous, too. Mr. Malfoy insisted everything of the best quality – want you to look at your best for your announcement.'
In incredible trepidation, Harry look away – he needed a second; it took utmost restraints to stop him from wrapping his hands around Malfoy's pale neck and strangle him…
'Explain, NOW.' Harry said in a commanding tone, his arms folded across his chest after casting a strong Silencing Charm. 'Give me one GOOD reason why I shouldn't hex you all the way to Christmas.'
They were standing at the far end of the street, safely away from the view of Twilfitt and Tatting's massive glass window.
'Stop getting your knickers in a twist, Potter,' Malfoy shrugged. 'You may be unaware, but Flint's guests shop at Twilfitt and Tatting's, too. Do you really want to take the risk?'
'That I figured as much,' said Harry. 'But why do you have to tell such a lie? What important announcement could it be in case I'll have to tell them there is NONE?'
'Seriously, Potter,' said Malfoy, taking off his glasses to wipe off the invisible dust with a handkerchief, a handkerchief. Who used handkerchief in this day and age?
'… It doesn't matter to anyone what this announcement is. You get the clothes, Mr. and Mrs. Tatting get the business, and I get that part of job done. All's well that ends well.'
'I'm not comfortable with telling people lie for no reason,' Harry argued.
'Really? Given your line of work?' Light eyebrows shot up, grey eyes fixed on him.
'That has nothing to do it; besides, they're not suspects in my investigation… At lease I don't need information from them.'
'Since you're the Auror here, I'm not going to point out how much people like to tattle when they visit their tailor. Anyhow, if you so need to feel better about it – I shouldn't have to counsel you on this – just tell them you are about to tie the knot with the Weasley girl or something, although how upcoming the announcement is – isn't up for discussion…'
'What?' Harry found himself shouting, as he dropped his arms to his sides with considerable force, having had just about enough. 'Leave Ginny OUT OF THIS. You don't know ANYTHING about my life… Just because Mr. Shacklebolt asked you to help, you don't get to poke your nose into where it doesn't belong…'
'Well, I'm glad that's established,' Malfoy said in an indifferent voice, his gaze unreadable behind half-closed eyelids. '… Remember to bring everything on Monday. It isn't done to wear the same clothes more than once at that party. I still have two more hours work to do in the office so if you'll excuse me – '
'Wait, how much are those clothes? I need to pay you back.' Harry called out.
'I won't miss the gallons. Think of it as a token of goodwill then – I owed you once… those might come in handy, in case you need to make that important announcement…'
A slight, odd smile played upon Malfoy's lips, he was looking at Harry but then his eyes drifted away, to somewhere far away. With a cracking sound he Disapparated, vanishing from Harry's sight.
Which left Harry feeling like an overset idiot.
xxx
Hermione and Ron had taken a nice, cosy house together in Upper Lydbrook over a year ago. It was close to the place that held many memories for three of them: sat within its own grounds adjacent to the brook that flew into the River Wye, with the western edge of the Forest of Dean right behind them. Their home had quickly become where Harry spent relaxing and joyful moments when he wanted to get out of London for a little while. There was so much to do; taking long walks in the forest, having a pint at the local pub – Ron never got used to the taste of beer, nevertheless it didn't bother him all that much, the screaming Muggle around the telly at sport event seemed to fascinate him, which made it well-worthy.
'The pasta's really good,' Harry complimented Hermione on the penne with tomato sauce and cheese she made. It was a little on the spicy side, and the penne was overcooked, but he couldn't say that to his friend, who cooked after a long day at work.
She smiled at him across the table, picking up her glass of Shiraz for a sip. 'How did the fitting go?'
'It was fine,' Harry rubbed his nose nervously. He and Ron both thought that they should keep the nature of the party to themselves. Best friend or not, it wasn't quite the thing to say to a girl.
'Did you manage to get the shop owners to tell you the price?' asked Hermione. Next to her, Ron lifted his head from the plate.
'Noooo,' Harry replied with annoyance. 'Apparently, although the clothes are made for me, Malfoy paid for them and left his magical signature. Therefore, they owe a duty to him, not me. I'm not a customer – not in contractual terms, they can't release that information to me.'
'I don't know why you go through all that trouble, mate,' said Ron, sitting up in his chair, '…the way I see it, take that two hundred gallons and spend on what you like, Malfoy doesn't want it, so don't give it to him…'
'Hey, that's not nice,' said Hermione shrilly, poking him in the rib.
'Ouch!' Ron protested, squirming away. 'Come on, this is Malfoy we're talking about – he said he wouldn't miss it.'
'That's beside the point,' said Hermione. 'I think Harry's doing the right thing. He can't just take all those stuff – not like that… it probably costs a fortune…'
Draco Malfoy was once a snide bully with self-esteems issues he richly deserved. School years were such a long time ago, they were young, brash and never saw eye to eye; when Harry looked back over the confrontations they had at Hogwarts, many of which he didn't behave any better. He would like to think of himself as someone who wasn't so easily provoke. But that opinion was constantly challenged when Malfoy was around.
Lost in thoughts, Harry ran his hand through his hair. A few days ago, he strolled down the empty street haphazardly, after Malfoy backed down from a fight and bolted. The frustration welled up inside of him was horrifying – what should have a good thing made him feel unsatisfied; he couldn't possibly miss quarrelling with Malfoy, for Merlin's sake, the git always brought out the worst of him. Maybe he should owl Robards first thing tomorrow morning. There must be some other ways to solve the case; the party was a terrible idea… no choice in hell it'd work.
'Harry, are you okay?' said a voice, drawing him back to where he was. 'You're pulling your hair again.'
He looked up and found his friends had stopped bickering. 'Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking about the case.'
'You know,' Ron exclaimed, and he had that look he always had on his face when he was struck by a sudden inspiration. 'It could've been Malfoy behind all those dark artefacts struggling business…'
'On what ground?' asked Hermione, bewildered.
'Oh, let's see, how about because he's Malfoy? God knows how many dark artefacts he has at home… Think about it, he gets involved in an investigation of his own crime, that way he makes sure it can't be solved.'
'Stop it, Ron! That's ludicrous.' Hermione said at once. 'You know his father turned over all their dark artefacts to the Ministry after the war.'
'I don't know, mate,' Harry had to agree with Hermione. 'It seems a bit of stretch.'
'Are you two honestly telling me you don't believe he's capable of something like this?' Ron bellowed. 'I mean, are we supposed to take their words for it? They could have those things stashed somewhere. They are Malfoys, they lie, cheat, manipulate – besides, the whole blackmailing thing reeks of Slytherin to me...'
'That doesn't mean he's the one behind it,' said Harry mildly. 'The evidences indicate someone who goes in and out the country frequently and spends lots of time ploughing into people's past… when would Malfoy have that kind of time?'
'Who knows what he does in his spare time?'
'Wait,' said Hermione, consideringly. 'When exactly was the last withdrawal made in Madrid? Wasn't it near the end of May?'
'Friday, twenty-eighth of May,' Harry replied, remembering all too well of the bank's reluctance to cooperate.
'He couldn't have done it,' said Hermione, confirmatively. 'He was in International Confederation of Wizards Conference that day. I was there, too. He gave a speech. It was all day long and there was dinner afterwards.'
'He could've gone and come back…' Ron insisted.
'Oh yeah, gone to Madrid and come back during a bathroom break without triggering the alerts on International Apparition?' Harry shook his head. 'Really, Ron, even Malfoy would think you give him far too much credit.'
'Why is everyone so eager to defend him?' said Ron gruffly.
'I'm not defending him… I just don't think it's him…'
'The war ended years ago,' said Hermione reasonably. 'We were children back then – all have done things we're not proud of… In the eyes of law, the Malfoys have paid for their war crimes.'
She sighed softly and continued, 'I hear he's done a lot in – enabling the communication between old families and the Ministry… I'm not saying he's an average decorous person, or even remotely friendly… but he does he job well, and Harry can use his help on the case…'
'First Percy… now you…' Ron squeaked, looking distressed. 'I don't believe this – my girlfriend starts to talk about that tosser like a silly girl – Harry, you know those ones from Improper Use of Magic Office…'
'I sound like nothing of the sort,' said Hermione impatiently, throwing dirty looks at Ron.
Harry tried to keep a blank face but felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Malfoy definitely had a fan base within the Ministry. Last Christmas Party when he accompanied Kingsley, who was greeting staff at every table – the Auror Division was seated next to the Improper Use of Magic Use, some young girls behaved a little too – enthusiastic. Everyone laughed it off with good humour; Ron, not surprisingly, didn't see the joke.
''Mione, why don't you go put your feet up in the living room while Harry and I tidy up?' said Ron, standing up from the chair. His quick temper usually splattered like summer hailstones and soon melted away. The topic of Malfoy had been forgotten by the time they finished a whole container of apple crumble – Waitrose sold marvellous deserts. Harry got up to help him.
'All right,' said Hermione, taking her wine glass with her.
As soon as she left the kitchen, Ron made a gesture, signalling him to move closer. Harry collected the rest of dirty dishes, walked over, and stuck them in the sink.
'Are you excited about this party?' asked Ron.
'Yeah, thriving,' said Harry half-heartedly, as he leaned against a cupboard, opening a bottle of Butterbeer. 'Like a June bug in July.'
'Come on, Harry, if half of things Malfoy said about it were true, it must be some party, I can't believe you're not at least curious…' Ron roared, tapping his wand over the dishes.
Harry gave his friend a scandalised look. 'I am going there to work a case… and I'm still engaged to your sister… thank you very much!'
Straightening the table clothes Ron's movements stiffened. 'Oh… that…'
'Oh what?' asked Harry.
Ron inhaled deeply, swinging around to face him. 'You know how me and 'Mione said we were to stay out of – whatever problems you and Gin are having,' he said, his gaze fixated on the nearby wall. 'I'm gonna say this now and I'm gonna say it just once – Harry, you're my best mate. Even if – even if you and my sister – don't work out, nothing is gonna change that…'
'Ok…' Harry responded quietly; it was rather that he didn't know what to say. 'So you think – we won't work out?'
'No,' the redhead cried. 'Errrrr… I know it'd come out wrong… Look, if you can work things out, that's brilliant – but if it doesn't, we won't hold it against you… we know you've tried…'
'Who is we?' Harry parroted, sheepishly – his brain seemed to be struggling to absorb this piece of information.
Ron looked at him, eyes full of concern, mixed with embarrassment and unease. For a moment he almost thought Ron wouldn't tell him, but then his friend muttered, 'Mum… dad… Bill… Charlie… George… everybody, really…'
'Oh,' Harry breathed, feeling his spirits slip further. Surely Ron wasn't saying everyone expected him and Ginny to … break up? They were… figuring things out, that didn't necessarily lead to estrangement, did it?
'What I'm trying to say is,' said Ron, trying to make light of the conversation. 'You're family. That won't change… we're not taking sides… we just want you to be happy – both of you…'
'I need time – to – to process this…' said Harry slowly.
'All right,' said Ron. 'But if you have some fun at that party, I won't judge you.'
'Not the party thing again,' said Harry hoarsely. 'I don't know what to expect. It just sounds so… carnal…'
'Isn't that good?' said Ron, bracingly. 'Maybe this is exactly what you need. Meet some pretty girls there – might help to put things into perspectives… Archie didn't shut up for mouths when his squad did a sweep at Ivory… apparently those girls all wear corsets and really low robes…'
No one could accuse Ron of being a prude, as it seemed.
'I can't say I envy you though…' he heard Ron babbling on, 'going there with Malfoy, just be careful… don't touch things he's touched, if you know what I mean…'
'What are you on about?'
'You were there when Seamus told us –' said Ron, trilled. 'The little shit shagged everything that moved at school when they all went back to do the last year. Were those girls on something? Who'd shag him in their right mind…'
'That's really…' What he wanted to say was that got nothing to do with him. But Ron, who was too far in his own world to have heard Harry, went off like a derailing train.
'… Who knows where his bits have been… It's gross… What do those girls see in him? He's MALFOY…'
Since he was going to an orgy, who knew where anybody's bits had been…
'Are you talking about Malfoy again?' Now came Hermione's voice; they turned, she was standing by the door with an empty glass in her hand.
'Nothing, just something Seamus said before,' said Ron, a bit too quickly.
'Ron was just saying that Malfoy was very busy with… girls at school, you know, the eighth year…'
Perhaps not just the girls, which part he didn't tell Ron and Hermione, Harry paused, however colourful Malfoy's sex life was, it really didn't concern him. Not sure how much Hermione had heard, he decided it'd be best to let her deal with Ron.
And she didn't disappoint him. While pouring, she shot Ron a side-glance with just enough malice to keep him on his toes. 'That's relevant… how?' She asked, looking disinterested.
'He's a pervert…' whispered Ron.
'For heaven's sake,' said Hermione fiercely. 'Don't tell me you actually believed everything Seamus said – who likes to spin a yarn… Malfoy wasn't doing anything what a lot of others weren't at the time – many people were getting drunk and being wild at school… that was just how things were right after the war… you'd be clapping and cheering if that was your mate…'
'The point is – he isn't my mate…' said Ron, exasperated.
Harry laughed; Hermione tried to look serious, but she broke into soft chuckles; after a few seconds, Ron gave up and joined them in raucous laughter.
He felt his heart warmed; no matter what happened, he owed it to his friends, who made his life wonderful, never a dull moment since he first met them when he was eleven years old. A life in a cupboard under aunt Petunia's staircase, as wretched as it was, and indeed the preparation was not greatly in vogue, became a page from the past on the day he learned he was a wizard.
xxx
Harry came out of the fireplace of number twelve, Grimmauld Place; the house was dark and quiet, Kreacher must have fallen asleep, most likely in the kitchen. Harry told him many times he could have the room on the first floor, which was much nicer and bigger, but the old elf never listened.
Lighting up the lamp, Harry didn't go to his bedroom straightway. Instead, he surveyed the pictures on the top of the fireplace: one of his parents, one of him, Ron, Hermione at school, one taken at the engagement party thrown to celebrate Ron and Hermione's engagement as well as his. In the picture, Ginny looked so pretty in a mint dress, four of them laughed so freely, faces radiated with happiness. He watched his picture-self wrapping an arm around Ginny's tiny waist; she gave him a bright smile in return, her eyes glowed with admiration and love.
He strived to recall how he felt at that precise, captured moment. The blissful joy, of which he thought that it would last a lifetime, went away as if it withered with age and fell apart over time, now he remembered its name only. He missed those days, everytime when he looked at Ginny, watching the joyous light flash into her eyes, and the vivid excitement of being in love and being loved.
Then he realised; how much he longed to rejoice, to be assured, to feel the sensation as of being thrilled.
At times he told himself perhaps things got complicated as they grew older, but Ron and Hermione were able to overcome their differences and build a life together. Why couldn't the same happen to him and Ginny? Harry sighed, sadness rushed over him. What was he going to do?
His breathing hitched, echoing in the empty room; there was no answer.
To be continued...