Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I making any sort of profit from writing this.
Notes: Be gentle, this is my first attempt at Drarry, or a decent Harry Potter fic in general. ...Even though I've shipped these two since I was like 12. God I'm getting old. This is set post Deathly Hollows, and canon up until the ending of the war, but ignores everything that happened afterward. They're about 25 years old in this. IDK how long this is going to be; I'm just kind of pulling it out of my arse as I go along. So yeah, I would really appreciate any feedback you guys are willing to give me. I've moved this story from my other account that I'm going to be deleting (IDK how I wound up with two), so if you've seen it there before, that would be why.
Also, please pardon my mixture of American and British spellings of things; they're both right as far as I'm concerned. I'm British but I've lived in the US for a long time so hell if I know which way's up anymore. XD
Warnings: Homophobia (internalized and not), swearing, canon-typical violence, angst and PTSD/Depression symptoms. Lots of fluff too, later in the story. It's not all angst, but it's definitely there. The individual chapters containing this type of stuff will have a warning attached. Rated M mostly for the swearing and adult themes, there's no actual graphic sexual content.
Chapter One: The Nightmare Begins
"You're joking." He'd heard it wrong; that was it. There was no way they'd assign him to Potter. No, surely not. What if that evil Malfoy boy corrupted the great, glorious savior of the wizarding world? Draco stared up at Kingsley in a mixture of horror and disbelief. Kingsley stared right back without so much as flinching.
"I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, I am not joking. Starting immediately, you will work as Potter's assistant. In six months time, depending on his evaluation of your performance, you will be officially recognized an Auror. If Potter does not give you a passing grade, you will have to retake the written and practical portions of the Auror training course before you can attempt another internship," Kingsley told him firmly. Draco was sure he'd repeated at least some if it; he nearly fainted when Kingsley mentioned an internship with Potter. "I think this will be a good learning experience – for both of you," He added, with a hint of a smirk.
Draco barely managed not to groan aloud and tell Kingsley where he could shove his 'learning experience'. "With all due respect, Minister, this is going to be a bloody disaster," Draco whinged, knowing it was futile. Kingsley wouldn't change the assignment after he'd made up his mind. He shouldn't even be complaining, really. Sure, it was going to be hell working with Potter, but it was thanks to that miserable git that he'd been accepted into the Auror training program in the first place. The ministry had refused his application due to his past involvement with the Death Eaters, but Potter had asked them to reconsider. He loathed to think about it, but he was definitely in debt to Potter.
"Being an Auror means you will find yourself in more than a few life or death situations, and that means trusting your fellow Aurors to have your back when you find yourself in a mess. If you can't set aside your differences with Potter enough to maintain a civil professional relationship, you won't make it as an Auror," Kingsley explained irritably. "Think of this assignment as your final lesson. Pass or fail; the choice is yours. Unless you have any further questions or pointless complaints, Potter is waiting for you in his office."
Draco stared hard at the ornate carpet beneath his feet. "Fine," He said and swept out of Kingsley's office without waiting for a reply.
He nearly had a nervous breakdown as he slipped into the closest elevator that was jam-packed with ministry workers, and little paper memos flitting around the ceiling. How was he going to do this? Potter hated him. Maybe he thought Draco had some good in him, but he still hated him. Unconsciously he traced his finger along the serpentine scar that was hidden under his shirt. Maybe he didn't want to do the things he did back then, but he still did them because he was too much of a coward to stand up to his father. He deserved to be hated. That was why he chose to become an Auror – to vindicate himself. He couldn't afford to fail. Failure wasn't in his nature; A Malfoy never backed down from a challenge. He stepped off the elevator on the floor where the Aurors' offices were and took a deep breath. He knocked three times on the door with Potter's name next to it. There was no turning back.
"Come in!" Potter called. "Mind the kneazle, she bites people she doesn't like."
Draco cringed and nearly tripped over the obnoxious white furball in question. She was asleep on the floor, sprawled out like she owned the place, right in front of the door. "What's with the kneazle, Potter?" Draco asked with a sneer.
"You know how the Auror department has that stupid white elephant party during the holidays every year...?" Potter said awkwardly.
"The one I have managed to avoid for the entire three years that I've worked here?" Draco supplied, sidestepping the kneazle that made a half-arsed attempt to claw his ankle as he walked by. She was wearing the most ridiculous pink rhinestone encrusted collar Draco had ever seen. He almost wanted to vomit.
"Yeah, that's the one. I know you'd never take my advice, Malfoy, but don't go. Ever. Her name is Princess Amelia Von Fluffybits. Just call her Princess. Or ignore her; I mostly do," Harry quipped, and looked up from the day's copy of the Daily Prophet. The front page, of course, had a photo of him with the headline: 'Harry Potter: Gay Crisis?'. Draco tried, and failed, not to smirk. He wasn't sure if it was good or bad that the Prophet was still tearing Potter's public image to shreds at every given opportunity. It had been ages since he'd read the Prophet; maybe it was time to pick up a copy. For entirely wholesome, non-blackmailing uses, of course.
"Gay crisis? Seriously? Don't take this a complement, but that's fucking pathetic even for them," Draco drawled and seated himself on the small sofa near Potter's desk. The place was a mess. There were piles of paperwork on every flat surface, and kneazle hair on everything else. Draco tried not to think of how many little white hairs would be stuck to his black coat when he got up. He cursed himself inwardly and wondered if he was going to be responsible for the appalling amount of ignored paperwork. Probably. That was how his luck seemed to run these days.
"So, I have an intern," Potter commented, ignoring Draco and furiously balling the newspaper up in his hands much more violently than necessary. Draco barely managed not to make another jab at Potter as he set the Prophet on fire with a prod of his wand.
"You do," Draco said glumly.
"I'm going to skip the whole safety and teamwork speech Kingsley expects me to read you. It's nauseating and pointless since we're probably going to kill each other anyway," Harry complained disgustedly, and dropped a thick parchment scroll into the overflowing waste paper basket beside his desk. "What we are going to do, is something practical. I've got a few reports of 'strange accidents' coming from muggle London. It's probably nothing, but we'll have a look."
"Wonderful. Fraternizing with muggles. How far I have fallen," Draco whinged, and considered aiming a kick at Princess who was inching ever closer to him with murder in her beady yellow eyes. Harry ignored his comment, though it was obviously costing him some serious effort to do so. "So, what are these 'accidents', exactly?"
Harry handed Draco a suspiciously thin case file. "I'd tell you, but you might as well read it for yourself so you don't miss anything important."
Draco snatched the folder from Harry's hand. "...A total of three suspicious deaths in the same borough in the past week, former death eaters suspected," He glared at Harry over the top of the file. "And how often is it actually former death eaters?"
"Malfoy, be realistic. You know the answer to that as well as I do, but the ministry is still run by a bunch of bitter old farts. Shut up and read it – all of it. I'm going to get us a cuppa, and then we'll get started," Harry snapped and stalked out of the room without waiting for a reply. He was being surprisingly civil, all things considered, but Draco could see the tension in every line of his body as he nearly slammed the door behind him on his way out.
Almost never, you mean, Draco thought to himself. What a lot of people didn't realize, was that not every death eater wanted to be an evil bastard. A lot of them did it because they thought it would keep their families safe. ...That if they were on the Dark Lord's good side when the shit hit the fan, they might not have to bury their children. They were good people in over their heads. The ones that actually supported wanton murder had mostly been rounded up by the ministry within weeks of when Voldemort had fallen. Draco ran his fingers through his white-blonde hair unconsciously in irritation. Potter was certainly a lot harder to piss off than he had been when they were younger. He ducked out of the office and into the messy little lounge on the Aurors' floor. There was still a copy of the Daily Prophet laying on the coffee table. With an amused smirk, he scanned over the article about Potter's supposed 'gay crisis'. It was drivel, of course - nothing but a load of garbage about how Potter's failed relationship with the Weaslette, and his lack of a replacement hinted at a preference for men. Draco wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he'd hoped it might be something more entertaining at the very least.
When Harry returned, Draco was innocently sitting on the couch as he read over the case file. The victims had no known connection to each other, and had all died under questionable circumstances. The only similarity was that they all seemed to be running from something. One man had thrown himself off the roof of the office building he worked at, screaming about a monster chasing him. It was the only one that made the muggle news on a major scale, and probably only because of the man's splattered remains having caused horrendous traffic delays on the street below. The second man was hit by a train that he ran in front of, but a later investigation showed that he'd gouged his eyes out with his own hands. It made the muggle news, but only suggesting that the man was a drug addict and that there wasn't anything suspicious about it. Draco wondered what they'd seen that would prompt such reactions. The third had not ran, instead he'd reportedly refused to leave his cellar, and told his wife that it was the only place he was safe from the thing chasing him. His wife burnt the house down while cooking, killing him anyway. 'Probably nothing', Potter had said. It couldn't possibly have been any more of an understatement.
"Well, what's your opinion on that mess?" Harry asked and handed Draco a cup of tea which he took a sip of without even thinking about it. He loved a challenge, and in spite of having to deal with muggles, the case was the most interesting thing he'd gotten his hands on in a while. ...Interesting enough to make putting up with Potter bearable for a while.
"I'm not entirely sure; we need more information. It's one of two things, though: A curse that causes its victim to see something they're scared shitless of, or some kind of escaped creature. I know several curses it could be, but magical creatures aren't really my thing," Draco replied thoughtfully. "The real question is the motive, which might give us some insight as to who's behind the attacks."
"I thought the same things," Harry Admitted. "But, if it was a creature we can probably assume that it would have been seen by more muggles. There aren't any reports of strange new animal species roaming London popping up on their news, though."
"True," Draco conceded. "There's nothing else to go on, though?"
"Nope. Believe it or not, the ministry doesn't let their little golden boy actually do anything dangerous," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I get the stuff no one cares about, which means no one actually investigated this. ...Either that or they expect me to do everyone else's paperwork, without questioning the stuff they try to sweep under the rug."
"Aww, they're afraid sweet widdle Potty might get a boo boo. Fucking brilliant." Draco groused. "So we really do have to fraternize with muggles."
"Yup. Got any muggle clothes?" Harry replied in an equally dismal tone.
At least he's not enjoying it either, Draco thought somewhat happily. "No, why would I?"
"For situations like this!" Harry retorted.
Draco grumbled under his breath about just not wearing his robe, that his dress shirt and slacks were good enough. Harry dug in the closet nearby and threw a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt in Draco's general direction. He barely managed to dodge the jeans as they hit the wall behind where his head was with a soft thud. "Put those on for now, but buy your own for next time!" Draco wished he could just literally die for what had to be the fifth time that day. At least the clothes seemed to be clean, albeit wrinkled. How had this become his life?
The first order of business was to visit the widow of the man who had fallen from the office building. Draco sat on a couch beside Harry in her revoltingly lavender sitting room, and wondered if he'd ever been a part of anything so bloody surreal. There were little framed photos of every ugly toy poodle that the woman had ever owned on every flat surface in the room – the walls, the tables, etc. It reminded him so much of Umbridge's office that it made him literally nauseous. It was no wonder the poor bloke had offed himself. And, to top it all off, he was wearing Harry fucking Potter's pants that were just a little too tight in the crotch. Potter just sat there, feeding the woman some story about how they were paranormal investigators who wanted to research the circumstances concerning her husband's death. It wasn't entirely a lie. Draco squirmed uncomfortably and stared at the odd little brass Kirin statue above the mantle. It was the only thing in the room that wasn't pink or lavender. He wondered if he could cast the killing curse on himself. At least it would be over quickly, and maybe painlessly.
"Isn't that right, Draco?" Draco blinked and stared blankly at Harry.
"Yes, of course," He said smoothly, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. Maybe, if he was lucky, Potter had been talking about how good of an idea it would be to go back to the Ministry now. Or, maybe that he should just obliviate himself so he never had to remember wearing Potter's pants.
"So, we'll talk to the next family and see where to go from there," Harry said, ushering Draco out of the house. "You could at least try to contribute!" He hissed once they were outside.
"I'm wearing your bloody pants!" Draco snapped as Harry vanished into thin air, apparating to the next location without him. "You absolute wanker!" He shouted and followed.
"What the hell do pants have to do with anything?" Harry demanded as they made their way up a somewhat isolated looking side street. This muggle was a little more well off and lived in what looked to be a Victorian style mansion complete with gaudy lion statues lining the driveway.
Old money, Draco reasoned and fell into step beside Harry. Apparently muggles weren't so different from wizards when it came to showing off wealth and status. He poked the nose of one of the two huge granite lion statues guarding the front door with his index figure. "Pants have everything to with it, especially when the seams are squeezing the life out of your bollocks!" Draco growled under his breath.
Harry made a gagging noise and took a few steps away from Draco. "Never mention your bollocks to me again. Also, keep those pants because if you give them back to me I'm going to light them on fire."
"Is that how you deal with all your problems, Potter? Light them on fire? Like the Prophet this morning?" Draco drawled.
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry barked and rang the bell. "I'm not gay," He added in a whisper.
"For someone who's 'not gay' you care an awful lot about my bollocks," Draco quipped without missing a beat.
"Just shut up!" Harry repeated, red in the face.
Draco barely managed not to laugh, but there was no helping the smug expression on his face. After ringing the bell a few times, they agreed that no one was home and decided to sneak inside to have a look around. Draco cast a quick charm to check for anything living nearby, but the mansion was empty. Slowly, he followed Harry who apparently had no concept of self-preservation, and had simply walked right in through the front door. The place reminded him somewhat of his own home – Antiques everywhere, and paintings that covered every inch of the walls. The paintings didn't move, of course, or remind him of how much of a disgrace he was to the Malfoy name at every given opportunity. It was almost unnerving that they were still.
"We're never going to find anything in all this crap," Harry complained.
"I don't know; they're obviously an old family and maybe collectors of some sort. It's possible there could be something cursed in here, or old magical items," Draco told him, and tapped his wand lightly against one of the many paintings. It was a portrait of a stern looking old man in a muggle business suit. He continued to stare lifelessly back at Draco. Draco scowled at him and turned around. "You take the ground floor, I'll have a look upstairs," He suggested.
"Whatever," Harry mumbled and headed into what looked like the drawing room.
Draco made his way up the stairs cautiously, casting a silencing charm before he set foot on them. The very top one still creaked. He decided that he hated this house. It was dusty, smelled of mildew, and something else. ...Something else he was trying to pretend he didn't recognize. One thing was certain, no one had been here in some time. Perhaps the unfortunate owner hadn't actually lived in the mansion. Uncertainly, Draco pushed open the closed door of the master bedroom and stepped into near total darkness. "Lumos," He mumbled and pointed his wand into the room. ...And almost screamed like a little girl at the sight before him. There was a dead body in the middle of the floor, contorted into a horrible position. He hadn't been there long, maybe a day or two, but not long enough to really start to decompose.
"Potter! Get up here!" Draco called from the top of the stairs.