Richard Burns, the manager of Flourish and Blotts, narrows his eyes as he surveys his team. He often refers to them in his head as his 'motley crew', but this morning, they really look it. Emma looks disheveled and keeps yawning, barely reaching up to cover her mouth when she does. Greg is staring off into the middle distance, clearly in his own little world. Jamie is alternatively examining his nails and biting his cuticles. Joe and Luca are attempting to carry on a conversation in undertones, though Richard can clearly hear that they are discussing plans to go to the pub after work. The other various and sundry members are shifting from foot to foot, looking bored. Only Draco seems to be paying Richard any mind.

Ah Draco, the model employee. Always put together, tie neat, robes straight. He is polite with customers and he works hard. Richard knows his background, of course he does, everyone knows about the Malfoys' involvement in the war, but Draco has been nothing but professional since joining Richard's team five years ago.

Richard clears his throat and tugs his shirt down lower over his tummy. Jamie glances up at him briefly, then his eyes flick back down to his nails.

"Ok, team," Richard begins. "Do you know what day it is?" Emma yawns again and doesn't bother to try to hide it. Greg shrugs.

"It's the First of August," Draco says.

"Exactly. It's the First of August," Richard says, holding his hands out in two excited fists before him.

"So what?" Joe asks.

"So," Richard says, taking the time to draw out the word and therefore draw out the anticipation. No one bites. "So, the Hogwarts acceptance letters just went out. And the Hogwarts Supply Lists just arrived in the houses of every single student at that school. And do you know what that means?" He looks around at the team. He sees comprehension dawn in Greg's eyes.

"Yes, team. It means today will be the busiest day of the year. The day when ordinary house witches turn in to vicious book hunting animals, blinded by the need to get their precious children the correct textbooks, and eager to get the school shopping done early. If this were a zoo I'd say run for your lives, but this is Flourish and Blotts and we run from no challenge!" He punches a fist in the air. He feels his shirt ride up his stomach again but he ignores it. He stares around at his team, wild eyed and excited. They blink back at him. Nathalie blows a bubble with her gum and it pops with a loud snap.

"Yeah," Greg cries after a beat, raising his own fist. "We're with you, Big Dick!" Richard grimaces slightly at the nickname and then continues to grin around at them. He looks at Draco, who the team looks up to, and is relieved when the blond man steps forward and begins directing the team to various parts of the store. Richard puts his fist down and straightens his shirt again.

"Right," he says as the team members begin to move throughout the store. "I will be in my office." He hurries away, eager to get started on his morning cauldron cake.

…

Meanwhile, many miles away in a top secret location in Northern England, Oliver Wood is in mortal peril. He has found the package that he came to this location to get, but he can hear the hit wizards moving in fast. He curses. His eyes rove the mostly bare room for something he can use as a portkey and, finding nothing, he pulls off his watch. It will do, even though he is loathe to part with it.

He can hear shouts down the corridor and he knows his colloportus won't last for long once they reach the door. His mind casts around for the right person or coordinates to send the package to. He hears a fist slam on the door behind him and he jumps. There is a series of loud bangs as the hit wizards begin trying to break down the colloportus holding the door shut.

Oliver swears and enters the first safe portkey coordinates he can think of, attaches the package to the portkey watch and activates it. It is only after it has disappeared with a faint pop that he really thinks about where he has sent it. It has been years since he has even thought about those coordinates. He had thought he had forgotten them in the post breakup pain.

But the package will be safe there until he or the right Unspeakables can collect it. He looks over at the door and sees that the edges are starting to splay. He runs to the side of the room, next to the door, and flattens himself against the wall. He brings his wand up and bends his knees, ready for the moment the door will break.

And just a few moments later, it does just that, exploding inwards, accompanied by a volley of stunning spells in all directions. One narrowly misses Oliver, even though he is flush against the wall. He sends his own stunning spells through the doorway and then the hit wizards begin to swarm the room.

Once they leave the doorway, Oliver throws up some shielding spells, darts through the door and sprints away down the corridor. He throws more stunning spells over his shoulder as he runs, but he does not dare look back to see if any of them hit home. He rounds a corner and slows down, struggling to get his bearings. If he can just get outside of the anti-apparition wards, he will be fine. But the building security has kicked in and the corridors have scrambled themselves, so he is no longer sure which way to go. But he is prepared for that. He thinks he has prepared for all eventualities, and he hopes it comes out the way he wants it to, but The Reliquary is gone either way, so at the very least, that part of the mission is complete.

He waves his wand around his head and then projects a tiny map onto the palm of his hand. Perfect. If he keeps running down this corridor and then takes a left at the next junction, he will have a chance. He picks up speed again. He risks a glance behind himself and sees that there are two hit wizards pursuing him. He shoots more stunning spells behind himself and pushes on towards the end of the corridor. He feels rather than sees the stunners, jinxes and curses that fly past him. One of the stunners grazes the top of his head and he can smell his hair singe.

He reaches the junction and throws himself around the corner before skidding to a stop. A line of hit wizards blocks the corridor. He is surrounded. One of them steps forward. Oliver narrows his eyes and glares at her.

"Agent Wood," the hit wizard says. "Perhaps you should have stuck to Quidditch." Oliver is so damn tired of hearing that line that he says nothing and instead curls his lip into a silent snarl. "Where is it? Where is the Reliquary?" Oliver turns his snarl into a smirk.

"It's gone, Parkinson" he says.

"How? Where?" She takes a menacing step towards him. Oliver presses his lips together and shakes his head. He is starting to see that there is no way out of this. The Reliquary needs to be protected and if they take him alive, they will make him talk. This is one of the eventualities he has prepared for, even if he had been hoping it would not come to this. He puts the tip of his wand to his temple. There is a shout as Major Parkinson tries to stop him, but then his wand flashes and Oliver knows no more.

…

Draco watches as Big Dick scurries off to his office. Draco is fond of the man, particularly as he had been one of the first people in the wizarding world to actually consider him for a job, despite his past. It is a past that he has worked hard to distance himself from over the last ten years and Big Dick's acceptance of him has done wonders for his feelings of self worth after so much rejection.

Joe and Luca sidle up to him and then stand expectantly in front of Draco, awaiting their instructions.

"So, what's the plan," Luca asks.

"Plan? What do you mean plan?" Draco furrows his brow and looks back and forth between the pair of them. Joe's shirt is untucked and his tie is askew. Luca's robes are inside out, but he does not appear to have noticed.

"I mean, do we do what Big Dick says?" Joe asks. "Or are we causing mayhem?" Draco takes a deep, calming breath. Dealing with Joe and Luca often takes all of his patience quotient for the morning.

"Yes," he says at last. "Yes. This is one of the biggest retail days of the year, and how we perform could make or break us." The last part is something Big Dick had said to them all the other day but he is not overly concerned that Joe or Luca will be upset by the repetition. He is not even sure they will notice it. He is sure they haven't paid much attention to a single thing Big Dick has ever said to them. "You don't want people going to Quigley's over in Knockturn Alley, do you?" Quigley's Mystical Market is the unspoken main competitor to Flourish and Blotts and the Flourish Team enjoys a mostly friendly rivalry with the Quigley's Team. Both Joe and Luca shake their heads violently.

"Right, boss," Luca says, saluting him. "We will be model employees today." Draco does not point out that he is not their boss, because every time he does that, they ignore his protests anyway. In their mind he is the assistant manager, although no one officially holds that position.

"Good," he says instead. "Big Dick will like that." Joe makes a face to indicate that he does not care what Big Dick thinks of their performance, but Draco knows it is just an act. All of the employees are very loyal to the man, possibly because he had seen something in all of them where no one else had even bothered to look.

Draco knows he himself would be unlikely to hire most of the rest of the staff for any other job, but somehow their collective weirdness does not take away from the Flourish and Blotts buying experience, and if anything, it adds to the charm. Or at least, that is what Draco tells himself when he turns a blind eye to some of the shenanigans that go on. And if they aren't the most efficient team? Well, how often do people come into a bookstore with a specific book in mind? In his experience, most people prefer to peruse anyway, so if they can't find someone to help them, they are generally content.

Today will be different though. He thinks back to the First of August from last year and grimaces. It had been chaotic to say the least. And of course, that had been the year that Big Dick thought it would be alright to re-order the copies of the Invisible Book of Invisibility. Seemingly Flourish and Blotts had had enough staff turnover that no one had remembered the 1993 debacle and so the publishers had been able to convince Big Dick to order another hundred copies to replace the hundred they never found the first time.

This year, the day will be better than that, but not by much. He groans as he thinks about all the Hogwarts mothers who will be descending on the store in only a matter of minutes. He wonders if this will be the year that he will run into an old classmate with their children. He is sure some Hufflepuffs had probably married and had kids right after school.

He mentally scolds himself for his sweeping generalization of an entire house of people. He has been working with Greg on fixing that habit. If the war has taught him anything, it is that those kinds of closed minded assumptions only lead to problems.

Somehow he doubts any of his schoolmates have children yet. Or at least, he doubts that there are any Hogwarts aged children. The first few post war years had been a hectic, messy time for the wizarding community. A flurry of marriages, sure, but not many children.

Draco and his family have predictably faced backlash for being Death Eaters, although the fact that his mother had played a part in Harry Potter's survival, and the fact that they had defected before the battle even started, means that they have escaped doing any time in Azkaban. Draco is loathe to admit it, but Saint Potter had provided much of the testimony that allowed them to walk free.

Of course, Lucius, in true Lucius form, had thrown a bunch of other Death Eaters under the bus in return for his freedom. It is for this reason that his parents rarely leave their Wiltshire estate, estranged from the world and reclusive with everyone save Draco and, for reasons that still escape Draco, Teddy Lupin. Teddy is related to Draco in a way that he can draw on a family tree, but he cannot articulate out loud. But Teddy will not be starting Hogwarts until next year, so he does not expect to see him or Aunt Dromeda today.

Draco checks his watch and, seeing that it is nearing opening time, squares his shoulders and makes his way to the front of the store. He peers gingerly through the front window. A small crowd has already formed outside. He looks around for Big Dick, but the manager is still safely ensconced in his office and Draco knows he will not emerge until the worst of the rush is over.

He gestures behind himself for the rest of the team to get into position and then counts down the seconds to nine am. Right as he hears the clock on the front of Gringotts begin to chime the hour, he whips his wand out and throws open the doors. Then he stands back and watches as the tide of witches and wizards enters the store. He reaches up and briefly adjusts his tie knot and then he throws himself into the fray.

"Standard Book Of Spells grades one through seven this way," he hears Greg shout.

"Unfogging the Future and all divination books over here," Jamie says in a bored voice. He is still periodically examining his nails, but at least he is being partly helpful.

Draco stands near the registers, watching as the flood of people moves through the store. Not for the first time he thinks about the flyer up on the wall of the break room, advertising the assistant manager position. It has been unfilled for several years now and Big Dick wants to put a change to that. Draco knows that more than anything, Big Dick wants an official person that he can push unwanted work onto. Draco resolves that if today goes off without a hitch that he will apply for the position. And then he knows that as soon as he has decided that, there will be problems.

First there is a woman who holds up the checkout queue when she gets to the front and realizes she has forgotten a book and so sends Joe to get it for her, while not giving up her place in line. Then there is a man who Draco watches put a book into an inner pocket of his robes who insists that he hasn't. Draco and Greg corner him and make him turn out his pockets, only to find that he has an undetectable extension charm on the inner pocket and it takes him ten minutes to retrieve the book he has slipped in there. And lastly there is the wizard who keeps trying to ask for a discount for a veteran with one leg, despite having two perfectly good legs, which are both clearly visible under his slightly too short robes.

It is most definitely the First of August, and it is a bitch of a day.

…

"Oliver Wood was one of your agents, Croaker," General Amelia Dempsey, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Hit Squad, says. "He was an Unspeakable."

"Yes, and it was the Hit Wizards' job to find him," Director Saul Croaker spits back. They are both mad as hell and Major Pansy Parkinson stands awkwardly between them. She fiddles with her hands behind her back and looks back and forth between the two department heads.

Ostensibly, the DMLEHS and the Unspeakables are supposed to work together, but there has always been tension between the two branches.

She is still seething about the fact that Wood managed to get past her team and steal that book. She is even more mad about the fact that she can't question the coward about it. Her muscles still vibrate from the adrenaline, even though it was several hours ago now, and she fights the urge to bounce on the balls of her feet. This is neither the time nor place to appear antsy.

"Beg pardon, General," Pansy says. "What was Agent Wood doing? What is The Reliquary?"

"It's everything," Croaker says. "Or, it was."

"I'm sorry?" Pansy is not sure what Croaker means.

"For the past six months," General Dempsey says. "Every department in the Ministry - the DMLE, the Department of Mysteries, hell, even some foreign agencies like the International Wizarding Police and the Police des Sorciers in France - all fed information to The Reliquary. Unorganized secrets, just off the wire and a whole lot of archives to boot. The magic behind it worked as a brain, sorting the information and finding patterns in the chatter. Using all the data it was able to piece together things we didn't and it forewarned us of things still to come."

"Now, that's not to say that it was able to make predictions," Croaker says. "There was no Divination involved. We have determined that Divination is less precise and far more mistake prone than analyzing data and looking for patterns."

"But I thought a true prediction," Pansy starts to say.

"Yes, yes," Croaker interrupts her. "A true prediction is just that, but they are so rare, and there are so many false positives that it's just not worth wasting the resources on them." Pansy can see the sense in this. She had always pegged Professor Trelawney as being mostly a fake. Though Trelawney had made two startlingly true predictions in her time, most of the 'predictions' that came out of her mouth between those predictions were just balderdash.

"As we were saying," General Dempsey says, steering the conversation back on track. "The Reliquary is gone, and with it, all of our information."

"So you're saying that there is potentially a villain out there with every secret we've ever had?" Pansy asks. She works hard to control her face, but in the seriousness of the situation it is hard to keep the alarm from her eyes. She takes a slow breath and forces her facial muscles to relax. This is nothing she can't deal with. She is not the fastest promoted Hit Wizard recruit in decades for nothing.

"We have all our best portkey tracers on the case, trying to figure out where he sent the damn thing," Croaker says. "Unfortunately, as one of my agents, he knew what he was doing and how to cover his tracks." Croaker looks pained and Pansy almost feels for the man. But then, it was one of his agents who had gone rogue and caused this mess, so she is also incredibly annoyed at him. She knows that General Dempsey is too. Pansy can see her boss's irritation in the tight line of her mouth.

"So what should we do in the meantime?" Pansy asks. She wants something to do with all of her nervous energy.

"We wait," Croaker says. "Until we get a lock on that portkey trace." Pansy gives him a curt nod. She had figured this would be the answer.

"Very well, sir," she says. She turns to General Dempsey. "General, permission to wait in the training room?"

"Granted." Pansy salutes and leaves the room. Croaker and Dempsey watch her go.

"She is your pick for heading up this investigation, General?" Croaker asks after Pansy has disappeared from view.

"Major Parkinson is a fine Hit Wizard. She is a rising star in the department and she is hungry for it after Wood slipped through her grasp."

"It is precisely that slip that I am concerned about, General."

"That slip would not have occurred if your agent hadn't gone off the rails, Director." Dempsey's tone is mocking as she addresses Croaker by his title.

"Don't pin this on me, Amelia," Croaker snaps. "No one saw this coming." He shakes his head. He looks tired as he runs a hand through his thinning hair. "I don't have a bloody clue why he did this, and I've spoken to his partner, and it seems like Potter was in the dark as well."

"Or so he tells you."

"What reason do we have to doubt Potter?" General Dempsey considers this.

"None, I suppose," she says at last. "How is he taking it?"

"Poorly."

"I can only imagine. Were they close?"

"Wood was Potter's partner almost from the start. They made an amazing team, which was odd considering they were probably the two most high profile wizards on my team."

"I'm still surprised you paired them together, Saul."

"You would have too, if you'd seen the way they interacted in training. They practically finished each other's-"

"-Sandwiches?" Dempsey allows a small smirk to cross her face and Croaker gives her a grateful smile. He checks his watch.

"I'm going to go check on the portkey team," he says. Dempsey nods at him and he strides out of the room.

…

"Thank you, and have a nice day," Draco says and waves merrily as the last customers, a family of four, leave the store. He quickly shuts the door behind them. Big Dick walks over and seals the door with his personal lock, which only he can open, and they are done for the day.

"Excellent job, team," Big Dick starts to say, but most of the employees have already started to leave, moving as soon as the front doors were shut. Only Draco, Greg and Emma have stayed behind. Draco hears faint yells of "pub!" from the vicinity of the break room. He figures he will join them there later, but he has to get in his evening run first, even though the day has tired him out to the point that he would really rather skip it.

"Same time tomorrow then?" Big Dick asks the three of them.

"Not for me," Emma says. "I don't work Saturdays." Her face splits into a grin. "Hooray for weekends! See you lot on Monday." She turns and quickly makes her way to the back of the store, leaving Draco and Greg in an awkward almost circle with Big Dick.

Draco's weekend so to speak is on Sunday and Monday, so he just nods wearily. He decides then that his evening run is not happening. He is too damn tired.

"Right-o, boss," Greg says. He salutes. Draco rolls his eyes at him. Greg has come a long way since Hogwarts, but his impulse to follow orders from the most important person around him has been harder to shake. Draco reaches up and put his arm around Greg's shoulder. It is a difficult feat as Greg is a good six inches taller than Draco.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go to the pub." They wave at Big Dick and then leave the front room of the store, weaving their way through bookshelves until they reach the break room.

"Don't you usually go running in the evenings?" Greg asks as they open their individual lockers. Their lockers are next to each other. Greg's is covered in Hollyhead Harpies stickers, whereas Draco's has half of a Puddlemere United Sticker, which he has tried to tear off but it has ripped partway through removing it.

"I don't want to go on my sodding run tonight," Draco says, wrenching open the door to his locker. "I'm too sodding tired." Greg grunts his understanding. Draco pulls out his jacket and swaps it for his Flourish and Blotts robes, which he hangs carefully in his locker. Once Greg is ready, they both turn and leave the store and head towards the Leaky Cauldron, only stopping briefly as they pass their house so that Draco can drop off his bag of unused running clothes.

…

Pansy finds that taking her frustration out on the training room's punching bag is a good way to unwind. And today is most definitely a day when she needs it. She replays the scene in her head over and over as she bounces on her toes in front of the bag. If she had just been a bit faster. If she had thought to disarm him. If. If. If.

Whack. She throws her weight behind the punch and the bag jerks on its chain.

She is the only person in the training room, which is probably for the best. If anyone else had been there, she would have asked them to spar with her and she is not in the mood for explaining to General Dempsey the reason behind why she might have sent someone to the medical floor. She is sure that Dempsey knows how frustrated she is with herself and with the situation, but it is easier not to have to have the conversation.

Pansy knows she needs to clear her head. She needs to put this behind her. Agent Wood was a good agent, which is the only reason he was able to do what he did. It is not all on Pansy's head that The Reliquary is gone. And Pansy knows that. Wood was well prepared for the mission and he was prepared to die for it too, and Pansy knows that it can be near impossible to stop someone who is willing to die for a cause.

Thump. This time she kicks the bag, bringing her leg up as high as she can in the process. She nearly throws herself off balance but she manages to steady herself. Some of the adrenaline is starting to fade now. Instead she feels tiredness creep across her. She wants nothing more than to go home, change into her comfiest pajamas and curl up on the sofa with a glass of whisky to nurse her pride. But there is work to be done once the techs come back with whatever they can glean.

She takes one last halfhearted punch at the bag and then lowers her arms. She supposes she should get some rest while she can as she has no idea how late she will be in the office today. She brings her gloved hand up to her mouth and rips open the Velcro with her teeth before pulling it off. After removing her other glove, she tugs her pony tail holder out of her hair and runs her fingers through it. Her hair is stringy and damp with sweat. It sticks to her palms as she winds it into a bun which she secures on the top of her head. She takes one last look around the training center and then heads to the locker room.

…

About seven years ago, The Leaky Cauldron, which for hundreds of years leading up to the Second Wizarding War had not changed its decor in the slightest, had undergone a remodel. Tom, the old barkeep had finally passed away, leaving the pub to his niece, Hannah Abbott.

Draco had not known Hannah well in school, more known of her. She had been a Hufflepuff and so their paths had not crossed often, aside from lessons. Draco had not gone out of his way to make friends outside of his house during school. In fact if he were being honest with himself, the main interactions Draco had had with non-Slytherins had been his fights with the Golden Trio, which explained his distinct shortage of post-war friends.

Just over seven years ago, Hannah, newly minted as the owner and manager of the pub, had come across Draco drinking alone in the corner of the bar and struck up a conversation with him. Draco had been in the Wizengamot all that day, listening to his father's testimony, so his nerves were frayed and his emotions were raw. He had been hiding in the dark corner of the bar for a reason, but she was so earnest and kind that he had found himself chatting to her anyway. Several drinks in, she confided in him that she had been less than enthused to inherit the (in her words) 'moldy old place' but Uncle Tom's will had been very clear that he had wanted her to have it. Draco, also a few drinks in now and feeling less maudlin, had enthusiastically said she should most definitely keep it, and perhaps update it. And would you know who happened to have a decently good eye for these things and little to nothing else to do? Why, Draco of course.

They had become fast friends and soon Draco was spending most of his free time at the Leaky Cauldron, helping Hannah with everything from reupholstering the booths to re-wallpapering the guest rooms. When his father's trial ended and both of his parents had moved back to Malfoy Manor, Draco had decided it was high time he left home. He had just turned twenty one and his trust fund had finally matured and come into his possession. Even after the various fines and barristers fees, he'd had enough money to put a deposit down on his own Mews House in one of the alleys behind the Cauldron. Coincidentally, it was the house across from Hannah's.

He had worked behind the bar with Hannah for a few years until he realized that few people wanted their drinks served by an ex-Death Eater (even though he had only been 16 when he'd received the Mark and hadn't really had much of a say in the whole thing). She had generously split her tips with him, but after looking around the bar one evening and seeing a long stretch of patrons waiting for Hannah to serve them and only the most regular of regulars waiting for Draco, he had decided to find another job. Which was how he had ended up at Flourish and Blotts.

Was it what he had envisioned himself doing while he was at Hogwarts? No. But did it pay the bills? Yes. And once Big Dick had hired Draco, he had agreed to take on a subdued Greg Goyle, freshly back from a three year stint at Azkaban, which gave Draco both a roommate and someone to help pay the mortgage.

So really, Draco thinks he cannot complain. Or, well, he could complain, but it would seem ungrateful. Could things be better? Sure. Would it be better if he had a boyfriend? Probably. Does Hannah often nag him about getting a better job or a promotion or a boyfriend? Definitely. But for the most part Draco is content.

Hannah waves to Draco and Greg as they enter the Cauldron and immediately begins to pull a couple of pints for them.

"Ta," Draco says, sitting down on one of the bar stools. She puts the two pints on the bar and Draco picks one up and takes a large gulp. He had not realized how dry his throat is until the beer hits his mouth and he takes another big sip before putting the beer down again.

"Thirsty much?" Hannah asks.

"It's the First of August," Greg says by way of explanation. Hannah frowns at them.

"Hogwarts letter day," Draco clarifies. He takes another quaff of his beer.

"Ah, no wonder you both look shattered then." She glances at her watch. "Hmm, give me about twenty minutes and then the evening staff will be here. Then we can all go round to my place for Chinese food or something. Does that sound good?" Hiring staff to work the evening hours so that Hannah did not have to had been one Draco's favorite ideas.

"Sounds perfect," Draco says. He picks up his now half empty glass and holds it out to Greg. "Cheers." Greg clinks his glass against Draco's.

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