So, Search Me
Part 1
God, he hated Mondays. The traffic was always bad in the mornings, everyone was too tired to listen and by the time you got to the front of the canteen line at lunch all the Blueberry Muffins were either gone or stale. Additionally, is was sod's law that would be the day your car broke down and your boss decided to perform a 'mandatory' spot check on your department and, of course, you are found missing and thus you get saddled with the most boring jobs, such as searching some drugged up teenagers flat for absolutely no reason with a warrant that was barely legal on the twenty-sixth floor of an apartment block in the dodgiest end of London where the lifts don't work and you're more likely to catch a disease than trip over a tramp, which altogether wasn't really uncommon at all. If this should happen to you, as it did this young detective, you would not only be unlucky and – by the time you'd climbed all those Godforsaken stairs – tired, you would also be known as Draco Malfoy. God, how he hated Mondays.
He was about halfway there, or so the gum-diseased, piss coloured number signs exclaimed at each floor, and already his blond hair was starting to stick to his forehead. The white shirt plastered to his back underneath his heavy jacket was annoying him too. It wasn't that he was unfit – he took very good care of his body thank you very much and he'd use his black belt to knock down anyone who said otherwise. He may have been slim but his height often gave him an advantage and he was no beanpole.
Floor Fourteen.
His mother was constantly hounding him about how he was too skinny or how his hair needed trimming or how his clothes definitely weren't to Malfoy standards. Looking back on it now, he wondered how he hadn't jumped out of his second floor bedroom window as a kid.
Floor Fifteen.
His father had never really been there while he was growing up. As chief of police his job had kept him fairly well occupied. His childhood had been comfortable enough though. A mother willing to splash cash at him whenever he asked for anything. A nanny who constantly doted upon him and whose name and appearance had forever been a source of amusement. A house he could spend all summer exploring and never grow bored year after year. He had learned the morals of a cop in those years. The handbook was practically ingrained into his brain by twelve so at the age of fifteen, despite his perfect grades, anything less than following his father into the law would have been a failure.
Floor Sixteen.
The stairs were starting to look like a very comfortable place for a rest. Surely if he lay down onto them, the hard concrete wouldn't be too cold or dig into his back too much, right? Bullshit. With a huff, Draco hauled himself past the rancid sign and jumped up the stairs towards the next floor, swiping at his brow. It occurred to him that he was physically heading up towards heaven but metaphorically speeding his way closer to fiery hell with each step.
Five floors later and, as the pillar labelled twenty-one crawled by, Draco began to review his morning, preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation that would come when he banged on the probably questionable looking door.
Floor Twenty-two.
Tenant's Name: Harry James Potter.
Age: Eighteen.
Previous Residence: Unknown.
Parents: Deceased.
Guardians: Unknown.
Occupation: Student.
Appearance: IC1; Dark (Black) Hair, Green Eyes, Pale Skin, 5'5", 9st8lb – at last recorded medical appointment.
Floor Twenty-three.
The morning had been a mess of non-stop shouting and belittling. He should have been used to all the sneers, the smirks, the snide comments and the treble meanings but Snape had just been in one of those unfortunate moods that caused the vicious tendencies in his personality to up their game another notch, as if they felt threatened, at the people he was…discontented with – unhappy didn't quite fit as he was never happy with anyone at the best of times.
Floor Twenty-four.
The case file that was thrust into his hands was surprisingly thick for an eighteen year old. The raid was supposedly simple, searching for any sign of illegal drugs or pushing of any kind. The malevolent twinkle in Snape's eye said differently. Draco suspected something a lot more sinister to be at work. It was likely only Snape had made any connections though, and needed more than gut instinct to follow it up, despite the fact that said instincts were usually eerily accurate.
Floor Twenty-Five.
God, why the fuck couldn't humans just live on flat plains, there were plenty of deserts and ocean floors that had space. Either that or why couldn't they built technical equipment that actually bloody worked, as in, all the fucking time!
Floor Twenty-six.
Draco Malfoy, sweat extraordinaire, stepped out into a corridor that somehow felt more foreboding than the rest of the block. Maybe it was the absence of gum and that stale smell of…bodily fluids that made it seem less occupied and more haunted. The door for apartment G was at the very end, beside the window that was so grime filled not a speck of day clawed through. The door itself was ordinary enough, though Draco himself would never be seen dead living behind it. Simple, cobwebbed wood, painted a splintered black against the chipped, barely recognisable purple of the corridor walls.
It only took three successive thumping knocks to cause movement within the grotty apartment. There was a shuffling, the crackling of rubbish – among other things – being stepped on, muffled cursing and a multitude of heavy bolts sliding before the door swept inwards.
"Mr Harry Potter?" Draco asked formally, taking the time it took for the other man to reply to observe and calculate him. He was short and lean, not muscular; although you wouldn't be able to tell through the loose clothing he wore anyway. His emerald eyes, shadowed in the dim light, glittered mischievously behind thick, black-rimmed glasses. His mouth was taught and face tense as if he were sizing up an opponent, and in a way, Draco guessed he was. His shift was sudden, from protective of a secret hiding place to nonchalantly leaning cockily against the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed carelessly.
"I am he. And you are?" His voice was not deep, just a gentlemanly, low tone. His accent was lulling and Draco couldn't quite place it. An eyebrow was raised in question as if he expected obedience from everyone. Draco plastered on the ever-famous Malfoy smirk.
"Detective Malfoy," he flashed his badge, managing through sheer willpower not to wince when pale fingers snapped out like lightning and grabbed his wrist to inspect the laminated article in its black casing. "London Law Enforcement. I have a warrant to search your residence." Potter regarded him, cogs turning swiftly; swirling through all the paths different replies could lead to. Draco's smirk intensified at the reply, Potter decided to play it safe, the question everyone asked.
"On what grounds?"
"We have recently received evidence that a dealer has become active in this area." Potter didn't like the quick reply; he was growing uneasy. "Given your previous police record, including your involvement with such drugs, it is routine that we search your dwellings." Nails gnawed into his wrist. Emerald eyes speared him. Calculating. This kid was smart, Draco found himself thinking, if not academically then certainly street-wise. For a while, Draco wasn't sure he was ever going to be let go, that they would be locked standing there in that thick tension for eternity. But then Potter's face, and the intelligent, analysing light that beamed from within him, closed off, just like that, and he was stepping back with a fake smile on his face.
"So search me." He murmured, the challenge so blatant it felt like a slap in the face.
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Bella