The Raiment of Lean Winter

Summary: Leigh Grimson, reporter for the Veritaserum, didn't expect to be dragged into pureblood intrigues when he attended a party hosted by an old schoolmate... but he was. And there are people he's going to have to rescue. HPSS.

Updates not promised, have just recovered from a bout of really terrifying writer's block, alert if interested, don't get too attached. That's all.

(glowers) Everything after OotP didn't happen. In my AU, Harry Potter was a rational, sane, non-obsessive, calm teenager, and grew up to be a rational, sane, intelligent man. With no interest whatsoever in Ginny fucking Weasley.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and co. are not mine, they belong to people like Juxian Tang(TM), Mia Ugly(TM), Telanu(TM)... and what's her name... Roling. Or something.


Prologue


Time. Truly an odd thing- a Muggle scientist once said that it was only an illusion- people tend to quote that often, but no one truly believes it. Who can? Time moves on, its flow cannot be altered or reversed or stopped, and we are caught in it, mortal specks in its everlasting stream, living out our lives like mayflies, except with the better sex, plus drugs and magic.

However.

Subjects who have used a Time Turner or similar devices repetitively report a feeling of disintegration- not of themselves, either magical or psychological, but their surroundings- common symptoms include repeated deja-vu, environmental abnormalities like reversed or accelerating plant growth, friends who seem to age too rapidly, too slowly, and there are even some who report the ability of prophecy, although this has been disproved.

This has been attributed to psychosis...

Leigh threw down his quill in frustration, blowing at his reddened, callused middle finger. His thoughts raced five times faster than his hand could relay his ideas, and he inevitably lost focus on what he was writing, too busy tracing out his next fifty steps. He glanced longingly at the corner of the room, where his laptop lay, wrapped in about ten layers of anti-electrointerference sheets. He could take it out into some Muggle park and write there, outside of the field magic had created for itself in the Leaky Cauldron, the residue of countless small spells that interfered very badly with advanced Muggle technology.

But it was blisteringly cold outside, and Warming charms could only do so much- he also made a point of not using much magic near his computer, which was already nearing its breakpoint- these days it sizzled dangerously when he brought it into the office- and he was tired. Flinging away the quill- he had forgotten how to use those, too, and his handwriting was all over the place- why not pens? What the hell was wrong with pens? Good, reliable things, don't have to dip it in ink, don't have to worry about it snapping when you sit down wrong (or at least, the pens Leigh tended to prefer), don't smell of birds. He'd have to talk to Tom about them.

Pens were cheaper, too, Leigh reflected as he changed into his bedclothes. Although he did tend to use the expensive ones- the sort he wouldn't have dared to buy when he was a teenager, but now could afford to. He really didn't have anything to do with his money, anyway, and these days it was piling up something disturbing...

He turned his thoughts to the trial tomorrow- the one he'd cut his time in Guam short to cover. Payne wanted him on this one, and Leigh had agreed.

Draco Malfoy was being subjected to another set of trials- Leigh had rather thought that the ones in 2001 had been the last, although his news had always been late by a week during that year, as he had been in South America. He'd followed it with some interest.

Poor fellow, though- he'd had a son recently, by his wife Astoria Malfoy, nee Greengrass. Named him something unfortunate, too, although Leigh couldn't quite remember. He'd have hell when he went to school, if he went to Hogwarts- Leigh had just had one professor who hated him for what his father had done, and that had been hard enough...

Shaking his head, he slipped into sleep.


"Mr. Grimson." Tom greeted him when he came down the next day. Leigh nodded back, noting the renovations were nearly complete- the thick, aged oak tables were all gone. He'd sort of miss them, but not the part where he'd keep slamming his knees onto the undersides of the table when he misjudged the depth.

"Nice." he said, briefly.

Tom smiled toothily, and offered him a menu.

After breakfast, Leigh checked out and strode off to the Ministry's entrance. There were already a two reporters there, who gave him nary a glance, as Leigh was in Muggle clothes. There were thirty minutes or so left until Draco Malfoy came out.

Idiots, Leigh thought scornfully. Going to mob him? Think he's going to like that? You ask me for all my tricks, and when I tell you, you don't believe it. I told you not to bring photographers, there's nothing more offputting to a... famous figure than someone aiming a flash at your face. Disconcerting. And Malfoy was a showoff, but he wouldn't appreciate this sort of attention. Leigh remembered that he had been intensely private, despite everything.

He walked past the entrance, where a few Muggles were already giving curious glances towards the lingering two, wondering what story they hoped to find in front of a blank wall, but they soon slid away- the notice-me-not charms were rather effective, and passerbys soon found themselves thinking of warm tea at home in front of a crackling hearth (and rather wondering why, because they didn't have one- the charms were rather outdated).

Malfoy wouldn't- couldn't- Apparate here, but he'd find a nice alley to do it, and the swarm of reporters would hide the sound nicely when he went. Well, all Leigh had to do was...

He conjured a chair and desk while he was waiting. People gave him some odd looks- a man, well dressed, working away at an expensive computer on a well-polished mahogany desk and a comfortable swivel chair... in a cul-de-sac, complete with garbage cans and a pair of starved feline eyes blinking at him from the corner. Their attention curved away, though, and they began to think about their clothes. A subject, Leigh thought, that was always safe to use. People were always interested in themselves.

He should talk to the Ministry warders too, really. Just a friendly note. Or not.

He could hear babble break out, half an hour later, and grinned to himself. He was sure he wasn't wrong- Malfoy would come here. He'd done it, too, when he was seventeen and eighteen, a witness for a never-ending stream of trials of various Death Eaters- and if Malfoy got away, well, no harm in it- he wouldn't talk to anyone else, either.

Leigh wouldn't have been so sure about this any other time, but this trial was about his mother- Malfoy would be touchy.

Payne- his superior at the Veritaserum, would disapprove of his tactics- he was a jostler, too, their slang for the aggressive hound type that practically fought for answers and interviews. It worked, too, but he wasn't too popular... He would say that Leigh was assuming too much- Malfoy might go another way, he might talk to someone else (which was worse), he might use another entrance... and he would be right. But Leigh's instincts were rarely off the mark, a fact that all of his colleagues in the office had come, some grudgingly, to accept.

There was clopclopclop sound of very expensive footwear drumming on the pavement as the wearer tried to get away with as much dignity possible intact, and yells and questions- Malfoy was, after all, the Last Death Eater- there was a lot of interest in this case. Leigh closed his eyes, and felt a ripple in his wards as the first person came through, and the solid thrum as the rest of the crowd slammed into it, unable to get through. He heard the alarmed murmurs of Muggles.

Hah.

A second later, Draco Malfoy turned the corner- and stopped short.

Leigh gave him a smile- not the wide one he reserved for friends, but the slight, sly quirk of the lips he found that certain people approved of. "Hello." he said.

Draco Malfoy's expression shuttered, and his hand drew into his pocket. Leigh held up his hands innocently. "You can Apparate away if you want, the wards don't prevent that."

"I think I shall." Malfoy drawled, but took a step closer, instead.

"Congratulations on your son." Leigh said, making sure nothing showed on his face but mild sincerity.

Malfoy nodded once, more like a jerk. His hand had not left his pocket. His eyes were on the logo on Leigh's shirt, the silver outlines of a vial crossed with a single teasel, on a blue background. "You're from the Veritaserum."

"You read it?" Leigh said.

"Sometimes." Malfoy's hand, in his pocket, had relaxed. His gray eyes darted up to study Leigh's face intently, and for one second unease struck him- had he been too sentimental in choosing to keep most of his face? He had shifted his jaw and cheekbones, and those were all the permanent changes he had made to himself- he had found out that superficial touches on his most prominent features- his trademark glasses, his untidy hair, and the scar, of course, were enough to fool people who didn't know him very well. And now he had very, very few people left who knew him very well, and with a startling sadness that settled in his stomach like a rock, he realized that Malfoy might be one of those few.

But Malfoy showed no sign of recognition- he instead casually looked behind him, where most of the reporters had left in disgust, although a few were still taking pictures of his backside in a rather determined fashion. Leigh snorted as Malfoy scooted into the alley, looking around in disgust.

Leigh stood up (ignoring Malfoy's small start) and folded his laptop, vanishing the desk and chair after wrapping it up in protective layers again. He really would have to change his computer soon. "Well," he said, at the same time Malfoy said "I know you-".

They fell silent for a second, looking at each other. Malfoy took it upon himself to go first. "You're Grimson, aren't you? My- my wife likes your writing."

"Ah." Leigh said, a bit puzzled.

"Your books, not your articles." Malfoy said, a little stiffly. "I- read your articles."

It took him several seconds to puzzle out that Malfoy was trying to compliment him, and he couldn't stop his smile. "Oh." Leigh said. "Well, it seems a little awkward to introduce myself, then, but-" he laughed, a little bubbling amused sound that Malfoy seemed to take well- "Leigh Grimson."

"Muggleborn?" Malfoy said, and his voice was frigidly polite.

"Halfblood." Leigh said, and his voice had lost a few degrees as well.

"I was simply asking." Malfoy said, and there was a hint of defensive child in his movements as he shuffled his left foot a few inches, one that Leigh doubted many would have been able to detect.

"All right." Leigh said, his voice devoid of any anger, and Malfoy seemed to relax a little. "You know, the Prophet's going to have an article- on the second page, I reckon- about how you..." Leigh closed his eyes, thinking- Thicknesse was covering the Malfoy case, these days, and he would word it... "Hotfooted out of the area as soon as you saw the throng of eager truth-seekers..."

"Don't, don't..." Malfoy knew as well as he did that if he didn't make a statement- to anyone- then all the news available would about his latest would be about his escape.

"He'll use 'the evasive blond', you know."

"I know."

"And 'petite'."

Leigh stifled a grin. He had him.


Half an hour later found him in the company of a sullen Draco Malfoy in some small, expensive Muggle cafe. Leigh had bought him a macchiato, for his troubles, which Malfoy seemed to take well enough.

"You don't take notes." Malfoy noted abruptly, after all the sordid details of the trial had been marched out and clarified, and Malfoy had made a few ambiguous statements about his feelings on the matter. The words 'regret' and 'youth' were used a lot.

"No. I use a recorder." Leigh said.

Malfoy seemed to know what that was, and he frowned. "I hope this wasn't a mistake." The comment wasn't aimed at himself.

No one threatened Leigh. People couldn't. There was nothing they could threaten him with, something several of his rivals had found out- the painful way- when they'd tried to dig up nasty things on him. And Leigh didn't think Draco Malfoy particularly wanted the difficulty in his life that Leigh could dish out, so he presumed that it hadn't really been a threat, and kept smiling on in a friendly fashion. "I'm sure it wasn't."

Malfoy drained his macchiato through the pink straw. Leigh watched his face, the pale lashes, the pink lips, taking down details methodically.

They both stood up a minute later, and Malfoy stilled, sweeping Leigh's body with a contemplative look. Leigh stilled his body into neutrality, and met Malfoy's eyes when they completed their rounds. There was a lazy smile on those lips.

So. It was true, then...

He'd always known Astoria Greengrass had been an arranged marriage, but not that Malfoy batted for the other team. Or both, maybe. He had no interest in sleeping with him, but gave him a friendly smile anyway, hefting the bag where his laptop and recorder (still whirring) was stored.

"I'm having a little celebration on the seventeenth," he brought up casually, and didn't continue.

Leigh filled in the blank for him- "In celebration of winning the case?" he said.

"My lawyer assures me that it'll be over by the eleventh, which really means the fifteenth." Malfoy said. "After your article... you might be... welcome."

Dear- dear god- Leigh felt an incredulous look climbing, and forced it into a cautious one. "Ah." he said faintly.

It wasn't an invitation- not yet, that would come after the article- and Leigh was certain it would come. And Malfoy knew that if he asked, Leigh would accept. 'Little celebration' indeed- on Malfoy scale that was third page, at least. A chance to actually be there- it wasn't like he was groveling for the chance, oh no, but it would be a chance- well, not that he needed a raise, or anything- and he wasn't even that ambitious, he'd just joined the Veritaserum vowing to be at least the one honest reporter in the wizarding world-

He paused too long, and Malfoy's expression was sliding into cold not-anger, so he hastily said, "Well, if I'm welcome-" he tried to find a way to continue that wasn't flirtatious- "I'll try to come." Well, that was direct.

Malfoy gave a faint smirk.

They parted ways, and Leigh almost forgot to turn off his recorder before he Apparated.