Folie a Deux


AU: no wizards, no Hogwarts, no magic…although, anything that can make Harry and Draco get together is really nothing short of magic.


xxx

Every police station in the city was short staffed.

It was the dog days of summer, everything was a mess, and everyone was mad. The major highway were being torn up, people were protesting the city hall – something about excessive expenses, and some morons were phoning in with bomb threats every week. The regular criminal kinds were taking advantage of the chaos when Harry wished they would just take a vacation.

It was a bad time for a city councillor to go missing.

The folder on the desk read "Harry Potter – Homicide", and under that folder were scores more – old cases, new cases, all were paperwork, waiting to be done. Harry had been chugging though overtime hours for a straight week as it is. Then there was also the monthly delivery of "Unwanted", which were corpses sitting in the morgues unidentified and unclaimed.

But apparently the usual Missing Persons guys were more loaded down than Harry, so Captain Dawlish assigned the councillor's case to him instead.

"Give it a once over, Potter," the Captain gave Harry his don't-argue look. "The man probably ran off with his debts, knowing his reputation, but his wife wants him dead on paper."

"That's a bit quick, isn't it?" Harry glanced at the file. "He's only been gone two weeks."

The Captain shrugged. "Talk to her, talk to the secretary, talk to everybody. I want this out of my hair as soon as possible."

It sounded easy…at the time.

Harry hated doing interviews. People tend to forget things, they tend to lie. Sometimes they change their answer when you ask them the same question too many times. It was a fucking nightmare. Turned out Councillor John Beechwood was a gambler. He may owe some people money, he may not. He and the missus were on the outs, something about a maid. He was no Bond villain. Hardly any real life criminals were. He was a regular Joe with no enemies, just a lot of friends who were under the impression that he had eloped with the help, and a mildly impatient wife who kept asking when she could claim his life insurance. She didn't seem fazed by the pictures Harry showed her of her husband's car, found in a field off the interstate. She didn't even blink when Harry told her they found traces of blood belonging to two people in the front seats. She was a bad liar.

The temptuous maid was a dead end too. She supposedly went back to the Philippines to visit family at around the same time the councillor disappeared. Harry had a file with a copy of her plane ticket, and a mp4 from the airport showing her boarding. Harry had thought the family paid the girl off and told her to never come back.

Harry had seen more elaborate insurance scams, but he was relieved that his job here was done. There were no bodies found in the car, so there was no need for Harry. The investigation will be handled by the Fraud unit from there. Last thing on the To Do list was his report.

And then Harry got a call. They found the body of the maid.

"In the Philippines?" Harry said, "Well that's out of my jurisdiction."

"No. They found her in the underpass of the interstate. Strangled."

Harry took up some more overtime, even though he promised himself he wouldn't. Ron and Hermione had been asking him over for weeks now for dinner, but Harry could never make the time. He liked spending time with his friends, he really did, but the domestic bliss the couple had settled into since their wedding had been borderline depressing to Harry. It was hard to explain that feeling he gets after bidding goodbye to them with a forced smile, watching them wave him off from the porch of their pretty suburban detached, knowing all that was waiting for him at home were empty rooms, a can of beer, and the knowledge that the last time he got laid was five months ago. He didn't even get properly laid – it was a fevered tussle in the bathroom of a gay club.

It didn't get really bad until about a week ago, when Harry caught himself checking out everything that had a pair legs and something that dangled in between. Shit, a few days ago he had to force himself to tear his eyes away from the Captain's backside. Dawlish was nothing like the type of men Harry usually fantasised about, in fact he bore a striking resemblance to a tall angry Santa Claus. Which was the complete opposite of what Harry wants writhing underneath him.

Sometimes he doesn't get as bothered, but sometimes he just wanted to hole up in his little apartment, wallowing in self pity and passivity and never see sunlight again. Harry couldn't afford to put himself in that place right now. He had a case on his hands.

From the day book Harry had obtained from the councillor's secretary, it appeared as if the man kept a busy schedule. For a lousy gambler, the councillor appeared to have much better luck in his other ventures. He had regular meetings with his financial advisor, some meetings with a private investor, and weekly lunches with what he denoted as "the boys" from the stock market. He received bank statements from four different financial institutions, had two very expensive mortgages, and a few line of credits that almost rivalled those. Everything was nearly maxed out. Mr. Councillor lived beyond his means and it was catching up to him.

Even so, that was a lot of meetings with a lot of bankers. Something about that didn't sit right.

Harry spent the night at the station, poring through every statement and every letter.

He met Dawlish at the door in the morning, visibly rumpled and sleep deprived. "Look at this, sir – it's Beechwood's phone records. He had a work phone issued by the City Hall, he had it listed as his Batphone, because it was never supposed to turned off and it was how the mayor could get a hold of him in case of emergencies, but according to these records, the cell was switched off every now and then in the middle of the day."

"Ran out of batteries?" Dawlish suggested gruffly. He did not like to be cornered first thing in the morning, before he had his first cup of coffee.

But Harry didn't care. "No, sir, these blackouts matched with appointments he had at the Hunt Club downtown. I did some digging and made a few calls to the restaurant. I think he was meeting with a private investor."

"Got a name?"

"Yes, sir."

Dawlish suppressed a yawn. "Look him up then."

"I did. I couldn't find him in any of our databases, so I sent a request up to the Feds, gonna see if they have anything on the guy…in the meantime, I made an appointment. I'm going to meet him at his office."

"Good," Dawlish said, heading toward the coffee machine, "when's the appointment?"

Harry looked down at his cell. "In twenty minutes."

Dawlish raised an eyebrow. "You're going now? Dressed like that?"

Harry looked down. He was dressed as he always does, black work pants, black walking shoes, black leather jacket, and black tie. "Yes, sir," he said uncertainly.

Dawlish snorted. "Haven't interviewed a banker before, have you, Potter? At least comb your hair."

Harry decided to forgo that piece of advice, he was working, not going on a date. But if he had know what he was about to see, he would have combed his hair ten times over, and more.

xxx

You would imagine you could see the world from the 48th floor, especially with these windows that spanned floor to ceiling and covered entire walls. But smog in the city this time of year is bad and in the financial district a lot of buildings were built up to 48 stories, and taller.

Draco Malfoy was waiting for his appointment to show up. It was the best time of the day to have unsolicited visitors. The sun had risen just high enough to shine directly into the office. Draco's chair had its back to the window, affording him the perfect lighting to spot every flicker of thought that passes through the countenance of his interviewer. Meanwhile, the visitor would have the sun in his eyes, and it would be annoying, to say the least. It was an old police interrogation method, only they usually used a single bulb light swinging from the ceiling. The detective should know all about that.

"Mr. Malfoy." Vincent Crabbe, his secretary, stood by the double doors of his office, "A Detective Potter is here to see you."

Draco straightened his silk tie and patted down the front of his fitted grey blazer. "Thank you Vincent, send him in."

Footsteps from the hallway neared, Draco heard Vincent showing the detective into the room. He squared his shoulders, back to the door. The first impression was everything, Draco's father had always told him, and he was planning to give a hell of a show.

Draco knew exactly how he looked in his fitted designer suit; it was a mix of intimidation and condescension. Not that he was intimidating naturally. His hair was too blonde to be manly and his figure was too slender to make anyone feel threatened, but the sharp angles of his cheekbones coupled with the icy color of his eyes could give most people a start.

Draco turned slowly, smug, thinking the detective won't know what hit him.

But it was Draco who was taken aback.

The detective was taking in his surrounding with quick darts of his dark eyes, habit of the trade, perhaps. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and big arms – not gym muscle, more likely gained from sports or physical work. He had a mess of black hair trimmed short and sticking up in every direction, and dark shadows under his shockingly green eyes. His dress shirt was rumpled and missing a button, a detail his tie almost managed to hide. His jacket was fraying at the sleeves and unzipped. Draco could just make out the edge of a badge clipped onto his belt. Disheveled as he was, the detective was easy on the eye, not classically handsome per se, but a good-looking fellow nonetheless. Draco had a soft spot for good-looking men. Everything about him was a confusing mix of repelling and appealing at the same time, and Draco couldn't help but notice the detective's raven locks were the perfect length for him to lace his fingers through.

"Detective Potter." Draco took a step forward and reached out his hand. The detective's eyes snap from where they were surveying the papers on Draco's desk to his as they shook hands. There was a flicker that rippled through the emerald green of those eyes. It was a fraction of a second, but Draco would never miss it. He saw the dilation in the pupils, but then again that could just be the sun. Or not.

The detective looked stunned for a moment. Draco had gotten that reaction before, but not usually from men. It was an unexpected turn of events. This meeting was nothing like what either of them had expected.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," the detective rasped then cleared his throat. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Would you like some coffee?" Draco asked congenially, not breaking eye contact.

"No, thank you," the detective replied quickly. He tried to smooth down his hair as Draco gestured him into a chair, and failed. That birdnest was a lost cause. He crossed hands on his lap, then reached inside his pocket for a small notepad, then thought better of it and tucked it away again. He gave off the air of someone who was self conscious but was not used to being so.

Draco took his seat behind his desk and laced his fingers together. There was a moment of pregnant silence. "How can I help you today, Detective Potter?"

The detective frowned and looked down, as if he had forgotten his reason of being here. At the sight of his bare hands, he reached inside his pockets once again and pulled out his notebook. "I had wanted to speak to you about one of your clients."

Draco hesitated for a heartbeat, scanning the detective's face for a clue. "Which client?"

"That would be a Mr. Beechwood," the detective replied, regaining his composure. He was definitely a man who liked to be in control of, above all things, himself. Whatever thought had flitted through his eyes earlier was evidently brushed aside.

Draco tugged his lips up into an easy smile. "Ah, the missing councillor." He didn't want to know where this line of questioning was going. "I think you're mistaken, detective. He was never my client."

"Then would you care to explain why he was meeting with you on multiple occasions in the month before his disappearance?" The detective asked levelly, business-like.

The question took Draco off guard.

"He was a potential client," Draco corrected himself. "If you don't mind me asking, how did you know he was meeting with me?"

"I do mind, actually," the detective said curtly, "and I cannot divulge that information."

If this was someone else's office and it was someone else that the detective was interrogating, Draco would have been impressed rather than furious, but this was Draco's office, and he was torn.

"You'll have to understand that I also cannot divulge the information you want," he said delicately.

"I don't need to know the details of his investments," the detective replied lowly. "I just needed to confirm that he did indeed invest with you."

Detective Potter was likely intelligent, brilliant at his job, perhaps, Draco could admit that, unfortunately that brilliance was becoming a nuisance for him. Draco locked his eyes with the detective, steeling his gaze. He sat back in his seat and gave the detective a small smile. "He didn't invest with me. He met with me to ask whether I would be interested in a venture that he had. He made his proposal and then left me to think on it."

"What kind of venture?"

Draco anticipated the question before it even left the detective's lips. "I'm afraid I cannot say. I signed a confidentiality contract."

The detective was relentless; his green eyes bore into Draco's, it wasn't necessarily a stare down, but it was close, there was edge in that look, and heat in those eyes. Draco would bet good money that some of that heat was not related to the topic at hand. "So, have you thought about investing?"

"Yes," Draco answered smoothly, then added, "I thought long and hard."

There was no mistaking that flicker in the detective's eyes this time. The other man cleared his throat again and began to scribble madly in his notepad.

Draco decided to try something. He unbuttoned his blazer and let it fall open. He tapped his long fingers on the table, and waited until the detective had finished writing before catching his eyes. He watched the detective's eyes sweep across his face, trace his jawline and drop into the opening of his collar. If they met under different circumstances Draco could perhaps indulge a little. Just a little nip of the teeth, brush of the lips, and flick of the tongue. But going down that train of thought now would be nothing short of futile.

"I'm sure the councillor has various investments with various financial institutions. Will you be interviewing everyone who managed his accounts?"

The detective had a slight flush on his cheeks as he lowered his gaze again to jot something else down. "As a part of the ongoing investigations we have acquired information on Mr. Beechwood's assets, however whatever he had invested with you remains unaccounted for in his statements."

"As I said," Draco reminded him, "he did not invest with me."

The detective's eyes were surprisingly alert for someone who looked so fatigued. "I didn't know that the councillor had so many different ventures," he said offhandedly.

Draco raised one arched eyebrow. "He was a man with thick fingers, and had them in many pies."

The detective blinked up at him, uncertain for a second before annoyance crossed his features. "I'm going to have to ask you to come to the station."

Draco stares at him, perfectly practiced bewilderment. "You want me to come…where?"

He had intended for it to sound like exactly how the detective obviously heard it. The man gave him a wide-eyed look that made Draco's toes curl. "Come to…uh, go down to the precinct."

"I can't," Draco said. The trajectory of this conversation had taken a turn into unwelcome territory. "I have business to attend to, money to make, and an image to maintain," Draco gestured around his office, "I can't be seen going into a police station for questioning. So unless you have reason to arrest me, detective, I will have Vincent show you out."

Draco found that he liked the detective's angry look just as the much as the others.

"That's Vincent, is it?" The detective turned to look at Vincent. "Hm, strange for a banker to have a body guard, don't you think?"

"Vincent is my secretary," Draco replied.

"He doesn't look like a secretary," the detective said, face stony, standing up. "To be honest, Mr. Malfoy, you don't look like a banker either."

Draco didn't ever like being challenged and he had never walked away from one. He stepped around his desk and closed the space between them. His snakeskin oxfords put him a good inch above the detective and he used that to his advantage. They were close enough now that Draco could tell the other man was holding his breath. It was for the better, as there was an odd mix of arousal and fury swirling inside Draco, and he wasn't sure which he would act upon if he could feel the detective's breath warm on his lips.

"Looks can be deceiving, detective. Have a good day," he said quietly, eyes lowering to fix on the other man's lips, then up again, feeling smug as he saw another flicker behind those emerald orbs. The eyes never lie.

xxx

Draco Malfoy was a block of ice, and just as impossible to read. He unsettled Harry in more ways than one, and it was hard to pin it down. It could be his perfect composure, practiced, disaffected, aloof. Harry didn't like those piercing grey eyes that went right through him, or that perfectly coiffed hair, so blonde that it was almost silver. It was a nervous thing, standing in front of him in his impeccable suit, sleek like chrome, and the color of granite. It was not these things in and of themselves, but the feeling they gave when put together. It was the feeling of barely contained distain and blatant boastful self-importance. All of which made the man's unnerving smirk and unending innuendos seem out of place.

Harry had thought for some moments that it was him who had his head in the gutter, but that man's nonchalant drawl did not distract from his carefully selected words. A precise man like him had to know exactly what he was saying.

The day after the meeting, Harry was told to lay off the councillor's missing person case.

Dawlish figured that even if they had gotten a lead it would probably extend outside of their jurisdictions. People don't usually run away to the other side of town, especially not a man with motives like the councillor, he was probably on the other side of the world. But they still had to investigate the death of the maid. She, unfortunately for Harry, was very much inside their jurisdiction.

But Harry was stuck.

They had video footage and witness testimony confirming that she had in fact boarded the plane she was supposed to. How she ended up dead two weeks later back in the city was anybody's guess. They had no suspects, no motive, and no hope of finding any. But Dawlish kept pushing, and Harry was getting desperate.

"I have a hunch," he told Hermione, one night at dinner. "But that's not going to be enough." Not to mention that he wasn't very keen on following through with it, considering who the hunch was about.

Hermione had a back office job, behind the scenes at Organized Crime. They can't help but talk shop at the table sometimes, much to Ron's annoyance.

"You think this Malfoy guy may know something?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I do."

"Then talk to him again."

Harry made a face. He really wanted to avoid that route. "I can't ask him directly about the girl," Harry said, slightly defeated, prodding at the meatloaf on his plate absent-mindedly. "There is no evidence that they even knew each other."

Hermione helped herself to some soup. "Why do you think he's involved then?"

"He's not a banker." Harry wasn't sure how he knew but sometimes instincts were closer to the truth than what the eye could see. "Especially not the kind of mid-level investor he purports to be. He has his own corner office and a body guard."

The sharply angled décor and uncomfortable looking chair in that sky-high room rubbed him the wrong way. Harry didn't like how Vincent the secretary stood just inside the double doors of the office, wearing that black tailored suit with his hands folded in front of him like a bouncer outside the downtown clubs. Usually bankers had curvy secretaries with big bosoms and tight skirts, not burly men who were more suited inside a boxing ring than in front of a coffee machine.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Ron interjected. "How's everything else going? How's life outside of work?" He asked, while giving Hermione a pointed sideways look.

"What life?" Harry responded dryly.

Hermione grinned. "Well, have you been out about lately? You know, at night?"

"No. Not really."

Harry didn't miss that look Ron and Hermione shared at that. It made him uncomfortable that they were worried about him. His lack of a love life bothered him more than he let on, and he didn't want to have to talk to people about it.

They gave up when they couldn't get anything else out of him and the conversation moved on.

Harry went home with his mind thankfully occupied. He sat in front of his laptop and scoured the internet for anything he could find on Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was young, having been hired right out of business school to work for AVR, the private investment company that he represented. AVR was legit, Harry had heard of them before, and seen their logo emblazoned on downtown offices from afar. It went on the market about a decade ago and did surprisingly well since the IPO launch for such a small company.

Barring initiating an investigation and requesting warrants, there was not much else Harry could find on the man. Dead end, again.

The only photo of the man Harry could find was on AVR's personnel page. He looked in the picture just as Harry remembered, handsome, conniving, and cold. But the bastard sure could wear the hell out of a suit. Harry shook his head to discard that thought. He's had sex on his mind for a week now. Sure, he couldn't help thinking things in that bright, glassy office, and he'd be willing to admit Malfoy was a hell of an attractive man, but there was no need to keep entertaining those thoughts. It wasn't as if Harry could act on them, although the hardness between his legs was demanding him to reconsider.

No.

Snapping his laptop closed, Harry went back to his nightly infuriating review of the airport footage. He wasn't technically supposed to bring work home, but what Dawlish didn't know won't hurt him. He rewound the tape a bit too far and sat to stare dead-eyed at the screen, waiting for the dead girl to board her flight as she had done many times for multiple nights now.

Harry had only even been on the lookout for the girl, but with the thoughts he had popping up in his head tonight, he thought he was seeing things when a familiar figure sauntered on screen. Harry sat up in his seat and felt his eyes grow wide as saucers. He wasn't seeing things. There was Malfoy, boarding the same Philippines Airlines flight twenty minutes before the dead girl stepped through the gate. There was no mistaking that silver hair, that perfect black suit, and, interestingly, he had no carry-ons.

Harry frantically flipped through the stack of papers falling over on his desk, but for the life of him could not find the passenger manifesto.

He called his fellow homicide detective, and sometimes partner, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was thankfully benevolent even at this time of the night. Kingsley was tasked with interviewing passengers from that flight for details regarding the girl. He had a copy of the passenger list. It took some digging, but it turned out Malfoy was indeed booked on that flight, but had supposedly missed it. Yet there he was on Harry's television screen, boarding it.

Harry sank back into his couch, eyes glued to the flicking screen, in disbelief at his good luck.

His triumph was short-lived, as he realized he would have to spend time in a room with that man again. Harry wasn't sure if he could come out of that meeting with his self-control intact, or if Draco Malfoy would find himself being fucked brainless on his office floor.

xxx


Caisele:

Thanks for reading. Haven't done a slash fic in a while, so don't be shy and show it some love?