When Draco said that a part of him died when Harry did, he wasn't only being melodramatic. The two boys, while still at Hogwarts, had bound themselves to one another magically. The bond was manifested physically upon Draco's lower abdomen where a proud sentient stag sought to protect him. It carried the characteristics that Draco treasured about Harry, a proud nobility, the drive to protect and even a quiet shyness. What he loved best was to sit and trace his finger over his belly as the stag chased after it, prodding at him faintly with dark, illustrated antlers.
Draco had put the best parts of himself into the binding that manifested itself on Harry in the form of a dragon. All of his love, his passion, and his need had been totally invested into the mark. Tragically, five years later, Harry was murdered. No, not murdered exactly. He was caught up in the backlash of his own spell that felled Voldemort. There had been so much of a to-do about what would happen to Harry once the connection with the Dark Lord had been severed, no one really spoke the awful truth that Harry might die along with him. No one but Harry.
When Harry was stilled, Draco's mark on him expired as well. While Snape had never been able to find a precedent for it happening, Draco insisted that his capacity to love, or care about anything had shrugged off this mortal coil along with Harry.
Still, Draco had never been a particularly brave boy and he grew up to be only slightly less sheltered and afraid than he was at Hogwarts. While there were nights when he thought there would be nothing better than to end himself, he simply didn't have that manner of will. Even if he had, such thoughts caused his belly to sting from Harry's mark stabbing the sharp points of his bony antlers into him.
Harry had always told Draco to move on if he died. The brunet idealistically thought that Draco would get over it. That he could. Draco had dismissed such discussions of Harry's possible demise as being ridiculous. If Harry died, then it would have meant that Voldemort had won, and a blood traitor such as himself would certainly not have been far behind.
Some might've said that life was funny. Draco maintained that life sucked. In spite of what he wanted, life did go on and he had elected to train as an Auror. It wasn't what he wanted. It was what Harry wanted. It was the job Harry was doing when he died.
Being a coward at heart didn't seem to be as big an issue as Draco had thought it would be when it came to being an Auror. There were plenty of brave Aurors, what they didn't have were good planners and investigators. In that capacity, Draco's cold analytical nature was invaluable.
He didn't have many friends at the Ministry. Tonks had tried to saddle him with the nickname "The Iceman" which he summarily killed with a stony glare. He didn't care much for Tonks. On occasion he'd go to a pub with Shacklebolt, who was at least fairly quiet, but none of the other Aurors were gay, nor were they interested in learning more about it. Other than Tonks, of course, which was just another thing that irritated Draco about her. No one liked an overly enthusiastic fag hag.
In spite of her off-putting behavior, she did know of a few Wizarding gay clubs that he could check out, and some Muggle clubs that were rather close to the magical world. Draco found quickly the advantages of his pull and run tactics when practiced in the Muggle world. He was untraceable as soon as he stepped back into the Wizarding world. So it went that three or four nights a week, Draco would go out, find someone suitable for the night, or perhaps a few nights, and then he'd disappear.
Muggles couldn't see magical marks, and so no one noticed Harry. Not that they would have. Usually Harry hid at the base of Draco's prick during these encounters, nestled in amongst the forest of dark blond curls, back to the activity. As much as anyone reached out to Draco, he always recoiled, usually in such a virulently caustic way. If it was one that Malfoy was always good at, it was driving people away. Only Harry had been strong enough to ignore it. Only Harry was strong enough to truly make him shut up. Only Harry had ever reached him
Draco was closing in on nearly a decade under the employ of the Ministry. The first few years had been exciting and somewhat satisfying. Running down all of the Death Eaters, getting to brutalize them with impunity when he caught them. He was on his own private mission to make those who took his Harry ache the way he ached. Even if it were for just a few hours before they were sent away and eventually Kissed.
Ironically, because of the treachery of the Dementors before the war began, Azkaban was a much more humane place. Most of the Dementors had been slaughtered along with the giants in a battle in the mountain stronghold where the last of the huge creatures were holed up. A few Dementors still remained, however, to administer the Kiss when appropriate. Although with Granger working her way up the Ministry, that practice was sure to soon fall out of favor.
Draco looked listlessly up at Ron Weasley when he entered his barren cubicle and took a seat without being invited. "Malfoy."
"Weasley," drawled Draco.
"My brother Charlie would like you to do some investigating in Romania for him. One of his dragons was eviscerated, heart removed, internal organs"
"Fascinating. I don't care."
Ron balked at being interrupted, "They're probably being used for dark magic."
"So let a Romanian Auror deal with it. Or some... animal... person. Or- why are you here asking me anyway? I don't take orders from you, " Draco began to rant, twirling his mug of tea on the desk absently.
Cutting in, Ron explained, "Because the Romanian government isn't taking it seriously and Charlie's afraid that more dragons will die. Hermione thinks it's very important, but the Ministry won't listen to her, just like they wouldn't listen to Harry when we were at Hogwarts in fifth year." Ron's eyes widened as he spoke as he watched Draco steel over.
"Oh, how very Slytherin of you. Invoke the name of 'Harry Potter' to get what you want from me. Utter his name and some platitude for justice and I'm going to fall to pieces, is that it? I'm that pathetic now, am I? So easy to manipulate, so easy to lead around once you've invoked the Golden Boy's name? Fuck you. Fuck your little Mudblood wife and your ten thousand babies" he hissed, barely restraining the urge to throw the mug of tea at Ron's head.
Ron's face lit up with rage. There were some things that clearly would never change. Clenching his teeth and leaning aggressively towards Malfoy, he growled, "Yes, actually. Hermione had rather hoped that your loyalty to Harry would help you see that perhaps the Ministry was being a bit short sighted on this issue. I thought you'd be the nasty git you're acting, of course."
Draco winced, not because he was afraid of Ron in particular, but Harry was stabbing at him. His hand moved over the flat plane of his stomach and he jabbed back, hard. "I'm not doing that sodding Mud—ow Muggleborn's bidding" Draco argued, more with the bucking stag on his stomach than really with Ron.
The redhead looked down at Draco's hand with a bit of longing. "May I see him?" he asked.
Snorting at the straight man staring so rapturously at his pants, Draco gave a haughty laugh. "You wish."
"Not THAT, I meant—"
"I know what you meant, and no. He's mine."
"He was my friend, too" argued Ron.
Friend? Harry was his friend? That was enough to make Draco bristle. "He wasn't just my FRIEND, he was my... my..." Draco huffed. Lover didn't cut it. It sounded tawdry, like Harry hadn't changed him utterly. Like all they did were those nasty things that Muggle Christians were all so afraid of happening in their back yard. Draco never had the privilege of calling Harry a spouse, or a husband. Even if there had been time there were no provisions for Wizard same sex marriage. "Soul mate."
"You know Harry never wanted this for you" Ron said, gesturing, trying a nicer tactic. It was hard. Malfoy was such a defensive asshole and Ron had never liked him. "And not that we're trying to set you up or anything, but we also thought it would be good to send you in particular since Charlie's"
Draco picked up the mug and looked for all the world like he was going to beat Ron about the face and neck with it, but then with a decisive thunk, he dropped it back onto the desk. "Don't set me up with your lot. I don't need hand-me-downs, particularly not a black sheep of the Weasley clan."
"He's not a black sheep! We're all proud of him and his choice," protested Ron.
Choice, indeed. As if you'd opt for that kind of derision and a world full of people who didn't understand or care to. Draco waved him off and stared at his calendar that was, as always, empty. He'd been distinctly ignoring the fervent and persistent prodding of his dead lover's mark into his belly, but it was clear Harry wanted him to do this. Who knew, perhaps Harry could see something dark going on that no one else saw from this vantage point. Besides, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do.
"Fine. You're proud, he's proud, we're all so very proud. I'll take him a rainbow flag for you," Draco spat, rubbing his tender side as the stabbing stopped.
"So you're going?" asked Ron, standing up as if he were going to make a break for it before Draco changed his mind, which was probably wise.
"Yes. I'm going. When do I need to be ready?"
"Can you be packed and ready tonight?" asked Ron hopefully.
Draco flipped his scheduler to the next day. Entirely blank. How pathetic. "I'll try to move some things around."
"Great, Hermione will get the time and the information to your superiors, she's already been talking to them so you should be all squared away," he said and then dared to reach out to pat Draco's shoulder. The aristocrat recoiled and gave him a disgusted sneer in return. "I owe you one."
"Oh really?" asked Draco leering up at Ron.
Ron didn't care for those grey eyes on him, knowing they were calculating what he could get out of him. "I'm straight!" he squealed girlishly.
Draco looked highly affronted, but only replied with, "Ew." After a hard look, he carried on, "If you really want to do something for me, take me off of your Christmas mailing list. If I have to endure another piece of mail from you lot with your bad hair and freckled progeny, I'll pluck my eyes out. So be a good boy and we'll be even."
That was Malfoy for you. One moment of goodwill and already Ron wanted to throttle him again, turning his kind gesture into something venomous. "Done," Ron grumbled, reasoning that telling Malfoy off, in spite of the fact that the git deserved it, wouldn't further what he needed done. He'd promised his wife.
"Good then. I shall be back here by seven with my things. How long will I be gone?"
"A week at least. We'll have the port key to Charlie's house set up when you get back. Good day," said Ron tersely as he practically ran to get away before he lost his temper with Malfoy.
"Great. Romania with a faggy Weasley. How much more must I endure?" Draco asked no one in particular.