The report in the Daily Prophet was that Harry Potter had woken up the first night of the summer to the sound of crying at the foot of his bed. His youngest son, Albus Severus, told Potter that his ear hurt and he couldn't find his mother. Potter told him to stay behind and he would get his son some water and medicine. He went down the stairs, weaving through the living room. He stopped halfway to the kitchen because he "felt something was off."
The body of his wife, Ginerva Potter, laid on the couch, her throat slid and her hands and ankles bound. Her pyjama top had been pulled open and it was twisted up around her armpits.
Although Potter was in shock he quickly called the Aurors and he and his youngest son were evacuated. A sweep of the upstairs revealed that the other two Potter children, James Sirius and Lily Luna, were found in conditions similar to their mother. In an interview conducted a few days later Albus admitted in writing that he had fallen asleep under his bed while playing. There is no known reason why Harry Potter's life was spared.
It went on to report that Potter and his son were going to be staying with his late wife's family until a decision could be made concerning his safety and the safety of the rest of his family. A t the time of the release of the article, a decision had yet to be made concerning Albus' pending return to Hogwarts. Interviews conducted with other key players from the Second Voldemort War didn't reveal much more information, but it clearly outlined that the general feeling throughout the Wizarding world was, and still is, one of fear.
It ended with a statement promising more information when it arose.
Draco Malfoy remembered the moment he had heard of the murders. It was early morning, before the sun had risen, and he had only been home for two hours. He had taken a long shower, rinsing away flecks of blood- some his, some other people's- from his body. Even though he had been healed after his debriefing his body still ached, but he assumed it was mostly because of exhaustion. The hot water needled into his tense shoulders but he stayed under the spray until he stopped smelling the coppery tang of blood. He washed himself quickly, his skin tender and bright red, before stepping out of the shower and towelling himself off. He dressed and climbed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
It felt like seconds later, but in truth it had been an hour and twenty minutes, that he was awoken by his son shaking his leg. "Dad, there are men here. Aurors. Something's happened. They wouldn't tell me, they said to come to your room and get you and to stay here."
Draco's wand was already in his hand as he climbed out of the bed, sweeping Scorpius up in his arms and taking him into the bathroom, where the air was still humid and warm from his shower. "Stay here and don't leave until I come to get you. Alright?"
"What's wrong?" Scorpius asked, his voice soft and high as he climbed into the claw-footed bathtub and tucked his legs into his chest.
"I don't know," Draco replied, smoothing down Scorpius' sleep-ruffled hair. "Just stay here and you'll be fine, yeah? Stay here and I'll go get rid of those Aurors so we can go back to sleep."
He pressed a kiss to his son's forehead and left him there, pulling the door shut before finding the Aurors in his living room. It was dark but he saw Weasley and Shacklebolt standing by the fireplace. Draco was taken aback by the presence of the Minister for Magic, and there was a look in Weasley's eyes that he would never forget.
"Harry's family has been attacked in their home," Minister Shacklebolt said without preamble, and Weasley let out a low moan. "Only Harry and his youngest son survived. We need everyone we've got to secure the residence. Get dressed and go. I'm taking Weasley home and I'll come back to the scene. No one touches anything until I get back."
"Is Potter still there?" Draco asked, his mind racing as he studied the Shacklebolt's face, shining with sweat.
Shacklebolt's voice cracked despite his even tone. "He won't leave. He's outside, just…sitting there. We removed his son, he's staying with Molly for the time being."
Weasley bent at the middle, holding himself as he got sick all over the floor in front of him. Shacklebolt patted him once on the back, obviously not sure what he was supposed to do in such a situation. Draco couldn't even begin to feel annoyed- his own stomach was tight as he watched saliva drip from Weasley's mouth before he retched again.
"I'll Floo my mother so she can stay with Scorpius," Draco finally said with a small shake of the head. "I'll leave here within five minutes."
Shacklebolt nodded sharply before turning to Ron. "Can you Apparate?" he asked, and although Weasley was green he nodded.
"Weasley, I…" Draco started, but the words died on his lips. Weasley's eyes were filled with tears as he looked at Draco, and after a long second he lifted his hands, surrendering. "Tell Albus I'll take care of his dad, alright?"
Weasley nodded, and tears streamed down his swollen face. They disappeared, and Draco quickly retreated back to his bedroom, throwing on his robes before opening the door to the bathroom. Scorpius was still in the tub, his forehead pressed into his knees.
"I have to go work," Draco whispered, kneeling down by the tub as he stroked Scorpius' hair. "I'm calling your Grandmother to come and stay with you tonight. I'll be back as soon as I can." Scorpius unfolded and wrapped his arms around Draco's neck. Draco held him tightly, pressing a fierce kiss to his son's neck. "I love you Scorpius. You know that."
"I know," Scorpius replied.
Draco's eyes burned.
The investigation stalled for a month as the department tried to sort out who would be heading the case. Everyone had a personal connection: one of their own had been targeted. Others had fought in the war and were listed as possible targets. Especially if they had children. Meetings were being held in secret between Minister Shacklebolt and Auror Wood, who had temporarily been appointed head of the Auror department in the absence of Potter. The meetings lasted for hours.
He couldn't concentrate on the paperwork he was supposed to be finishing up after his last mission. His desk was stacked with unfiled reports that he was going to have to pass on to his partner and plead for mercy. His stomach was tight and heavy, and he leaned back in his chair. Through the door of his shared office he could see into the empty one across the corridor. Two desks pushed against the far wall next to each other, the rickety chairs pulled out as if they had just stepped out for lunch or a meeting. Papers tacked haphazardly on the wall, laid out on the floor, spread out between the two desks, in piles along the walls. The shared trashcan was overflowing, the shared photographs of loved ones still smiling and laughing and waving, unaffected by the loss they had suffered. Draco knew the pictures well enough to know that none of the pictures had been spared a loss; snapshots from weddings, birthdays, holidays. Each frame held someone who had been brutally murdered, someone who was mindlessly smiling into the lens, not knowing that their bodies were beaten, brutalized and rotting in the Weasley family plot.
Draco had received a letter from his estranged wife shortly before she arrived to take Scorpius with her to Germany, where she had been living since their separation. She feared for his safety and his welfare, what with Scorpius' friendship with Albus, the surviving Potter child, and Draco's professional relationship with Potter himself. He fought her at first- she was overreacting, after all- but when his mother sided with Astoria he allowed Scorpius to go. Astoria had used his name to ensure that Scorpius could attend Durmstrang at the start of term. Scorpius promised to write and hugged him a little longer than usual before Astoria whisked him away, her eyes sharp and cold with fear. She had thought that the worst of it was over, and so had everyone else.
Draco wanted to believe that Scorpius would be safer with his mother, but he couldn't. He couldn't come home, hug his son and smell the sunshine in his baby-fine hair. He couldn't answer hesitant questions about how Albus was and if they were going to still be going to school together at Durmstrang. Draco picked up his reports, dropped them off on Bones' desk, and decided to take an early lunch. He pulled the door to Potter and Weasley's office shut as he walked by.
A Daily Prophet lay on the table of the cramped café in the atrium of the Ministry, the front page hailing a memorial service held for the slain Potter family the day before. A picture of Potter with Albus wrapped in his arms beside a distraught Molly Weasley took up the entire front page. The crime wasn't discussed in detail; the reporter simply referred to the incident as the 'brutal murder of the Potter family'. After the article in the Daily Prophet first reporting the murders there had been an article every day concerning the case but very little new information was revealed. Those who had been at the scene, working the case—those who had seen the bodies, smelled the blood—were charmed to not talk about it. Nothing had left the Aurors and entered the papers, nothing but the very basic outline of the scene in Godric's Hollow.
The gruesome details of the story hadn't made it into the newspaper, and they hadn't left Draco's head. The sun was just beginning to rise, thick fog giving way as cold, fat droplets began to fall. Draco could feel the moment he passed through the wards put up by first responders, then again when he passed through Potter's own personal wards.
The vision that met him was deceptively calm. The hedges were overgrown but otherwise the outside was unremarkable. A small group of Aurors, some in uniform and some who had quite obviously dressed hastily in the dark, stood outside, their faces grim and eyes haunted. A couple of them were smoking, fingers trembling around fags, and none of them were talking. Other Aurors walked along the fence line, wands drawn, following the seam of the wards just in case someone happened to find a way to breach them. Draco saw faces of people he vaguely recognized, people who weren't Aurors but worked with Shacklebolt. Everyone had been called in, and everyone looked terrified.
Potter sat alone at the end of the driveway, his legs folded in front of him. He had blood on his hands, arms, and feet. His eyes were red and vacant as he stared directly in front of him, his fingers hanging limply over his knees. He was in his pants and an undershirt and he was slowly being drenched with morning rain, but he didn't move. Didn't flinch. His messy, sleep-mussed hair was plastered to his forehead, his glasses fogged and speckled with rain, but his blank expression didn't change. Draco didn't approach him, understanding why the other people were ignoring him. They didn't know what to say, and neither did Draco.
Draco wasn't acknowledged as he drew closer to the open door of the house. He stopped on the stoop to pull out his wand, and a burly Auror with a scar splitting his upper lip hissed, "You won' be needin' that, mate. No'n to curse."
Draco swallowed around a lump in his throat and nodded dumbly, putting his wand back in its holster before crossing the threshold into the house, not prepared for what he was about to see.
He remembered the smell of blood most vividly. Before he saw anything, he was overwhelmed by the metallic tang of blood. His footsteps echoed as he walked down the narrow corridor, pointedly not looking at the collection of photographs, both Wizard and Muggle, that lined the walls. The corridor led to the kitchen and living area, separated by a staircase. Shacklebolt hadn't returned yet, and the Aurors he had left behind stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as they filled out reports or tried to forget what they had seen.
He saw Potter's bloody footprints coming from the living room area, and the arm of the sofa hung around the edge of the divider between the two rooms. One of the Aurors, a Gryffindor from Draco's year named Johnson, looked up from her report, her smooth brown eyes teary, betraying her usually sharp demeanour. "You don't want to go in there if you don't have to."
Her partner, a young, curly-haired Russian man whose name Draco could never remember, nodded from his seat on the counter next to her. "He'll probably want you outside or in the living room with Mrs. Potter," he said, his accent thick. "He's making people who don't have children work upstairs. It's…" he trailed off, shaking his head.
Johnson leaned back over her report, shaking her head. One of her tiny braids fell into her face. She was crying again, her lips pressed thin to keep them from shaking. Draco's partner, Bones, had latex gloves on. She was one of the few Aurors, like Draco, who had also trained as a Healer. She nodded at him sharply. "You're charged to evaluate Mrs. Potter's body and I'm to take the upstairs. I arrived just before Minister Shacklebolt and Weasley left and I didn't have the opportunity to get started. Upstairs shouldn't take long, I think, it seems like the suspect spent more time downstairs with Mrs. Potter."
The looks Bones received from the Aurors around her were sharp and angry, but she seemed impervious. After Draco absorbed what she had said he nodded, digging gloves out of the small field kit attached to his waist.
Minister Shacklebolt arrived as Draco pulled on his left glove, his bald head still wet with rain. He had effortlessly snapped back into Auror mode, and no one was questioning his active participation. Without Potter, they were leaderless, and Shacklebolt had that authority."Everyone know where they are supposed to be?" His question was met with nods and mutters of assent. A raindrop trailed down Shacklebolt's cheek as he continued. "Let's get the scene processed as quickly as we can, I don't want to see this any longer than I absolutely have to."
"Was Potter still outside?" Bones asked, her arms crossed across her chest.
Shacklebolt nodded once, and Johnson let out a small whimper.
Shacklebolt's hands clenched at his sides, and Draco looked back down at Potter's footprints on the otherwise clean white tile of the kitchen. He felt dizzy, like somehow this was all a fucked up dream and he was still asleep at home with Scorpius.
But he wasn't, and the blood soaking through the sofa in the next room called to him.
The small studio flat that Astoria was taking in Berlin wasn't what Draco would have chosen. The building was old and imposing, and he instantly hated it. He rang up to her floor and after a few seconds where Draco was sure she had changed her mind about letting him take Scorpius to the docks, the front door sprung open with a dull buzz. The inside of the building was more inviting than the outside, though he assumed that it was decorated much like any number of English manors he had frequented in his life. He ascended the staircase to the second story, and Astoria's flat was at the end of the corridor.
Draco felt claustrophobic as he knocked on the carved wooden door. It had been freshly-painted crimson, a different colour than the other doors on the floor. Draco couldn't contain his snort of disdain. He raised his hand again to knock and the door swung open, Astoria's eyes narrow. She had dyed her hair an unnatural shade of red and heavy bangs obscured her hard grey eyes. She looked so much younger than the last time he had seen her. He suddenly felt ancient, aware of the fact that he must look terribly old to her.
"Is he ready?" Draco asked, slipping his hands into his pockets because he didn't know what else to do with them.
One of her hands rested on her hip as she studied him, her lips thin. "He hadn't made his bed and he's not allowed to leave until he does. You can take his trunk if you like. You brought a car, didn't you?"
"Of course I did," he replied, too weary to be annoyed with her. "Am I allowed to come in to get the trunk or shall I Accio it out into the corridor?"
She hesitated but finally let the door swing open, taking a couple of measured steps backwards. Scorpius' trunk was just inside the door and Draco took hold of the handle, pulling it out in the corridor and down the stairs. He loaded it into the boot of his car without much effort, remembering how very heavy his own trunk had seemed to him when he was Scorpius' age. He slammed the boot shut and started back towards the building as Scorpius and Astoria came through the door, Scorpius leading the way.
"Dad!" Scorpius gasped, hugging Draco tightly around the middle. Draco hugged him back, pressing his cheek against the top of Scorpius' head as he held him close.
"Hey," Draco finally said with a little chuckle. "All set to go back to school?"
Scorpius chewed on his lip and shrugged. "Don't know. It's Durmstrang, and there's a stupid cape thing that's part of our uniform. But Al's going to be there, did you know? Al's going to Durmstrang, so at least I won't be alone."
"But it's a good opportunity to make new friends," Astoria said, smoothing a hand down his back. "You don't have to be friends with Albus just because you both are coming from Hogwarts."
Draco couldn't keep silent. "They have been friends for quite a while, Astoria, and I don't think it's just because they both go to Hogwarts. They have things in common, you know."
Astoria didn't hesitate. "I just think that there are people who would be better for Scorpius to befriend, is all. Albus won't be the same boy he was last year."
"Neither is Scorpius. He's lived in Germany all summer doing Merlin knows what." Draco was starting to breathe heavily, and he noticed Scorpius tugging at the bottom of his coat. "I think it's time to go if we're going to find somewhere passable for lunch. Got everything?"
Scorpius nodded and started toward the car. "Hold it," Astoria said, stepping past Draco towards their son. "You're not leaving until you give me hugs and kisses."
Scorpius rolled his eyes before pressing a kiss to his mother's cheek before allowing her to draw him against her chest, squeezing him and rocking him against her body. "Bye Mum," he panted.
"Be safe, my love," she whispered, showering his face with kisses.
Draco hated her in that moment, hated the love he obviously had for her and hated the love she had for his son. She had given Draco a child before taking him away, and he hated every breath that she took. Draco got in the car as she slipped a mink-lined hat on Scorpius' head, a hat that was most assuredly bought with Draco's money. She kissed him once more before pushing him toward the car. He waved at her and climbed in, fastening his safety belt before waving at his mother one last time.
Draco drove away before she stopped waving back and he chuckled when he heard Scorpius let out a relieved sigh. "She'd never let me leave if she didn't have to," Scorpius muttered, sliding down in his seat.
"It's a good thing she does, then," Draco replied with a grin.
They drove in silence deeper into the heart of Berlin, towards the British Embassy for Magical Affairs. He hadn't wanted Astoria or his mother to know how seriously he was taking the potential threat of another attack, so he hadn't told them that he was going through the Ministry to get Scorpius to the ship bound for Durmstrang.
They arrived at the Embassy just as Scorpius started to complain about being hungry and a man came to unload Scorpius' trunk and park the car. Draco brought the trunk in for his son and they were waved through to the Portkey set up for their travels.
"What do you want to eat? I'm sure they have places to eat at the port."
Scorpius took hold of the Portkey beside Draco, the trunk between them. "Can we have fish and chips? Do you think they'll have fish and chips?"
Draco had researched the port extensively, and knew that they had a little bit of every sort of food for the international students. "They'll have fish and chips."
"That's what I want," Scorpius said with a nod.
The chips were soggy, but Draco put enough vinegar on them to distract from the fact they were undercooked. Scorpius bypassed the vinegar altogether and ate his dry, wiping his fingers occasionally on the newspaper lining the basket. The wind was biting, stinging Draco's face and eyes. It felt like it was raining but the water that occasionally hit his face was mist from breaking waves. It was cold enough for the water in his hair to freeze, and he begrudgingly wished he had a hat like Scorpius', whose cheeks were pink but appeared warm otherwise.
"Do you think it will be better at Durmstrang?" Scorpius asked, yelling over the wind before eating another limp chip. "I mean...do you think..." he trailed off, making a vague hand motion.
"I don't think there is anywhere better than Hogwarts," Draco replied before burying his chin in his scarf. "But if you're safer here for now, then this is where you need to be."
"Mum said I won't be safer here, not with Al coming. She says he's dangerous, that I shouldn't talk to him."
Draco's anger flared again. "Albus is going to need a good friend more now than ever. He's not dangerous; he's just lost a lot. I can't imagine what he's going through. He's your best friend. Don't worry about what your mother thinks, yeah? I wouldn't let you do something that I didn't think was safe."
"Mum says you are reckless and irresponsible."
"Your mother has no room to talk."
Scorpius grinned. "That's what I told her, but she sent me to my room."
Draco laughed before he could stop himself. Scorpius finished his Butterbeer, his eyes drifting to a stand behind Draco that had furry hats on display. Draco turned to follow Scorpius' stare. "Do you want to pick one out for Albus? You can give it to him as a back to school gift."
Scorpius nodded and scurried over to the stand, finding a hat that looked just like his, except the fur trim was black instead of fawn. Draco paid for the hat before they set off toward the dock, where the ship still hadn't arrived. The gathered group was large and Draco heard a number of different languages being spoken as he followed his son.
Scorpius saw the Potters a fraction of a second before Draco did, and he started running towards Albus as quickly as he could. Draco followed, catching eyes with Potter for a brief second. Scorpius tackled Albus from behind, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad you came," he crowed, loosening his grip enough for Albus to turn around and hug him back. "I'm so sorry about..." he started, but Draco gave him a look of warning. With a blush Scorpius held out the bag the hat was in. "I got you this. It's a furry hat, 'cause it gets pretty cold up here. My mum got me one and I thought you might like one too."
Albus smiled weakly and took the bag but didn't open it. Scorpius studied his friend's face for a moment before taking his hand. "Come on, let's get a little closer."
Albus lowered his eyes and nodded, and Scorpius led him closer to the windswept dock.
Draco lifted his mouth out of his scarf and called, "Be careful," in unison with Potter, and the glare that Potter shot him was instinctual. Draco schooled his expression and drew his eyes away from Potter to scan the bleak landscape, watching the children head toward the rocky shoreline.
"Why are you here?" Potter shouted through the wind, his voice muted but strong. "Scorpius' letter said he was with his mother."
Draco tightened his jaw and turned his face toward Potter slightly so his response could be heard. "The very least she could allow me was to deliver my son to school."
Potter's next words were sincere. "I'm sorry." Draco didn't want Potter to be sorry for him, he didn't deserve it. Potter should feel sorry for himself and for Albus, but not for Draco and his failed marriage.
Draco wasn't sure if he should apologize or just leave, and he knew Potter was watching him to see what he would do. Draco lifted his chin and said, "When are you coming back to work? Shacklebolt is having Wood put together a special team to handle the case. He doesn't want you involved- he doesn't want anyone on the team who fought in the war. He'll listen to you."
Potter's expression was dark. "What, you want to help with the case?" He rolled his eyes and turned toward Draco minutely. "Shacklebolt won't authorize us to work on the same team even if Wood said it was alright- even if Ron said it was alright. We don't work well together. He'll let me on the team- and Ron because he's my partner- but not you."
"Weasley's already requested to not be a part of the investigation; he wants no part of it." Draco took a step closer to Potter so they wouldn't have to talk so loudly. "Scorpius worried all summer about his friend, and I know it would have been the same the other way around. We're all in danger, Potter, and I don't want to see that again. Ever again."
Potter was suddenly, terribly angry. He looked like he wanted to hit something, someone, but instead he took a very fluid step closer to Draco. "I see it every fucking time I close my eyes. I never stop seeing it. I'm surprised you want to help, Malfoy. You're much better at hesitating and running away than actually being of any real use."
Draco refused to be bated, even though Potter so desperately wanted a fight. "Not when it comes to my son. I'm not sitting by and not helping just because Shacklebolt thinks I'm compromised. Of course I'm compromised: my son is compromised. We're all compromised. I know you want to work this case more than anyone, and I want in."
Potter was studying him, and Draco noticed just how tired Potter looked. After a moment Potter looked away, fighting a weary sort of anger. They watched their sons laying on one of the small docks, drenched to the bone but enjoying the feel of the ocean spray on their faces, and something in Potter shifted. "Whatever you have to do," he said, his eyes never leaving Albus. "Your first mistake was thinking you were ever safe. We're never safe."
Draco saw the large Durmstrang ship approaching in the distance, and he sighed. "I know."
It didn't take much convincing to allow Potter to work his own case, but convincing Minister Shacklebolt to allow Draco on was another matter entirely. Draco kept to his desk, leaning back in his chair to periodically look in Potter and Weasley's office across the corridor. He hadn't seen Weasley, but he knew both he and Potter were back at work. He saw Potter ducking in and out, most of his time being spend in Shacklebolt's office, Wood's office at the end of the corridor, or in a number of different conference rooms throughout the building.
Draco went to lunch with Bones at her request. She gave him a dark look, but didn't say anything about the reports he had dumped on her desk. The pub on the corner was busy but not overly so, and Draco ordered the special without asking what it was. Bones ordered a wilted salad, and Draco couldn't help but wrinkle his nose.
"I've been re-assigned," Bones said without preamble as they settled down at their table.
"Can we have two half-pints, please?" Draco called to the bartender, leaning back in his chair before rubbing his face wearily. "Why have you been reassigned? Is this a punishment for you or for me?"
"Why would you assume I was being punished?" Bones said with a chuckle. "I don't do anything that warrants punishment." Their drinks arrived and Bones took an uncharacteristically dainty sip. "They didn't say why, they just pulled me out to be the one in charge of analyzing the forensic evidence at the Potter scene. They didn't want you to do it, I suppose, so they asked me. What, being a medical professional and all."
Draco snorted into his lager. "Bitch."
Bones smiled, her sun-roughened skin wrinkling around her eyes, breaking the sombre severity of her face. "I'm sure you will worm your way in the investigation in some way or another. Probably doing something far more interesting."
"Yeah, probably as a fucking suspect," Draco muttered darkly.
"Don't even joke about that."
"Nothing I said was particularly funny."
Bones crossed her arms over her chest, and Draco knew she would bitch about the wrinkles he made her press into the tailored blue button down shirt. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I wish I could just go on holiday until all this shit is resolved. I don't want to have to deal with this."
"I bet Potter doesn't either. Can't imagine how he's going to have his house cleaned."
Bones' eyes widened, and Draco wanted to take back what he had just said. He didn't mean it, he didn't know why he said it. "Damn it Draco, shut the fuck up! You wouldn't be so flippant if it was your fucking family!"
Draco's throat tightened. "I'm sorry."
Bones leaned forward, her eyes sharp. "It's not me you should be apologizing to."
Draco wanted to cry and he had no right. The waitress brought out their food and Draco frowned down at his Monte Cristo.
Bones took a large bite of her salad. "You can be a right prick, you know that?"
"You're the one who everyone hates for being insensitive, not me."
Bones took another drink of her lager. "There's a difference between insensitive and professional, and it has to do with your social etiquette, which you have none of."
Draco cut a corner off of his sandwich and dipped it in the bright red sauce. "Fuck you, I've got social etiquette running out my arse."
"I rest my case." Bones picked at her salad and finished her lager. "There's this thing called tact. They taught us all about it in Hufflepuff, I'm not sure if it's part of the curriculum in Slytherin."
Draco snorted darkly and leaned back in his chair. "I just...still can't wrap my mind around it. Like...it's all one huge fucking dream. It has to be ten times worse for Potter. I can't fucking imagine."
"Joking about it won't help."
"I know that! Just..." Draco waved a frustrated hand. "I don't know what else to do."
Bones laid down her fork. "I know exactly how you feel."
Draco walked back to the Ministry alone: Bones had a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt, Auror Wood, and the Prime Minister of the Muggles at his home on Downing Street concerning the threat the attack posed to the British, both Muggle and Wizard. The Prime Minister had wanted a 'doctor' there, someone who could tell of the psychological implications of what they may all have to deal with. The rise of another Dark Lord. Another war- a war that took place so soon they hadn't quite recovered from the last one. Draco's stomach turned, and for a split second he was glad his mother and his son were out of England. Only he had to face...whatever was coming.
As soon as he stepped back into the Ministry he knew something was wrong. The building was quiet, the kind of quiet that happens after something violent has occurred. Fearful quiet. Pained quiet. As he boarded the lift no one would meet his eyes, and he steeled himself for more bad news. The ride to the second level was short, and when he stepped out, everything appeared to be normal. Memos flew overhead to their given locations, thicker in the air than they had been a few short months ago. There was a meeting going on in the conference room, as per usual, and Draco bypassed his usual eavesdropping and went straight back towards his office.
He passed by Weasley and Potter's office, and the door was open. The room was empty of everything- the papers that littered everything, the books stacked along the walls, the cluttered desks- all that remained was a small pile of broken glass in the middle of the floor. The desks had been pushed back to their normal places on opposite sides of the room, ready for a new pair of Aurors to move in. Draco was disoriented by the emptiness, so he pulled the door shut before crossing over to his own office.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting. He didn't necessarily think he would come back from lunch to have Bones' desk emptied of the files he had laid off on her. He certainly didn't except to have her things replaced with a haphazard stack of junk that would be better suited in a rubbish bin. The entire contents of Potter and Weasley's office had been moved into his, and it appeared to have happened in a violent fit of rage. Not even Draco's own immaculately neat desk had been spared.
Draco shoved the overhang of junk back over onto Potter's desk, which knocked a broken picture frame down onto the floor. Draco stood when he heard the unmistakeable tinkle of broken glass, peering down at the mangled frame. Most of the glass was missing, and Draco knew where the glass in the other office had come from. This photograph. He had only just registered the bloody fingerprint marring the face of Potter in the picture when he heard someone behind him.
"Just leave it."
Draco hadn't realized he had knelt beside the fallen photograph until Potter was there, standing over him, looking furious. "I knocked it off, I was just..."
"Leave it there. Don't touch it." Potter's eyes were bright and his cheeks were red and Draco couldn't help but feel a little terrified.
He stood, looking away from the broken picture of a broken family and towards the broken man before him. There is something within Potter that neither of them can articulate, something clawing furiously under his skin. Something he can no longer control. Draco nodded once before retreating back to his own desk.
"You've got a meeting with Shacklebolt after Ron's done throwing his tantrum," Potter said, stepping over the photograph and crossing to his desk, aimlessly rifling through a stack of files that had been haphazardly tossed in his desk chair. "Some of this shit's Ron's, but he won't come to get it. I guess we'll just have to..."
"Why are you in my office?" Draco asked, gripping the back of his desk chair tightly. "Why is the entire contents of your office now in mine?"
"I've been reassigned," Potter replied. "Ron's quit, and now you're my partner."
"Fuck off!"
Potter didn't look up from his attempt at arranging his case files. "You said you wanted to help with my case. Your partner was moved to a different position, and my partner has quit. I requested you be a part of the investigation, and Shacklebolt saw fit to have us assigned to each other."
Draco grasped at words, his mind racing. "Shacklebolt doesn't have that authority, you're the Head Auror. You don't have to have a fucking partner!"
Potter's shoulders grew tense. "I've been temporarily relieved of my duties as Head Auror. Shacklebolt's playing double duty as the Minister and as Head. Cloudy judgement and all that."
"Why did he let you work the case if he's just going to take away all of your authority? So you feel like you're contributing. Why doesn't he just give you a floor puzzle to put together instead of conducting interviews?"
Potter's laugh was more like a bark. "I haven't quite ruled that out yet. He may have us both doing that by the end of it all." He had stopped pretending to tidy, and was leaning heavily on Bones' old desk. "I'll get the office cleaned up eventually."
"It's not a priority."
Potter's fingers tensed against the highly-polished wood.
"We both know this isn't a good idea, Malfoy. He's not stable enough to handle the case properly, we've seen him when he's emotionally compromised. In this situation, he's going to be unpredictable. We don't know how much he knows, how much he isn't saying."
"What does that mean?"
"You know what it means. We don't know what state he was in, what state he may still be in."
"Of course we don't! We have no way of knowing that. Having no leads thus far, having to stall the investigation for months and not getting anything done? Must be fucking frustrating to have the whole of England at your disposal and getting fuck-all done."
"Investigations have been initiated on a confidential level in conjunction with MI-5. We have been piecing together a list of potential suspects. Terrorists, Voldemort sympathizers. Those with ties to Dark organizations. Personal vendettas."
"I'm on the list."
"Everyone still alive with ties to Voldemort is on the list."
"You've got me on the team so you can watch me. Hope I fuck up so you can arrest me."
"I have you on the team so you can watch Harry."
"He's on the list."
"He is. At the top. He's unstable and they were his family."
"If he's unstable than why the hell is he still an Auror? Scared of what he'll do?"
"I don't want to change anything too drastically. Weasley's already caused a large enough scene, I don't want another incident like this on our hands. And I'd like to keep Harry close."
"You're playing with fire. You're forcing me to play with fire."
"He wanted you on the case with him, Malfoy. Surely he trusts you in some way. Whether you trust him or not isn't any of my concern. Trust is irrelevant."
"He's my partner, of course it's relevant!"
"You and Harry aren't going to be working in the field. Most of your work will be done here, following leads in old cases Harry and Weasley worked. Maybe someone they sent to Azkaban held a grudge."
"You really think you're going to keep Potter in his office? You don't know him at all."
"I don't pretend to."
"Can I leave now? Obviously this meeting has been generally useless and I'd rather not go back to my office and have it any more destroyed than it already is."
"I'll remove you from the case, Malfoy. I suggest you treat me with the respect the Minister for Magic demands. Understand?"
"Yes Minister."
"Dismissed."
Red hair obscured her face. That was the first thing Draco saw. He avoided looking at the body long enough to cross to the window to open the blinds. The morning light cut through the darkness, and Draco watched the rain as he tried to catch his breath. The air seemed thicker, weighted with blood and death and so much sadness.
He steeled himself and turned towards Ginny Potter, and he tried his very hardest to suppress his gag reflex. Her night dress was pulled haphazardly to the remains of what had been her neck. Her head was turned at an angle that wouldn't be possible if it wasn't nearly separated from her body.
Her torso was a mess of unrecognizable flesh. He had been stabbed so many times Draco could scarcely tell one wound from the next. He saw a small wet spot by her right foot, which rested on the floor. Draco crouched and pressed his gloved hand to the stain. Urine. Another wave of nausea overtook him.
He stood back up and peeled off his soiled glove and replaced it. He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. "Have photographs already been taken of this scene?"
A queasy-looking Auror at the door shook his head. "No sir, no one wanted..." the man took a deep breath. "No."
Draco pulled the compact camera out of his field kit and nodded once. "I'll take the photographs before we move her. We'll need to take in the couch and this square of carpet. Can you call in a lorry if one hasn't already been called? I don't want to risk using magic to transport them back to the Ministry lab."
The Auror looked relieved to have an excuse to go outside.
Draco had to fight to keep his hands from shaking as he lifted the camera. Her fingers, congealed drops of blood drying on the tips, came into focus through the camera's small window.
Potter had came in early and was cleaning his side of the office. He had pulled a large trash can and had filled it with stacks and stacks of papers that were presumably Weasley's. Draco stopped in the doorway and frowned. "Are you just throwing away everything? Are you checking to see if there is anything relevant in these files? I'm sure you need to keep some of this stuff."
"I don't need to keep any of Ron's things," Harry muttered. "I have duplicates of all of his files. There's no need for me to keep this all, it just clutters up your office."
"It's your office too." Draco said, not really meaning it. He didn't want Potter in his office, but that didn't change the fact that he very much was. Draco sat down in his chair, leaning back as he watched Potter bin more than half of the remaining papers. Draco's eyes lingered over the broken picture frame, balanced precariously on the edge of Potter's desk. Potter noticed it at approximately the same moment at him, and he froze. His fingers shook, hovering over the photograph, before he squeezed his hand into a fist.
Draco swallowed an inexplicable lump in his throat, feeling more uncomfortable in that moment than he cared to admit to himself. "Potter..." Draco began, but he stopped when every muscle in Potter's body tensed.
In one swift motion Potter tossed it in the trash, his breathing harsh and uneven. "Shut the fuck up Malfoy," He said through gritted teeth, and Draco knew without looking that Potter was crying.
The office was tense and silent, and Potter left without preamble, leaving behind a full trash bin and a much less cluttered desk. Draco stood, his throat tight, and crossed to the bin, taking the photograph from the top. He looked down at it, studied the smiling face of Potter obscured by flaking dried blood. He couldn't bring himself to look at any of the other faces.
He tucked the photograph in his desk drawer.
The first letter arrived the second week of Draco and Potter's partnership. True to his word, Shacklebolt had them reviewing cases that Potter and Weasley had closed and following up on those convicted. Neither Potter nor Draco were too terribly enthusiastic, as they felt that they weren't looking in the right direction, but they did their work with only the minimal amount of complaint.
The letter was nondescript. Yellowed parchment envelope simply addressed to Harry. It sat in the middle of Potter's desk, no trace of how it had been delivered. They had both been instantly suspicious, but a whole array of spells had yielded no clue as to its origin. No trace of fingerprints, no magical signature, nothing.
When Potter finally opened the letter, they had exhausted all other options. Potter wore a pair of gloves, ones made from thick dragon hide.
The envelope contained a single photograph. Potter pulled it out without preamble, studying it for the briefest of seconds before he threw it back on his desk, pushing his chair away from his desk so violently that the sharp dragon scales scored the wood. He stood, tore off his gloves, and began pacing, his face cradled in his hands.
Potter was unbelievably pale as he hissed, "Find out if we can figure out where the picture was developed. Contact anyone. Anyone. See if they can get anything. Fuck..." Potter probably didn't even realize it, but he was crying silently, tears streaming from his eyes so quickly that he couldn't wipe them away if he tried.
Draco picked up one of Potter's abandoned gloves and slipped it on before touching the photograph. It took Draco a while to figure out what he was looking at. But then it looked familiar. He himself had taken very similar photographs. It was Ginny Potter asleep, curled up on the couch, a bit of hair obscuring her face. It took Draco a few seconds to realize it was a Wizarding photograph, and he may not have if the gloved hand of the cameraman hadn't reached into the frame to brush away the errant strand of ginger hair.
The photograph slipped through Draco's fingers and his stomach lurched. His eyes raised to Potter, who looked lost and fucking furious, his face shining as his entire body shook. The lamp on Draco's desk went out with a loud pop, and he knew the light bulb had burst.
Dear Father,
How have things been with you? I am doing well, even though the uniforms here are a bit rubbish. But I understand the stupid cape things now, it get really cold here. I don't even begin to understand why people would choose to go outside to play Quidditch in this weather, but the teams don't seem to mind too much. Maybe they are just used to it.
How has Mr. Potter been? Al is worried about him. He doesn't say it, because he doesn't talk much, but I can tell he wishes he were closer to home. So do I, in any case. It's boring here, and most everyone talks in Russian and I know they are talking about Al but I can't prove it. Most of the time it is all right here, but it isn't Hogwarts. The food is much more boring. What is borsch, anyway? Food isn't supposed to be that colour.
Also, if it's all right with you, I would like to spend Christmas hols with you. Mum keeps talking about going on holiday, but I don't want to go with her. I know you're busy, but I figure if I tell her we have already made plans she'll have no choice but let me stay.
Tell Mr. Potter hi, if you see him. Hi from me, because I figure he won't believe if he thinks you decided to tell him hello all on your own.
See you soon (hopefully),
Scorpius
P.S. Can you please post us some Chocolate Frogs? They don't have them here and we are absolutely starving for them. Thanks!
Scorpius,
Things are busy here. I did indeed tell Mr. Potter hello from you, and he returns the sentiment. And I have a perfectly valid reason to talk to him, as we are now partners. I am not sure if it is meant as a punishment for him or for me, but in any case we are currently working together. Thus far we haven't managed to kill each other, as evidenced by my prompt reply to your letter.
He is doing as well as can be expected, as I am sure Albus is. Please do tread with caution.
As for your new schooling arrangements, you are where you currently need to be. As soon as it is deemed appropriate for you and Albus to return to Hogwarts, we will make every effort to see that it occurs. Until then, you will continue to eat borsch. It is made from beets, incidentally. Please understand the reason behind the choice, and know that it wasn't my decision. It was something I allowed. I would much rather you be here, where I can more easily protect you. But you are in good hands there, just not mine.
Your mother will have a fit if I tell her we have previously made plans, so this plan of yours must come from you. Of course I would like for you to spend the holiday with me, as long as you understand there will be times when Mr. Potter and I will have to work, though I doubt you will mind to spend time with Albus while we do so.
I miss you very much, мой сын. We'll have you speaking Russian yet. With Love, Your Father
Dad,
Can I please come home? Please?
Al
Ally,
Please be strong. For me. I can't keep you safe here. I can't keep anything safe.
I miss you so much, but you have to stay there. I'm sorry.
Very sorry.
Lots and lots of love from me to you,
Dad
Potter arrived at work late. His hair was messier than usual, and although he wasn't wearing the same clothes he had on the previous day, Draco knew he hadn't slept. Potter's eyes were red and his glasses were flecked with what had to have been dried tears, but Draco didn't comment.
Instead, he stood up from his desk and grabbed his cloak from the stand by the door. "Don't bother settling in, we're going to be out of the office today. I've pinpointed a few former Death Eaters who have appropriate motive. I think it's high time they are interviewed, don't you? You aren't adverse to going to Knockturn, are you?"
Potter's brow furrowed. "Shacklebolt approved this?"
"Shacklebolt doesn't know. Do you need anything before we leave?"
Potter shook his head and licked his lips, letting Draco pass him through the doorway before following. They walked to the Leaky Cauldron in silence, their steps brisk. Potter fell in step with him easily, his face like stone.
They walked together through Diagon, drawing equal amounts of disapproving glares and sympathetic frowns. Potter appeared to see none of it, his eyes trained straight ahead. Suddenly his weary-worn demeanour had completely disappeared and had been replaced with fierce and unrelenting determination. The power was rolling off of him in thick, hot waves. Draco felt more powerful just being near him.
The crowds of shoppers thinned as they neared Knockturn, and less and less people met Draco's defiant gaze. Draco noticed Potter draw his wand, almost unconsciously. "Goyle works for Borgin and Burke's. We'll talk to him first, he'll be the easiest to find. He's nothing if not predictable."
"You think Goyle could do this," Potter said, not quite a question.
Draco couldn't hold back his sigh. "If he didn't, he may know who could." He steeled himself and pressed open the heavy wooden door.
The door swung violently shut behind them. There was a withered old man perched behind the counter trying and failing to read a terribly large, illegal-looking book. He hadn't heard the door slam and continued his attempt, humming tunelessly to himself.
Draco started to make his way to the counter when a deep, slow voice sounded from behind them. "Can I help you?"
Potter turned around, taking an instinctive step backwards. Goyle was standing in the middle of two leaning shelves, tall and surprisingly lanky. It had been so long since Draco had seen him that the only things he recognized were his heavy brow and deep-set eyes.
"Good morning, Goyle," Potter said, his tone as tight as his jaw.
Goyle looked right through Potter and onto Draco, his eyes suddenly sharp and icy. "Draco. Long time. How's the Ministry treating you?"
"It could be worse," Draco replied, his voice more confident than he felt. "We've come to talk to you about a case. We've reason to believe you may have some information."
"I don't have information about nothing," Goyle muttered, but took a few steps toward them. "Where to, the Hog's Head?"
"We can talk here," Potter snapped.
Goyle frowned but didn't respond. Draco pulled a small notebook from his pocket, inadvertently stepping between Goyle and Potter. "Do you know anything about the murders of Ginerva, James, and Lily Potter?"
"Just what's in the Prophet," Goyle grunted, burying his hands in his pockets. "Nothing much else. Why, you think I killed 'em?"
Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably, but pressed on. "The Ministry has reason to believe that a former Death Eater faction may be involved, punishing Auror Potter for his role in defeating the Dark Lord. Have you any contact with any former Death Eaters?"
"Besides you, you mean?" Goyle asked darkly, and Draco could feel his ears burn. "People come through here every once and a while. No contact, though, nothing about murder or anything of that sort. Can't see no one having enough left to kill anythin', if you know what I mean."
"We'll need a list of the clients of this establishment from the last year," Potter said, and Goyle laughed heavily.
"I may not know much Potter, but I do know you have to have a warrant, and I'll guess that Shacklebolt doesn't know the resident Death Eater has taken you on a field trip."
Draco could almost taste Potter's anger and he slipped his notebook back into his pocket. "If you think of anything else, you know where to find me," he said, his mouth dry. Potter left Borgin and Burke's first, and Draco followed after favouring Goyle with a polite nod which was not returned.
"And what the fuck was the point of that?" Potter hissed when Draco all but ran into him. He had stopped right outside the door. "Did you honestly think you still had enough pull with him to get him to spell out exactly what happened? As if he would know anyway, hasn't two brain cells to rub together."
Draco felt anger lick at his stomach. "You can't blame me for trying, Potter. I'm trying."
Potter shoved him in the middle of the chest, hard. "Fucking try harder."
Draco shoved him back before he could stop himself. "Fuck you."
Potter was still angry but he stayed away, his lips thin and white. After a long moment of just their breaths Potter dropped his hands to his sides, his fingers still tight around his wand. "Who else you have on that list of yours?"
Draco swallowed his anger and nodded once.
Letter number two arrived at the Burrow, where Harry was staying. He brought it into work in a conjured plastic bag. Everything was the same. The yellowed envelope. The handwriting. Draco opened the envelope in Potter's gloves. There was a letter this time, written on the same yellowed parchment as the envelope. He let the picture slide back into the envelope without looking at it. Both he and Potter knew that it was more than likely a photograph of one of Potter's children and although they didn't speak about it, there was a silent agreement to let it remain unseen.
Draco passed the letter to Potter wordlessly, offering up the spare glove.
Potter took the letter without hesitation. "Never forget what you've done," Potter read, his tone wavering with an emotion Draco couldn't identify.
"Has anyone else received anything from the murderer?" Draco asked as Potter refolded the parchment.
"Not that I'm aware of," Potter replied automatically. "Molly found it, didn't know what it was. She was near hysterical by the time I explained. I can't stay there anymore, not if this fucker is delivering these letters in person. I can't put the Weasleys at risk, Ron is already not speaking to me."
"Stay with me," Draco offered before realising he was going to. "I have plenty of room and centuries worth of wards."
Potter shook his head. "I'm not staying with you."
Draco lowered his eyes to the envelope on his desk. It looked so harmless. "The offer stands."
"Understood."
Potter was in the middle of a Floo call when Draco arrived at work next morning. The small and otherwise useless fireplaces that stood in the corner of each office was usually reserved for interdepartmental communications, but Draco wasn't surprised that Potter got special privileges. He wasn't even upset about it, he found, surprising himself. Draco recognized the woman in the fireplace as the Headmistress of Durmstrang, a rather stern-looking woman who had taken over when Karkaroff disappeared. She reminded Draco of Professor McGonagall, and he was instantly inherently uncomfortable.
"I assure you, Mr. Potter, that every possible precaution is being taken to make sure that your son receives the utmost in personal protection as well as a quality education," the Headmistress said, sounding much like she had rehearsed the speech for ages. "We are providing him with specialized care and has established contact with our new Muggle Studies professor who was hired specifically because of his background in the loss of family and study to understand the different coping mechanisms employed by children, both wizard and Muggle." She nodded once, seemingly at the end of her prepared statement.
Potter massaged his temples, looking very much like he was planning to argue but changed his mind. "I'm just concerned. He's sent letters begging to come home."
She nodded sympathetically. "I understand that this transition is very hard for the both of you, but we are doing everything we can to make it easy on your son. He has the support of his friend Scorpius Malfoy and the full support of the Durmstrang community. And we know he has your unending support, Mr. Potter. Although your concern is perfectly understandable, there really is nothing more than you can do besides what you are currently doing."
Potter nodded, unhappy but placated. "Thank you, Headmistress Petrusiv. I'm sorry to have taken up your time."
The Headmistress smiled indulgently and the connection was ended. Potter cleared his throat and pushed his chair away from the fireplace. Draco cleared his throat to indicate his presence and Potter looked up to him, his eyes wide and, for the briefest of seconds, very lost.
"She reminds me of old McGonagall. Scares the shit out of me," Draco said dismissively, shrugging off his cloak.
Potter chuckled in spite of himself. "Nothing could possibly be scarier than Snape on one of his billowy rampages, thank you very much."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Every time I enter a room I attempt to do so with as much dramatic flair as Severus Snape. Time will tell if I ever succeed."
Potter's grin emphasized the lines around his eyes. "You do a pretty good imitation."
Draco bowed slightly before sitting down at his desk. Potter scooted his chair the rest of the way back to his own desk, which was devout of anything save an untidy stack of files they were meant to be reviewing, a couple of broken quills, and a half-empty bottle of black ink. He kicked his feet up on the desk and stretched in a way that bordered on violent.
Draco rolled his eyes again and opened his mouth to reprimand him, but a gruff female voice beat him to the punch. "For god's sake, Potter, weren't you taught any manners by those Muggles who reared you? Feet off the nice furniture." Bones stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She was wearing a rather shapeless beige suit, her red hair in its trademark plait down her back.
Potter's feet fell to the ground hard and he stood, instantly at attention. "Bones. Have you learned something about the case? Something in the examinations?"
Draco stood as well, but more slowly than Potter. Hesitantly.
Bones let her hands fall to her sides. "They don't want me talking to you." Her eyes shifted to Draco. "Either of you. They don't want you to get worked up, especially if it's nothing."
"What is it, Bones?" Draco asked quickly.
Bones pressed her lips together. "I've a meeting in two hours at St. Mungo's. Walk me there? Both of you?"
The all left the Ministry without opposition, silent until they were in the midst of the hustle of tourists flooding the London streets. "We've narrowed down the weapon used. It was the same with all three. No magic, a Muggle weapon. Sharp knife. We got a clean wound and had a knife expert narrow down the type of blade. Combat knife. Standard issue during the Muggle's World War II. An NR-40 blade, we believe. It could be a hunting knife, but the blade is just too long. It's used quite a bit in criminal circles. It's become fairly common, mostly in Eastern Europe."
"What does that mean, exactly?" Draco asked when Potter didn't jump in.
"Fuck if I know," Bones replied without preamble. "Could be any number of things. I would look at the DEs who have connections to Muggle crime rings. Especially those that have roots in the former Soviet Union. These knives were banned because of their popularity."
"Al and Scorpius are in Russia right now," Potter said, his tone hollow.
"Anyone with any sense wouldn't use an infamous weapon, it would lead us right to them," Draco said, burying his hands in his pockets. "They had sense enough to not use magic, which can be traced. If they are a wizard, which they most certainly are, they may have just walked into a weapons shop and asked for a knife. Took what was handed to them. This doesn't necessarily mean anything."
"But it might," Potter countered. "Is it worth the risk, keeping them there?"
"The real question is if it's worth the risk bringing them back here," Bones said before burying her mouth in her thick brown scarf. "International Ministry of Magic cleared everyone who works at Durmstrang. Under Veritaserum. They have clear backgrounds. We've triple checked. It's safe. We can't say the same for England. It's not a controlled environment. People are constantly coming and going. Durmstrang is a frozen fortress."
Draco saw a muscle in Potter's jaw spasm. "I hate not having any fucking control over anything."
Bones stopped abruptly, turning on her sensible heels. Her hazel eyes were sharp as they met Potter's. The papery, freckled skin around her eyes folded as she narrowed her gaze. "Which is why not a single fucking person would blame you if you did something drastic, Potter. Take back a little control. Do your job. Fuck everyone else. You are both useless sitting on your arses reviewing cases. You know who holds a grudge against you, Potter. This list is large, granted, but what can you expect from the most powerful wizard alive? Use some of that power."
Draco took a step back from them, sure that Bones had gone too far. Potter was eerily still, and Bones didn't look a shade apologetic. A loose strand of hair was lifted by a passing cab and she tucked it behind her ear before her gaze shifted to Draco. "Malfoy, don't let this mannerless sod ruin my perfectly acceptable desk. I do hope to return to it one day, and I hope to have it in the condition in which it was left. Take him to get a pint, will you?"
Draco nodded and she turned, walking briskly the rest of the way to St. Mungo's alone. Draco watched Potter's back for a few long seconds before he opened his mouth to offer to pay for the first round. Before he could get out words, he heard Potter's voice.
"So who was the next Death Eater on your list?"
Zabini pressed his lips together, leaning back in his chair. Draco couldn't help but shift in his seat uncomfortably. To his merit, Potter didn't flinch.
"No offense, Mr. Potter, but why in Merlin's name would I know anything about any of this? As your extensive research notes, I made damn well sure that there was no way that I could ever be positively connected to the Dark Lord. Besides sharing a dormitory with a number of them, I have no other connection to the Death Eaters. None. How else could I have accomplished what I have? I didn't have to do penance or bury my head in the sand. I haven't licked a single boot to get where I am, so what the fuck makes you think I would throw that all away for petty revenge against you when I have absolutely no reason to do so?" Blaise's tone was the same as it was in the courts. All he was missing was the wig. "If anything, you should be investigating the known Death Eater at your side. If anyone has motive, it's him. But you haven't considered that, have you? He's all but redeemed. Fuck redemption."
Draco's face burned, and he felt the rage that had overwhelmed him at sixteen wash over him in furious waves. Draco was staring a hole in Blaise's highly polished desk, his eyes burning. Beside him, Potter stood smoothly. "I think we're done here. If we have any more questions to ask you we will be back in contact," he said, no inflection to the words.
Blaise didn't rise. He crossed his legs and curled his lip. "If you contact me again, you will be hit with so many harassment charges your head will spin. Now get the fuck out of my office."
Draco followed Potter as quickly as he could, his entire body numb. His heart was pounding in his ears and his breathing was harsh. He felt dizzy, and he instinctively reached for his wand. "Potter..." Draco panted, leaning against a light post when they reached the street. He doubled over, trying to catch his breath but his lungs only grew tighter.
His vision started to black out and he could hear Potter's voice but couldn't make out what he was saying. He felt an awkward, heavy hand fall on his shoulder and the sharp stinging in his lungs subsided a bit. Potter's voice became clearer, and he was muttering varying combinations of "Just breathe, Malfoy" and "Fucking Zabini, the bastard".
Draco finally came back to his wits, and the first thing he was aware of was overwhelming embarrassment. "Sorry about that, Potter. Don't know what came over me."
"Panic attack," Potter replied without preamble. "Al gets them quite often. Nothing you can do but ride them out, even though it feels like you're going to die."
Draco's embarrassment grew. "All the same, it was a ridiculous response to something as generally harmless as Blaise Zabini. He's the worst sort of person. Of course he's a successful barrister. Deceit flows through his veins."
Potter rolled his eyes. "You're jealous. If you'd had been given the choice you would have done the same thing he did. Perhaps you would be in practice together somewhere, drinking brandy and chuckling about how terribly clever you both are."
"Fuck you Potter," Draco hissed, old anger flaring again. "You don't know any more than I do what I would have done given the opportunity. I did what I fucking had to do, same as you. Don't even begin to judge me, Potter. I gave up judging you ages ago."
"Did you?" Potter asked, a darkness in his tone. "Could have fooled me."
Draco swallowed burning bile. "I think it's time we called it a day. Start fresh tomorrow. I'll let you choose the next interview, as you did such a bang up job this time round. Now fuck off."
Potter didn't need to be told a second time.
Potter wasn't speaking to him. He was hunched over his desk, scribbling furiously on a length of parchment. Draco was trying his best to ignore the thinly-veiled hostility filling the room. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, contemplating whether it was worth the trouble to walk down to the break room to make a cup of tea and risk possibly having to talk to someone. He was about to convince himself it was, in fact, worth it, when Shacklebolt appeared in the doorway, looking sombre.
"Potter's working on the reports right now, Minister," Draco said, picking his quill back up. He saw Auror Wood and Bones behind Shacklebolt, faces stone. "What's going on?"
"Mr. Malfoy, this is none of your concern," the Minister said, his eyes a warning. Potter stood slowly and Shacklebolt drew his wand. "Mr. Potter, you are to be detained and held in the custody of the Ministry of Magic. You are under arrest for impeding an official Ministry investigation and being held as we ascertain whether or not you committed the mass murder of your two children and wife. I would ask that you come peacefully and without protest."
Draco shot to his feet, and Bones tossed a Petrificus Totalus at him before he could take a step. He fell back against the wall with a thump, propped upright but unable to move. His eyes shifted to Potter, who looked wholly furious but hadn't spoken a word. He slowly lay down his quill, shrugged off his Auror robe and draped it over his desk chair, and stacked the reports on his desk in a meticulous little pile. When he was finally done arranging his desk, he turned his defiant eyes back to Shacklebolt. Without preamble, he tossed his wand at the Minister's feet and held out his arms, wrist up.
"Auror Wood, please restrain the prisoner," Shacklebolt boomed. Wood stepped around him, his mouth set in a thin line, and picked up Potter's wand before he cast an Incarcerous and Potter's wrists were bound. Wood lay a hand on Potter's shoulder and whispered an apology as he led Potter to the door. Potter didn't look at Shacklebolt as he passed him. Shacklebolt looked unaffected.
Bones released the spell that held Draco and he rocked forward on his toes, barely able to keep himself upright. Draco wanted very much to advance on the Minister, to punch the man in his dark, stern face, but he didn't. Instead he hissed, "You know he didn't do it, you bastard. You know he couldn't. Why arrest him? What the fuck did he ever do to deserve sleeping in a cell doing fuck all? Fuck you, Shacklebolt."
Bones had lifted her wand again, her eyes spelling warning. Shacklebolt's fury was much less controlled. He took a long step towards Draco and drew a deep breath, a vein in his forehead popping out as he snapped, "And if you had done the job that your bloody boss had told you to do rather than allowing Potter to conduct his own vigilante investigation under the ruse of the Ministry but without any sanctions to do so, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Your work has been sloppy, unprofessional, and frankly, you've endangered the lives of everyone currently working on the case officially. Potter is stirring a cauldron that is volatile. He has a death wish, and there has to be a pretty good reason for him to have one."
"His whole fucking family was killed!" Draco screeched, slamming his hand on his desk. "And he's not allowed to do a damn thing about it but sit around and wait to hear the news that you lot deem appropriate for him to hear. If you're punishing him for interviews then I belong in the cell with him. I was there too, it wasn't all his idea."
Shacklebolt shook his head and checked his pocket watch. "I don't have time for this. Potter is in custody and you've been temporarily relieved of active duty. Take the next few weeks off so I can decide what I want to do with you."
Draco couldn't see, he was so angry. He took two steadying breaths, and it still wasn't enough. "With all due respect, Minister, fuck you. I'll decide what to do with myself, and I won't be coming back. This investigation is a fucking joke."
"Draco, think about what you're doing," Bones growled, tucking her wand away. Draco threw open the drawers on his desk and started gathering his things.
"I won't be stuck at a desk doing fuck all with my partner in prison for something he didn't do. I won't do it," Draco said, gathering his personal belongings. "Weasley was right to have left, this fucking Ministry is useless. What's the point of a Ministry that does nothing, and punishes people for taking initiative?" Draco's fingers landed on the photograph of Potter and his family that he had rescued from the garbage, and after a brief hesitation he tucked it into his pocket. He turned to Bones finally and sneered. "If you ever find your way out of your dear Minister's arse, let me know. I'd like to be informed when you return to your senses."
Draco then stepped up to Shacklebolt. Even though the Minister's face was gravely stern and he had a good head of height over Draco, there was nothing that Shacklebolt could have done to intimidate Draco now. "And you," Draco said, his voice low and shaking, "have made a very grave mistake and a very dangerous enemy today."
"Is that a threat, Malfoy?" Shacklebolt asked, his voice a rumble.
Draco only grinned, sharp and painful, before he left the Ministry, leaving nothing behind.
Nothing but Potter.
Draco hadn't realized how long it had been since he had spent any significant amount of time in his flat. With Scorpius gone, he hadn't really been in a rush to get home from work and spent many nights in his office until the wee hours of the morning, Potter across the desk from him just as intent on not going home and being alone.
Most of the surfaces in his flat were covered with a thin layer of dust, and the first threes day of unemployment were spent cleaning the flat in its entirety. He moved the furniture, then when he was unhappy with the new position, moved it back to its original spot.
He surveyed his empty cupboards on the second day but couldn't work up the energy to go down to the shops and buyrrrr454 food. He had even less patience for take away. He started to just ignore his rumbling stomach. It sounded just as angry as he felt.
It was midday when he had a knock on the door. He was dressed, prepared as he was to finally face the Ministry and demand to speak to Potter.
He wasn't expecting anyone, and when he opened the door he very nearly slammed it shut again.
Bones' foot deflected his efforts. "Oh, quit your skulking Malfoy and let me in."
"Fuck off Bones, I've nothing to say to you," Draco snapped even as he relented and took a step back to allow Bones admittance. "How's the old office, eh? Everyone still as delightfully charming?"
Bones arched an ungroomed brow, her freckled forehead wrinkling. "This isn't a social call, Malfoy. I've come on my own accord to tell you to get off your bloody arse and do something. You seem to be the only one who is paying attention at all."
Draco worked his mouth open and closed for a brief moment, uncharacteristically speechless. "What the fuck are you talking about? You were part of the entourage who carted Potter off to custody for 'paying attention'. You are the one who pushed him to try harder! You've been giving us information, and turn around and get him arrested!"
Bones' jaw flexed, her eyes going dark. Her anger was something to behold, the controlled fury of it. "Don't you dare blame me, Malfoy. I was trying to help you, but Wood received a complaint from Blaise Zabini. He had to tell the Minister, and I had to act like I knew nothing of the whole situation. Why the fuck would you go to Zabini, he's itching to have you behind bars for something! As if that bastard knows anything."
"I let Potter pick who we interviewed next! It's not like I was too keen on the operation, they all hate me because I work for MLE. They wouldn't tell me anything if their life depended on it, mostly out of spite. I thought it was our best chance. Granted, taking Potter along didn't necessarily help things."
"It really didn't," Bones agreed. "Because he's behind bars and you aren't. Zabini insisted you both be arrested, but I pleaded your case." She crossed her arms over her chest tightly, almost violently. "You're welcome."
Draco rolled his eyes.
Bones offered him a thin-lipped smile, but her eyes were still dark. "I've got to go. Work to be done, not that you'd know anything about it."
He threw her a two-fingered salute and put on his shoes. "I'll escort you. I'm going to harass someone until I can visit Potter."
Bones shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "You may not have to harass much, they were processing him for release."
"What?" Draco said, his eyes wide as he grabbed his wand. "You didn't deem that news notable?"
She hesitated, worry crumpling her face. "I don't want you to panic. Just...come with me, and you'll be briefed at the Minis..."
"What is happening?" Draco asked, cutting her off. "Tell me what's happening. Did they get the person?"
"There's...been a development," she said evasively, and grabbed his arm, Aspirating them from Draco's flat to the Ministry. His head was spinning, but he recognized he was in one of the meeting rooms, Bones at his side. He started to round on her, but Potter burst through the door, looking more frantic than Draco had ever seen him look before.
"Another letter..." he panted. "The Minister is on a Fire call with the Headmistress of Durmstrang as we speak, we're supposed to go to his office as soon as you arrived."
Draco didn't need telling twice. He jogged after Potter, who was practically running. "What was in the letter?" he panted, and Potter handed him a small plastic bag that held a photograph.
It was another Wizarding photograph that was nearly too dark to make out. Only at a certain point, when what was most likely moonlight poured through a window, could he make out what the photograph was of.
A dormitory. A narrow bed containing two sleeping boys, laying head to foot. One boy was blonde, one had a shock of messy black hair. A gloved hand reached into the frame and tucked Albus Potter in, and the photograph reset to the beginning.
A near-overwhelming wave of nausea overtook Draco, and his fingers went numb. He nearly dropped the photograph, but he somehow held on to it. "Oh fuck," he said, and traitorous tears began to sting his eyes. "Fuck. Are they..."
"I don't know, I received it in my post this morning, they check prisoner mail before passing it on, they released me before I knew anything," Potter said in a rush of breath. "I don't know, Malfoy. I don't know. I'm sorry."
"No," Draco said, not quite sure what he meant. It was the only word in his head.
They reached the small sitting area outside of the Minister's office without being stopped, even as they blasted through the doors to the waiting room. Draco's knees nearly gave up when he spotted Scorpius and Albus at the secretary's desk, accepting cups of tea and Chocolate Frogs being offered by the smiling woman.
Potter's knees did give out, and he hit the ground in tears as the boys turned at the sound of the slamming doors. "Dad!" Albus croaked, abandoning his tea and chocolate and crossing to Potter in three long strides, falling into Potter's arms with no uncertain amount of confusion.
Draco was blinking furiously as he approached Scorpius, wrapping the boy in a fierce hug, not keen on letting go any time soon. He could hear the secretary snuffling into her tea, but he paid her no mind. He pressed a kiss to Scorpius's forehead and pulled back, trying not to remember that mere seconds ago he wasn't sure if he would ever see his son alive again. His stomach rolled, and he allowed Scorpius to lead him over to the plush sofa against the wall.
Draco couldn't help watch Potter as Scorpius sat next to him, his eyes wide and curious and more than a little confused as he sipped his milky tea. Potter's entire body was shaking with suppressed sobs, and he was whispering fiercely, Albus's head burrowed in his shoulder. Draco wrapped an arm around Scorpius's shoulder and pulled him closer.
Potter was still on the floor when the door to the Minister's office opened and a heavy-lidded Shacklebolt filled the door frame. Draco stood, resting a hand on Scorpius's head.
"I've just finished speaking with Headmistress Petrusiv, they've launched a thorough investigation. They've called in Russian MLE and we are sending a team to Durmstrang. She seems convinced there is no way the school was breached, so it only leaves one alternative."
"The killer is employed there," Draco said, swallowing thickly. "How did this happen?"
"I'm going to Durmstrang," Potter said, wiping at his hopelessly smudged glasses as he climbed to his feet, still shaky but able to support himself. "Don't try to stop me, Shacklebolt. Please."
Albus whimpered in protest, but Potter lay a heavy hand on his shoulder. "It's almost over, Ally. I promise you."
"The boys can stay with Astoria, they won't think to look there," Draco offered. When Potter started to protest, Draco waved a hand. "Oh, you know I'm going to Durmstrang as well, so you might as well save it. They can stay with Astoria or with my mother."
"Grandmother please," Scorpius hissed, and Draco couldn't hide his snort.
"The wards on Malfoy Manor are formidable," Potter said and squeezed Albus's shoulder. "We'll leave tonight, Minister. The official team can rendezvous with us, or not."
Shacklebolt turned to Draco, an eyebrow raised. "Does this mean you take back your resignation?"
Potter's head whipped towards him, and Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. "I suppose it does."
The Minister had the decency to not smirk too wide, and he offered them a nod.
"Carry on, then."
They returned to the room Draco had Side-Alonged with Bones into, and she was still there. She looked from Draco, to Potter and finally to the boys and sagged with relief. "Thank Merlin."
"Bones, do us a favour, yeah? Take Scorpius and Albus to the Manor. Explain to my mother the very bare minimum, she'll have a fit if she knows the whole story."
"Yeah," Bones said. "Yeah, no worries."
"Thank you," Draco said, pressing a kiss to Scorpius's hair. "Be good for your grandmother, we'll be back soon."
Scorpius nodded, his usually chatty nature silenced by shock. Everything was moving so fast, but they couldn't afford to slow down.
Potter had both of his hands on Albus's shoulders, his gaze intense. "I'll be back, and I won't leave again, I promise," Potter said, his tone heavy with promise. Even Draco was convinced by his words, but they did little to quell the worry in his son's eyes. "Be good for Mrs Malfoy, don't give her too much trouble. And try not to get lost in the Manor, it's enormous."
Albus nodded and hugged his father tightly, and it was the first time Draco had noticed how very alike the two of them looked. The same messy black hair, the same huge green eyes, swollen from tears. He looked at his own son, who carried a softer version of Draco's own features, and his chest clenched.
Leaving Scorpius with Bones was the single hardest thing Draco had ever experienced, but he knew it wasn't half as painful as what Potter had to be feeling as they made their way to the International Floo.
When Draco tumbled out of the fireplace, he expected Potter to be waiting for him, dusting off the ash he would inevitably gather. But Potter wasn't there. There wasn't a sooty footprint in sight. The Floo connection dropped them in a small village just outside the grounds of Durmstrang, and the rest of the way was on foot. The fireplace was in the middle of a very small and very gritty-looking pub, and Draco scrawled a note on a napkin, cast a translation charm, and asked the barman if another bloke had came through the Floo before him. The man shook his head, and only then did panic sink heavy in the pit of his stomach.
Potter had come out somewhere else.
Draco grabbed a dishtowel, Transfigured it into a coat, and set out in the bitter cold, snow landing on his face and eyelashes. His lungs were seizing around the cold air but he ran towards the castle, which loomed in the distance like a shadow.
He must have ran for nearly two miles. His throat ached, his lungs felt like lead, but he reached the iron gates and pushed them open with red, chapped hands. The entrance hall was cavernous, dark, and quiet, even as students passed through in large groups. The Headmistress' office was off of the large dining hall, Draco remembered, and he went through the hall, which was empty. His harried footsteps echoed around the stone room.
The office door was open, and the Headmistress was seated behind her desk, scratching out a letter on a length of parchment. A hawk was perched by the small window behind her, waiting for instruction.
"Headmistress," Draco said as he hovered in the doorway, trying to catch his breath. She looked up at him, her angular face wary and stern. "Have you seen Harry Potter? We Flooed in together and he came out somewhere else."
"I have not," she said, abandoning her letter and crossing to a large register she had on a pedestal behind her desk. "How strange. I have your arrival noted, but before your arrival there is a blank spot. The register noted an arrival but not who had arrived. That has never happened before."
"It has to be Potter," Draco said. "He's here somewhere, we have to find him. Do you have a map of the castle? Fireplaces he could have come through?"
The Headmistress shook her head. "No map, but I know this castle better than anyone. There are only two fireplaces authorized for Floo. The one here, in my office, and the one we set up specifically for Mr. Potter's son, for emergency situations. That fireplace is in Professor Creede's office. If he arrived, it would be through that fireplace. Come." Draco shrugged off his transfigured coat and left it draped over a chair in the office, following the brisk pace of the Headmistress.
"Wouldn't the professor have reported someone coming out of the fireplace at random?" Draco asked, lengthening his stride to fall in step with the woman. "Is he in class?"
"Classes have been cancelled for the day, the children have been instructed to return to their dormitories and remain there until further instructed," the Headmistress replied. "We're taking this very seriously, I can assure you."
"I have no doubt," Draco said without a trace of sarcasm. He drew his wand, all the same.
The door to the Muggle Studies classroom was ajar, and the classroom was empty. The Headmistress went in first, walking straight back to the closed door at the back of the room. There was a small brass plaque in Cyrillic on the door, and Draco assumed it was Professor Creede's office.
Something moved in the corner of Draco's eye and he turned, his wand trained on the object. It was a photograph of a rather bland looking family, all mousy brown and perfectly ordinary looking. Two young boys, both with the same large, bugged eyes, stood with their arms draped around each other's shoulders.
Draco was hit with a flash of recognition just as he felt something shift. There was an immense pressure inside his head and his vision went black. He hit his knees and he heard a frantic voice cast the Killing Curse. He braced himself but didn't feel the impact of a spell.
He tried to climb to his feet but a heavy blow landed across the back of his head, and he heard more than felt his wand clattering to the stone floor. His last conscious thought was that the floor was cold, so cold, against his cheek.
Draco could hear a strange noise. Mechanical. His vision would blow out, all white and painful. He could taste blood, pooling against his cheek. His head spun, and the sound was driving him mad.
The sound of camera clicks. The flash of photographs taken in the dark.
Draco tried to open his eyes but an instinctive groan slipped from his lips. He raised a hand to his head and it came away slick with blood.
"Ah, so he isn't dead after all," a casual voice toned, and another bright flash blinded Draco. "I was beginning to wonder. I didn't want to have to change my plans."
Draco's head fell to the side, away from the light, and he finally forced his eyes to open.
Potter.
His arms and legs were bound, his limbs pulled to their limits. His shirt had been cut away, and slivers of his skin had been flayed loose. His entire body was covered in blood, so much blood that Draco couldn't tell the extent of the damage that had been caused. Draco wasn't sure if he was breathing, and a quick glance to Potter's face didn't clarify anything. He was barely recognizable, and even his bright eyes were lifeless and red. He held Potter's gaze for a long time, and Potter didn't blink.
It took Draco's traumatized brain much longer than it should have to realize Potter's eyelids had been removed. He couldn't blink.
"He's still alive," the voice whispered, much closer to Draco than it had been before. "I made sure of that. He doesn't get to die, not yet."
Draco swallowed thickly, the taste of blood making him nauseous. "Why?" he rasped, his head pounding and he could feel warm blood sliding down his neck. "Why, Creevey?"
"You know who I am," Creevey said, taking another blinding photograph before setting the camera aside. "I'm surprised. It took a while to jog Harry Potter's memory, and I was in his house."
"Inquisitorial Squad," Draco croaked, and he began to feel cold. "I memorized... the list of people who were in... Dumbledore's Army. Are you... Colin or Dennis?"
Draco felt a sharp blow low on his stomach, and he couldn't breathe. His eyes shot open wide as his stomach began to ache, and he looked down and saw a large knife buried in him to the hilt. There wasn't any blood until Creevey removed the knife, and Draco pressed a shaking hand to his stomach. He could feel the pain in his bones, and he tried to catch his breath in desperate gasps.
Creevey's face was red, and tears streamed down his furious face. His eyes were wide as he hissed, "How dare you, Malfoy? You fucking sat back and watched everyone die protecting your sorry ass. My brother Colin died to protect a world that you think we shouldn't even belong to. My brother died because he hero-worshipped him." With that he pointed the bloodied knife towards Harry, his entire body shaking with fury. "And he couldn't even remember my name. He won't forget now. He'll never be able to forget."
Dennis wiped the blade on his trouser leg and ruffled his mousy hair, turning to Potter. "How's that, Harry Potter? This time I think I'll take pictures of you. As you watch him die. And I'll slit your throat. And you'll bleed to death surrounded by the proof of everything you've lost. Everything I've taken from you for repayment."
Draco's vision began to blur as he looked around the room, taking it in fully for the first time. The walls were papered with brutal images of the murdered Potters, blood and viscera and pale, pale skin. He heaved and felt something terrible shift inside his abdomen.
Draco began to shiver. "He...he tried to help you..." Draco said through chattering teeth, and Creevey's grip on the knife tightened.
And then Draco saw the camera. Just out of his reach. he pulled himself towards it, inch by excruciating inch. He tried to quell the groans of pain, but Creevey noticed what he was doing. With a hiss of rage Creevey advanced. Draco wrapped the camera strap around his wrist and tugged, and Creevey took hold of the strap. The force of Draco's pull was enough to through Creevey off balance, and Draco had never been so thankful for his Auror training in his life.
He felt the blade split the skin of his forearm, and although Creevey was small, he fought like he had nothing to lose. Draco swung the camera and it hit Creevey in the temple, dazing him before clattering to the floor, shattering the lens.
"You bastard," Dennis slurred, and his disorientation was enough for Draco to pry the knife from his hand, and without hesitation he sank it deep in Creevey's throat.
The sounds Creevey made were sickening, and the rasping squelch as Draco pulled the knife free was so loud it echoed.
Draco tried to stand but couldn't. He was afraid to look at his abdomen, afraid that he would see intestines hanging free. He began to crawl to Potter, slowly, painfully. His head spun and he vomited, so light headed he had to stop.
"Malfoy, stop," Potter said, his voice weak and shaking. "You're losing too much blood..."
"P...Potter," Draco called, not sure if he was arguing or reassuring.
He lost consciousness.
Draco was in hospital for a week, Potter for two. Draco lost a chunk of his liver that couldn't be repaired, had to have his head shaved to fix his skull fracture and concussion, and had acquired a rather large scar dissecting his Dark Mark, destroying one of the eye sockets of the skull and beheading the snake. He had lost most of his blood and it had to be replenished twice through his stay.
He had inquired about Potter repeatedly, but all he could ascertain was that Potter was alive. The Aurors had arrived shortly after Draco had gone unconscious. The bodies of Dennis Creevey and Headmistress Natalia Petrusiv had been recovered from the scene and were currently in the custody of the Russian Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Draco and Potter had been stabilized by Russian Healers before being transported back to England and to St. Mungo's.
Draco had no memory of the rescue, or his brief hospitalization in Russia. His memories begin with his waking in St. Mungo's, his right hand cupped between Scorpius's. He felt no pain, and Scorpius's smile was glorious.
He was released home, and he returned to the Manor with his fussing mother, only to be bombarded by Molly Weasley, who had apparently taken up residence at the Manor to assist in taking care of Albus.
Draco hadn't realised how severe his head wound was until Molly Weasley hugged him tightly, tearfully thanking him over and over. His own mother was hovering behind Molly, her hands clenched over her chest as she cried with as much dignity as she could muster.
Draco was allowed to see Potter only after he had been released from hospital as well. Molly took Albus with her back to the Burrow, and the Manor was oddly quiet in their absence.
He couldn't wait any longer. He had wanted to give Potter time to settle back into life, but he had to see him. With his own eyes. Because everyone kept saying that Potter was alive and doing well, but a part of Draco didn't believe it.
Molly had made sure to tell him that the wards on the Burrow were keyed to allow his entry, as well as Scorpius if he desired to bring him along.
Draco arrived shortly after lunch on Saturday afternoon. Molly was still in the kitchen, Hermione helping her wash dishes. Hermione's skin was beginning to sag around her neck, and her eyes held a permanent sadness that all the Weasley's shared. Draco found it hard to look any of them in the eye for too long.
Draco followed the sound of Weasley's voice through to the backyard, sure that Potter was with him, listening to his prattling.
He could only see the back of Potter's head as he reclined in a garden chair. Weasley was sprawled out on the ground, tossing a Quaffle into the air and catching it as he went on and on about what had happened while Potter was in the hospital.
"Weasley, you're going to bore him to tears if you aren't careful," Draco drawled, and Weasley sat up quickly, the Quaffle pressed tightly between his hands. His eyes were unreadable as he studied Draco, his freckled face shadowed by a patchy red beard.
"I'm not sure your company is any more desired," Weasley said, tossing the Quaffle aside as he climbed to his feet. His next words were addressed to Harry, and his expression softened slightly. "Hermione and I should be going. We don't really trust leaving Hugo in charge for too long. Let me know if Al decides he wants to spend the night, yeah?"
"Yeah, of course," Harry said, and Draco took a few steps closer to him, so he could see his face in profile. "I'll see you both soon."
Weasley looked back to Draco and offered him a curt nod before he went back inside. Potter stood from his chair gingerly, and Draco frowned, reaching out to have him sit back down.
"Oh would you stop it, I want to give you a bloody hug," Potter grumbled, wrapping his arms around Draco's shoulders, gently squeezing him. "You...you are incredibly stupid."
"Me?" Draco said, not hugging Potter back. He was afraid to hurt him. "I didn't mean to get stabbed, you idiot! I thought you were dead, asshole."
Potter let him go and took a step back. Potter's skin had been restored, and it was pale in comparison to the rest of his skin. His eyelids looked especially fragile, but they were there. Potter blinked once, then again. Draco swallowed, still feeling like he was dreaming.
"You're not dead," Draco said, slipping his hands in his pockets.
Potter grinned at him and ran a hand over Draco's bald head. "And you don't have any hair."
Draco sighed, ducking his head away. "Yeah, don't remind me. I'm avoiding looking at myself."
Potter sat back down, motioning for Draco to do the same. Potter cleared his throat and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Are you going back to work next week?" Potter asked, folding his hands over his stomach.
Draco crossed his legs, staring at a scuff on his right shoe. "I don't know. They've told me not to, but Bones is drowning in cases. She could use the help, at least with paperwork. What about you?"
Potter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. "Ron's already got our things back in the office," he said, glancing to Draco briefly. "I don't know if I'll go back."
Draco frowned. So Bones was probably back in their office. At least he knew where to stack the cases he didn't want to bother with. "Ever?" Draco asked, because Potter's tone sounded final.
"I can't leave Albus. I've talked to McGonagall, and she's offered me a position as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I told her I'll be there in the fall. It will give me time to hand in my resignation and sell the house."
Draco nodded, not sure what he should say. He couldn't blame Potter for wanting to leave. He leaned back in his chair, studying Potter's profile. "No one will fault you, Harry. No one."
Potter shook his head, closing his eyes. His chest seized and he covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.
Draco didn't hesitate. He crossed over to Potter, kneeling in front of him and placing a hand on his knee. He wasn't sure if Potter wanted him there, witnessing this, but then Potter took Draco's hand into his and squeezed, his fingers shaking as he began to sob in earnest.
Draco's feet had gone numb. He could feel moisture soaking through the knees of his trousers. Potters hand was cold in his, but Draco stayed there, as long as Potter held on he would stay.
Potter finally looked up, his eyes red and swollen. His glasses were flecked with tears, and his lips were chapped and quivering. But the tears had stopped, and Draco offered him a small, reassuring smile. "Thank you. For being stupid enough to help me."
Draco chuckled, squeezing Potter's hand. "Thank you for being stupid enough to let me."
Potter pulled his hand free, wiping at his face. "I'm glad you didn't die."
"Not for the lack of trying on my part." Draco patted Potter's knee and stood, stretching his tightened muscles. "Although I do have a whole new set of scars because of you. So there's that."
"Technically, they aren't because of me," Potter said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on the tail of his shirt. Draco rolled his eyes, but Potter continued. "I trust you, Malfoy. More than I thought I could."
Draco rested his hands on his hips, leaning back on his heels. "We practically share custody of our sons, Potter. I don't think you could be rid of me if you tried at this point. Whether or not you're in London."
Potter pressed his lips together and nodded, blinking out a final tear.
He didn't know how she managed it, but Bones was waiting on Draco when he arrived, a hot cup of tea and a pasty sitting on his otherwise spotless desk. She wasn't sitting at Potter's...her...desk. She was perched on his, her legs crossed at the ankles as she drank from the polystyrene cup branded with the same logo as Draco's was. Her hair was loose, for the first time in memory, and she was wearing blush and mascara. Draco winced and sat down at his desk.
"What are they planning then?" Draco asked, picking up his tea and blowing away steam before taking a sip. Perfect. "Don't deny it, you've tarted up."
"Retirement party for Potter. And a welcome back for you. They're considering making you a field Auror," she said, her face looking somehow younger framed in blinding copper hair.
"So they've discovered they'll be rid of me much faster if I go around being stabbed all the time, lovely," Draco muttered, and Bones scoffed.
"Nonsense. They've discovered that you're fucking brilliant. You've done something brilliant."
Draco shook his head. "Not brilliant. I've..." he huffed in frustration. "It's like...I'm close enough to Potter to glow. But he's the one giving off the light. I'm the moon. He's the sun. They'll figure it out as soon as he's gone. I'll go dark again."
Bones finished her tea and circled around to her desk finally, sitting down. Draco could feel her gaze heavy on him, and he looked up. She really was quite lovely, all the more because she spent all of her time trying not to be. "What happened to you?" She asked softly, her expression nothing more than wonder. "You're a part of the fan club now. Indoctrinated."
"He keeps saving my life," Draco said, his stomach like lead. "It was time I returned the favour, is all."
Bones curled her lip, opening up a file sitting on her desk. "You look like a berk without hair."
"You look like a tart, we've already established that."
Bones started to laugh and Draco pulled open his drawers, looking for his quill.
He found something else.
He started, and his eyes instinctively slid to the office across the hall. "Is Potter here yet?"
"Coming in after lunch. Why?"
Draco snatched up the contents of his drawer, sliding it into the vast pocket of his robes. "I have to run an errand before he gets here. Cover for me, tell them...tell them my stab wound was acting up."
Bones rolled her eyes. "Not likely to argue with a doctor, are they?"
Draco smirked. "I'll be back."
Potter's arrival effectively halted all work for the rest of the day. Not that anyone was surprised. Shacklebolt had even abandoned all pretence and had shed his official robes, chatting with a frowning Auror Wood with what passed for a smile, at least for Minister Shacklebolt, on his face.
Something twisted in Draco's gut when he saw Potter walk through the doors, Weasley's hand clasped protectively on his shoulder. His skin was still blotchy but he didn't appear to be in any pain. In fact, he was smiling as people rushed forward to shake his hand, offer him congratulations, hug him with tear-brightened eyes. Bones squeezed his elbow before she walked over to the group as well, leaving Draco alone. He wanted to duck back into his office, close the doors, and rage.
He hated everyone. Everyone who had doubted Potter, and left him alone when he most needed someone. And Draco was all he had.
And Potter was all Draco had. And now he was leaving. He didn't need Draco anymore.
Draco gave up and retreated to his office, clutching his drink. Hating Potter would be so much easier than this.
Caring about someone was vastly overrated. He'd miss the bastard.
He lowered his head into his hands, trying to stop thinking. Trying to stop hearing the voices outside. Trying to stop the world spinning.
Trying to stop the ache in his stomach at the thought of not seeing Potter again, across the desk from him, knowing that Potter counted on him.
He was indoctrinated.
Damn Potter.
Then the door to the office opened, and it was Potter, looking sheepish and a little concerned.
"They're looking for you, about to make a toast," Potter said, hovering near the door. "I volunteered to head up the search."
"Surely I wasn't that hard to find," Draco grumbled, but offered a grin to Potter, whose concern melted a bit.
"I saw you come in here. Knew right where to find you."
Draco waved a dismissive hand and opened his desk drawer. He pulled out a square package wrapped in brown paper and stood, holding it out for Potter. "Got you something. Don't argue, just open it."
Potter looked like he was going to argue anyway, but he didn't. He took the package and deftly unwrapped it. It was the picture of Potter and his family, cleaned of the smudge of blood and rescued from shattered glass. Draco had forgotten he had saved it, knowing Potter would want it eventually. He had purchased a new frame, had it restored and mounted.
Potter was speechless. He was breathing a little harder than normal, and Draco was impressed that, although his eyes were brimming with tears, not one fell. He stood with his eyes squeezed closed for a minute, and Draco watched him.
When he had recovered Potter said, "Thank you," his tone heavy with sincerity and overwhelming gratitude.
Draco shrugged, his eyes shifting to the floor. He was surprised when Potter's arms were around him, and this time he hugged Potter back.
"We've got to get back out there before the second wave of the search commences," Potter said, clearing his throat as he stepped away from Draco. Draco nodded, conceding to rejoin the party.
As they emerged from the office Draco froze. Everyone was standing in the corridor, glasses in hand. Shacklebolt was near the front, and he nodded first at Draco, then to Potter.
Potter cleared his throat again, his eyes roving the crowd before he let them land on Draco, his smile small and apologetic.
"Minister Shacklebolt asked me to propose a toast. This past year has been...very hard. That's an understatement, clearly, but there are no words that exist that can express the...the depth of what..." he shook his head, his eyes going dark briefly. "I'm bad with words anyhow. But I was reminded every day that I couldn't just...turn off. I have to think of Albus, I have to be his dad. I have to be there for him. I don't have the right to leave."
Potter shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, canting his body slightly towards Draco, even though his gaze was on the floor. "And I have a lot of people to credit for saving me. But mostly, I have to thank Draco Malfoy. Because he nearly died for me. He'd claim otherwise, and probably will until the day he dies, but he did a totally selfless thing. He had nothing to gain. He didn't have to help me, but he did. And there's never anything I can do to that would properly express how much that means."
Draco's eyes were burning, and unreasonable anger bubbled in his stomach. He's going to cry in front of the whole Auror department, and Potter won't even look at him. But then Potter's eyes lift, and damn it if he isn't crying too. Draco wants to look put out, wants to look annoyed, but he grins at Potter. Damn it.
Potter cleared his throat again, swallowing thickly before continuing. "You saved me, Draco Malfoy. You saved me and my son. You saved my family. Thank you."
Draco pursed his lips and he heard a sniffle to his left. It was Bones, wiping at her eyes, streaked with running mascara, the daft woman. The grip Draco held on his drink grew tighter.
Potter took a moment, obviously finding his voice failing him. After a long, overwhelming bout of silence Potter began speaking again, resting a hand on Draco's arm. "And although there's nothing that I could ever do, Minister Shacklebolt has allowed me to offer you my job as Head Auror personally. I can think of no one else more suited for the job."
Draco was sure he had heard wrong. And it seemed that everyone else seemed to have shared his hallucination, because all of the faces gathered them reflected varying states of shock. In the back of the crowd, Hermione Weasley was holding her husband, and they both looked pleased and a bit relieved.
He now understood why Wood has looked so put out earlier, and his stomach rolled. He felt Potter's fingers tighten around his forearm, and he looked back to him, his eyes wide. Potter's smile was almost mischievous, and he held up his glass. "To Head Auror Malfoy."
The entire crowd followed in suit, and Draco was overwhelmingly thankful for Potter's hand keeping his feet on the floor. He felt like he was at risk of floating away.
Draco remembered when he finally, finally, finally, got to leave the crime scene. Not a speck of blood was left behind, he made sure of that. He had taken a break to help Bones assess Johnson's partner, who had vomited and fainted upstairs, his short-cropped curls drenched with sweat, his eyes swollen with tears and his apologized over and over in his thick Russian accent.
No one blamed him. Johnson wrapped him in her arms, rocking him like a child. Draco went back downstairs as soon as he could. He didn't want Bones to ask him for help upstairs, with the children. Scorpius had played in those bedrooms, slept in Albus's room on more than one occasion. He couldn't see them dessimated.
When he emerged onto the front lawn, the sun was high in the sky and it had stopped raining. The sun hurt his eyes, and he noticed that only a few Aurors were still there, packing up their kits and finishing off reports.
But Draco's eyes weren't drawn to them. They were drawn to Potter, who was sitting on the cracked pathway in front of the house, his entire body curled in on itself facing away from everyone. He was drenched in rain, his white shirt transparent and plastered to his shaking frame. Even from his distance, Draco could see his vertebrae and shoulder blades in stark contrast.
Draco had nothing to say. There was nothing. Even still he approached Harry, his kit still strapped to his waist and the scent of blood still thick in his nose.
Potter wasn't wearing his glasses. His hands and feet were still stained faintly pink, and his face held no expression. He was shaking violently, he was obviously in shock, and with a scowl Draco knelt down next to Potter, reaching for his wrist carefully, slowly, to check his pulse.
"Potter," Draco said, his tone even and calm. Potter didn't acknowledge him. Couldn't. His skin was freezing under Draco's fingers, and his hair was dripping steadily. "Potter, let me take you to Saint Mungo's. You're in shock, you need medical care."
The lingering Aurors had stopped what they were doing, shocked that someone had approached Potter, and Malfoy to boot. But something had to be done, Potter could do real damage to himself, his body was starting to shut down.
He continued to shake violently, and Draco's grip on his wrist tightened. Potter hadn't so much as glanced in his direction or flinched to his touch. Draco cast a few spells, drying and warming Potter who showed no sign of acknowledgement.
When Draco spoke again, he didn't recognize his own voice. "This is easy Potter, not being here. But you have to be, okay? You can't quit," he hissed, fumbling in his kit to find an emergency Portkey straight to St. Mungo's. He activated it and held on to Potter tighter, their disappearance swallowing his muttered, "Hang on," directed at Potter's vacant face.
Draco wasn't a Field Auror, which suited him just fine. He had his own office, which suited him just fine. He had a secretary who did the paperwork he loathed, and on his desk, he had three photographs: one of Scorpius and Albus in their matching fur hats, one of himself and Scorpius, taken by Potter, waiting for the Hogwarts Express, and the last one...the last one was of Potter and his family, a copy of the picture Draco had saved from the bin.
Ginny Potter's hair was brilliant in the sun, James tugged at his sister's hair playfully, and Albus's hand was tight in his father's as they smiled for the camera.