A/N: Second chapter! It's a long one. I'm proud of myself =). Hope you guys like it too =).
As Harry approached Hermione's office, he could hear her arguing with her husband.
"But he should have arrived by now," she whined. "The Floo connection with the Auror offices in Romania is notoriously faulty; he could have landed somewhere else entirely!"
"Like Calamazoo?" Harry put in.
"Harry!" Hermione squealed, her worry entirely forgotten. He barely got a glimpse of her pale, round-cheeked face before it was buried in his chest. A laugh burbled out of him as he hugged her back. "Missed you too, 'Mione."
Ron grinned at him. Somehow, he'd managed to grow even taller and more freckled since he'd last seen him. "'Bout time you got here. Ever since we got your letter it was all 'Harry this, Harry that'-from everybody."
Harry sorted giving his best mate a one armed hug. "You too, Ron."
For a second, they held that pose, all three hugging each other, the 'Golden Trio', as the Daily Prophet had christened them, united once more. Then, slowly, they let go.
Hermione snuffled as they all sat down, she at her desk, Harry and Ron on chairs in front of it. "So," she leaned forward a bit, eying Harry critically. "Romania. Something tells me you didn't transfer back for us."
"Hermione!" Ron yelped, but Harry only snorted and smiled a little, looking over at him. "Your family's rubbed off on her, I think."
Ron gave him an agonized look in return. "You have no idea."
Hermione cleared her throat, and suddenly it was like they were first years again, sitting with Miss Know-it-all Granger. "The question, Harry?"
Harry sighed. "You're right." He'd thought about it, over the years. He'd left under complicated circumstances, after he broke up with Ginny, but he'd found peace at last in the rough, beautiful Romanian landscape, with the hardy, brave Aurors that lived and worked there…and he found, too, that it was impossible for him to give it up, even for his best mates and their wonderful children.
They both looked at him, the obvious question written on their faces. "I came back on a favor for Kingsley. I assumed it was temporary, but it turns out that it was to play babysitter to Malfoy."
Ron made a face. "Mangy git."
"Ron!" Hermione scolded, much to Harry's surprise. "He's different now, Harry."
Harry made a face, too. "That's what Ginny said. But all I've seen is that he's a more confident and energetic bugger than he was before-"
"Hate to interrupt your little Golden powwow," drawled a voice. All three of them looked up. Draco stood there, leaning against the doorframe, a small bit of platinum hair hanging low near his eyes. Harry's breath caught. It had to be against the law for someone like Malfoy to look so damn beautiful, even in the harsh light of Hermione's office. He held up an ominous looking black folder. "But we have a new assignment, partner."
"Why is it black?' Ron piped up-the very question that had been on the tip of Harry's tongue.
"Because, Weasley," Draco began, though his eyes never left Harry's. "The target is an escapee from Azkaban."
"What?" Hermione gasped. "Nobody's managed that since Sirius, all those years ago…"
"Someone else has now, a killer git called Finnegan."
Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked at each other. "Finnegan…"
"No relation to Seamus Finnegan." They relaxed. "But he is a serial killer who had been imprisoned for several killings, so we need to move now, Potter."
"Right." Giving Ron and Hermione his best reassuring look, Harry followed Malfoy out.
…...
"Erm, where are we going? The Floo rooms are the other way."
Draco sighed. "To the office, Potter," he absolutely refused to use the word 'our.' "You might have had the luxury of charging off into the great blue wilderness back in Romania, but not here. Strategy is required before you blunder off like the Griffindork you are."
"Plenty of strategy was required back in Romania," Potter huffed, glaring at the back of Draco's head.
"Right." Draco pointed at Chambers's old desk as they entered. "That's yours." He dropped Potter's copy of the black folder on it. "Read up, Potter. Hunting season's tomorrow."
As he flopped into the his chair, Potter stared at him. "You sound like you expect me to be here all night."
Draco picked up his copy, though he already read it. "Honestly, I could care less what you do, Potter. Just make sure you read it. There'll be enough to do without filling you in every five minutes."
He snorted. Draco heard him thunk down in the other desk's chair and noisily pull the folder toward him. After that Draco tuned him out, flipping open the folder. Allen Finnegan stared up at him, deceptively calm and gentle-looking despite his matted brown hair, wild eyebrows and too bright black eyes.
Finnegan had been captured and imprisoned long before the War, when Draco had been just a child of eight. He wasn't a Dark wizard, just crazy-a benevolent teacher at a Muggle university, a hermit to the Wizarding world who had suddenly snapped, going on what could only be described as a planned hunting spree. Three purebloods and two Muggle-borns had been killed before he was caught. But the longer he looked at Finnegan's picture self's smug grin, and the more he read his psychological profile, the more he became convinced that Finnegan had let himself be caught. The man was undoubtedly clever-extremely clever-yet it had been a tiny, amateur mistake that led the capturing Aurors to get him…
As it usually went on this kind of case, Draco lost all track of time as he strategize-there were no solid leads on Finnegan's possible whereabouts, so he'd just have to make his own…
Right on cue, thirty minutes past seven, Pansy appeared. Draco felt her annoyed stare on the top of his bent head for the second time that day.
"What happened to dinner at seven?" She asked. Draco didn't have to look up to know she was pouting again-seriously this time. She absolutely hated being stood up, although she should have been used to it by now, as it was happening more and more frequently over the years. Draco still felt a stab of guilt when he answered, however.
"A psychotic murderer escaping Azkaban happened."
"Small wonder you're too damn skinny," Pansy muttered to herself. "You hardly eat when you're on a case."
She waved her wand. Draco barely suppressed a smile as, typically, a large plate of food-this time, a large toasted ham and turkey sandwich with all the toppings-appeared on his desk. He raised an eyebrow at Pansy as a similar plate appeared on Potter's desk, much to its occupant's surprise.
"What?" Pansy snapped, though there was no real heat behind it. "Potter deserves a reward for agreeing to share an office with you."
Draco shrugged, unconcerned. "Touché."
They could hear Potter's stomach gurgle from across the room. "Thanks, Pansy," he said tentatively. She beamed at him, then gave Draco an annoyed look. "And he has better manners."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Pansy."
As he reached for the sandwich-mostly to make it up to Pansy; he wasn't really hungry-he heard Potter swallow a huge bite loudly. Draco noticed his green eyes flickering between him and Pansy curiously.
"Question, Potter?" he asked dryly.
"Are you two…?" He pointed at his left hand's ring finger.
"Married?" Pansy filled in sweetly, nearly making Draco choke on his first bite.
"God no." Draco grunted.
"We're just friends," Pansy spoke over him, still in that sickly sweet tone. She reached out to stroke Draco's hair fondly. She sent Potter a sly look. "He's available, if that's what you're asking."
Draco nearly fell out of his chair. "Pansy!" he yelped, his face starting to burn.
Pansy smiled wickedly. Across the way, Potter was blushing furiously, too.
"N-no, that's not what I…I-I just meant that you two argue and talk to one another like Ron and Hermione…"
Pansy made a face, looking at Draco in disgust. "He just compared me to Granger. Ew."
"Serves you right." Draco retorted, back in control of himself once more.
Pansy opened her mouth to snipe back, but she was interrupted by a sudden, loud pop, and Lewis, not Tally, suddenly appeared in the office.
Draco stiffened. "Sir." The man was practically glowing-never a good sign…except this time, it actually was. He presented Draco with something that looked like a gray and black box with buttons-a Muggle tape recorder, if memory served. Draco made a face. "What is that? Sir."
Lewis smiled triumphantly. "A lead." He pressed a white button on the side of the box, then placed it carefully on Draco's desk.
A voice Draco instantly recognized started to talk. "I have some information that will help in the Finnegan case," It-he-said. "Have Auror Malfoy meet me in the Luna Moone tomorrow night. It must be Malfoy, or I won't breathe a word."
"Blaise Zabini," Draco and Pansy said together as the recording shut off.
"You know him? Good. You and Potter are going to meet him tomorrow night, and see what he knows. Oh, and dress nice, little darlings: it's masquerade night at the Luna Moone tomorrow." With that, Lewis disappeared.
In the ringing silence that followed, Potter said, "I don't even wanna know how he knows that."
"I second that," Draco added dryly. Pansy was looking at him with a calculating look he hadn't seen in a very long time. It made his skin crawl. "What?"
She smiled, and that made it worse. "Masquerade…Don't worry, Draco. I have the perfect costume in mind for you," she said in that too sweet tone, disappearing herself before Draco could object. That was grounds for worry, indeed.
…...
Harry knew of only one person who could fashion together a costume for him in time: Mrs. Weasley. He found himself reluctant to ask, though-he'd heard from Ron and Hermione that the Weasley matriarch and her husband were enjoying their peace and quiet, what with their nest empty at last and Mr. Weasley having finally retired from the Ministry. And besides, it just seemed…indecent, and rude to Harry to just drop in on them with no warning after almost ten years, just to ask for them to do something for him. But…this case was important, and he really needed a costume. For though Hermione was willing to help, Harry was fairly sure it took an eye for the craft of sewing in addition to the right spells, an eye poor Hermione just didn't have, no matter how hard she tried to learn it from her mother-in-law.
So Harry found himself trudging up to the Burrow early the next morning, a smile crossing his face at the sight of it. So many memories here, memories pushed back into the blurry recesses of his mind, hazy from all the time passed, but still there all the same…
He must have tripped some kind of ward, because when he crossed into the yard, a thoroughly grayed, thinner but still very sprightly Mrs. Weasley burst out of the house, hitting Harry full force as she threw her arms around him. "Harry!"
Harry hugged back. Mum. The word was on the tip of his tongue. Once upon a time, Mrs. Weasley had 'hinted' rather bluntly that he could call her that if he wanted. But despite how much he loved both her and Mr. Weasley, or how much he considered Ron and his brothers his own, it was just something he couldn't do, especially since he'd broken up with Ginny…
"So the wayward son returns home." He looked up and grinned at the sight of Mr. Weasley, dutifully following after his wife, albeit at a slower pace.
"Yeah." He hugged Mr. Weasley too, once Mrs. Weasley released him tearfully. He let go, and opened his mouth to apologize to the both of them, but Mrs. Weasley shushed him.
"No apologies, young man. You're always welcome here, no matter what hour. Now in you get. I won't take no for an answer."
Harry chuckled. "Yes, ma'am.'
A minute later, and he was seated in the Burrow's kitchen, a quietly smiling Mr. Weasley in front of him and Mrs. Weasley bustling about like she had the first morning he'd arrived here, newly liberated from the Dursleys seventeen years ago…
"So what brings you here, Harry? You looked like a man on a mission when you came up." Mr. Weasley said, a hint of concern in his voice after his wife finally sat down, having given Harry tea and placed a plate of biscuits on the table.
"Erm," Harry muttered, guilt at disturbing their much deserved peace stabbing into his heart again. "actually, I came to ask Mrs. Weasley a favor…"
"Anything, Harry," She replied firmly, as serious as if he were going to ask her to help fight the long vanquished Dark Lord all over again. Harry blushed a bit in embarrassment.
"Nothing so serious…I just need a costume for a new assignment…" He quickly explained the circumstances under his surrogate parents' amused gaze.
"I can do that, Harry." Mrs. Weasley said once he'd finished. "In fact, I have just the costume in mind for you…"
…...
Dusk found Harry standing in the beautiful white marble parlor of Draco's manor-not the ancestral Malfoy Manor, but Draco's own house, bought with his inheritance, Harry assumed. He was already in costume-one that looked suspiciously like a wingless green and white angel, though Mrs. Weasley had sworn it wasn't-and was waiting on Malfoy to finish dressing and come down.
"Good lord, Malfoy!" He shouted up the staircase. "You take as much time preparing as a girl!"
"Patience is a virtue, Potter." The sarcastic reply drifted back down to him…and in a mere few minutes later, Malfoy appeared. Harry swallowed tightly, suddenly glad he was wearing his mask.
He may have been the one wearing the angel-like outfit, but Draco was the one who looked unearthly. He was wearing all black, a striking contrast to his platinum hair and mask dangling from one slender wrist. The outfit was tight, like a silk catsuit, hugging Draco's lithe, muscular body in a way that had to be illegal, the way it left nothing but the most tempting places to the imagination…Harry was suddenly glad that his own costume was quite loose, too.
The costume had a high black collar, too, that accentuated Draco's delicate, pale neck, and as he drew closer, Harry could see a dark green leather choker there too, with a small silver snake hanging from it…
It was an effort to drag his eyes back up to Malfoy's face when he finally drew level. Thankfully, the other didn't seem to notice.
"Blame Pansy for the bloody complicated costume," he huffed, porcelain face riddled with irritation. Staring at his face was dangerous right now too, Harry quickly found. Watching those pale pink lips move was mesmerizing. Harry suddenly found himself wondering what they would looked like flushed with blood from hard, biting kisses…Harry snapped out of the sudden fantasy with a shake of his head, flushing himself beneath his mask.
"Don't think so?" Draco half sneered, misinterpreting the shake entirely. "I'll have you know, Potter, that I'm not half as vain as you think I am. If I were, I would have settled on a career much more glamorous than being an Auror." With that, he stepped around Harry, heading for the door.
"Let's go."
…...
The Luna Moone was a nightclub frequented by high society purebloods and their wannabe pets lucky enough to get a look inside. The place…catered to various tastes, most of which had nothing to do with what kind of music was playing. How very typical of Blaise to ask to meet here, of all places.
When he and Potter arrived, the place was already filled with people-or rather with goblins, devils, dragons and other creatures, both magical and mundane. Draco slipped his silver fox mask on as they approached. The half-giant bouncer let them in without a fuss-Draco's rare silver-blond hair being a dead giveaway to his pureblood heritage.
Though they slipped in quietly, Draco sensed heads turn to watch his progress as he hunted for a semi remote place to wait for Zabini in the half-darkened area around the brightly lit, crowded dance floor. Perhaps he was vainer than he had led Potter to believe earlier, because he was far from embarrassed by all the lewd staring at his all but naked self.
He'd just spotted a table that would suit their needs perfectly, when Potter suddenly grabbed his arm. "Dance with me."
"Potter, are you bloody mad?" When he turned to face him, those green eyes were glittering at him from behind his mask.
"We're in a nightclub, are we not? What's so mad about it?"
"We're here on Auror business, Potter, not to have fun-" But Potter was already dragging him out on the dance floor…
Once there, a sharp, tango like beat began to play. Potter's fingers curled into his, his other hand lightly holding Draco's waist, those bright emerald eyes daring Draco to refuse. Never one to turn down a challenge, especially one made by Potter, Draco stepped forward, immediately putting Potter on the defensive as their bodies began to respond to the music.
As the tempo grew, as the emotion of the music grew more intense, Draco threw Potter into an aggressive twirl. He let him, but his hand tightened on Draco's and when he came out of it, he used that hand to yank Draco closer, right up against him.
Draco was so close, his body flush against Potter's, his face less than an inch away. Draco could feel Harry's heart beating through his own chest, all quick and fluttery. Before he could remember why he shouldn't, Draco ran his free hand across Harry's stomach and side, teasingly skimming his arse, fingers sliding underneath the shirt to scrape against skin…
Harry-no, Potter, inhaled sharply at the touch. Common sense reasserted itself in Draco's head, bringing him back to cold reality with a jolt. Draco stepped back abruptly, away from Potter's warmth and those smoldering eyes.
"Playtime is over, Potter." He growled coldly. "You got you dance. Now go watch for Zabini near the entrance."
To his surprise, Potter obeyed without any argument, moving easily through the crowd. As Draco watched him go, a silky voice whispered in his ear, "That was hot."
Draco spun around. "Zabini," he growled. His old schoolmate and former lover grinned at him lazily, standing entirely too close to Draco for his comfort.
The chocolate-skinned man leaned even closer, close enough to kiss. "Yes?" Draco moved back-the time for Blaise to be this familiar with him had died a long time ago, along with any affection Draco had once had for him.
"You had information on a case of mine?" He asked frostily.
Zabini pretended to look hurt, poking his lip out in a way that Draco had once found irresistibly attractive, to his current shame. "So cold, Draco baby. Apparently not everything the Auror training did to you was favorable." His eyes roamed up and down Draco's body, naked lust in that dark gaze. Far from making him feel good about Pansy's choice in costume, the look made Draco want to curse and cover himself up. He resisted the urge, though, and stood square and firm.
"Tell me what you know, Zabini, and quit with the fucking games," Draco said flatly.
Zabini sighed. "Very well, Draco. I suppose an old flame doesn't deserve the same courtesy of a dance as a potential new flame does." He turned and walked off the dance floor, toward a few private rooms placed discreetly off to the side, just a few steps away from the bar.
A brief feeling of foreboding shivered down Draco's back. He looked up, finding and catching Potter's eye across the room. He nodded to him, jerking slightly with his chin. If Potter had paid attention at all in his Auror training, he would know it as a clear call for backup. Before Draco could see if he responded, however, Zabini was already ducking through the beaded curtain that led into the darkened hallway with the private rooms.
Draco's skin prickled the second he entered, nine years' worth of field sharpened Auror instincts kicking in. The second he heard the low rustle and the sound of a hushed voice in the room Zabini was leading him to, he sprang forward, silent as a cat, wrapping an arm around Zabini's neck, stilling any attempts at a struggle by tightening his grip on Zabini's head.
"How stupid do you think I am?" Draco hissed into his ear.
"Damn," Zabini breathed. "If I would have known that all it took to have you all over me again was to betray you, I would have done this a long time ago. It's a much more pleasant way to do it than by carving a lightning shaped scar in my forehead, anyway."
Draco squeezed, pulling his head into an awkward angle. "Shut up. How many are in that room? Tell me, and I might not snap your slimy ass neck."
"I don't know," Zabini replied pleasantly. "But I do know how many it takes to stop you from carrying out that threat."
"Oh really? How many?"
Zabini smiled wickedly. "Just one."
Draco felt the cold, smooth touch of a wand on his neck from behind. He swore.
…...
What the bloody hell had Harry been thinking, asking Malfoy to dance like that? Oh right, he hadn't been.
It was just…everyone in the club staring at Draco like that, like he was a fine piece of meat on display…It had triggered something dark and frighteningly possessive in Harry, and though he had no right to feel that way, he just had to show them all that Draco was not some fine piece of meat for them all to ogle at, that he was Harry's-
Harry's what, exactly? Boyfriend? Date? He was neither, and probably never would be. Draco was only associating with him thus far because Lewis was making him. Harry reached for his water-no alcohol while on duty. Everywhere Draco had touched him, especially on his back where it had been skin to skin, tingled madly as if to contradict him.
Harry shook his head hard in denial. That hadn't been real. Draco didn't want him. He'd just danced with Harry like that to fuck with his head-both of them. Bloody bastard…
As he was standing there near the entrance, sulking, he saw Draco suddenly whip around on the dance floor. Harry's skin prickled at the sight of a handsome brown-skinned man standing too close to his-no, Malfoy. Just Malfoy. He couldn't help the small curse (hissed in Parseltongue) that escaped his lips as the man leaned in close enough to kiss 'just Malfoy'-nor the surge of vindictive pleasure as Malfoy moved back, putting a proper amount of distance between them.
He was surprised, then, to see Malfoy follow Zabini toward the private rooms near the back a few minutes later. His heart plummeted to hover somewhere near his shoes. He supposed it was none of his business what Malfoy did to get Zabini to talk-
Wait. Malfoy looked up at him, and as gray locked with green the other nodded, gesturing with his chin. A call for backup? Harry's eyes widened. Oh. Oh. Draco was expecting trouble, not…that.
Before he even realized his brain had given the order, he was moving quickly back through the crowd, following after. He was almost to the beaded curtain, when a fairy with familiar bright red hair stopped him.
"Harry!"
"Ginny?" Harry said, dumbfounded.
She pushed her mask up. "Obviously."
"Sorry. I'd love to stay and chat about how awkward it is meeting you here, but I'm here on Auror business-"
"I know. I'm your help."
He gaped. "What? I thought you said you didn't work at the Ministry."
She grinned, drawing her wand from a sheath in one ivy green boot. "I don't. You're looking at Ginevra Weasley, P.I."
"Private investigator? Since when? No, never mind. Explain it to me after we get Malfoy out of whatever trouble he's bound up in."
…...
Little did Harry know, 'bound up' was exactly the right term for it.
The second man marched him into the room, right behind Zabini. There were five other men in the room-a ram, a hippogriff, a grindylow, a lizard, and a dragon. A toy chest sat on one side of the small room; chains hung across from it on the other side. Draco's mouth twisted. It did not take much imagination to figure out what this particular room was used for…
Zabini took great pleasure in chaining Draco's arms above his head with those chains. He rested his hands on Draco's chest when he was done, smirking at him. "Draco baby," he purred. "be a good boy and tell me where you're hiding your wand."
When Draco's only response was a glare, Zabini tutted. "Fine, then, I'll find it myself." He ran his hands slowly over Draco's chest and down his sides and stomach, groping more than searching, leering up at Draco the whole time.
A Malfoy would not take such a public indignity quietly-and Draco was far from an exception, as Zabini was about to find out.
As he started to bend over to 'check' Draco's thighs, his hands sliding over Draco's hips, Draco slammed his knee up, directly into Zabini's nose. As he fell over-unconscious or merely dazed, Draco couldn't tell-Draco managed to tuck his fingers into his sleeve and grip the handle of his wand in the sheath there. As he pulled it out, however, his heart sank. He realized that he was now the sole target of six other wands. He was an excellent duelist, but not even he could take out six other fully mobile opponents while he himself was strung up and vulnerable, for by the time he managed to twist his wand hand around and free himself magically, he would be stunned or dead six times over.
If you're going to show up, Potter, now would be a good time, Draco thought dryly, gripping his wand tight, preparing for the battle to come-
"Stupefy!" shouted a voice. The man nearest to the door-the ram-crumpled. As Potter burst in right after his spell, Draco managed to stun the hippogriff in the back. He saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye-of hair, not a spell-and the lizard went limp.
The grindylow, the dragon and the maskless man who helped capture Draco were quicker than the others-they actually managed to fight back (the dragon even managed to clip Draco, which he found highly ironic)-but in the end, one by one, they fell just like the others, unconscious. Potter looked around with sharp eyes, still under the effects of the fight-induced burst of adrenaline.
"Oi, Scarhead," Draco growled impatiently. "Little help?"
Potter looked at him, green eyes widening in surprise at his predicament. Draco sighed, feeling heat rise to color his cheeks. "Don't ask. For Merlin's sake, don't ask."
"Oh…kay?" Potter walked over.
Potter had to be close to the lock to do the unlocking charm, which meant he had to stand close to Draco. And he was, good Merlin he was, close enough for Draco to feel the heat radiating off of him, a tempting, ghostly promise of a touch, close enough for Draco to count the dark eyelashes framing those eyes…close enough to kiss those damnably adorable, soft lips…
"Alohomora." Harry whispered, his eyes locked on Draco's. Draco felt his bonds let go, and he automatically lowered his arms, slowly, completely captivated by the man in front of him. It would be easy, a simple matter of closing the now thumb-length gap between their faces. He wanted to, oh Merlin he wanted to, with a sudden intensity that frightened him more than any amount of hostile wands pointed at him ever could.
"What's this lot doing, here, I wonder?" The redhead-Ginny Weasley, by the sound of it-got Harry's attention just enough to give Draco the opportunity he needed. He broke eye contact, ducking his head slightly as he sidled out and away from Potter.
"To kill me, as it were," Draco said, pulling together the shattered pieces of his composure back together.
The redhead looked him up and down, looking unsurprised. Draco gathered his courage and glanced back at Harry, who was still facing the wall.
"Potter, when you're done counting the bricks in that wall, assist me in gathering up the prisoners."
A/N: Wow, that was long…and a very bad place to end it. Sorry. Will get the next chapter written and up ASAP. So, good? Bad? Ugly? Let me know. There's always room for improvement, especially for me =).
P.S: yeah, I know Luna Moone is not a terribly creative name for a nightclub, but I put it in as a filler, and then it sorta stuck, and I couldn't think of anything else. Apologies.