Disclaimer: Still not owning Harry Potter or anything related. Well, except this.


"What the fuck happened back there, Malfoy?"

Harry whirled around, his eyes wide and his face distorted in rage. They sat in his office at the Ministry on level two, away from the other Aurors' cubicles. Wanted posters were pinned on every wall surface, they're occupants smiling, sneering, and winking at the two men. Draco's eyes kept flicking to the black marks littering the majority of posters. There were two desks.

"I was under the impression your partner died in a werewolf hunt, Potter," he drawled

A pink paper airplane flew in through the gap at the top of the door, zooming soundlessly. Before it could even reach him, Harry cried, "Incendio!" Flames shot out of his wand, zooming over Draco's right ear and obliterating the poor memo; the force of the spell scorched the door, and the posters on it, with a large, black burn. Draco paled.

"I'll ask you again, Malfoy," Harry said, his tone low and dangerous as he leaned over his desk, still for the first time. "Why was there an ambush waiting for my partner and I? There was only supposed to be one werewolf at that glade—Greyback!"

"I—I really don't know, Potter." At Harry's incredulous stare, he continued, "Really! My job is to research multiple magical beings: their traits, their habits, their hideaways, and everything else! And to write my findings in bloody books! You're the one who asked for my hel—"

"Shacklebolt asked for your help," Harry cut in, a look of distaste on his face. "He figured your knowledge to be 'valuable and an asset to our search'."

"If you don't like me so much, Potter, then why don't you request my transfer to another Auror? Or, better yet, discontinue my help altogether and let me get some bloody work done!" Draco's eyes were hardened steel and his snow white hands clutched the arms of the chair so tightly they trembled.

"Because," Harry dragged on, "you're my responsibility. I'm the one who spoke up on your behalf—the reason you're allowed to have a job in the first place!" His whole being suddenly seemed to melt, his face devoid of all emotion as he looked at a picture frame on his desk. "Shacklebolt was an integral part of the Order of the Phoenix—you know that, Malfoy—so you can understand his hesitancy when it comes to forgiving Death Eaters," Harry's robotic gaze fell to Draco, "and anyone who helped Voldemort."

Draco gave an involuntary shudder, but never took his eyes off Harry's. "There's no forgiveness, Potter, and there never will be. The Malfoys are destroyed," His face when he spoke his family name was as though he ate a disease-infested flobberworm, "My isolated mother is under house arrest for two more years, my father remains rotting in Azkaban, and I can't walk through Diagon Alley with Astoria without scowls and muttered curses. The only place I'm free is when I'm away from here—away from the Ministry and away from the rest of Wizarding Britain—and speaking with v-vampires in Romania or tracking yeti in—in Tibet." He began to falter as Harry's gaze once again became more human.

Without warning, Harry threw himself into his chair and propped his feet up onto his desk, kicking a stack of folders off his desk and onto the floor. "I understand how difficult it is to be stared at with disdain," he began, his fingers laced behind his head, "but you can't let it overwhelm you. People will believe what they want to believe, and it's usually as far away from the truth as it can get. Don't give them the opportunity to make their rumor true. The faster you help me complete my job, the faster you can get back to yours and away from all this."

"I told you where Greyback was sighted."

"This is bigger than Greyback." He let his legs down and opened a drawer from his desk, pulling out a file and closing it behind him. He threw the manila folder across the desk to Malfoy and began summarizing the details. "There's been werewolf sightings across the continent. Disappearances have reached record numbers since the fall of Voldemort. We can put two and two together," he paused at a snort from behind the file, then continued, "and we believe the werewolf sightings and the disappearances to be linked. Our first thought was another Death Eater revival and I," he glanced briefly to the spotless empty desk, "and Oliana investigated further. What do you think we found, Malfoy?"

There was a heavy silence while Harry waited, his tightly wrapped hand lying on the desk between them and his whole, healthy hand resting on his stomach. After a few moments, Draco finally lowered the folder and placed it onto the cluttered surface, his eyes automatically finding the mangled hand before him. He stared, his breathing shallow as sweat coated his upper lip until, finally, he spoke in a strong voice, his gaze boring straight into Harry's.

"What's it like having to compensate for a loss, Potter?"

"Get out!" Harry's face was unrecognizable once more as he threw the picture frame at Draco, moving at a speed only gained through training. Draco had flown to the floor, scrambling to the door as fast as possible, narrowly escaping the objects thrown in his direction. He reached the door and slipped to safety, but he remained poised outside Harry's office, staring at the wall opposite, the only thought reaching his frenzied mind: Potter's only mask besides blank, robotic indifference is one of exploding fury.


A/N: The plot thickens in another relatively short chapter. Eh, that just means faster updates (let's hope). Glad you read, hope you review! :D