Here it is-chapter 2! In which the ever-fabulous Draco Malfoy dost appear. :D Enjoy, friends!

Wednesday had never seen a more relaxed Harry Potter. The singing bathroom mirror—which had been a strange birthday gift from two years past—even showed lessening of dark circles under his bright emerald eyes.

"Never have I seen

Such eyes this brightened sheen!

Smiling all aglow,

'Ere love makes him slow."

Harry rolled his eyes as the mirror finished its small song. "You always say that. I'm not in love, you stupid piece of glass; I just got a good night's sleep." It tittered at him reprovingly.

"'De-Nile' is not simply a river

Love's not a thief; 'tis a giver

Take back the words you say

Or perhaps in this state you shall stay."

Sighing in exasperation, Harry put the tooth powder away and dried his hair. "So what? You think I'll remain a perpetual bachelor because I'm denying that I've already met the right man. If so, why don't you stop giving me little verses and point me in the right direction? Then, I might actually get laid."

He ignored the mirror's usual indirect answers and muttered, "why on earth don't I melt you?" But if Harry was honest with himself, the Shakespearean insults directed at him in sonnet form before he Disapparated left a smile on his face.

The only difference between Harry's morning than any other was that usually he and a few coworkers met at a muggle coffee shop several blocks from his flat. Today he had taken the opportunity to sleep in, and he reckoned the others had as well. He apparated to the employee entrance of the Ministry with very little time to spare. Several witches and wizards greeted him, grinning or waving as always, and a few commented on how nice he looked. Harry flushed, realizing that he actually wore decent dress robes instead of looking exhausted and tattered in his 'hunting dark wizards cloak'. That piece of fabric had definitely seen better days.

Before he reached the gates to the Ministry's floo network, Harry's eyes caught a startling grey gaze and he waved, smiling at Draco Malfoy from across the platform. The blonde tipped his hat, a classy pin-striped fedora, at Harry. As always, Malfoy looked fit and put together—and Harry could have sworn he saw the git break into a slight smile before he disappeared.

Harry grinned fondly and let a few people behind him pass in line so he could check his bag for everything he needed. On cases like these, he always seemed to forget something for meetings, so he could not let other thoughts distract him.

"Are you going to floo in anytime today?" Bobby Shoenfeld asked in his booming, Hagrid-like voice. Harry's newest Auror team member was a very tall Englishman with a thick, muscular frame and light brown hair. He always seemed to be in a good mood, which annoyed everyone else during tough cases.

"Alright, alright," Harry chuckled and stepped into the fireplace, saluting Shoenfeld. "Off to the wolf pit now?"

"Ya don't say! Well, you're the famous one, so they'll descend on you first for ideas," Shoenfeld laughed. "Go on, then. There's a line, ya know."

Azure flames engulfed Harry at the words "Ministry of Magic!" and transported him into the ever familiar marble lobby. The fountain, which was now charmed to change every day, contained flirtatious nymphs this time. They giggled and splashed at Harry as he passed, awed when he conjured pretty rosettes that floated onto their marble hair.

"Always the charmer, eh? Wonder why ya 'aven't got yerself a girl yet," Shoenfeld commented on their way to the elevator.

"Erm, about that…"

"G'morning, mate!" Ron announced cheerily, stepping out of another fireplace. "'Mione picked up some pastries for us." His face sobered up at the sight of Harry's team mate. "Oh. Shoenfeld," he muttered.

"Hullo, Auror Weasley! Wond'ful morning, eh? Well, I'll see you upstairs, Auror Potter."

As he walked away, Ron murmuered, "I hate that bugger," and Harry filled Hermione's role by elbowing him. "What? He's always so damn weird and—I dunno, perky? Something's wrong with him."

"I dunno what's gotten you so testy around Bobby. He really is a nice man… With an even nicer arse…" Harry sighed dreamily, stopping to enjoy the view where Shoenfeld bent down to pick up a dropped pen by the elevator.

Ron snorted, his freckles rolling in a wave of disgust. "If he weren't straighter than this building, I'd be very worried."

"Whatever. I'll see you at lunch, hopefully. Then again, you never know what Kingsley will have us do, so don't count on it." Ron shrugged, smiled his goodbye, and went off to the opposite side of the hall.

Although he could not like his best mate's aversion to Shoenfeld, Harry tried not to dwell on it for long; there was no use in logic when Ron just didn't like someone. He might as well ask Ron to get along with Victor Krum for all the good it would do. As far as he knew, Shoenfeld had never even met Hermione let alone made passes at her, and he was always perfectly polite to Ron. He was not going to date Harry either, as Ron had so keenly pointed out.

Shoenfeld greeted Harry again once they were on their way to the 'think tank' meeting. Talk of the case filled their hallway until Kingsley opened the conference room. "Please settle down. Save your ideas to share with everyone at once—we will have timed turns to speak, since this is an unusual case. The briefing on Monday may have left you with more questions than answers, so I hope you have been able to fill in as many blanks as possible on your assigned topics. Now, let's get started."

Kingsley straightened his midnight blue dress robes and stood at the head of the table, eying the Aurors around him as they took their seats. He cast a spell similar to Ginny's midair arrangement of documents. A large, floating screen appeared at behind him, visible once he, too, sat down.

"Alright, we will start with an introductory profile, courtesy of Auror Shoenfeld, followed by Auror Finch's topic: the shop's customer list and possible suspects. You may ask other partners to support your findings. Let's keep this thorough but brief, people. Please proceed, Bobby."

Shoenfeld smiled and tapped the main point papers floating in midair so that they glowed in highlighted orange. "Righ' then, the theft was committed in a Mr. Frederico Doyle's Ingenious Ingredients on the muggle-protected co'ner of South Rowder and Main Street, 22 November. Doyle's incident report starts with 'is quick leave fer lunch. Approx'mately half an hour later, 'e returned to find one stolen potion. The brew in question is a dan'grous infusion of dark ingredients, known in research as Deni—Denigr… Anyone know how ter say it?"

Harry looked around as witches and wizards stared at the paper. He reckoned that no one wanted to look like an idiot by saying the wrong word. "Denigrata Notte," he informed them. "You can thank Hermione Granger for that one, everyone; don't look at me. Carry on, Bobby." Harry grinned slightly to see the named man's adorable face flush.

"Thanks, Harry. I mean, Auror Potter."

"Skip formalities and get on with the case, Shoenfeld," Kingsley yawned, shuffling his papers. Harry resisted the urge to glare at his boss and turned red, staring down at the oak table.

"Er, righ' then. The very limited time allotted fer the crime suggests prem'ditation and careful plannin' on our thief's part. 'e or she left only one tangible clue that old man Doyle swears 'e had never before seen in 'is shop: a tag, torn from an art'cle of clothin' with a few strands of black fabric. No prints, magical or o'erwise."

"Thank you." Kingsley nodded encouragingly to Shoenfeld, who gave a huge, reverent grin. "Next, Auror Finch will report on the suspect list."

Andria Finch appeared to be a very shrewd, serious witch. She was indeed very intelligent and capable, but everyone knew trouble when they recognized the cat-who-ate-the-canary smirk on her face. "It turns out that old man Doyle's account did not give us much help narrowing down the suspect pool. He has suffered from lapses of judgment and suggestions to be treated in Saint Mungos. But—I managed to dig up a vast clientele list in one of his pensieves, which his brother has thankfully made him update in case of such emergencies. Auror Felix and I discussed the wards on his business and how they are selectively permeable to clients. Felix, if you wouldn't mind?"

A small, wiry man, older than most of the other Aurors, nodded to her. "Of course. There was absolutely no sign of these protective enchantments being destroyed, altered, or recast, so we assume that the thief must be a regular client. Mr. Doyle allowed his wards to detect the intentionof the entering witch or wizard. He also had an available apparation point only out of his shop in his shoe closet, for his own convenience, which the suspect most likely used to escape. The time between which Doyle left and returned from lunch did not allow the thief much time for exploration; it is likely he or she knew about the apparation point beforehand. Andria?"

"Thank you, Felix. The only way for our thief to enter the shop was with the intention to buy something. He or she was a long-time customer who would have warmed up to Doyle enough for him to accidentally mention the apparation point. This narrows down our suspect list down to about one hundred and seventy regulars to his shop, Doyle's old friends or family, and slightly less frequent customers. Copies of our new list are downstairs and suspects' criminal background checks are in process. Everyone please take a copy," she said, passing them around in the circle. "Auror Potter?" she said lightly, noting his curious expression. "Care to comment?"

Everyone else is just as willing to give input, Harry thought, giving a sigh in his mind. "I'm just wondering how much help criminal background checks might be. Since the suspects are open to Doyle's own relatives and friends, I don't think they'll narrow down the list by much. Intention to steal is one thing, but now that we know these wards were conditional, we can conclude that the crime was not premeditated. Doyle's seventeen-year-old nephew could have been stopping in to get something for school or say hullo, and seeing the potion he just impulsively took it and went home. Not that this scenario is likely, but hopefully you understand my point. I have examined different aspects of this potion, Denigrata Nocte, with a few friends, to find out that it is very, very rare. It has also been easily mistaken for other drafts of Light magic, which has resulted in violent explosions. Quite possibly, our focus should be on the thief's own safety; in all likelihood, they may not even know the true identity of this potion. We should also take into consideration what our suspects truly wanted, if that is the case."

Kingsley nodded, checking his watch. "Very good point, Harry. Make a note to look into similar potions and their purposes. Now, the checks will be completed soon, but as Harry has pointed out, we all need to gather more information by interviewing the family. All of you, split up into interview groups—I want every inch of Doyle's life covered to rule out any personal connections that might warrant him for a protection order. Harry, would you mind contacting Mrs. Weasley-Granger for further consultation on this case? I want you and Shoenfeld to crack down further potion information in case it comes down an emergency when we retrieve that peculiar draft.

"Right away, sir!" Shoenfeld said, eagerly saluting his boss. "I'll be right back, Harry—I just want to ask a few more questions in Kingsley's office." The room was soon bustling as everyone made their way out, which left Harry alone to his thoughts.

For once, he felt a bit underwhelmed. This case seemed almost completely tame when compared to all of his previous work. He thought happiness or at least relief should compose most of his emotions. Instead, he had felt rather lethargic and bored all day—except at the earlier sight of Malfoy.

There was work, and then there was Malfoy. Harry had always harbored mixed feelings for his peculiar friend, if he could call the Slytherin that. Almost a year and a half earlier, when Harry was inducted as a full auror, he met Draco for the first time since the Malfoys' post-war trial. He had spoken for Narcissa and Draco, but against Lucius. Mother and son were freed of all charges, except enabling, for which both were forced into months of community service. Neither spoke to Lucius, who had been sentenced to life in Azkaban and was shortly killed by vengeful inmates. After the trial, when Harry returned the youngest Malfoy's wand, they had not exchanged words. So, when Harry found himself and Draco accidentally covered in coffee one morning on his way to work, he had been floored and unsure of what to say.

"Still don't know how to watch where you're going, eh, Potter?" Malfoy had dawled, seeming remarkably calm. He licked his lips. "At least you're taste in coffee is not utterly hopeless. Triple crème latte. Do I detect a hint of nutmeg?"

Malfoy had jumped in surprise when Harry laughed. Thus began their odd stab at amicable communication, in which Harry finally understood Malfoy's brutal humor and Malfoy attempted to ignore all of Harry's most repulsive idiosyncrasies.

It was not easy, given unfortunate circumstances. Death threats and humiliating messages were common occurrences in Malfoy's and Zambini's offices. Zambini had just barely slid by background checks, and Malfoy had managed to move the Ministry employment officers with his original speech about how much he wanted to give back to their war-torn world and this was the best opportunity. He worked ten times harder than Zambini, who settled for a meager position in the complaint department. Malfoy and Harry still laughed about it now.

Other people weren't always the problem, though, since Mafloy had been forced grow an extraordinarily thick skin for verbal injury. He and Harry regularly conversed and joked on a weekly basis. Yet, whenever Harry offered the other man lunch, coffee, or even to simply take a walk outside, Malfoy always declined. At first, Harry thought the blonde was embarrassed to be seen with his childhood arch rival, or that he would be targeted by nasty pests more often as a result. Finally, Harry had become so frustrated that he could no longer avoid confrontation… even though their speaking terms had only commenced four weeks prior.

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I am more than good enough to be seen with you. Not to mention that another death threat sent by biting owl or howler would hardly be out of the ordinary. I just burn them all. Now you need to get it through your thick head that this doesn't have to do with you. I simply cannot afford time for friendship of large magnitudes at present."

Harry had tried in vain to argue that Malfoy was only putting up walls to prevent others from helping him, but it was no use. His owl messages returned unopened for a week, after which they met again in the hallway and briefly spoke. Their conversations slowly returned to their normal pace. Malfoy even had the courtesy to tell Harry when he was leaving on secret Ministry mission. As one of their top researchers, he had already visited Aruba, the Congo, Denmark, and India for Unspeakables' never-ending information files. Every trip made him energized and happy, at least as much as he could bear to show it before Harry did something else deserving of playful insults.

For some reason, Harry had never mentioned his encounters with Malfoy to his friends. Ron had stormed into his office one day to interrogate him and ask if the ferret had put him under the Imperious Curse, but Harry simply laughed and explained that it was nothing. He conveniently only talked with Malfoy during Ron's working shifts and avoided awkward questions.

After Harry cooled his constant questioning of Malfoy's motives, he realized that in all the years they had known each other, he really never gave the blonde a break. He of all people understood what it was like to need some space, especially from friends dearest to him. Malfoy's whole life seemed like one huge bombardment just as his had been. Harry silently conceded to the fact that they both deserved a break, and he laid off, much to Malfoy's relief. In fact, he seemed happier and less insulting every day...

"Coming, Harry?" Shoenfeld asked in a chipper voice, interrupting Harry's Malfoy-induced stupor.

"Oh, right." Harry sighed. "Let's get this over with, then."

How was it? Good? Bad? Horrifyingly, sickeningly, Pansy-like ugly? Just let me know! :D