The following day, he entered the office nervously. Malfoy was supposed to meet him at nine, and Harry had spent the night planning strategies to deal with the bastard – the one he had settled on was simply to be cold, let as little emotion show as possible, and concede nothing. Malfoy might be a good guesser, but he could not work with material Harry didn't provide him.

Then – once the case was all over –he would simply be sure not be run into the man anymore. He had avoided Malfoy with generally little effort for the past several years, certainly, it wouldn't be a challenge.

Unless – the tip of Harry's tongue ran unconsciously alone his lower lip, just where Malfoy's own tongue had swiped against it – Malfoy went out of his way to look for him. But surely Malfoy wouldn't do that. If there was anything Harry had gained from the past several days of observation of Malfoy's character, it was the man was a typical spoiled pureblood brat – willing to manipulate and play games with others – Harry, at the moment, apparently – in order to entertain himself – but also immature enough to grow bored quickly, and self-possessed enough to know that games with Harry Potter might not be in his best interest.

Harry would simply wait him out.

When Malfoy arrived Harry's desk was overflowing with papers and scrolls.

The blond man entered his office through the open door without knocking to find Harry with his head in his hands. Hearing Malfoy enter, Harry grunted.

"You're late."

He was rather proud of his ability to keep his voice perfectly uninterested and neutral. He did not like the rather smirky way in which Malfoy sauntered in.

"I stopped for coffee. I thought you might require a … peace offering." A tall cardboard cup was placed in front of Harry.

Harry shrugged. "This, and we never to speak of it again." He picked up the cup and raised it cordially to Malfoy. "Deal?"

Malfoy looked slightly disconcerted, which pleased Harry. He had guessed - correctly, he thought – that Malfoy was expecting some more dramatic reaction out of him – either more embarrassment or anger.

But Malfoy's confusion was quickly smoothed away. "Sorry, Harry, but I can't promise that."

"Harry?"

"You can call me Draco, too," Malfoy added magnanimously. He had managed to transmogrify the rather uncomfortable second chair in Harry's office into a full-sized chair, and settled into it with a flourish.

"I thought we'd just agreed to keep things professional, Mr. Malfoy?" Harry said, very dryly. The very tips of his lips might have twitched slightly.

"If you insist, Auror Potter." Malfoy settled and sipped his coffee. Then he removed a scrap of paper from his pocket and thrust it, rather inelegantly towards Harry.

"What's this?"

Malfoy looked rather belligerent. "This is what we talked about the other day. A list of all the wizards I'm aware of who may be…. blackmailable… you will destroy it, Potter, when we no longer have need of it."

Harry glanced at the scrap with new interest. "Ludo Bagman!" He waved his wand at the open door with a bit too much force, it slammed shut. "A list like this would make Rita Skeeter wet herself."

"All the more reason why I am entrusting it to you, Potter, and not to her."

Harry couldn't have said why, exactly, but the words seemed heavy.

"Well," he said, awkwardly, gesturing across his desk. "Here's what I've got. The files of every WFA member with a criminal record – I even threw in everything as small as possession of a forbidden magical object. I figure, if someone out there targeted Wandsworth purely out of hatred, they'll be somewhere in this pile."

Malfoy shrugged in agreement, and reached over to take a file at random. Harry had to stop himself from telling Malfoy not to touch, that the files were confidential. Malfoy had produced the list of closeted wizards - that, in a way, was a show of faith. And Harry had been instructed to work together with Malfoy, which probably meant sharing resources.

He cleared his throat anyway.

"I know you know, Malfoy, but the sames rules apply. Any information you learn here is strictly for the investigation."

Was it just his imagination, or did Malfoy look slightly angry?

"I know, Potter."

"Yeah, well…" Harry bit back the unreasonable urge to apologize. He glanced at the list Malfoy had made again. There were about twenty names there – four at the bottom with question marks, three at the top highlighted.

"Bagman…" he said, thoughtfully.

"Doesn't have much to lose these days, I know," Malfoy piped in helpfully. "But I've seen him in several places, several times, and he's sort of a nasty type, you know."

"We'll shake him down," Harry decided. "subtly. Say that he was seen in that part of town recently, and whether he had any connection with the victim."

Malfoy coughed. "That's your idea of subtle?"

"Worry him a little bit."

"Hm."

"Well, what do you suggest?"

Before Malfoy could answer, the door to Harry's office opened and one of the pool secretaries put her head in nervously.

"Auror Potter," she said, "Mr. Malfoy. Something's happened."

Shacklebolt's brow was furrowed, and his hands clasped in front of him. He was sitting in a very still, very controlled manner, but Harry had the impression that, had he stood up, he would have begun pacing.

"," he said. "Auror Potter"– and the formal title was a sign of the seriousness of the business. "There's been another murder."

"Where?" Harry said. "Who?"

Shacklebolt rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Same club as before. Our MET aurors were on it immediately, since it was the same club. They haven't identified the victim yet, but there's a definite smell of dark magic around him again. The muggle police are still on the scene. I have a CSE badges for you and Mr. Malfoy to go down there at once."

Harry startled. "Wait," he said. "The same club? What time?"

"The body was found this morning. More than that, I don't have in yet. Ask the MET auror."

"We were just there," Harry said. "A few nights ago. We interviewed a wizard..."

Shacklebolt's eyes widened, but that was the only sign that he gave of being surprised.

Harry considered. "Two murders, Kingsley. Do you want to expand the size of the investigation?"

Shacklebolt frowned. "No."

"Are you sure? Just me and Malfoy isn't much for something that may be… may be a serial killer, or…"

Kingsley rubbed the arch of his nose tiredly. "I've thought of that, Harry. But this kind of murder… the truth is, I'm not sure how the public will react if it becomes big news. They might even complain that the energy of the auror department was being misplaced. I'd like to keep things quiet, if possible."

"I understand."Harry paused as something occurred to him. "Kingsley, I got an owl from Rita Skeeter about the case the other day."

"What'd you do with it?"

"Threw it out, never responded. You know that's what I do with every silly piece of trash she sends."

Shacklebolt nodded. "I'll have someone in the legal department send her an official reply. Hopefully she was only interested because it was you, Harry, and will lose interest."

***

CSE was the name given to the ministry of magic when it needed jurisdiction to work in the muggle world. The muggles thought it something like M15 –a secretive government agency with high levels of clearance. The police might grumble, but he would have full access to the crime scene as well as any information he might need.

"Two murders, both of gay wizards…" Harry muttered.

Ernie McMillian, the MET aurors on duty, waved to Harry as they arrived on the crime scene. Malfoy had grudgingly allowed Harry to change his robes, along with Harrys, into plain black suits. Dark sunglasses and earpieces completed their image. It was a bit clichéd, but it always seemed to impress the muggle cops.

Ernie introduced them to the muggle officers on the scene with a well-rehearsed roll of the eyes. It was part of the little game they played, that Ernie was the lowly officer, and Harry and Draco were the obnoxious CSE officers, sweeping in from nowhere to interfere with their case.

"Why is CSE interested in this one, anyhow?" Asked a short policeman whose dark brown hair was neatly tucked behind her ears. "Surely a death like this isn't a matter for national security."

"Er," Harry said. "It's…"

"Confidential," Malfoy said, oozingly, insinuating himself around so that he was suddenly flanking the policewoman on her other side. "I hope you don't mind my saying so, but I'm very impressed by the efficiency of your organization."

He smiled winningly, and while Harry rolled his eyes, the policewoman seemed suitably impressed.

"What's the situation, anyway?" Harry asked, mostly to shut Malfoy up.

Ernie gestured for them to follow him until they were standing out of earshot of the muggle policemen still at the crime scene, who had looked at Harry and Malfoy with undisguised dislike when they arrived. "Older gentleman. As I told Shacklebolt, there's magic around him. More than the other victim, but of course we didn't check for magic on the other victim quite as quickly – it was part of our routine follow up on cases last time, but this time we heard the address and made sure we got down here immediately."

"Think it was a wizard?" Malfoy said. Harry scoffed quietly.

"It's a little known fact," he said, "that in death, wizards and muggles are very much the same. Once magic leaves the body, it's impossible to tell one corpse from another."

"By normal means," Ernie added, briskly. "Of course there are a few tricks."

Harry nodded. "Where's the body?"

"Ambulance. I've got the drivers under a mild befuddlement charm, so as to have them wait until you'd arrived.

He led them to the ambulance and opened the back. Harry climbed up, a bit ungracefully, and then offered a hand to help Jenna into the back as well. Malfoy climbed in after and Harry noticed how easily he managed it.

The body was in a plain dark blue cloth bag. Harry pulled down the zip with a faint feeling of forboding.

Grindlings, who had been sallow and rather crane-like in life, had a corpse that was more gray than yellow. His face, his hair, his clothing – all seemed washed-out now, like a very old piece of parchment, and it was impossible to say if he now appeared as he always would have without the effect of his glamours and charms, or if it was only death that had caused the change.

Harry identified him stoically.

"A wizard," he said. "We know this one. Definitely better for us to handle it from here." He unzipped the bag further, exposing Grindlings to his feet. The man wore muggle clothing a bit more subdued, Harry thought, than he had when they had spoken to him. He cast his wand over the body, murmuring a spell to detect recent magic. Malfoy, without being informed that it would be all right to do so, found Grindling's wand, still clenched in his right hand, delicately pried it free, and cast a Prior Incantato.

"Furnunculus," he said, sounding slightly confused. "That's for someone who annoys you, not a mortal enemy. If that's the last thing Grindlings cast, he didn't know he was about to die."

Harry nodded curtly and cast another spell, one meant to detect magic in the vicinity of a corpse. He frowned when the tip of his wand glowed blue.

"Poison," he said. He cast another spell, and a thin blue line appeared, tracing down Grindling's throat and forming a pool at the level of his stomach. "A potion, then. Probably ingested."

"Not the same as Wandsworth, then," Malfoy said.

"No."

"Poison may actually be a bit better for us," Ernie pointed out. "If whats-is-name,Dwindles the coroner, can get enough of a sample, we can find out what exactly it was – sometimes that leads us to a potionmaker."

Harry nodded. Still, he felt glum.

"Something seems wrong," he said.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. The Wandsworth murder was definitely premeditated, and this once appears to have been too."

"So?"

He spoke slowly, still sorting out his own thoughts. "Well… premeditation implies a target, doesn't it? I mean, someone you specifically want dead. But, if the same wizard or witch killed Grindlings as Wandsworth…without Grindlings even raising a fuss… well, it'd have to be someone who knew them both pretty well…"

Ernie looked confused, but Malfoy seemed to understand his train of thought better. "Not a hate crime, then, you mean."

"Not targeted just because of their sexuality, let's say. There must be something else that connects them."

"Ah." Ernie said. "Well, it's your case, Harry, so I'll let you do the detecting. Looks like a nasty piece of business, no matter anyway."

"Right," Harry said. "Can you send the body to St. Mungo's?" He asked Ernie. "Ask them to look for potions in his digestive system, and run a standard array of tests for other signs of magical harm as well, and to send the report to me as quickly as possible."

Ernie nodded, and removed from his pocket a large portkey, which she placed on Grindling's chest.

"Alicia is still here," he said. "She and I will see to the oblivating later. If you can only tell the ambulance men to listen to their radio and take the next call, they should obey you." He made a face, and Harry nodded in commiseration. Being a MET auror was psychologically hard work, which was one reason why no one was assigned the duty for more than half-year shifts. It was hard to spend all day working side by side with muggles that you might then be called on to oblivate at a moment's notice.

Pressing the portkey with the palm of his hand, Ernie used a quick spell to activate it, and both he and the body disappeared.

The temperature had risen overnight: it was now above freezing. The snow that had already mostly melted was turning to a gray slurry that soaked the edges of Harry's pants as he walked around the street outside. To make matters worse, it began to drizzle, a depressing cold rain that would soon have everyone shivering to the bone.

Harry and Malfoy went inside the club, to where a rather harried looking team of policemen were conducting interviews with several of the staff ofCielo – these individuals, it appeared, having been the ones to discover Grindling's body as they had been closing up very early in the morning. Harry overheard the same policewoman Malfoy had earlier chatted up mentioning to her collegue that, of the two CSE officers, one, "the blond one, quite looked the part – but the other seemed rather gloomy." After about an hour or so, Ernie came back and pulled Harry aside.

"By luck, Dwindles was in the morgue already when I brought in the body in. He's confirmed that cause of death was a poison. Not sure which, at this point. But he says to drop by later."

Harry sighed. He returned to the manager's office, where a policeman was interviewing a waitress. Somehow, in his absence, Malfoy had managed to take over the action, for he was now asking questions as the muggle officer looked on in annoyance.

"Yes, I did see Gibbons with somebody last night," she said, animatedly. "He's an old regular, you know, so we all," she blushed, "all the staff gossip about him from time to time. Last night, he was dancing with a lot of different people – all regulars, I think. But I think he came late, and left early, if you know what I mean. Maybe he had something else going on somewhere else."

Malfoy and Harry shared a quick glance. Malfoy had taken his sunglasses off and was toying with them as he spoke.

"Anyone you didn't recognize?"

"Noo…." The waitress considered. "That was all."

"How about recently? Who else had you seen him with, in, say, the last few weeks or so?"

"That's harder to remember. Gibbons is a social old guy, you know? He's always got a crowd around him and…." She wrinkled her nose. "He used to hang out with Tim, you know, that guy who got killed last week. I think they were friends."

"Tim?" The lone muggle officer in the room looked on in surprise. "Someone else was killed recently?"

She looked at him in wonder. "Don't you remember? You interviewed me last time too!"

"Umm…." Harry inched for the door. "You watch them," he told Draco, "While I get Ernie."

Ernie was outside, talking in a soothing voice to the another policeman. "Yes," he was saying. "It was just a broken window, probably a bunch of kids. The owner doesn't want to file a complaint. You're feeling hungry… why not ask Noreen if she'd like to grab lunch with you..?"

The officer grunted in agreement and trundled off. Harry explained the problem with the witnesses. Ernie groaned.

"I'm surprised the muggle aurors don't have brains like swiss cheese, as often as we oblivate them. It's dangerous, you know, and not that good for them. I suppose we'll just erase this whole night and morning from the lot of them, and then let those who knew Grindling's died naturally, or something."

"Fair enough," Harry said.

In the end, all the staff at the Cielo knew Gibbons well, but none remembered him with anyone particularly suspicious or oddly dressed. Harry took Gibbon's address, and then finally gave Ernie the go-ahead to obliviate everyone.

It turned out his apartment was only a short walk away. Although the drizzle had become a steady, cold, rain, neither Harry nor Malfoy suggested apparition. Harry performed a discrete anti-wetting charm, and was surprised when Malfoy didn't do the same.

"I try not to use magic when I'm in muggle places," Malfoy said, helpfully. "It comes a little too easily to me. A total prohibition is safer to prevent mistakes."

"Suit yourself," Harry shrugged. Malfoy was soaked, even in his fancy transfigured trenchcoat, by the time they arrived at Grindling's address, his white-blond hair plastered against his forehead.

The boy who opened the door for them was little more than a boy, really – perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two, at most. He identified himself as Marcus, and looked shocked when Harry informed him, as kindly as possible, that Gibbons would not be coming home.

"Oh my God." He said. "Oh my God oh my God oh my God."

"Are you alright?" Malfoy caught the young man by the elbow, and led him over to the couch. He sat still, for a long time, looking up at Harry with large, confused eyes.

"He's dead?" He said. "What happened?"

Harry explained, briefly, that his body had been found outside the club.

"Oh," said Marcus. "I thought… I thought, when he didn't come home last night, that maybe he was cheating on me. I never imagined it might be…."

"I'm very sorry," Harry said, as softly as he could.

"It's alright. It's just a shock. I mean, we were… but it's not like we were…" his face was blotchy, and he looked horrible. "Dear old Leon. How terrible. Do they know who did it?"

"Not yet," Harry said. "I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but was anything out of the ordinary with Leonard recently? Did he receive any strange visitors? Or talk of any visits he had made?"

"You think it was someone who knew him?" Marcus looked shocked. "Surely it's a hate crime, just like that boy Tim last week. Someone's out to get us, out around that club. It's not safe anymore."

"Perhaps. But still, we need to look into all the possibilities…"

Marcus screwed up his eyes in concentration, and leaned back against the couch. He was quiet for so long that Harry began to wonder if he was asleep. Then he made a sound, and sat back up.

"I think there was someone," he said. "You know, Leon never talked about his family much. He said they'd abandoned him, years ago, when he'd first told them he was gay- his friends too. It was harder back then, I guess, than even now. But a few days ago –Tuesday, was it? Or Wednesday? He came home in a pretty weird mood. Said he'd had a talk with an old friend, someone who had turned against him long ago." Marcus shrugged. "I thought maybe he was upset because it was only a few days after they found Tim – you know, that boy who died. Because he and Leon used to be pretty close before they had a falling out. But now that I'm thinking about it, the way Grindlings was talking he might have meant an older friend, someone from before he'd come out."

Malfoy looked at Harry. "Tuesday or Wednesday," he said. "That's after Timothy was killed."

"You think they might be related?" Marcus asked.

Harry shrugged. Then, as Marcus looked on, he went through all of Leonard Grindling's personal property – focusing especially on letters, and on anything that was magical. He found no evidence of any unexpected meetings between Grindlings and another wizard.

Then he confiscated those items in the house which were magical, and then he obliviated Marcus. He let the boy believe that his lover had died of a heart attack, on the bus. It seemed more honest than telling him that the man had run off to Bermuda, and kinder than the truth.

When they left the apartment, Malfoy was strangely thoughtful.

"Who do you think Grindlings met?" He asked.

Harry shrugged. "An old friend, the boy said. Grindlings had been out of content with the magical world for twenty years – perhaps he had siblings who might tell us who his friends once were."

"Yes." Malfoy sniffed. "Too bad he didn't leave behind a Pensieve."

The sound of a cell phone made Harry jump. But it was just Malfoy's phone, a ring that Harry was starting to recognize.

"Greg? Hello."

Even without listening closely – had he been pressed, Harry might have admitted that he might have been curious to what Malfoy and Goyle would talk about – Harry could hear that the person on the other end of the line was upset.

"No, Greg, calm down – it's ok," Malfoy said, shielding his mouth with his hand. "No, I can't come right now, but…"

Goyle said something that made Malfoy blanch.

"No, certainly not…. No. Don't even say that."

Without looking at Harry, he turned and walked swiftly into an alley.

"No – wait, listen. I'll be there as soon as possible, so don't do anything rash…"

Malfoy emerged from the alley again looking shaken.

"If you want to go, its fine," Harry pointed out. "I can take care of things from here, and I'll update you later on anything that happens."

Malfoy looked undecided. Harry felt a burst of sympathy.

"Really, it's fine. I understand – friendships are important, so…" he felt himself break off awkwardly when Malfoy gave him an unexpectedly sincere, small smile.

"Thanks, Harry," he said, reaching out quickly and clasping him firmly on the shoulder. Then, with a quick glance confirming that no muggles were in sight, he apparated.

Harry rubbed the spot where Malfoy's hand had just been. Although the first had been a joke, it was the second time Malfoy had called him Harry.

He wondered to himself what game the blond was playing, whether he was trying to trick Harry: perhaps drawing him in. But the only conclusion that really fit, when he tried to consider everything rationally, was the uncomfortable one that perhaps, really, Malfoy did just want to be friends.

He apparated himself back to the office and rummaged through all the files he had gathered until he found Grindling's. Previously he had only looked at Grindling's in the light of someone who might be a suspect, or a witness, but now he re-read the file, considering Grindling's as the victim.

Class of Hogwarts, a quiet record, unless one knew how to read between the lines – a few arrests for 'lewd conduct' in the early seventies, and then disappearance from the map. One sister, several years older, living in France – a teacher at Beauxbaton. Harry would try to floo her later, he decided.

He was just putting on his cloak, to head to St. Mungo's, when Malfoy apparated in with a 'pop'. He still looked a bit strung-up, Harry thought.

"Er – if Goyle doing a bit better, then?" He asked.

"I don't know, maybe, but – " Malfoy seemed to answer without thin king, and then, recalling himself, began to speak more composedly. "Please excuse me, Potter – I appreciate your understanding in the matter."

It seemed that Goyle was having an awful lot of trouble these days. Harry considered asking what the fuss was about, but it seemed clear that Malfoy did not want to tell him. Perhaps it was something to do with the girl, Astoria, that had caused the fight between them a few days before. Harry decided to change the subject. But, before he could do so,Malfoy did it for him.

"Do you think we had a chance, somewhere in there, to find out more, earlier. Perhaps we might have warned Grindlings. Saved him."

Harry frowned. It was a disturbing thought.