Harry was sitting in the living room reading over some files when Draco entered through the front door. It was a Sunday afternoon and Draco had just returned from a brief meeting with a witness who reported a sighting of Sayre.
Draco acknowledged Harry with a glance and a nod before he went into the kitchen. Standing, Harry went to follow him. "How did it go?" he asked, watching as Draco went about making some tea.
"False lead again."
Harry was quiet for a second. "You have been avoiding me ever since that morning we talked," Harry said.
"I see your powers of observation remain intact."
"Well, is it working?"
"Swimmingly."
"You can't avoid me forever."
"I can try."
"We will have to work together eventually."
"Until then," Draco said with a nod of goodbye, heading out of the kitchen with his tea.
"Draco," Harry said, turning to follow him. "You are being ridiculous. Can we at least talk about the case?"
"No. You know perfectly well your healer said that you are to remain off the investigation so as to not cause yourself 'undue strain.'"
"I don't understand. Why are you acting like this?"
"Just the way I am, Potter. You know that," Draco snapped.
"Draco -"
"Stop calling me that," Draco hissed, rounding on Harry. "We are not friends, we are work partners, nothing more. That's it. It was a mistake to pursue anything further. Now leave me alone."
Harry frowned at him. "Fine. Just tell me one thing, Malfoy," Harry said, pulling his wand from his pocket, causing Draco's eyebrows to raise. Harry turned, moving his wand in a circular motion with a determined flick at the end. "Expecto patronum," he said in a calm voice.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That was not fair.
Draco had opened his mouth to say something before he heard Potter utter the incantation. From the tip of Potter's wand a silver stream of magic poured forth, pooling into a large silver stag. Draco felt that addicting wave of warmth and understanding wash over him as the stag took a quick trot around the room before returning to Potter's side. Both Potter and the patronus looked at Draco. "Why do you actually want to learn to summon a patronus?"
Draco glared back furiously at Harry. Potter, he corrected himself mentally, trying not to look at the patronus. He hated how it made his knees weak. It made him want to touch the stag again to feel that softness, to hold Harry.
Potter. Fuck.
"What are you trying to do, Potter?" he finally managed to say, tying his best to maintain a cutting tone despite the calm feeling that was growing in his chest.
"I don't understand you, Draco," he responded. "I am just trying to help you."
"No, you aren't. You are trying to make yourself feel better by turning me into one of your charity cases. I don't need you to save me from myself; I am fine."
Harry looked at him sadly. The stag took a few steps forward towards Draco who took a few steps back in response. "I don't think you are a bad person, Draco."
Draco tore his eyes from the stag to look at Harry. He found calmness in the green eyes that met his, trust and affection also. "Why are you doing this?" Draco asked again.
"I can teach you."
"Why would you want to?" Draco was disappointed that his voice was weaker than he wanted it to be.
"You have changed."
"I…." Draco hesitated, looking at the stag again who blinked back at him slowly. He tried to remember why he was upset. He had felt defensive, angry, thrown off by this sudden change in Harry. Their aggressive relationship before made sense to him, he could navigate that.
But this?
When he had first encountered this patronus in the woods it had completely derailed him. He had never been this close to one and couldn't help but wonder why it affected him so. Just as he did before, he found he wanted to be more honest with himself. If he could accept it, he knew that some part of him was more interested in Harry than he cared to admit. That thought was disturbing, but there it was. Before the patronus, he thought it was just a sexual need, but the nagging feeling he felt around Harry was likely more than that. "Does it normally...feel like this around a patronus?" he asked, mostly to distract himself from his thoughts.
"Yes and no. It's a little different in a combat situation. My intent is not to defend at the moment, but rather to calm, so it does that." Gazing at the stag, Harry reached out and placed his hand on its flank fondly. "I don't know if it feels different to me than it does to you."
"It feels...safe. Calm."
Harry nodded. "I believe each patronus projects qualities natural to the animal itself. Or certain qualities of the caster, maybe."
Before Draco could stop himself, he raised his hand and touched the patronus gently on the forehead. Perhaps because of his proximity to both Harry and the patronus he felt an even stronger projection of calm and patience than he had in the woods. Draco looked back at Harry and realized he had moved closer to Draco, now standing inches from him.
"Harry," Draco warned fruitlessly as Harry leaned in and kissed him lightly, making no contact with him save his lips. Draco pressed his eyes shut, willing the melting feeling to stop. He felt content and oddly whole again, the yearning sensation he hadn't even been conscious of dissolving in his belly. It became clear to Draco as he kissed Harry back that this was not a manipulation attempt; it was an olive branch. He was dealing with Harry Potter, after all, not a Slytherin.
The majestic animal nudged Draco's shoulder, causing him to break the kiss. He opened his eyes in time to see the stag flicker briefly. Draco looked back at Harry and realized he had grown pale and had a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Harry, end the spell, you're going to pass out again," he scolded gently. Before he could stop himself, he placed a steadying hand on Harry's shoulder.
Harry closed his eyes with a wistful smile and leaned against the table with his hip, the patronus dissolving into a silver mist. He let out a breath of air before he looked back up at Draco as Draco started speaking. "Do not cast that until you are well again," Draco said, removing his hand quickly from Harry's shoulder. He sighed, leaning his weight on one leg to scowl down at Harry. Though the stag was gone, the calm determination remained. "Okay, Harry, here's the deal. As it is Sunday, you may instruct me in the casting of the patronus charm. You will not, however, show off your ability again until you are deemed field-worthy."
Harry chuckled at the 'showing off' dig. "Sounds fair."
"I still do not understand your intent with this," Draco continued, gesturing between them, "but until you are back in your right mind, you need to focus on your recovery. I refuse to tolerate this any longer than the prescribed month."
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Draco led Hedge down the steps from the third residence they had checked that afternoon. Over the last several days they had been interviewing families in the areas surrounding the victims that might have a connection to the Sayre family. It was slow-going and so far resulted in no leads.
"I don't know, sir, I feel like we are missing something," Hedge said, putting his hands in his robe pockets. It was a cold day near the end of January, though it was thankfully not snowing.
"Oh?" Draco asked, only semi-interested. This was a combat wizard next to him, no detective. But as Potter had chided him once, he should listen to all his aurors, so he reluctantly did so.
"Why would Sayre just murder random neighbors? Don't you think he would pick people he knew or something?"
Draco stopped in his tracks. They had to have some connection, but it was true that neighbors didn't really make sense. It was too random and impersonal. They weren't just neighbors, but maybe family. The Dark Lord hated his immediate family and they were some of his first victims. "Brilliant, Hedge," Draco said distractedly, patting him on the shoulder. "Back to the Congress," he said, gripping Hedge's arm to apparate them back.
Several hours later, Draco marched back into the investigation room, passing Atticus' desk. "Talk to me, Atticus."
Atticus nodded at the auror she had been talking to, then turned to jog after Draco who didn't slow down. "I went back further in the no-maj police files than we did initially. There was a murder in July of '98 in Plymouth, Massachusetts with a very similar MO. The two parents were murdered, but the son miraculously survived by hiding."
"A son named Christopher, by chance?"
Atticus grinned at him. "Last name Mastin."
"Murder weapon was a knife?"
"Lucky guess. The last known residence was in Plymouth, Massachusetts, though we already checked and it is vacant. We are waiting for documentation to arrive from Headmaster Fontaine regarding his time at Ilvermorny. We are hoping that will provide more clues to his activities."
They reached his office so Draco leaned against his desk, regarding the brunette witch carefully. Cara Atticus had quickly become his favorite Lieutenant once he was promoted to Captain. She was enthusiastic, steadfast, and did not take any flack. "When is the next press briefing scheduled for?"
"9 am tomorrow. They want Potter with you."
"Out of the question. He is recovering."
"Sir. Has he talked about it anymore?"
"No, not since the interview. ...Wait, you said Mastin lived in Plymouth?"
"Yep, not far from one of the murder scenes."
"Any chance he lived in the other locations?"
"Ah, I am glad you asked," Atticus said with a grin. She flipped open the file she carried and started looking through it. "Let's see, from what historians have been able to determine, Isolt Sayre potentially came across on the Mayflower herself. However, she was dressed as a boy and called herself Story, Elias Story."
"One of the murdered families -"
"Last name Story, yes. In Plymouth, Massachusetts."
"Related?"
"Not by blood, no."
"What else?
"Isolt's husband was named James - drum roll - Stewart," she finished dramatically.
"The victims from Newport News, Virginia."
"Yeah, apparently he had a problem with his family."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Who doesn't."
"Although, from what we can tell they weren't actually related."
"Strange oversight."
"Yeah. Oh, it is also worth noting that apparently two of Isolt Sayre's children were adopted. Their descendants are also not safe. Last name Boot."
"Victims from Jersey City. So Christopher is how old when his parents are murdered?"
"He was born January of '84, so he is currently 24. So, 14 when his parents were killed?"
"Interesting." He accepted the files she handed him. "Do me a favor and keep digging into why that murder was considered a no-maj murder, and find out if there were any others between '98 and '07. Those are potentially nine more years of murders we might not know about."
"Sir."
"Also," Draco hesitated as he started to turn. "He used 'Sayre,'" he mused quietly.
"He doesn't like his name," Atticus suggested.
"Since he disappeared as Mastin, and we have no record of Sayre, maybe he used a different name between then and now," Draco suggested. "He went unaccounted for between his graduation and the first murder."
"Maybe he left the country."
"Maybe. Collect a list of historic family names. Start with pure-blood families. See if any of them had a Christopher."
"You got it, Captain."
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"Pot -" Draco started to call out when entering their safehouse but stopped when he saw Potter asleep on the couch. This was very unusual for Potter, as he normally would loathe sleeping out in the open.
He stowed his robe in the broom closet and walked over quietly to the couch. Potter was curled so his back was to the room, arms tight to his chest, and was frowning slightly. "Potter," Malfoy said softly, hesitantly touching his shoulder.
As expected, Potter leapt to life, whirling around to face Draco with his wand raised in his previously-hidden right hand. Draco raised his hands defensively and took a step back, face passive. "This is happening a lot lately."
"What? Oh. Sorry." Potter lowered his wand looking a bit sheepish. "You just get home?" He turned around to sit normally on the couch, pushing a hand through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. He rested both his elbows on his knees.
"Yes. I have good news. I know I am not supposed to discuss the case with you, but developments like this you should probably know." Draco recounted what Atticus had discovered earlier that day.
"Brilliant," Potter said enthusiastically. "When in '98 did you say the parents were murdered?"
"July, I believe."
"Two months after Voldemort's defeat."
"Coincidence?"
"Maybe. He would have been recently home from school at the time, for the summer holiday. Do you suspect he killed his parents?" Potter stood to go to the kitchen.
"It seems likely," Draco said, following Potter.
"Did he live with a foster family after or go to an orphanage?"
"Orphanage. The family was estranged from relatives."
"What was the parent's blood status?"
"Squib and no-maj."
"Damn."
Draco leaned against the kitchen table, arms and ankles crossed. "So he is, what, inspired by the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and decides to take up the mantle himself? Angry at his magicless parents?"
Potter shrugged as he pulled a glass down from the cabinet. His eyes had that far-away look that Draco had come to expect whenever Potter was deep in thought about a case. "It might have taken him some time to plan it once returning."
"Atticus is looking into if there are more murders that went unconnected as that first murder was without magic." Draco watched Potter pick up a bottle of fire whiskey from the cabinet as well. "Potter. I hope I needn't remind you that you should not be drinking that."
"I thought you weren't my healer," Potter said grumpily, pouring himself a small drink anyway. "I feel fine, anyway."
"You said that your third day back," Draco pointed out, walking forward briskly to take the glass from Potter's hand before he could take a drink from it. "I didn't believe you then, and I don't believe you now." Draco knocked back the drink, maintaining eye contact challengingly with the pouting Potter as he did so. He picked up the bottle, poured himself another drink, corked it, and tucked the bottle under his arm. He leaned against the counter next to Potter, swirling the liquid in the glass as he smirked at him.
"Git," Potter said with an eye roll.
Draco raised a mock-offended eyebrow at him, taking another sip.
"You are determined to make me miserable."
"As much as possible," Draco said wistfully. He realized a little too late how close he was to Potter when the other wizard reached out to take the glass back, brushing against him. Quite accustomed to being tall, Draco simply held the glass up above his head out of Potter's reach, earning him a well-deserved scowl.
"I can have a drink if I want, you wanker, give me my glass back." Potter moved in front of Draco, initially rising up on his toes to try to reach the glass. After fruitlessly stretching for a few seconds, he decided to cut the chase and went for the bottle.
Draco leaned back against the counter as much as he could, twisting to try to keep both items from Potter, maintaining his smirk. "With the state you're in, your already abysmal alcohol tolerance will be none-existent. I am doing you a favor, Potter," he added the last part as Potter got the bottle from him. He honestly didn't care that much, so he hadn't resisted that seriously.
Grinning, Potter uncorked the bottle. As he took a drink, the hand holding the cork casually came to a rest on Draco's chest. Draco's smirk faltered, now supremely aware of their proximity. Potter probably noticed at the same time, as his face reddened slightly upon registering Draco's conflicted expression. Without moving his hand from Draco's chest, he set the bottle down on the counter slowly, swallowing his mouthful of whiskey.
Draco stared intently back at Potter, searching his eyes for...something. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but he had a feeling Potter didn't know what he was looking for either as he gazed back. Both were frozen, waiting for the other to move. Draco knew what was about to happen and was fighting with himself over whether or not he was going to let it. The longer he hesitated, the more likely he knew it was to happen.
Potter slowly raised his hand from the bottle on the counter and cupped the back of Draco's neck. He leaned against him slightly as he lifted himself up on his toes, gently kissing Draco. Draco tried to convince himself not to kiss back, but quickly lost that battle. He slowly lowered the hand that held the glass lofted up above them, setting the glass down on the counter without looking.
Originally, being around Potter was dangerous and exciting, but when Potter returned from captivity, he was wholly different. He seemed to want something from him that Draco wasn't yet willing to provide. Being a rebound was hardly a problem, but Potter had been hinting that he wanted more than just casual sex. Perhaps the most uncomfortable part of that prospect was that Draco wasn't sure he would turn it down.
Draco knew he had invited the attention by his actions on that first night, but he knew now it wasn't a good idea. The two of them would never work. Theirs was a volatile relationship, defined by anger and trauma. Their history showed an arguably unhealthy obsession, and Draco was sure that they could never be completely honest with each other.
As they kissed, Draco forgot the arguments he held in his brain about why he should distance himself from Potter. Feeling a heat move through his body, Draco gave himself over the easy warmth of the kiss, wrapping his arms loosely around Potter's waist. The hand on his chest eventually moved upwards, joining the other arm wrapped around his neck.
A pulse moved down Draco's spine when Potter's tongue delicately licked his lip. Draco obliged, allowing the kiss to deepen as the heat built to into a pressure below Draco's belt. He wrapped his arms tighter around Potter's ribs, dimly surprised at how much smaller Potter felt compared to when he was healthy before. Potter leaned more heavily against Draco, a small moan escaping his throat.
Suddenly the fireplace in the living room roared to life. "Harry?" a voice called. Potter leapt back from Draco in surprise. It was a fire-call from Weasley. Potter glanced once at Draco before he left for the living room, an apologetic look on his face.
Draco cleared his throat as he tugged the panels of his jacket to smooth out his appearance. He let out a breath, tapping his fingers a few times on the counter willing his body's decidedly stiff reaction to the kiss to dissipate. Turning, he poured more liquid into his glass and drained it again.
"Harry," he could hear Weasley saying, "Alec wanted to talk to you. Are you free now?"
"Yeah," Potter said, running another hand through his hair. It was a good thing it was just a fire-call or else Potter's flush would have been extremely obvious. Draco took his leave of the room, heading back to his bedroom. It was time to begin his nightly potion routine, anyway.