"Where is she?"
Harry's demand was louder than necessary, echoing across the white marble floors of the hotel. He and Draco, still dressed in their dirty uniforms and sagging with fatigue, stood out like sore thumbs among the extravagant floral arrangements, glittering chandeliers, and smooth, modern furniture. They'd caught a few fitful hours of sleep after dawn, but Harry couldn't properly rest until he knew Joey was okay. And neither could Draco.
Auror Melocotones's broad smile did not fade at Harry's tone. "Up already? You two must be quite weary from your mission. I suggest you take longer to rest and rejuvenate."
Harry stepped closer, voice lowering to a growl. Even with tears of sheer exhaustion edging into his eyes, he struck an intimidating figure. Draco was glad he wasn't on the end of that intense displeasure. "I'm not going to ask a second time."
"Miss Clarke in a temporary infirmary wing," Henderson said quickly. "She's stable."
"Take us to her."
The infirmary wing turned out to simply be the hotel's bottom floor, patrolled by a handful of Healers that tended to injured or Stunned Aurors and civilians in shock. Henderson wordlessly unlocked the door and let them into one of the hotel rooms.
Joey had been propped up on plump, white pillows, a blanket to her chin, though Draco knew from personal experienced how heavily bandaged her torso must have been. She appeared to be asleep, but as her partners entered, her eyes slowly opened. "Hi," She said quietly.
Before they could return the greeting, the Healer standing nearby raised a hand of warning. "Don't touch her," The brown-eyed wizard commanded. "I'll be back in half an hour to continue the healing process." He swept from the room, leaving the three young Aurors alone.
"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, pulling up two armchairs for himself and Draco with a flick of his wand.
"Terrible," Joey sighed.
"What have they been giving you?" Draco questioned.
"Draughts for flesh regeneration and blood replenishment."
"Any counter-cursing?"
"Um…" Joey's brow furrowed. "I don't think so. Should they?"
"For this spell, yes."
"I've never heard of Sectumsempra," Joey mused, her voice unleaded with the same trepidation with which Draco spoke of the curse. "Have you?"
Draco avoided looking at Harry; he could feel waves of guilt rolling off him and had no wish to see it in his eyes. "Yes. I'll let the Healer know what Dark Magic he's working with. You should be out of here in a couple of days - one, with luck."
"I wonder who attacked you," Harry said, blatantly changing the subject. Draco let him. "They came just to hurt you, it seemed like. I don't suppose you have any ideas?"
Joey chuckled ruefully, then grimaced - it must have hurt to laugh. "I have a few guesses, but no one who'd follow me halfway around the world to cut me up a little. And I didn't recognize their voice."
Draco shuddered, thinking about their voice. It reminded him of his father's, persuasive yet deadly. It was terribly ambiguous, with no accent to place, no gender to affix to it. Their only identifying feature was black eyes, which could have been any shade of blue, gray, green, or brown in the darkness of the cavern.
"We told Anubis all we could," Draco said comfortingly. "She'll get people searching soon."
"I'm just glad I'm alive," Joey said, and she met Draco's eyes. "Thanks to you."
"You would have done the same."
"Really. I mean it," Joey insisted, and Draco realized she might have been talking about more than just healing. "Thank you."
He bowed his head slightly. "Of course."
They said their goodbyes to Joey. Knowing that she was okay, Draco let himself relax and paid more attention to himself, the aches in his muscles, the scrapes on his hands, the sweat ringed around his collar. Ugh.
He glanced at Harry, who was flexing his fingers and muttering under his breath, probably testing how much magic resided in the area. As they passed a fresh vase of white roses and ferns in the lobby, Harry brushed his hands along the petals, turning them pale yellow. Draco was caught off guard by the casual display of wandless magic, eyes widening, but Harry only continued walking as if nothing had happened.
Sometimes it scared Draco how powerful his boyfriend was. Thank Merlin, they were on the same side now.
Harry let Draco take a shower first once they made it back to their room. Draco didn't reach for the soap for a long time, allowing the water to fall from the rain-styled showerhead and leaning his forehead against the tile. There was a tightness in his chest like he was about to cry, but no tears came. He blamed it on exhaustion, on the aftereffects of the panic and action of the night before. How different this moment was, from hardly a month ago when he'd just finished exams.
How much more can I take of this? Draco thought to himself, running fingers through his wet hair. He was fine now, but running around crime-ridden cities, witnessing murder at every corner - he wasn't built for it. Not like Harry was.
Draco didn't often ask himself what he wanted. His desires had taken a backseat to his parents, the plans for his future, school pressures, and the Dark Lord. But he knew at least one thing. He craved stability, and being an Auror wasn't going to give that to him.
If only he had a choice in the matter.
• • •
The hotel's mezzanine glowed with opulence, even more so than the lobby. Plush, maroon velvet sofas were flanked by gilded end tables on either side, set with bowls of questionable but fragrant potpourri or vases overflowing with flowers. The carpet, soft, patterned with red-and-gold paisley, held the faint, telltale streaks of a vacuum.
Joey was already there, dressed in a plain white blouse and jeans, the edge of her bandages poking out from her collar and short sleeves. Her legs were crossed, and she had been leaning back, but when Harry and Draco entered the room, she stood immediately.
"Are you okay?" Harry asked, opening his arms for permission, and Joey leaned in to accept the hug. She turned awkwardly to Draco, who spared them both embarrassment by holding his hand out for a friendly shake instead.
"I think so. I've been given the go-ahead to leave, at least." Joey glanced at the man sitting on the sofa across from them. Henderson smiled at the three Aurors, but it did not reach his eyes.
"I wanted to offer a few words of congratulation before your departure," said Henderson. As he spoke, he loudly snapped his fingers, and two people dressed in plain, brown robes emerged from a backroom with trays of refreshment. "I sent Antigone a letter describing what transpired during your mission. She'll be expecting you in a few hours."
One of the employees, a young girl with short, dark hair, set down cups of steaming tea in front of all four Aurors. The other set out tiny plates of pork, thin egg rolls, and sliced cucumber, arranged on beds of lettuce. Harry and Joey, understandably hungry, reached for the food. Draco left everything untouched, knowing a sign of cajolery when he saw it.
"Is there anything we can do for you, Auror Melocotones?" He asked.
"In truth…" Henderson cleared his throat. "Yes, I suppose there is. A sector of underground Manila was overlooked in our planning. Miss - pardon me - Auror Clarke had to evacuate it by herself."
No one said anything. They knew all this already.
"An unfortunate oversight, to be sure," Henderson said gravely. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it to Antigone."
Joey's eyes narrowed. "I could have died, sir."
"But you didn't!" Henderson pointed out with force joviality. "You are undoubtedly a credit to your team."
Joey didn't thank him. Instead, she leaned forward, and Draco caught a flash of silver. A necklace, one that hadn't been visible earlier, swung from her neck. "We won't tell Commander Connors. I assume, in time, you'll tell her yourself." Henderson was too stunned to answer. Joey calmly threw back the rest of her tea. "We'll be leaving now."
Dusk had begun to fall when they gathered by the portal. The sunset glowed red against the palm trees, their silhouettes spiny sentinels over the four Aurors. Henderson, quickly getting over his fluster, escorted the trio to the portal, activating it with a complex tracing of his wand. The few pedestrians still out flowed around them as if they were inconsequential statues.
"Well… This is it." Harry looked at his partners, relief flooding his gaze. "It'll be nice to be home."
"You can say that again." They'd hardly been away a week, but Draco already ached with homesickness. He longed for the cozy apartment, Cambridge's colorful streets, Athena's yellow eyes when she returned from hunting.
"Farewell, Aurors," Henderson said as the trio stepped into the portal. A cool tingle washed over Draco as the magic surrounded him. His eyes held the sidewalk, the setting sun, for what he hoped would be the last time in a while. "Cambridge Auror Academy!" Henderson proclaimed, tapping the portal with his wand.
Nothing happened.
Joey leaned forward, her body still halfway in the glittering blue. "Auror Melocotones?"
"That's peculiar," He muttered, chiseled features garbled in confusion. "That is very peculiar. Can you all Apparate?" He asked.
"How do you think we got here?" Draco muttered, and Harry elbowed him.
"Concentrate on the destination," Henderson instructed. "Perhaps that will help."
Draco closed his eyes. Cambridge, He thought. The cobblestones, the midday sun, the university students and churchgoers, the cafés, the wizarding pubs, the Academy with its polished hallways and lively student body... That's where he wanted to go.
"Cambridge Auror Academy!" Henderson shouted again. This time, Draco let himself imagine the English breeze and afternoon light against his eyelids. Harry squeezed his hand.
Draco's heart sunk as he opened his eyes again. Their position hadn't changed. Henderson seemed even more vexed, pacing in front of the portal and twisting his wand in his fingers. "Step out, all of you. I may be able to find the source of our problem."
As soon as the Aurors stepped forward, Henderson touched his wand to their foreheads one at a time. Draco flinched as the tip touched him; a shadow seemed to pass over him, reading him.
"I see." Henderson's brows furrowed as he turned to Joey. "Your aura is blocked, Miss Clarke."
Joey was too confused to correct him on her title. "Excuse me?"
"Oh my," Henderson tsked, slapping a hand to his forehead. "I forgot England doesn't teach that anymore. An aura, you see…"
"I know what an aura is," Joey interrupted. "But what do you mean, 'blocked'?"
"You cannot Apparate," Henderson said, shaking his head sullenly. "I wish I could tell you more or help you. But this is beyond my expertise."
"I can't Apparate?" Joey's disbelief broke her voice. "Is it because I'm injured? How can I gain back the ability?"
"I don't know."
Joey's shoulders sagged. "But these two can, right?" She asked, and Draco knew what she was about to suggest - by the outraged look on Harry's face, he did, too.
"We're not leaving without you," Harry told her, and when she opened her mouth, added, "Please don't argue with me."
Draco spoke next, addressing Henderson. "What's the plan, then? Travel like Muggles?"
"Yes, but…" Henderson frowned at Joey, tapping his chin. "Aura blocking is not something the Healers in London will have any experience with. Nor the Healers here, even. I'm assuming you want it fixed?"
"If I can't Apparate, then yes, I want that fixed," Joey said vehemently.
"I have a contact in Vietnam who can help you," Henderson told them. "I can get you on a boat to Ho Chi Minh City tomorrow morning."
"Can't she come to us?" Draco asked.
"I'm afraid not. She's…" Henderson shook his head. "I'll let her explain. Her name is Faraday. She knows all about auras and that sort of thing. But be warned – Vietnam does not look kindly upon magic users, especially foreign ones. You'll have to travel with no magic whatsoever. Not even little wandless charms." Henderson looked at each of them in turn, his feeble and easygoing manner replaced with sternness. "You all understand? No magic on the ship. None until you cross the border out from the country. If you're seen," Henderson shook his head, "The consequences could be disastrous."
Draco's blood went cold. No magic. He didn't have any memories of a time he went without magic; even as a toddler, he could do simple things like multiply bath bubbles or create small gusts in the garden. To suppress his magic was to suffocate a part of himself.
Draco looked at Harry and Joey to see how they were taking the news. Their faces were grim but set with acceptance.
Harry must have picked up one of Draco's unnoticed tells because he placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing him in comfort. "It won't be too long. You can do it." His lips curled into that stupid but gorgeous smile of his. "It'll be interesting, won't it? To see how Muggles travel?"
Draco pointed out, "I've taken the Tube a few times." Unfortunately.
"Ever been on a boat?" Joey asked.
"On a rowboat," Draco said slowly. "In the South of France."
Harry had long since gotten over his envy of Draco's comparatively shiny upbringing, but Joey eyed the Slytherin with a familiar stare that Draco knew to mean: Spoiled rich kid.
Henderson cleared his throat, and all three Aurors stared at him. "This journey will take more than a rowboat. A small Muggle tourist's ferry will leave from the Port of Manila tomorrow at six in the morning. A senior Auror will escort you there, but from then on, you're on your own."
• • •
It was with great reluctance that Draco placed his wand in his bag, firmly out of reach. He'd gone without it before, but this time felt worse. Four days journey, one day to meet Faraday, and Merlin knows what would befall them next. He hated not having any protection.
The ship, sleek, white, and relatively small, looked speedy, but it would take its time weaving through the Pacific, giving its Muggle passengers all the time on the wide-open sea they needed. Draco dropped their bags, along with the extra supplies Henderson had lent them, in his and Harry's tiny room. He then climbed to the top deck, wringing his hands nervously over the railing and watching for the vessel's departure.
Harry joined him not long later, looking perfectly at ease in a green T-shirt and khaki shorts. His emerald eyes followed Draco's to the pier, where their ship, the Blue Mercy, had just put up its loading walkway. Harry could pass for a model, Draco thought, on the cover of some glossy and unmoving Muggle magazine. Though perhaps not with the round spectacles. The twenty-first-century youth didn't appreciate a bookish beauty like Draco did.
He realized that he'd thought of youth as an entirely different age group to himself. You're twenty-two, Draco told himself firmly. Your whole life is ahead of you. It stretched before him rather ominously. Draco looked down at his pale hands as if expecting to see wrinkles.
"Where's Joey?" He asked his boyfriend, shoving away the mini existential crisis. There would be time for that later.
"In her room, sleeping," Harry said. Joey was the only one of their trio who was not a morning person.
"Sleeping?" Draco repeated sharply. "And you left her by herself?"
"We're on a Muggle ship, and there's an Auror standing right there," Harry said, tilting his head to Cherrywood, who had remained stone-faced on the pier to see them off. "I'm not too worried about being attacked."
"Shouldn't you be? After spending all of seventh year running around the country?"
A shadow passed over Harry's face, and Draco regretted the remark immediately. "Don't talk to me about seventh year."
"I'm sorry." Apologies had gotten easier for Draco since he'd become Harry's friend. "I'm just trying to be cautious. I don't want her to get hurt again."
In his words lay the memory of a few nights before, when a curse had slashed into Joey, and another day, five years ago. Draco seldom touched his Sectumsempra scars, pretending that they didn't exist, but he felt tempted to feel for them now, to remind himself that it had still happened. Somewhere inside him lay his sixteen-year-old self, shivering on the bathroom floor, covered in cold water and his own blood, wondering how Harry Potter could have done this to him.
"Me, neither," Harry replied softly, and Draco read his face like an open book.
"I've forgiven you."
"I know."
They rarely discussed this topic, save for late nights, the private moments – but not the intimate, warm ones. The nights when rain drenched the balcony and when Harry felt so unlike himself that Draco had to hold him and whisper to him who he was. Those nights were more infrequent than those when Draco lost all sense of himself, but they still happened. And in those dark spaces, did Harry cry for the damage he'd done, even if Draco didn't feel like he deserved it.
Harry was not afraid to cry. Draco loved that about him.
Harry took Draco's hand on the railing, skin warm and brown against his paleness. When he spoke, it was with the ease that suited him most. Draco liked Relaxed Harry much better than the Waspish, Miserable, or Raging versions. "We'll go check on her."
Joey Clarke was fast asleep, untouched and safe in her room. The only movement from her was her chest, rising and falling. Draco felt a sting of bitter empathy as he imagined the bandages beneath her clothes. No matter how much at odds they were, they now shared the same scars. Draco couldn't help but be protective of her, if only for that reason alone.
As the Blue Mercy slid from the harbor, Draco went again to the railing, in the front this time, watching the hull gently pull apart the foam-capped waves. The sun had risen fully now, bathing them in bright summer, but a thin mist still hung over the ocean. Draco wondered how cold the water felt and if he was brave enough to jump into it from thirty feet up.
The first day was spent in tense silence. The tourists explored the ferry, and Draco followed their example with much less gusto. There was a dining hall and kitchen, about ten rooms, and a diving board off the back of the ship that, according to the captain's intercom, would be in use when they stopped in the turquoise shallows near the coast of Vietnam. Intermittently, during his pacing, Draco met Harry, who blended in much better with the vacationers. But Draco followed his nervous fidgets and moving eyes – he was restless. They all were.
Night fell, bringing with it a thick bank of fog that hung from the boat and hid the rest of the ocean from view. An enormous spotlight mounted to the top lit up the route, but Draco couldn't shake the eeriness that came with the weather. Despite the warm, humid air and blanket of stars, the atmosphere reminded him of Azkaban, an ocean away.
Draco made himself lie in one of the room's beds when the time drew close to midnight. Sleep was a long time coming, but it found him eventually. And so did England, easing into his mind through tendrils of fog.