A/n: Each of you have been given the title of a season of American Horror Story. Your prompt is just the title. BEATER 2: Cult. Opt prompts: [word] collateral, [dialogue] "I feel like perhaps I am not being taken seriously", [setting] dusk
Team challenge: platonic/non-romantic relationships
Word count: 2997
as dusk sets in
Harry stood by one of the wall-length enchanted windows in the Auror Office's new conference room. He gazed into the distance, taking in the London skyline glowing orange with the sunset. It was his favourite view, and he spent hours there.
The enchantments had progressed from showing the weather to a myriad of locations, all in live time. This particular one was a view from the top of the tallest building in London—which nobody had access to, he was told, making it all the more alluring—and Harry could spend hours watching the sun sink into the horizon.
He glanced at his wristwatch, clicking his tongue as the long, slender needle teetered just before the inscription of twelve. Looking back up at the disappearing twilight, Harry sighed.
He was awaiting the Head Auror's arrival. More importantly, he was awaiting the arrival of their civilian investigator, who was in no shape or form qualified for the job, based on Harry's intel. Yet, Robards intended to send them undercover into one of the most dangerous crime syndicates in recent wizarding history.
Harry thought Robards was playing with fire. Not only would he get burned, but the civilian would be collateral damage.
His wristwatch clicked, then buzzed five times. Harry's heartbeat quickened. Inhaling deeply, he wiped his clammy palms on his trousers and pocketed them.
As if on cue, the sliding doors to the conference room hissed open behind him. Harry had to do everything in his power to keep from snapping around like stretched elastic. He turned in a controlled manner, donning a genial smile as he nodded at his boss, then looked past the burly man to the wizard entering behind him.
Harry froze as his eyes met gunmetal ones, and a familiar smirk graced the thin lips of the pale man who had entered the room. Robards cleared his throat.
"This is Harry Potter, the lead investigator on this case," he said, gesturing vaguely in Harry's direction. "But… you knew that already."
"Quite so," came the taciturn response from the other man.
"Nevertheless," Robards said, scowling at the blond wizard before turning to Harry. "This is Draco Malfoy, who has graciously volunteered to be our civilian investigator in an extraordinary turn of events."
Harry's heart was racing away in his chest. Malfoy's smirk grew wider at Harry's tongue-tied state. The latter belatedly registered the doors finally sliding shut. The seal hissed into place, and Harry felt the air being sucked out of his lungs.
Harry watched the city of London wind down from a busy day of work from his vantage point at the top of the tallest building. He smiled morosely, knowing, in reality, he was several floors underground rather than just beneath the clouds. He watched the glass windows of the buildings shimmer like thousands of fireflies, then gradually die out as the sun sank deeper into the horizon.
As dusk set in, his mood darkened. He began to brood.
That Draco Malfoy had volunteered to traipse off into the jaws of death was in and of itself a fallacy. When considering the broader implications of this course of action, there was no way but down a mental blackhole of despair.
There was already much public scrutiny surrounding Harry's aptitude to lead an investigation as important as that of the Cult (a nickname graciously coined by none other than Rita Skeeter, but only after the Ministry sued her for using the phrase Neo Death Eaters and causing widespread panic). The Cult referred to a group of cloaked vandals who'd been going around town leaving cryptic threats in locations that should've been impossible to vandalise without being caught. For example, the entire ceiling in the entryway of King's Cross Station.
They were growing increasingly bold, so much so that the Muggle police force was now involved. Harry had originally been assigned the case when it was a matter of no-good youths graffitiing the side of the Ministry's telephone-booth entrances. When it escalated out of proportion and caused a media frenzy leading to public outrage, nobody on the force was willing to take over, including Robards.
So, the crown of lead investigator was still Harry's, much to his chagrin and the public's disdain.
Harry briefly wondered about the political agenda behind bringing in Malfoy. There were obviously serious drawbacks to sending in someone as grossly under-qualified as Malfoy. Yet, there he was, which could only lead to one possible line of thinking.
Malfoy was the scapegoat.
Regardless of whether or not Malfoy succeeded, there was no winning. All the credit would either go to the people who orchestrated the entire endeavour, or his failure would mean the death of the last surviving heir to the Malfoy name. Well, Harry supposed, for the people in power, it was a win-win situation.
What could Harry possibly know regarding the grand machinations of the ones in power when he was but a puny cog in their wheel?
He sighed, taking in the brilliance of the multi-coloured haze of lights coming on all around the city. Reaching out, he turned the glass volume knob so he could hear the night sounds come to life. The raucous cacophony of traffic and chatter acted as white noise and soothed him. The sounds were to him what crashing waves were to others, however odd that may seem.
He turned, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed Mafoy standing on the other side of the large mahogany desk.
"I didn't hear you come in," Harry said hastily, motioning for the blond to take a seat. "Please."
Malfoy stood staring at Harry for a long moment, hands nestled in the pockets of his expensive-looking pinstriped suit. The grey of the suit matched the hue of his eyes, and its metallic sheen matched the coolness of his expression. He pulled back a chair and sat down stiffly. Harry followed suit.
They watched each other for several moments longer, and Harry wondered if Malfoy felt as much like a fish out of water as Harry did. As though negating the very idea, Malfoy leant forward and spoke.
"The Head Auror told me you were to explain my assignment?" he said, his voice low and smooth, like perfectly warm butter.
Harry cleared his throat and slid a folio across the varnished surface of the table. Just as Malfoy's fingertips grazed against it, however, Harry retracted his hand, folio and all.
The blond quirked an inquisitive eyebrow. Harry cleared his throat a second time.
"Er, are you sure you want to do this?"
The corners of Malfoy's lips twitched, as though he'd expected the question.
"Do you really have the capacity to offer me another option?" Malfoy asked, his voice calm yet oddly challenging. The meaning of his words was clear.
It was neither Harry's nor Malfoy's decision to make, nor even Robards' perhaps. Malfoy was saying that the deed had to be done, and no means of persuasion would change that. Harry was aware that if anyone had the means to persuade, it would be Malfoy. But there was enough dirt on him and his family to give the Ministry leverage for generations to come.
Harry nodded once and slid the folio forward again. Malfoy flipped it open and began reading. Harry watched the wizard's eyes grow dark and stormy the further he read. His thin lips pursed together until they disappeared, and his already stiff posture grew pronouncedly rigid.
At long last, he set the length of parchment down and stared at the tabletop, glassy-eyed and pale. Harry waited patiently, knowing the weight of the demands being placed on the blond.
Malfoy blinked, and his demeanor changed in an instant. He pressed the tips of his fingers on the parchment and flashed Harry a polite smile.
"Is this all?" he asked in a tone betraying no emotion whatsoever.
"That wasn't enough?" Harry said.
Malfoy bowed his head. "I'll need some time to rehearse my course of action and prepare for the role." He rose suddenly. "If that's all, I shall take my leave."
"Hold on just a minute." Harry raised his voice because the blond was already halfway out the door. Malfoy looked over his shoulder, and Harry could spy a hint of wariness in his otherwise placid expression. Walking around the table, Harry said, "You can't go home."
Malfoy looked affronted. "I beg your pardon?"
Harry smiled wanly. "From the moment you accepted the folio, your identity was compromised. For your own safety and the integrity of the case, you cannot return to your normal life until the end of your assignment. I thought Robards had already told you this?"
Malfoy gaped. "But—where will I sleep?"
"Everything's been arranged," Harry said.
"And—my clothes?" Malfoy argued feebly. "I'm very particular about what I wear."
Harry had to refrain from snorting. He said, "You'll be in disguise. Undercover. I hardly think your wardrobe should be your greatest concern."
Malfoy's feathers seemed to be so ruffled that he simply stood there, dumbfounded, for several moments. Then, as though remembering himself, he snapped back into form and stuck his nose in the air.
"Then you shall escort me to my quarters," he said in so demanding a tone that Harry nearly laughed out loud.
"Right this way," Harry replied with a smile.
They exited the room and strode down the long hallway. It wasn't until Harry heard the resounding hiss of the doors sealing shut that the finality of it all sunk in.
Despite being the lead on the case, Harry had minimal contact with Malfoy. After taking him to see Robards, the blond had been sequestered away, and Harry only saw him in passing every so often. Harry knew it was because he couldn't be trusted with something so important—it wasn't exactly news to him, at this point—but it still stung Harry's pride to be treated like dirt before his childhood nemesis.
"I feel like perhaps I am not being taken seriously," Harry said to Robards after a meeting with the top brass. "They barely listened to a word I said. It looked like they were already convinced this whole ordeal is going to end in failure, and nothing I say or do will change that."
Robards sighed tiredly. "Look, Potter, just do your best, alright? Nobody's expecting you to perform miracles."
Harry seethed silently at that. His boss essentially confirmed that failure was predetermined, further solidifying Harry's belief that the entire charade was a way for someone to get rid of Malfoy once and for all. That he was spearheading Malfoy's suicide mission made him sick to the stomach.
As D-Day drew near, Harry's anxiety skyrocketed. Not seeing Malfoy was worse than if he were to see him constantly. Harry had no sense of how prepared the blond was for his impossible assignment and couldn't shake off the feeling that Malfoy would give himself away instantly, compromising the investigation, then get himself killed. Harry was convinced the blond would simply be collateral damage and nothing more.
Yet, he hoped and prayed that Malfoy would succeed. More for his own sake than Harry's. Mostly, so the bastards that were pulling the strings from the shadows could eat their fists.
When he managed to catch the blond after the final inventory check, Harry pulled Malfoy aside, looked him dead in the eye, and said, "You didn't survive a Dark Lord only to get killed off by a bunch of kooky vandals, you hear me? You've experienced firsthand what real Death Eaters and a Dark Lord are like. This Cult has got nothing on you. You hear me?"
He shook the startled blond by the shoulders, but Malfoy looked shaken for more than one reason. The blond met Harry's gaze steadily. At long last, he smiled a small but genuine smile and nodded.
Without a word, he walked away, and Harry watched him go, hoping that it wouldn't be the last time he saw the man alive.
That the initial infiltration was successful was astounding. When an Auror came racing up to Harry and handed him a tiny, rolled up scroll with two words scrawled on it, Harry jumped for joy.
I'm in, the message read. Whether that foretold an unfathomable victory or a tragic death, Harry couldn't tell. But he clutched the message tight in his hand and let it light a fire of hope within him.
He stood by the enchanted windows nearly every day at dusk. Watching the transition between the day's end to the night's beginning was the only thing that soothed Harry's frazzled nerves. It was also the only time he could think.
Malfoy's disguise was fairly straightforward. He used to be a Death Eater. If their profiler had accurately deciphered the graffiti's motifs, then Malfoy should be able to masquerade as someone with insider knowledge of a movement to dethrone the Ministry and climb the ranks within the Cult easily enough.
Or that was the theory, anyway. The reality could've been far from it.
Harry hadn't heard from Malfoy in weeks, after all. He knew this was normal when someone was deep undercover, but it wasn't any less nerve-wracking. Harry couldn't stop circling back to the fact that Malfoy wasn't a trained Auror and Harry had sent him off to his death; that responsibility weighed down on him more than anything else.
And this coming from the person who bore the fate of the wizarding world on his seventeen-year-old shoulders.
"He'll be fine," Harry whispered to himself often. "He has to be."
Three months passed without any contact from Malfoy, and Harry was certain he was dead.
Why else had he failed to send even the smallest trace of life? At this point, Malfoy being alive was the only thing Harry cared about. He couldn't care less about dismantling the Cult.
As though sensing Harry's desperation, at long last, a message arrived.
Harry was standing at the enchanted windows again, staring off into the distance. His gaze was unfocused, so everything was hazy, and perhaps that was the only reason he noticed the flashes of light. They were coming from directly ahead, from the rooftop of a relatively tall building.
Harry froze, then counted the flashes and intervals between them. He quickly Summoned a piece of parchment and quill and began scribbling down the code being transmitted.
0000 05 10 51 5080 N 0 1281 W
The sequence repeated one final time before disappearing. Harry stared ahead with bated breath, then looked down at the deciphered morse code. He knew exactly what it was.
Disapparating with the scrap clutched tightly, he arrived at the center of an important meeting in Robards' office. The Aurors stared at Harry in shock, but Harry couldn't have cared less. He held up the piece of parchment.
"I have time and coordinates."
Robards was on his feet in an instant. "Where?"
"Trafalgar Square at midnight tonight."
The Head Auror raced out the door, bellowing orders at the top of his lungs. Harry followed after him in a daze, still in disbelief that Malfoy had come up with such an ingenious way to communicate with him.
He wondered suddenly how Malfoy had known Harry would be at the enchanted windows, watching the live view of London at exactly that time. Malfoy couldn't have possibly been there all day long, considering the nature of what he was doing.
Harry shook his head. Maybe Draco Malfoy had more mettle than they'd given him credit for.
Trafalgar Square was packed with tourists until an hour before midnight, and Harry had begun to worry if it was going to become an issue of greater magnitude. Then, they began filtering out, and Harry's gaze flitted between Big Ben's clock tower and Nelson's Column as he awaited the arrival of midnight.
He had fought Robards until the latter had acquiesced to Harry being at the front line. Harry had a gut feeling that Malfoy would be there that night, and Harry was going to be the first to get to him.
The company of Aurors stationed with Harry shifted into position as the clock's hands inched towards the number 12. Harry caught his breath as midnight struck. Big Ben began to chime low and hollow.
On the second gong, a dozen hooded figures Apparated into the square with a single, resounding pop. Harry held out a hand.
Wait.
They had to ensure the Cult members were caught red-handed in the act. Giving themselves away too early would sabotage all their hard work.
The hooded figures got to work defacing Nelson's Column and the four lions situated around it. Big Ben was on its sixth gong. Harry's eyes scanned the square in a desperate attempt to make out Malfoy amongst the others but had no success.
At long last, Harry whispered, "Time your approach with the next bell."
Big Ben struck one final time, and Harry's team struck with it.
It wasn't the grandest success, but they had managed to nab several Cult members, including Malfoy. He had been taken in for interrogation just as Harry returned. He walked into the small room, catching sight of Malfoy first in the two-way mirror, then in person.
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Harry broke into a wide grin. He laughed, and Malfoy laughed as well. Malfoy looked roughed up, but Harry knew they were surface injuries so the Cult bought the act.
When Harry went around the table, Malfoy stood up. Harry shook the man's hand and clapped him on the back.
"You got my message," Malfoy said hoarsely, his gunmetal eyes glittering.
Harry laughed. "I did indeed."
Malfoy grinned, looking absolutely chuffed with himself, and Harry echoed the sentiment. The Cult may still be at large, but they had won this battle, despite all odds.
Harry couldn't wait to see the looks on the top brass' faces when the duo walked in and announced their victory. It was going to be grand indeed.