Pansy Parkinson wore higher heels than anyone else at the Daily Prophet. Her dark hair was cut to her chin in a severe line. Lips painted a violent shade of red. A tight skirt wrapped around her ample curves. Robes left tossed over her chair. And yet, she carried a Muggle notebook and pen, scratching down notes as she spoke with an older woman in hushed tones.
"Should we just…go up to her?" Potter asked.
"No one interrupts Pansy," Draco replied. "Give her a moment."
"Malfoy, I haven't got all day to wait around for someone to finish a conversation."
"Perhaps being the world's savior has skewed what little manners you once possessed but the polite thing is to wait for—oh for fuck's sake." Draco walked after Granger, who had crossed the newsroom to do exactly what he told Potter not to do.
Pansy excused herself before turning to their ragtag group. "I'm sorry, it seems as if I've woken in a parallel universe."
He gently angled himself between the two witches out of instinct, ignoring Granger's huff of annoyance. "Hello, Pansy."
"Yes, hello, what do you want? This is my place of work, Draco, and I'm terribly busy with a story." She stepped around them to a tidy desk, scribbled a reply to a memo that zipped into the air, and began sifting through various news clippings.
"We're hoping you can give us some information about the production process and raw materials used—"
"Draco, do I look like I step foot on the production floor? This dress is silk, for one. Its cost would likely scandalize Granger."
"I know you don't actually want me to answer that—"
"Excuse me, Pansy, but this is very time sensitive and we wouldn't ask if it wasn't," Potter interrupted. "Official Ministry business. Er, Auror Department. If that helps—"
"And surely you understand that you've arrived unannounced in the middle of my work day to ask questions I cannot answer. I'm a reporter. I write and edit and interview, so unless you're offering an exclusive, I can't help you."
"Perhaps you know someone who can? Someone you're friendly with," Granger asked, flicking her eyes at him.
Pansy caught the gesture. Red lips turned up at the corners. Nothing escaped her. "You know what, I just might. Come on then."
Pansy led them from the newsroom to a stairwell, her heels echoing with the descent. At the base was a metal door. She waved her wand in a figure eight, murmuring an incantation, and it swung open. Inside was a bright warehouse of a room with tall ceilings and a half-dozen witches and wizards working on copies of the evening edition.
Some siphoned ink from large vats, trailing it over reams of parchment, transcribing headlines that changed and rearranged themselves on impact. Others imprinted photographs, trimming the edges to make them fit on the page.
A somewhat small bloke with light brown hair tumbling over his forehead came over with a broad smile. The younger Creevey brother.
"Pansy! What can I do for you? Oh, hi, Harry. Hermione. And, sorry, I can't remember if we've met?" He spoke quickly, with a nervous lilt. Constantly glancing at Pansy between his words. Seeking her approval, no doubt.
Draco introduced himself and shook his hand briefly. Wiping ink on his trousers.
"Potter and Draco are with the Auror department. I'm not quite sure why Granger is here with them but regardless, they have some questions for you," Pansy said. She spoke differently with Dennis, her tone slightly sweeter than her usual. "Do you have a minute?"
Dennis nodded, a hopeful gleam in his eye. "Anything you need," he said to Pansy, then looked to Potter expectantly.
"What can you tell us about the materials used to produce the Prophet?" Granger asked, one of her sticky pieces of paper in her hand and a pen in the other. "Specifically, do you create the ink here?"
He shook his head. "We don't make anything in-house. It's all supplied. Been using the same suppliers for hundreds of years now. The ink, especially, would be difficult to replace. It has to include properties of transfiguration so that headlines are updated in real time. Before that things would be outdated by the end of the day whereas now we can transcribe new headlines using our master.."
Draco could see the shelves of Hermione's brain expand, eager to ask a hundred follow-up questions that they did not have time for, as Creevey droned on. It was rude to interrupt but he did it anyway. "There is some urgency to this inquiry so if you could direct us to your ink supplier, that would be most helpful."
"Same as yours, I gather. Scribbulus, right here in Diagon."
"Have you noticed anything different about the ink in the last few months?" Potter asked. He had a nervous energy to him that manifested in little gestures — pushing his glasses up his nose and holding the wand in his pocket. Pressing onto his toes then back on his heels.
Dennis shook his head and looked again at Pansy, who smiled at him in a way Draco had rarely seen her smile. "Is there something I should look for? The evening edition has to go out in a few hours."
"Everything's fine, we're just doing a bit of preliminary questioning. Thank you, Dennis, nice to see you again," Potter said, holding out his hand. Everyone shook hands and exchanged murmurs of thanks.
Pansy held Draco to the side and smirked at him. "Did you do it, then?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, glancing over at Potter, Creevey, and Granger.
"You did. You admitted it finally and so did she. Gone for months and Theo won't gossip but looks don't lie. Blaise owes me a fat purse—"
"How long have you been fluttering your lashes at Creevey for?"
Her lips tightened. "Dennis and I work together."
"Might want to look up the rules on inter-office relationships, Pans. That man will be content to worship at your feet until you tell him to stop or give him permission." He turned to rejoin the group and she pulled him back once more, nails tight on his wrist.
"I hope you're happy," she said. "I mean it, Draco. I know we used to joke that happiness wasn't possible for people like us but it is. You just have to take it."
Dennis smiled at her and she back at him, giving a small wave as she dropped Draco's arm. Granger held the strap of her bag tightly in her hands, a slight furrow to her brow. He smiled at her and shook his head. "You might be right. Ask me again another time." As he walked back over to them he added, "Thanks for everything, Pans."
Outside of the Daily Prophet offices Granger shuffled things around in her satchel. Putting her sticky notes and pens away. The lunch hour was nearly over, and they had more information to put to use.
"I'll need to take a team of aurors to Scribbulus. Investigate the shop and interview everyone who works there," Potter said.
Draco nodded. They'd need to do a full sweep of the building.
"We'll need to test the inks. Make sure it's not just the Prophet's that have been tampered with. Can one of your suspensions do that?" Granger asked, looking up at him.
"It should work, yes. I'd need at least a vial's worth of everything to try a few different things."
"I'll talk with Robards. See if we know anything about the staff there from other investigations. I believe it was one of the shops that was damaged in the war. It might have changed hands or something," Potter said.
Granger asked him a few questions while Draco thought about the stationary shop. And who he knew worked there.
"Fucking Marcus Flint," he said, startling the others from their conversation.
"What about him?" Potter asked.
"Works there. Pureblood but not a Death Eater so he was never much to worry about. It has to be Flint. He was halfway decent at potions but hated school. With the right teacher, like Nott Senior, he could have been better…" Draco searched his memories, tearing through the neat little sections until he had what he was looking for. "I've seen Flint buying ingredients twice in the last six months. Once it was valerian root, in bulk. I was buying it too it's a common ingredient but it has a short shelf life and to buy it in a large quantity — then just a few days ago as I was leaving the Vine of Plenty I saw him in Knockturn. He was headed towards the apothecary. It has to be him."
"We'll speak with everyone but make him the priority—"
"And what if he's not there, Potter? It's a complicated poison that requires precise brewing and incantations, I highly doubt he's producing it at his place of work."
"Then I suggest you find him and send word if you do. I'll tell Robards you're on it. Hermione, you should—"
"Go with him, obviously," she said, hands on hips. "Isn't it Department of Magical Law Enforcement policy that no one works alone?"
Potter sighed. "Fine. Just…be careful, alright?"
She nodded, and he set off towards the Ministry, casting a Patronus as he went. The silvery stag galloping towards Theo's flat, if Draco didn't know better.
"Do you know where Marcus Flint lives?"
"No, but I know someone who does. For the right price." Draco slipped a hand across her back and guided her towards the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Wishing he was taking a walk with his witch someplace nicer.
It was midday, and the darker side of wizarding London was quiet. The bell above the door to Borgin & Burke's chimed as they entered. The vanishing cabinet was now merely decorative, but the sight of it turned his stomach. Behind the counter Borgin wrote in a ledger and looked up with a grimace.
"Twice in one week, young Mister Malfoy. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Draco kept his hands in his pockets, opening his purse with one and holding his wand in the other. "I'm hoping for information. On Marcus Flint."
Borgin closed his book and placed his quill on an ornate stand. The raven's feather gleaming in the low light of the shop. "He's not purchased from me in some time. I'm afraid I don't have more information to share at present."
A galleon on the counter. Sliding it closer to the man. "I'm in a bit of a rush, Borgin, so if we could skip this part I'd appreciate it."
While he inspected the coin with an audacity that Draco loathed, Granger trailed her eyes over the shop, cataloguing things with keen interest.
"And what can I do about that?"
"An address would suffice," Draco said. He thumbed another coin in his pocket. Waiting.
"That's quite personal, don't you think?" Borgin replied, flicking his eyes to the counter. Draco placed another galleon down.
"Indeed. You'd be right to remember that I work for the Ministry now, and my patience grows thin."
Borgin chuckled and pocketed the coins. Then reached for his quill and a scrap of parchment. "What company you keep these days, Draco. I should wonder what your father would have to say about it."
Draco snatched the paper and put it in his pocket. "Careful, Borgin. Just because you never took the Mark doesn't mean the Ministry is convinced of your innocence."
"A good day to you, Mr. Malfoy. And you, Miss Granger. I hope you'll give my shop your patronage again sometime."
Granger narrowed her eyes and said nothing. As they were leaving, Draco kept his wand aimed at the shopkeeper. Just in case.
He breathed a little easier when they shut the door, and more so after he took her hand and tugged her along until they'd reached the corner where Theo's townhouse was.
"Draco, I'm not sure I like this," she said. "How can we know this is even correct?"
"Borgin knows everything about everyone. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew your address. He's a purveyor of secrets first, trinkets second. Everyone knows that."
She blushed. "Maybe everyone in…that world. If the Ministry knew—"
"It serves them more to leave him be. In case they ever need him." Draco pulled his cloak closer and kept her beside him. Then he unfurled the parchment that Borgin gave him. There was an address written in poor penmanship 639 Forsyth Road, Ugley, Essex.
"Ugley. Unfortunate name. Have you ever been there?" Granger asked.
He shook his head. "I thought he was from Brighton. But I suppose if he wanted somewhere near to London but more secluded, it makes sense to choose Essex."
"If neither of us have been there how will we even get there? We can't apparate if we can't picture our destination."
Draco drew his wand and traced his runic sequence over Theo's door. "We'll give the floo a try. If it's closed we can look at a map and get to a close point one of us has been to before."
"Are you seriously breaking into Theo's flat right now?"
"It's not breaking in if I have my own runic key. Come on," he said, and pulled her inside. With a wave of his wand he reset the wards and started up the stairs, calling for Theo.
At the top of the stairs Theo glared at them. "It is still breaking and entering. If I were a Muggle, I would call the police. In fact, I don't need to be a Muggle. My…person who spends time here is a wizard cop, you know."
"Yes, and he sent us on this mission so by proxy you are aiding the wizard cops. A dream come true, I'm sure," Draco replied.
"Can I get you a drink or something else to make you feel more comfortable in my home, which you have broken into?" Theo asked.
"That's very kind of you, Theo, but I think we just need to borrow your Floo." Granger said.
"You need to get your own fucking floo, Draco, this is starting to encroach on my privacy."
"I'm not allowed, you know that," he replied, rolling his eyes. He removed his cloak and sent it to the closet, taking Granger's as well. Then he lead her to the fireplace and reached for the floo powder.
"Wait—where exactly are you going?"
"Someplace horrible, probably," Draco said. He tossed the powder, turning the flames a roaring green.
"Theo, you should stay here," Granger said, with a hand on his arm. "Tell Harry where we've gone if we're not back by nightfall. Just in case I can't send a patronus like at your father's house."
"Harry doesn't know where you're going? Draco—"
He didn't hear the rest. With his clearest voice he called out the address and he and Granger emerged in a dark sitting room. They both held their wands at their sides but didn't light them. Draco reached out with his right hand as she reached with her left. Lacing their fingers just long enough to give a reassuring squeeze before they walked further into the room. There was a musty old sofa and not much else. The walls were a familiar dark purple, with a subtle dragon pattern.
"Lucius's boy, I presume," a deep voice sounded into the room. When he turned, he met the eyes of a portrait above the fireplace. Theodore Nott, Sr. The date on the frame was from just before Draco was born.
"Mr. Nott," he replied. The portrait was from when the man was in prime health. His impressive mustache full, his hair styled. Robes immaculate.
"You know I have a lordship," the portrait said. "It's poor form to address someone by the wrong title. Your mother should have raised you better than that."
Draco raised his wand to the portrait. "I know a variety of spells to burn through paint and canvas, so forgive me for disposing with pleasantries."
The portrait huffed a laugh. "And to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"What is this place?" Draco asked, keeping one eye on the portrait and one on the door to the sitting room.
"A pied-à-terre I acquired just before my second marriage."
"And who lives here now?"
"Why, no one, boy. It's as empty as the room we're in."
"He's lying," Granger said.
"A bold claim from a Mudblood," Nott said. For the first time on Nott property, Draco was disappointed there was no Guardian present. He much preferred the dragons to the man before them, even if he was merely a portrait.
"Mudblood I may be, but I can still hear the creaks of the floor above us. And no pureblood would leave their floo open without reason," Granger said.
"Right you are," a voice said from behind them. The door opened silently, and there was Flint. Facing them.
Draco cast a nonverbal expelliarmus that Flint deflected with a lazy flick. "Learning from Potter now? I wondered how long it would take before you slunk over to that side," he said. Another flick of his wand sending a trip jinx that was easy to dodge.
"Since when do you squat in derelict houses?" Draco asked. A quick succession of spells to try to knock Flint over. He'd always had decent reflexes — it made him good at quidditch, at least.
"Lord Nott gifted it to me just before the Battle. Haven't had much time to fix it up, you understand. I see you've brought along your little girlfriend. Perfect."
Granger bristled. His dark eyes moved upward, the only warning before his shout of, "Reducto!" brought the ceiling down on them.
"Immobulus!" Granger shouted, yanking Draco with her to the floor. The destruction held above them as they crawled towards the door. Flint had barricaded it in a rush and it took Draco a few moments to clear their path. The house had collapsed on one side from the blasting spell and the rest wobbled. Except for one door to the right. Made of protective metal. A laboratory door.
"He's going to collect what he needs for the poison and apparate out," Draco said. "Contact Potter and tell them to get here as fast as possible. I'll hold him off."
She gripped his arm, "I'm right behind you."
Draco tested the wards on the door and found them disarmed. Flint was in a hurry, not even bothering to try to prevent anyone from following. The door opened with a wave of his wand and he barreled down the stairs, eyes blinking rapidly in the darkness. Struggling to take in any bit of light.
With a shield charm in front of him, he breached the final steps to level ground. It was cold and damp. The ground beneath the house absorbing sound and heat and light. Except for a few candles to one side.
There, in front of a large cabinet full of vials, was Flint. Furiously tracing runes and reciting incantations. It was a complex bit of security, and that told Draco everything he needed to know about its contents.
Flint tossed a jelly legs jinx over his shoulder and Draco dodged it, sending his own blasting spell not at Flint, but at the shelves in front of him.
Little jars of powdered root of asphodel and moon dew rained down on Flint. Some shattered at his feet, spraying the hem of his robes.
"You can still do it, you know," Flint said, raising his hands in a sign of ceasefire. "Can still make your father proud."
Draco circled him, keeping one eye on the cabinet. Looking for the irreplaceable blood sacrifice. He had to keep Flint talking. Distracted. "Is that what this is about? Looking for someone to be proud of you? The Dark Lord is dead and Nott will follow him from a lifelong sentence in Azkaban. Right alongside my father."
With an arrogant curl of his lip, Flint nodded behind Draco. "That what she's about? Rebelling against your heritage because daddy went to prison?"
"You're outnumbered, Marcus," Granger said, standing to his right. Her wand high. "If you drop your wand—"
"Never," he shouted, sending a shelf of dried herbs and little jars of salamander eyes to the floor. Granger gathered them from their wreckage and sent them shooting down on him with an oppugno jinx.
They upended furniture and moved in tandem, firing off spells and protective shields in equal measure. Flint's slicing spell cut through the work table Draco had flipped over.
"Problem is you don't fight to win. You aren't a killer and you never were. It's why you weren't respected, even by your own father!"
"I don't have to kill you to win a duel — or to prove anything to anyone," Draco said, breath heavier with the exertion of his magic. He summoned a chorus of vials, sending them into a whirlwind around Flint. With a grunt, he pushed them back, giving Draco just enough time to force them into a tighter formation, whipping them at Flint.
While he flailed his arms, trying to swat the glass out of his way, Granger sent a trip jinx to knock him off of his feet.
Flint pressed back on his heels and launched himself from the floor, slinging spell after spell at them. A blasting spell hit the rest of the table, destroying it.
Draco wielded his wand like a whip, lashing hexes back. Parrying attacks. He had just sent a stunning spell when he saw it. Flint threw a blasting spell towards him but Granger was quicker, her protego wrapping him in her protection. But it was what Flint expected her to do, giving him an opening to send another, smaller blasting spell at her hand. Cracking her wand in two.
With a shove, Draco pushed her behind him and began an brutal assault. His spells ricocheted off of walls, breaking everything in their path while Flint struggled to shield himself. Reaching for an old, tarnished silver flask in the cabinet before turning right into Draco's disarming spell.
Flint's wand clattered to the floor. He ran for the exit, snarling something about Mudbloods, and Draco forgot all about magic as his fist collided with bone. He'd done well in hand-to-hand combat training at the Ministry, but Flint started fights on the quidditch pitch regularly. He swung back and Draco blocked it with his forearm. Bringing a knee to his gut.
A gust of breath exited Flint on a grunt, and he slammed his shoulder into Draco. Losing his footing on the broken glass and slick ingredients, he tripped and landed on the floor, taking Flint with him. The silver flask slid across the floor, out of reach. Draco yanked Flint's collar, the force sending him backward. Before he could get to it Flint launched himself at him, crashing to the ground once more. They each got a hit in, and soon they were scrambling for the fallen flask.
Until Flint's hand closed on his wand.
"Draco!" Granger called, and he swung blindly. Hitting Flint square in the jaw. He reached for the wand, wrenching it from Flint's bloody hand, and threw it behind him. They were still crawling on the debris, pieces of glass cutting into knees and palms.
With one last push of his magic, he aimed at the flask. "Diffindo!"
It skittered across the floor, away from Flints hands.
Draco summoned the vial, his outstretched hand ready to catch it, when Flint closed his hand over it, pulling against the spell with gritted teeth. Flint's grip was faulty, and the cap was damaged from Draco's diffindo. So he course-corrected, sending the tarnished silver across the room, slipping from Flint's fingers, and careening into the wall. Splattering the stones with blood. The silver flask echoing on the floor.
Growling, Flint turned to Draco, who leveled his wand between Flint's beady eyes. "Yield."
Bits of blood gathered at the corner of his mouth and he laughed, a manic sort of sound that had Draco pressing his wand beneath Flint's chin.
"Oh go on. You never could do what you had to do. Can't stomach it."
Draco twisted his wand, letting it dig into the soft flesh. "It's not about being able to stomach murder. It's about doing what's right, and everyone poisoned deserved the chance to witness justice."
Flint choked on his laughter. "Justice. Why don't you give it to them now? You read the Prophet. All those letters. You know they want us dead and buried. That's the justice they seek. Do it."
"Draco," Granger called.
"Wouldn't want to piss her off," Flint said. "You know—"
The binds of his incarcerus were tighter than necessary. Slithering their way around Flint's limbs, leaving him slack. Draco shoved him to the floor, satisfied that he couldn't do more than struggled against the binds.
"Make sure they're tight enough," Granger said, snatching Flint's wand from where it had fallen and pocketing it. "I want to check the rest of the house."
"We should wait until the aurors arrive," he replied and she shook her head.
"I can't be in this room right now, I need to do something useful. I'll be right back, I promise."
He nodded and kept his eyes on her until she'd left. Listening to her footsteps echo as they marched up the stairs.
"Tell me how you did it," Draco said. Standing before the bound man. Watching the blood trickle down his face from a cut at his brow, slipping towards his mouth when he laughed even more. As if it was all a joke.
"Your aurors will just veritaserum it out of me, won't they? Take my memories and watch it in a pensieve."
There were some things he learned as he got older, and one of them was basic kindness. Draco thought of that when he cleaned the blood from Flint's face before he spoke calmly. "They will, but you have a choice. We always have a choice, whether we know it or not. Tell me of your own free will or let them take it from you anyway."
Flint huffed. "Fine. I never had the marks for anything. Couldn't be bothered to study when there were other things to do. In fifth year I met Lord Nott."
"How?"
"Might've been stealing from Borgin & Burkes while he shopped there. He vouched for me and offered me an apprenticeship."
"Doing what?"
"Learning from him over the summer and Christmas holidays. Assisting in his laboratory for the Dark Lord."
"It wasn't Death Eater knowledge or you'd have been a suspect sooner."
"No one else knew," Flint said. He'd leaned his head against the stones and closed his eyes. "His son was never there. It was just me and Lord Nott and occasionally his wife, but she didn't like me much."
Didn't like her husband much either, Draco thought. He kept his wand aloft, listening as Flint went through his history with Theo's father.
"When things were nearing the end, Lord Nott set me up here. Taught me how to brew the poison he created for the Dark Lord. Then I obliviated him. He wanted me to carry on the work should anything happen. And that's what I did, Malfoy. That enough for you?"
"How did you determine—"
"Putting it in ink?" Flint interrupted, grinning in the way that always unsettled Draco on the pitch, during practice. "It was an accident, if I'm being honest. Knocked a pot of ink into the cauldron. Nothing happened, so I started experimenting."
Draco clenched his jaw. It's what he'd have done. And he hated to think he'd have done anything that Flint would have. "Then you got yourself a job at Scribbulus."
"Took months to get that. And a half a year before they let me help with the Prophet ink. Tricky stuff, that is, but I liked the added insult of using that ink."
"You experimented with that too, I'm guessing? A specific day that you ran your tests?"
"Think I've had enough questions, Malfoy. Fill in the gaps yourself."
"I'd rather you finish telling me what you did."
Flint sneered at him. "Oh, fuck off. You were a good seeker and for whatever reason people followed you around like dogs. Snape favored you for Salazar knows why. But deep down you were always weak. A swot like Granger but without the bite. Too bad your blood didn't change when your stance did."
"It's as pure as it's ever been, thank you," Draco said. He'd had enough. "You're right, you know. I'm more like Granger than I thought. But I'm still an arsehole."
The stupefy hit its mark, and Flint slumped further against the stone wall. Draco rubbed a hand over his face and slipped his wand into his pocket. Granger stood at the far end of the room, cradling her wand in her hands. The ivy wood was splintered. The dragon heartstring frayed where it poked through.
He knew what it was like to mourn the loss of one's wand — first when Potter had taken his. Then for good when it was lost a few months later in the Battle of Hogwarts. He'd been using his grandfather's since then, too ashamed to go to Ollivander for a new one. It worked well enough but it would never feel like his. Like so many things in his life.
"Are you alright?" He asked, placing a hand on her arm and stroking it.
"It's just one more thing taken away from me," she said, the words edged with bitterness. They both knew it wasn't something a simple repairo or spell-o-tape could fix. Weasley's first few disastrous years at Hogwarts were proof of that.
"I'm sorry," he said. She nodded and tucked the pieces in her bag. "Do you—"
His thoughts were interrupted when Potter and several other aurors entered the room with a loud crack. Hauling Flint up from his spot in the corner and levitating him towards the stairs.
"Okay?" Potter asked, a quick visual assessment before placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder.
"Yes, fine," she said. "We're okay."
When her fingers laced with his he repeated her words. They were okay. They would be okay.
A/N: Only two more chapters. Thank you so much for reading and for the reviews! A special thank you to Elena, whose chapter reviews have helped keep me going this week while juggling work deadlines and traveling.
If you ever want to say hi or drop an ask, I am on twitter (xdarkofthemoon) and tumblr (darkofthemoonfic) xx Lu