A/N: A huge thank you to my amazing alpha/beta team (aka my new besties): LeilahMoon, who is a genius editor... why didn't I find her sooner? And Lilithmorningstar69, who is wonderful at all things plot! I am beyond lucky to have found them!

Chapter 1

Harry Potter and the Confidence Man

Of all the ways Harry Potter could have been interrupted, this was certainly one of the most abhorrent. He disapproved of it greatly. He lifted his gaze, not bothering to raise his head, and trained his eyes on the source of the disturbance. It only marginally satisfied him that the target upon which he focused his wrath seemed equally – if not more – displeased. The grey eyes that rested on him so indifferently looked bored. They could very well have picked an entirely different spot to examine without much consequence. And yet, they'd elected him as their mark. He was the chosen one.

He was cuffed – the silver bonds wound around his wrists like glowing wires, illuminating the pale skin underneath. Still in Azkaban robes, Harry noted. He had expected his arrival and yet it was nonetheless an unwelcome intrusion. Harry sighed, shoving aside his paperwork, and laying his arm down over his desk resignedly. With his other hand, he gestured for the two guards to bring forth the prisoner. Considering he himself had been the one to sanction Draco Malfoy's release, Harry was terribly irked at his presence. It seemed, somehow, presumptuous.

"Leave us," Harry said to the guards in the kind of monotone he typically directed at novice trainees assigned to his division in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Once the officers were distinctly out of ear shot, Harry looked back up at his visitor. "You going to sit?" he said finally. Malfoy's gaze narrowed in what Harry presumed was mistrust. Harry rolled his eyes, adjusting his spectacles to occupy his restless hands. It's not like he'd jinxed the seat. "Relax, Malfoy," Harry said impatiently, "I can't catch you again."

Reluctantly, Malfoy used one hand to drive the chair out from under the desk. His other hand naturally followed, being attached to the first, and it hung limply while his right did all the work. The legs of the chair scraped disgracefully against the tiled floor of Harry's office. Harry let out a silent, but shuddering, sigh, reminding himself that he's been through worse.

Slowly, not unlike an adolescent miscreant, Malfoy lowered himself into the seat, spread his knees, leaned back considerably, pushed his chest out to reposition, until he finally settled in. His blank eyes were still resting on Harry's face, provoking him.

Harry lifted his eyes momentarily to the ceiling, willing some higher power to strike Malfoy down where he sat, or at least create yet another disruption that might let him off the hook. Alas, there was no such luck. Harry looked back at Malfoy, who appeared considerably more bored than one ought to be for someone just released from the Wizarding World's highest security prison. "I take it you're wondering why you're here," Harry said.

Malfoy's jaw jerked and his lips curled into his mouth. His eyes trailed along the back wall of Harry's office. Trophies, photographs, stacks of file folders lined the tops of the cabinets. "Not particularly," Malfoy said, his bored tone coinciding with the expression he wore on his face.

Harry ignored the comment and took a moment to scratch his nose, detach himself from the situation. He was only a Senior Auror talking to a convicted criminal. Not Harry Potter talking to Draco Malfoy. This was not a personal matter, and it was certainly not a personal conversation. This was strictly business. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been merciful enough to grace you with an opportunity." At this point, Harry looked back up to see Malfoy's reaction to this statement.

Malfoy shifted in his seat, but only slightly. He could have just been adjusting his posture. His hand twitched in his lap and Harry thought that perhaps Malfoy wanted to bring it to his face but reconsidered, given his hands were a package deal as of late. "Merciful?" was all he said.

"It seems" – Harry heaved an unenthusiastic sigh – "that the Auror Office could benefit from the expertise of a..." he trailed off, not entirely keen on praising Malfoy with such titles as con artist or fabricator.

One corner of Malfoy's mouth moved inward before he took control of his face. Although exhibiting no further reaction, he watched Harry with significantly more interest.

This gave Harry some confidence because, although Malfoy seemed pleased with himself, Harry felt that eliciting an emotional response of any kind out of Malfoy was a feat enough to divert power back to his side of the desk. He continued: "There is a thief at large who has expended a sizeable amount of Auror resources. Were you to lend a hand, thus relieving some of these" – Harry cleared his throat awkwardly when Malfoy smirked – "resources, and assist us in apprehending the criminal, well, certain allowances could be made in your favour."

Malfoy put one leg over the other, lifting his arms up dramatically so as not to catch his hands between his knees. "Such as?" he said casually.

Harry watched him sourly. "That remains to be seen."

"Well, then" – Malfoy began to rise – "I suppose, in that case, so does my willingness to participate."

Harry rose to his feet with him. "The terms will be determined upon successful completion of the assignment," he said quickly as Malfoy turned and signaled the guards outside the glass doors to return.

"That doesn't quite work for me," Malfoy said lazily, twirling his finger to indicate haste when the guards hesitated at the door upon detecting the hostility on Harry's face.

"What, you've got a better offer elsewhere?" Harry said grudgingly, holding a hand up to signify that the guards should remain where they were stationed.

For a moment, Malfoy stood perfectly still, as if he'd been made. Harry stared at the back of his blond head in more alarm than he'd care to admit. Perhaps there truly was an alternative for him that Harry had yet to consider. Perhaps he was in the midst of planning something. This set Harry on edge.

Then, Malfoy shrugged his shoulders without looking back. "Since the departure of the Dementors, Azkaban's not half bad. Working alongside you, on the other hand," Malfoy paused theatrically, "that would require incentive."

Harry grimaced. He'd just about had enough of Malfoy for a lifetime. Unfortunately, Malfoy was in possession of something Harry tragically lacked: the intuition of a conman. It, nonetheless, truly pained him to say what he was about to say. It made him restless – something he desperately attempted to suppress. But he went ahead and said it: "Perhaps we can work something out."

Malfoy's shoulders relaxed further. He turned his face back first, already smiling, before the rest of his body followed languidly, completing a slow pirouette while his eyes remained locked on Harry's. "Perhaps we can," he said.

Harry exhaled irritably and sat back down. He would need to be smart if he wished to outwit one of the most successful swindlers of the century. Harry inwardly scoffed, reminding himself that successful individuals seldom get caught. Yes, successful was the wrong word. But he preferred it to intelligent any day of the week. He would keep using successful – until he could come up with a suitable substitute. "Please," he said, gesturing back to the chair opposite his at the desk, "let's be reasonable."

Malfoy walked up to Harry's desk and rested his chained hands upon its slippery surface. "Are you authorized to make this deal?" he asked.

Harry gave him a look of loathing. How he wished to wipe that smirk off Malfoy's face. He squeezed his hands together under the desk, silently composing himself. Then, he said, "Unfortunately."

Malfoy's smile broadened. "Splendid."

…

"Are you shitting me?"

Harry gave Hermione Granger a tired look as the latter slammed the case file shut, creating a spectacle in front of the rest of his team.

"I refuse," she continued, folding her arms across her chest. "I will not work with him." She cast a disdainful look in the direction of the large, invisible wall of the conference room, outside of which sat Draco Malfoy, doing his best to inhibit a patronizing grin. Or was he?

Harry sighed audibly. He wanted everyone in the room to know exactly how annoyed he was. He waved his hand at the wall to darken its colour, until Malfoy became barely a shadow behind it. "Look, I'm not thrilled about it, either," he said.

"He is a felon!" Hermione cried, pointing a finger – nay, her entire arm – at Malfoy's dark silhouette, who, Harry could see by the posture, looked extremely pleased with himself.

"You think I don't know that, Hermione?" Harry rose from his chair so that when he stood, he was nearly a head taller than her. The height difference was evident even from across the long table between them. "I was the one who put him behind bars in the first place!"

"Then let's keep him there," Hermione urged.

To her left, Neville stirred in his seat. "I'm inclined to agree with her, boss."

Harry turned to face Neville wearily. How many times had he requested that Neville not call him 'boss'? Coming from him, it seemed undeserved and always knocked Harry down a peg or two. Like an elbow to the gut. It didn't quite knock the wind out of him, but it certainly gave him sufficient discomfort on which to ruminate. "Neville," he began, "there is a mastermind out there somewhere, wreaking havoc over the wizarding community, and we are no closer to catching this mother than we were four months ago." Harry returned his attention to the rest of the people seated around the conference room table. "Since his appearance, he's already appropriated nearly half a dozen magical artifacts – two in broad daylight. And we don't even know what he looks like."

"Or what she looks like," Ron piped in. He was sitting opposite Neville at the table with his back facing the now semi-opaque wall. Harry gave him a disgruntled look and Ron grumbled a quick apology.

"Or what she looks like," Harry continued, "as I was about to say." Neville raised his eyebrows at Harry's awkward insertion and Harry waved a frustrated hand at the lot of them. "Like it or not," he said, "Malfoy can offer a novel perspective on this case."

"Yeah, the perspective of a flimflammer," Neville muttered under his breath.

Hermione pursed her lips to suppress a smirk at Neville's choice of words.

"Well," said Ron, "I, for one, wouldn't mind a win for our books. Besides, Malfoy is the devil we know. How bad can it be?"

Hermione seemed ready to boil over with exasperation at Ron's naïveté. "He is taking us for a ride," she insisted. "How does nobody see this?"

"Again" – Neville cleared his throat – "I am in agreement."

Harry half expected Neville to raise his hand to show his support. Then again, Neville would likely champion any one of Hermione's opinions. He watched as Neville tried unsuccessfully to gain a smidgeon of Hermione's attention as the latter glared through the glass at Malfoy's obscured form.

"So, you're afraid of him," Harry said, deliberately meaning for the phrase to resemble a challenge. Hermione couldn't resist those.

Hermione redirected her seething expression at him. "You must know that he's got an angle," she said. "He's not just doing this out of the goodness of his heart."

"Isn't being out of Azkaban incentive enough?" Ron mused.

Hermione shook her head. "Mark my words," she said, still eyeing Harry. "You're being conned."

Harry smiled. He'd forgotten how much he liked the chase. Since Malfoy had been put away, the game had gotten stale. It wasn't until recently – this case, in fact – that a familiar sense of exhilaration played upon his nerves. It was like a tickle. Unpleasant at times but almost always welcome. He'd been bored. Harry raised his eyebrows and they floated precariously over the rims of his spectacles. "Well," he said, motioning for the guards to open the conference room door and let Malfoy in, as the colour once again dissipated from the wall behind Ron's back, "I would expect no less."

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the first chapter :)

This fic is in part inspired by the show White Collar, as well as the real individual who was the original inspiration for the show, Frank Abagnale Jr. Essentially, the idea of an ex con working for a government agency is not mine.