For a full week after the Aurors' office assignations, Antigone Connors had artfully skirted around the topic of Draco Malfoy's indentureship. Harry knew she must have known something, given that Draco did not have a desk, and his absences were not addressed. But every time he'd approached her about it, or tried, Antigone procured a miraculous excuse and promptly disappeared.
On Monday afternoon, Harry's eyes were watering over the cramped handwriting of a mission report he was supposed to be interpreting when Antigone herself arrived at his and Joey's office space - the Auror Carraway still hadn't made an appearance.
"I suppose I can't put this off any longer," Antigone said rather cryptically. "Potter, Clarke, come with me. You have a new mission."
"Already?" Harry said.
"Count yourself lucky. Most juniors, especially not pairs, don't see this much action early on," Antigone said with an arch look. She began to walk away, giving Harry and Joey no choice but to follow. "I know the last mission went slightly awry…"
"Awry," Joey echoed darkly.
"But your skillsets should be able to handle this one. It's fairly simple, though it's a shame you won't have Malfoy."
"Are we talking about him now?" Harry said, perking up.
Antigone glanced warily around. "Not until we're in my office, we're not."
The International Crimes office was decorated in a clutter, despite the Spartan personality of its owner. Various souvenirs from past missions populated the walls, like a bent katana, a moving picture of an Auror trio posing in front of the Roman Coliseum, and an enormous pair of moss-covered deer antlers hanging above the desk. If Harry didn't know about magic, he would have thought the positioning of the antlers to be a perilous hazard.
In a corner, perched upon a bamboo-woven stool, was a man in the deep charcoal robes of a full-fledged Auror. His hazel eyes peered owlishly through thick spectacles, and he scratched a gingery beard thoughtfully, as if examining the juniors as specimens. He reminded Harry strongly of Arthur Weasley, and with a pang he realized he'd been so wrapped up in making sure Draco was all right that he hadn't contacted the Burrow in months.
Antigone acknowledged the man with a nod and gestured for Harry and Joey to take seats in front of her desk. "I heard about Auror Malfoy's indentureship," she admitted, "I had him immediately removed from the IC division. In spirit, if not on paper."
"Did he ask you to?" Harry asked.
"Didn't have to. Once I found out there was force involved, I knew he wanted out." Antigone shook her head, brow creasing. "I don't come across many who possess so much skill, and so little passion, let alone former Death Eaters. Malfoy's teachers had always reported the same thing: extraordinarily gifted in potions and healing, always pushing himself in offensive magic, but it was clear what he really wanted to do. I can't see that boy thriving in anything other than a workshop of some kind."
Her words painted such an accurate portrait of Draco, Harry was embarrassed that he hadn't seen it sooner - that Draco would be much happier sweating over a cauldron than on the battlefield. Harry knew that in his heart of hearts, so why didn't he connect the dots?
"It goes without saying that you two will be doing this mission without Malfoy." Antigone finally looked over at the man in the corner, who was balancing the handle tip of his wand on his pointer finger. "Auror Carraway will take it from here."
"Wait!" Harry blurted. "Do you know what's going on with Dahlia? I didn't hear of a funeral or anything."
Antigone's expression clouded. "Auror Balengchit's body was taken in as evidence," she said. She didn't look either of them in the eye. "It was out of my hands."
"Evidence?" Joey said suspiciously.
"Ever been to the French coast?" Carraway cut in, and Harry and Joey turned to look at him. "Beautiful this time of year."
"Way to change the subject," Harry muttered under his breath.
"Oh, no, no," Carraway said absently, "Our mission is in Nice. Neece, a nice town, eh? Wednesday, we Apparate to Paris, then from there to our little village on the coast. There's a wee vagrant there, cursing all the Muggles, generally causing trouble. The French government asked us to deal with it. They've got enough on their hands."
"Such as…?" Joey prompted.
"Sand and snow elves," Carraway said with a shudder, then continued. "It should be simple. I'll stand by, make sure you get the job done safely. I don't think I'll have to step in, hm?"
Harry and Joey exchanged a look. I hope not, Harry thought. "How's your French?"
"Nonexistent," Joey replied. "You?"
Harry could only shake his head. He looked again at Antigone, who seemed firmly tight-lipped about Dahlia. Harry supposed he would find out what happened to her like he did most secrets - in a way he least expected.
• • •
Balmy wind carried the salty trail of the sea as Harry, Joey, and Bennyson Carraway stood on an unpaved road a little ways from the ocean shore. They'd arrived in a tiny village minutes away from Nice, dressed in undercover Muggle clothes. Harry patted his upper arm, feeling for the wand holster hidden by long sleeves.
"Pretty night, pretty night," Carraway murmured, looking up at the sliver of moon. "Not much visibility, hm. Better for him, or for us?" He turned away from the view, trundling in the direction of the town's center.
"He's not senile, is he?" Joey whispered once he was a safe distance away, and she and Harry began to follow. "He's too young."
Harry shrugged. "He's just odd." Like Luna, he supposed, though not in the same way Luna was. She had a sort of faerie quality about her. Carraway's mind seemed to be barreling ahead of him - or was it the other way around?
The wind changed, whistling with a sudden chill. Carraway drew close to a nearby building, its pastel walls bone-pale in the semidarkness. Streetlamp light sparkled off the water in a silent fountain, standing on its lonesome in the center of a courtyard.
Carraway yawned hugely. "There."
Harry squinted into the darkness, back pressed against the wall. A figure melted from the shadows, shoulders draped with a plum-colored cloak. The stranger raised a wand, shouting a gleeful incantation, and the fountain came to life, its stone tiers flowing with a liquid thicker than water. Harry held his sleeve in front of his nose as the coppery scent of blood filled the air.
"Christ," Joey muttered. In unison, both juniors flicked their wrists, and their own weapons slid into their palms.
"Go on," Carraway said, flapping his hands. "I'll watch."
As Harry and Joey crept forward, the stranger's head twisted to see them. He pulled up the hood of his cloak.
"Bonsoir, mes chers," he cackled. "Levez-pas tes baguettes magiques. Vous êtes des ennemies?" He flicked his wand, firing a curse, but Joey slashed the air, blocking it. The man hesitated, shoes sliding on stone as he stepped back.
Expelliarmus! Harry thought, and the familiar spell moved with surety, sending the man's wand flying. Joey made a looping motion with her wand, and ropes appeared, binding themselves around the man and pinning his arms.
"That was suspiciously easy," Joey remarked as the culprit thrashed and cussed in French.
"Fix the fountain, Potter," Carraway commanded as he ambled over. "Good work to you both. Auror Clarke, you and I will throw this one to the dogs."
Joey raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"
"Figure of speech, miss. I mean bring him to Paris. The Ministère will take things from there."
Joey nodded. She and Carraway knelt by the man, holding on to his shoulders. All three Disapparated with a pop.
It had been a while since Harry had done any Transfiguration, but he turned to the fountain, both hands raised. "Reditus Aguamenti." His wand slowly lowered, and the blood thinned and cleared, turning to water. The fountain burbled cheerfully, and Harry sighed, sliding his wand back into his holster.
A scattering of moonlight suddenly shone over the moving water, making it sparkle. Harry looked up at the sky, where clouds scuttled in front of and behind a silver crescent. He knew it was terribly cliché to do so, but he wondered if Draco was seeing the same moon, standing out on the balcony at their flat, or perhaps at his parents' manor.
"Potter!"
Harry shuddered, looking wildly around. He must have imagined Draco's voice - he was a whole country away.
But he was there, pale hand curling over a corner, his slim figure dressed in plain black robes. Draco moved gracefully, hardly a sound echoing over the cobblestones. He had his wand in hand.
"Draco?" Harry said, unsure - he was positive Draco would have let him know if he was coming. "Is something wrong?"
"I just needed to see you," Draco said, relief flooding his eyes, and he had Harry in his arms before he could react.
One of Harry's arms was pinned; he ran his free hand up Draco's arm in a guise of affection. "Who were you betrothed to in fourth year?" he whispered. "Answer me."
Draco stiffened. "What?"
A burst of energy came from Harry as he twisted out of Draco's embrace, pushing him away. Draco was fast, grabbing Harry's left wrist before he could reach for his wand. An unseen force kicked Harry's legs out from underneath him. He struggled to his knees, but Draco's cold fingers closed over his throat.
"Be still," Draco growled, in a voice not quite his own. "I'm not going to kill you."
"That's comforting," Harry replied, falling forward deliberately, and trying to roll out of the way. Draco pinned him to the ground with a knee to his chest, hand pressing on his trachea - Harry gasped, then ceased struggling out of shock as an inky black pooled in Draco's silver eyes.
"Like I said," muttered the impostor. "I'm not going to kill you." The posh British accent was completely gone, replaced by something Harry could not identify, but he recognized the voice well enough.
"Rabbit?"
They grinned like a shark, an expression that was eerie to see on Draco's face. "Promise not to curse me if I let you go?"
Harry glared. "No."
"I have something you want." In a series of swift, graceful movements, Rabbit stood, freeing Harry, and slipped something from under their robes. Harry was expecting an amulet, but a small charm dangled from a silver chain: a tiny vial, filled with a silvery substance.
Harry's wand was in his hand before he got to his feet. "Whose?"
Rabbit smartly didn't wait before answering. "Dahlia Balgenchit." They meandered towards the fountain, vial dangling from their pale fingers like bottled moonlight. From behind, they looked exactly like Draco, and Harry tussled briefly to reconcile the instinct of love with the knowledge that Rabbit was no friend of his.
"You're…giving it to me?" Harry asked. Rabbit nodded as they walked to the other side of the fountain, the water distorting part of their face. "Why?"
"You deserve the truth," they replied simply. "Your Ministry won't give it."
"What do you mean?"
"These memories would have been destroyed, had they got their hands on it," Rabbit said, swinging the vial in a silvery circle. "You should be thanking me."
Accio. The memories flew from Rabbit's hand to Harry's; they made no motion to get them back.
"Why should I trust you?" Harry asked. "You work for Dao."
Rabbit scoffed. "She is as good as dead. I do what's best for my survival. Don't you?"
"No. I'm doing what's right."
"What you think is right," Rabbit corrected. Harry tried to move closer, wand still raised, but they swiftly stepped to the side, blocking themself again with the fountain.
"What do youthink, then?" Harry coaxed.
Rabbit only shook their head, Draco's features blurred in the flowing water. "I'm not going to stand here and tell you my life story, Harry Potter. Go and live yours instead. Watch the memory. It will help you understand."
"Understand what?" Harry shouted.
Something strange happened to the shadows; they bent, as if strangled, in a blink. Harry ran to the other side of the fountain. He was alone, Dahlia's last living memories hanging from his hand.
[Translations from French:
Good evening, my dears. Don't raise your wands. Are you enemies?]