Title: Relativity of Simultaneity
Author: Sparrow
Rating: R (for language, mostly)
Pairing: H/D
Disclaimer: Draco, Harry, and anyone else who seems familiar belongs to J.K. Rowling and various other entities who are not me. I'm only taking them out to play.
Feedback: Constructive criticism welcomed. Oh, who am I kidding. Just review! Please! Don't make me beg...
A/N : I think I ate a bad cupcake. :(
A/N 2: No, you're not supposed to understand the title. It will be explained in full later on in the story. I wanted an older D & H...but I didn't want to think up some futuristic world. So the world is the same...they're just older in it. I'm going to fall back on that AU' to defend any oddities. I do believe that's going to be the main one though.
Summary: AU set 20 years after Harry & Co graduate Hogwarts. Will eventually be H/D *slash.

Chapter 1
In which we get our bearings, loose them again, and meet an old acquaintance.


...and so you see, this proposition will be of great benefit to both companies, and give us the needed edge against Dean and Dryfus Corp. With your permission sir, I can have the necessary forms on their way by two this afternoon. The pinch-faced little sub manager, speech over, stepped back and watched Draco Malfoy expectantly. He'd taken casual dress' a bit too seriously and was wearing a sport coat in a horrible shade of blue that looked to Draco like the shell of some exotic jungle beetle. Draco nodded in a way he hoped looked thoughtful, and tried to remember just what it was he was supposed to say yes to. He'd started to nod off somewhere between the door closing behind the man as he came in and hello sir'. Then the sport coat had caught his attention. Something about a merger. He repressed a sigh. Business was not his forte. He'd be more comfortable in an apron on Iron Chef' then in a board meeting, and his food skills, both magical and otherwise, began and ended with opening the menu at a restaurant. The annoying little underling was still standing in front of his chair, laptop tucked under his arm and staring at Draco. He guessed this was where he was supposed to say something. Instead, he waved the man off and nodded. He'd do better given free rein then with any instructions anyway.

He sighed as soon as he heard the door close, and got up to stand by the west window, loosening his tie as he did so. Whoever had first built this place had made one entire side nothing but black mirrored windows. It had made for impressive views, both inside and out, but the downside of the design had become glaringly clear during the last earthquake. The windows had broken. All the windows. Draco had opted to have it repaired in a more conservative fashion, with more faux marble and less real window space. Not as impressive, but much less likely to make him cry out for Mommy and find Jesus during an earthquake. He had also rearranged things so that his desk was no longer directly in front of the window. He looked up as his door swung open and his secretary stepped in. Yet another exotic beetle look-alike, this time done up in shades of green. Draco often wondered if he was the only person in the company with any fashion sense.

Fed-ex guy dropped this off. She tossed a manilla envelope at him and walked out without another word. Draco leaned over to pick it up off his desk, curiosity piqued. It was addressed to Mr. Malfoy, at the Lucidity main office. That was odd in of itself. He kept his business and personal correspondence strictly separated, and any business dealings would have either come through middle management or been addressed to Draco Malfoy CEO. A single sheet of white paper fell out and floated down to his desk when he ripped the tab open on the envelope.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

100000

What the fuck is this? He flipped it over and back again, and looked back over the envelope. Nothing that would give him a clue as to who'd sent it. Several people immediately popped into his office. None of who, he duly noted, were security. He wondered if a gunshot would wake the guard up, or if it would take a jet hitting the building. The current office pool was leaning towards the jet.

Something wrong sir? several voices asked at once.

Give this, he thrust the letter at the closest intern, to security and tell them to check it out. Here, take this too, he held out the envelope. I'm going home.

Will you need an escort to your car sir?

No. Just take care of the letter.


++

It never rains in Southern California, or at least that's what the song says. He supposed it depended somewhat on your definition of raining. Back home, this was a drizzle. To watch the people here, you'd think they were braving a blizzard. A car took the corner too tight and too fast, spraying water up on to the walkway. The pedestrian traffic dodged right and left, inevitably putting themselves farther into harm's way in their efforts to avoid a soaking. Words were exchanged as the more volatile among the crowd to sought to place blame, soothing injured pride with yet more ruffled feathers.

He watched the scene before him with quiet amusement from the dry haven of a café overhang. It had already been played out since he had first arrived for his morning coffee, an endless loop of impatience driven carelessness that no doubt would continue on as long as the rain did. Even those used to damp misery soared in spirit under blue skies and sun. He was not immune to the effect either. It took considerable willpower to not glance at his watch every few moments, as though the intensity of his gaze could inspire the bit of Muggle mechanical ingenuity to move heaven and earth so that time could pass at a pace that was better suited his schedule.

Another car went by, but not the one he was interested in. Shadows were beginning to disappear from under the weak cloud covered sun. Soon this café would be flooded with the workers from the nearby offices come for lunch. He needed to be gone before that, but his job was as of yet left unfinished. A silver sedan pulled up to the entrance of the gray brick building across the street, and the man's interest was caught. This was possibly the one he was looking for. He caught the waiter's eye with a nod of his head, and dropped the required amount of money down next to his cup. The newspaper was tucked under his arm as he stepped onto the causeway. The crowd caught him much as the current snags driftwood, and he melded seamlessly into it. Just another man in a suit among a hundred others. The driver of the sedan got out to open the door for his passenger. Out stepped an impeccably dressed business man. Armani suit, every thread in perfect order, blonde styled in the latest fashion, Italian leather briefcase held firmly in a manicured grip. Every nuance screamed money, and the crowd parted for him as through sensing the power within him. But then again, in this place, money was power.

He lost sight of his quarry for a moment, regaining it a second later when the natural ebb and flow of the people around him opened up to provide another vantage point. The blonde man was gone, the driver pulling back into traffic. Crowds hid you well, but sometimes that could go both ways. It was not more then a momentary setback. Now that he knew his target was here, he knew exactly where he would run to. He used a break in the crowd to disappear down a side alley. This part of the city was a curious mix of old and new, where history merged with the palaces of the modern business royalty. The alley he was in served as a good example. To his left, a turn of the century brick building. To his right, gleaming steel and glass, the pet project of the architect was who currently basking in his fifteen minutes of fame.

It's me. The phone they'd given him was so small as to almost appear a joke. He sometimes wondered how it was possible for the other person to hear him, when the entire phone barely extended past his ear. Muggles were clever, far more so then anyone was willing to give them credit for. Some day the wizarding community was going to have to face that fact, and he doubted it would be well taken on any account.

Did you see him? The voice came through harried. This was a high-stakes game he was playing, and they all had more to lose then they could afford. So much had been placed on his shoulders.

Yes. Where you said, but four hours late. I'd like to know where he was in between there and here.

I imagined he would be off a bit. Don't worry, we have a solid explanation for it.

He snorted. Explanations and answers are not always one and the same.

Patience. You do know what that word means?

I'm not going to answer that. Call at the same time?

Yes. Now cheer up. We'll get him. The line went dead, and he folded up the tiny phone and slipped it back into his pocket. Of course they would get the one they wanted, of that he had no doubt. It was what was going to come after that had him worried.

++

Lucidity Incorporated, a play on Lucius Malfoy's name, occupied the top twelve floors of a stylish downtown Los Angeles high rise. Draco had looked the word up in the dictionary once out of curiosity. It meant precision of thought, which he found quite fitting. For most people, the business would represent the pinnacle of success, for Draco, it served as a reminder of what he'd lost. The Malfoys had not fared well after the final battle with Voldemort. His father had not been as clever as he fancied himself by half, and the trail from Voldemort to Malfoy Manor was so clear that even the Ministry of Magic, as inept as they were, could follow it. The situation had turned ugly in a remarkably short time, and there simply hadn't been any opportunity to implement the escape plans. Narcissa had killed herself, the more far flung relatives had distanced themselves as much as possible, and Draco had fallen back on one of his father's more radical back-up plans in a last ditch effort to avoid Azkaban. Go where no one would ever expect to find you, then hide in plain sight. Perhaps one of the only good ideas his father had ever come up with. It had saved his life and his freedom, but he sometimes wondered about the cost.

He had money, and all it brought with it. A home that was as much a palace as Malfoy Manor had been. His closet was filled with the latest designer clothes. The Muggle financial advisory company his father had set up had surpassed everyone's expectations. Draco was doing his best to insure things continued that way, by staying as uninvolved as he possibly could. More of a figure head than anything else. There was a time when he would have wanted to be in charge and micromanage down to the last breath, but the years had managed to knock some semblance of intelligence into him. Let the people who know what to do, do it. That policy still entailed more effort on his part then he was comfortable with. His phone rang suddenly, startling him as he got ready to leave. He fished it out of his jacket pocket.



Draaaaco. You said you'd be home by now. The guests are arriving. Without realizing what he was doing, he shifted the phone father away from his ear, as though to distance himself.

I'm sorry Marie. Something came up, and they needed my OK. I'll be leaving in ten minutes. That means I'll be home by..., he glanced at the wall clock. It was a quarter to two, and his house was twenty miles away. Figuring in traffic time, He could almost hear the pout in her voice before she spoke.

I hate it when you do this to me. You always get hung up at work when I have plans made.

I'm sorry. No, he wasn't, but it was useless saying anything. Conversations more complex then Dick and Jane went up the hill' went completely over Marie's head. He'd gone for a trophy wife, a skinny actress quality blond bombshell to hang off his arm and impress prospective business partners. Marie was gorgeous, nothing could take away from her. She was also as intelligent as the carpet he was standing on. His loathing for her had grown to the point where he'd do almost anything to avoid going home, but hell would freeze solid before he let her walk out of a divorce with half of his money. She did serve her purpose well enough, and knew enough to realize she had it good. They had an arrangement of sorts worked out to their own mutual benefit. He didn't question why the ex-GQ model gardner was making nearly five thousand a month and had keys to the guesthouse, and Marie stayed quiet when he came stumbling home in the early morning smelling of pot and strange cologne.

Fine. Just get here, she snapped. She took great delight in hosting little parties with LA's elite, grown-up versions of a childhood tea party. Draco tended to throw her plans off balance without any conscience effort. He considered this to be one of his greatest innate talents.

I'm coming. The line went dead, and he snapped the phone shut. He stared at it for a moment, then sent it flying into the waste bin. Sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered if Azkaban was any worse then the prison he'd made for himself.

LA held limited appeal for him. It was as close to being pure Muggle as any city it's size could claim, and America in general wasn't as friendly to wizarding folk as it could be. The Ministry of Magic here, or more properly, the Bureau of Supernatural Phenomena and Magical Affairs, was of the opinion that one could do whatever the hell they felt like as long as it didn't make the Muggle newspaper headlines. The United States had avoided the original International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692 by virtue of not yet existing, and after that they weren't overly keen on taking orders from across the pond for obvious reasons.

The Bureau's liberal policy allowed for much more personal freedom then was possible in any of the European countries, and made the place a haven for those seeking to simply disappear off of the wizarding communities' radar. Perhaps those in charge weren't worried because they sensed that magic would never really play a large part in things over here. It was too Muggle. Computer chips and silicone made this world go around, and true magic couldn't always compare with it's big screen counterpart. Besides, the air was solid enough to see clearly. No matter what kind of spin you put on things, Draco knew that couldn't be good. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed home.

He was waved through the checkpoint in the underground parking garage, as always. Draco was a distinct enough presence that enough those members of the company who saw him rarely remembered him, unlike many of the other board members. He fished out his car keys, sighing with relief as he slid behind the wheel of his black Jaguar. He loved his car. All sleek and black and powerful, much like the jungle cat it was named for. The car had been his present to himself for his thirty-fifth birthday. On his thirty-sixth, he'd finally gotten off his ass long enough to go down to DMV and get personalized plates for it. IBTRTNU. He thought the message was clear, I'm Better Then You, but so only one other person had gotten the message that he knew of, and he wasn't sure if Marie counted. His only other concession to personalization was the silver What Would Machiavelli Do? cut out decal centered high on the tinted back window. All in all, it was a very Draco-like machine.

++


It was well past the witching hour when the last of the guests staggered out, thoroughly sloshed on ridiculously expensive wine and caviar. One would think that something as disgusting as fish eggs would be more affordable, like pigs feet, but trust muggles to run completely contrary to the path of common sense. Muggle parties tied in well with Draco's concept of what hell must be like, and he'd only lasted through introductions before claiming a migraine and retreating to the relative sanctuary of his office. Migraines, he had found, were quite possibly the most useful medical affliction one could have. They could end parties and business meetings with one fell stroke, and no one would question whether you were lying. Which Draco most certainly was. He'd never had so much as a tension headache his entire life. But it hadn't taken him long to perfect the symptoms. Squint your eyes, wince at bright light. Hold a hand to your head, and apologize profusely while backing out the door. Presto. Instant freedom.

His office was the only room in the house that was truly his. The ink hadn't even been dry on his marriage certificate before Marie, five-hundred dollar an hour interior designer in tow, had attacked the house with all the fury of the Allied forces storming Normandy. Draco had saved his only refuge by placing himself in front of the door and refusing to budge, along with a few well placed kicks. Any inhibitions he might have had about fighting a woman had quickly disappeared within the first month of marriage. He liked to think of that as life lesson one. Not that he approved of domestic abuse, but there were only so many options available when you had a crazy woman coming at you with a frying pan. Life lesson two was never let the valium run out', which tied in closely with the first.

Instead of the stark black and white theme that pervaded the bed and living rooms, Draco's office was designed to look like an old hunting lodge, done up in all green and brown wood tones that made it seem cozy and warm. It served the dual purpose of relaxing him and driving Marie absolutely insane, as it was most certainly out of style. She wasn't happy unless the house looked like a Vogue photo shoot. Draco was sprawled out on a green leather recliner opposite the wide screen telly, laptop, phone and well stocked mini-fridge within easy reach. His suit had been traded in for a shabby old blue chenille robe that had finally, after twelve years of wear, reached the point of nearly divine softness. He'd put in his DVD of X-Files season four, and was happily munching away on Cracker Jacks and admiring Agent Mulder's assets.

At first he dismissed the tapping noise. After it continued unabated for several minutes, he begrudgingly gave it his full attention. He switched the TV off to hear better, and frowned once he located the source. Who would be tapping on his window at three in the morning? Muttering under his breath, he grabbed a putter out of his golf bag and crept over to investigate. The night was pitch black, without even a sliver of a moon to soften the darkness. The lamp behind him cast enough glow however, to outline the small calico cat sitting among the Snapping Dragons and Foxglove on the window planter. It blinked wide green eyes at him slowly, and meowed with what seemed to be great dignity. Marie was deathly allergic to cats. She'd once claimed a single hair anywhere in the house would be enough to send her to the hospital. Then again, she'd also claimed she was distantly related to Alec Baldwin. On the off chance that she was telling the truth, he opened the window and jimmied the screen loose enough to give the cat room to squeeze through.

Here puss-puss. Want inside? he cooed at it, wiggling his fingers as he'd once seen his secretary do to coax a stray close. The cat seemed to pause and give the situation consideration, then slipped through into the room. Draco put the window and putter back the way they'd been, and turned to study his latest acquisition. It had taken up his place on the recliner. The cat looked well-fed with a shiny coat, but he doubted it would turn up it's nose at food. Or would that be her nose? He thought he remembered something about calico cats always being female. The cat watched him impassively as he rummaged around in the mini-fridge for the leftover smoked salmon spread he was certain was in there. He found the packet behind the last can of Coors, and offered some to the cat on a folded up post-it note.

The cat made no move to eat though, and just continued to stare at him. She was marked much like the other calicos he'd seen, except for funny brown goggle-shapes encircling her eyes. It reminded him of the way Mrs. McGonagall had looked in her animagus form back at Hogwarts.

Not hungry? Guess not. Can't say I blame you. I didn't want much of it either. Here now, give me back my chair. He shushed it off the recliner, and it hopped nimbly onto the floor. It turned to sit directly in front of his chair, and fixed it's stare onto him again. The cat was beginning to be just a tad unnerving.

What exactly is so damn interesting? he asked it.

You are, the cat answered, although it wasn't really a cat anymore. The form had seemed to liquefy, Terminator-style, then reform as it grew larger. The cat was now a man, a medium sized green-eyed one with brown horn shell glasses that matched where cat's goggles had been. The stare had remained the same throughout the change. Draco stared back, too stunned to react. He finally gathered his senses somewhat, tried to think of something witty to say, failed, and settled for the first thing that came to mind.

I thought calico cats were always female?

The man smiled. Normally they are. But then when have you ever known me to be normal?

Not often Potter. Not very bloody often at all.