Chapter 4: Men in Black

The corridor outside the travel room was no longer empty. A few Unspeakables that Draco vaguely recognized had their heads together in whispered conversation. Potter peered back over his shoulder when they'd passed them by.

"They didn't even look at us," he whispered to Draco.

Draco shrugged. "Speaking as an Unspeakable, your own work is far more interesting than whatever anyone else has going on."

A woman named Diana Mathieson sat behind the lobby's reception desk. That placed them sometime between the early sixties to late eighties. Diana's lack of grey hair narrowed that window down to the end of the seventies at the latest.

"Have you the date and time?" Draco asked her as greeting.

Diana turned the clock on her desk to better face Draco. "That would be nine forty-eight in the morning on Thursday, April tenth. 1975. Just come through the travel room, have you, dearies?"

Draco nodded while adjusting his watch. After a delay, Potter did the same thing. "We'll need access to the equipment room, as well as somewhere to stay while we're here. Is the cabin north of Hogsmeade available? I'm rather partial to it."

"Let's see." Diana rolled her chair back and opened a file drawer. "When and where are you coming from?"

"Trans-universal 2011."

"And what's the purpose of your visit?"

"Two men from our universe have fallen into yours. We've come to retrieve them."

"Ah," Diana replied. "What are your names? You must be a Malfoy."

Draco smirked, ignoring the déjà vu that accompanied that. Diana almost always figured him out. "My name is Draco. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black are my parents. If all goes the same here as where we're from, I'll be born in five years."

"Oh, lovely. Their wedding is coming up in October."

"Yes."

"And you?" Diana smiled warmly at Potter.

"Er." Potter blinked, then glanced at Draco. "Harry Potter."

"You must be related to Fleamont and Euphemia."

"Those are my grandparents."

"Lovely." Diana handed a folded and sealed piece of parchment out to Draco. "The Hogsmeade cabin is available, yes. Might I see your wands for a moment? I'll register you with the Ministry."

She passed them back when she was done. "I'm sure I don't have to show you to the equipment room, or remind you to sign out anything you might take."

"Not in the slightest. Thank you, Diana."

She scoffed in amusement, eyes squinting. "Good luck."

Potter had fallen very quiet as he followed Draco back into the rotating room. They went into the next door to the left.

Draco led him over to an aisle fit with racks of Unspeakable uniforms. "You're, what? A medium?"

"Huh?"

"Your size, Potter."

"Oh. A large."

Draco pulled a few medium sets for himself. He took them to Potter to hold. Since Potter had fallen too deep into thought to realize what Draco wanted, Draco just draped them over Potter's shoulder instead.

"Which part of it all is cocking you up?" Draco asked when he returned to the racks.

"They're all alive," Potter quietly replied. His mind sounded miles away from his voice.

"Yes, Potter. Here, and a million billion trillion times over in other places, as well," Draco said. "Existing really isn't that special, you know. We've all done it."

Potter came back to himself rather suddenly. "Are we going to see any of them?"

"It depends on our situation." Draco rejoined where Potter stood, two large uniforms folded over one arm. "Oh—I suppose we'll likely see your grandmother. She works in the Janus Thickey ward. That'll be our first stop in trying to track down Weasley."

Potter nodded slowly.

"We'll head to Hogsmeade before that to drop our things off," Draco told him. "You'll have some time to wrap your head around everything."

"All right." Potter rubbed hard at his forehead, then exhaled heavily. "Right. Yeah, sorry. You'd said this was a possibility. I should've started sorting myself out then, but I guess I didn't want to get my hopes up or something."

"I thought you said you'd rather be pleasantly surprised about things than unprepared."

"About getting into sticky situations, yeah," Potter replied. "This is different. Very different."

Draco took the medium uniforms back from Potter. "I remember what it was like, seeing someone for the first time I thought was gone."

"You must be used to it now." Potter stayed close as Draco walked over to the sign-out sheets.

"Occasionally something will still hit too close to home." Draco filled everything out, ending with a loopy signature. "For the most part, I can forget about the less savoury bits of my own life. Maybe my father essentially abandoned me, but this timeline is rich with possibility. I haven't even been born yet. Maybe this is one where I'm not. In a way, that's strangely comforting. I think about what we went through with the war, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody—certainly not myself. I can't exactly say that it would have hurt anyone or their feelings, had I not existed. It may have even left the world better off."

"That's not true," Potter shot back.

"I'm not saying that just to hear you contest it." Although, Draco admitted, he revelled in the fact he did. Potter's suddenly stiff jaw as he regarded Draco with a hard look didn't hurt either. "Really, the world finds its own ways to work itself out. There would have been no loss in my lack of life."

"You were critical in the war," Potter kept on in that same tone.

"Right. The Elder Wand," Draco dismissively replied. "Put on a uniform. We'll leave through the Atrium."

"We can't use Blue Floo?" Potter asked.

"We ought to save it where we can. It hasn't been invented yet, and I'd rather not make a special trip home for more."

Draco opened his clothing bag to stuff his spare uniform away. He and Potter took up on either side of a clothing rack to change, visible to each other only from the neck up.

"So you must see then, right?" Potter spoke. "You were crucial in the war."

Draco scoffed. "Imagine what all might have happened instead, had I not been there to put Dumbledore on track for death. Voldemort would never dare make a bold move while he was around. That's why he put someone on correcting that. Among other reasons, I suppose. I wasn't meant to succeed."

"I know."

The room felt cold against Draco's bare chest before he pulled on the black undervest shirt. He became very focused on tucking it into his trousers when he heard Potter's belt clink. Merlin help him.

"Dumbledore was going to die anyway," Potter spoke again. "He'd planned a lot about how he'd go out, but you disarming him wasn't part of it. Had you not, Voldemort would have mastered the Elder Wand when he killed Snape. I don't think his last Killing Curse would have rebounded off me, had it not recognized me as its master after we had that little scuffle at your manor."

Draco blinked, mind stalling. That bit of it was news to him.

"So like it or not, I'm probably only here because of you," Potter finished.

"You're welcome."

Potter didn't notice Draco's smirk right away, then took a double glance over the clothing rack when he did.

He scoffed. "You're such a twat."

"A twat who saved your life, apparently."

"It takes all sorts, when a kid's being hunted by a mad dark wizard."

"We're a Knut a dozen, really."

Potter laughed again, and Draco was hard-pressed not to join in.

"Oh." Draco bent down to pull his boots on. "If anyone outside the Department asks, we're originally from Australia. Don't worry about your accent or differences in slang. We've just been here long enough to pick up on it all. You also need to pick a new name. We can't go around as a Potter and Malfoy."

Potter hummed. "A new name?"

Draco stood straight again. "I'll be going with my usual."

"What's that?" Potter looked over.

"Fox Mulder."

"You are not serious."

"I am very serious." Draco shrugged the uniform's black coat into place. "Why don't you be Dana Scully? Dana's a man's name as well."

"I don't think so."

"Why not? Go on, Potter."

"I don't think it suits me."

". . .Please?"

Potter went quiet as he put his boots on, and sighed when he reappeared over the rack. "Is it that important to you?"

"It's thematic," Draco drawled.

"Fine." Potter ended a roll of the eyes with his gaze on Draco. "But only because begging suits you."

Draco was very glad Potter turned his back to him right after saying that. His face flushed, very much against his better judgement.

"How rude," was all Draco could think to say before drifting toward their things.

He didn't dare look back at Potter to search for any sort of deeper meaning, or to potentially give away the fact he'd started to sweat. That had nothing to do with wearing several layers of black in the middle of April. Stop flirting was a more difficult mantra to maintain if it went both ways.

Like Potter, which wasn't a particularly helpful thought either.

The cabin was about a ten minute walk out of Hogsmeade. Potter mercifully fell quiet during their trek through the woods. As the two of them came up on an empty clearing at the end of the path, Draco felt much more composed. He dug into his coat pocket for the sealed parchment Diana had given him. Draco held it so that both he and Potter could read the address. While the parchment smouldered afterward, the cabin appeared in kind before them.

Draco led Potter in, heading straight for the bigger of the two bedrooms to claim it. He set his bags on the dresser for now. Potter hadn't come inside any further than the table. He looked around at the main area, which was just the kitchen and a sitting room.

"There are two beds in your room," Draco told him. "If we manage to collect Weasley right away, the two of you can bunk up."

"Right."

Draco dug out his librometer and brought it to the kitchen table to set up. He balanced it atop its frame. As expected with a tap of the wand to calibrate, it sagged to the right.

Potter furrowed his brow when he joined him there.

"This is a librometer, Potter," Draco said. "Eyeballing that angle, I'd wager it comes to 3.46 degrees. And a right lean, of course. The immediate neighbourhood of this universe is a little heavy, with four extra bodies."

"It's good to confirm we're in the right place. Right?"

"I do love being proven correct."

Although Potter shook his head and rolled his eyes, he smiled too.

"If you're feeling better, shall we swing by St Mungo's?"

"Yeah, sure."

The cabin had a fireplace with a jar of regular Floo powder on the mantel. Draco stepped out into St Mungo's' sterile-smelling and achingly-white reception area. He moved aside for Potter.

Draco leaned close to his ear and lowered his voice. "I'll do the talking for now."

Potter nodded. Draco led him past the inquiry queue for the double doors leading deeper into the hospital. He had just lifted a hand to push them open when a call sounded behind him.

"Er, excuse me, gents," a high, would-be-sweet voice said. "You can't skip the queue, and this hospital isn't just for anyone to wander in as they please."

"Of course." Draco gave the Welcome Witch, a petite and young woman, a disarming smile as he and Potter rounded back. The Welcome Witch had stood up behind her desk, expression set. "Our apologies. We know where we're going. It seemed a waste of our time and yours to queue."

The Welcome Witch's lips thinned slightly. Her gaze skimmed over Draco's uniform, and then Potter's. Draco was pleased to see out the corner of his eye that Potter had habitually assumed the posture of an on-duty Auror.

"You're Unspeakables," she said, almost accusatory.

"We've been asked to the Janus Thickey ward," Draco told her. "I'm afraid I can't say more than that."

"Well. . .all right." Still with a bit of side-eye, she sat back down. "I'll send a note ahead of you, to say you've arrived."

Said note sailed over Draco's head as he and Potter passed through the double doors.

"You have the right tone," Potter said.

"Tone?"

"Half the trouble getting in somewhere is seeming legitimate enough." Potter glanced at Draco. "The right look and tone can open nearly any door."

"Or a well-placed Confundus Charm." Draco shrugged. "I didn't have much a chance attempting that with so many witnesses, though."

Potter chuckled.

Draco stepped sideways so that their shoulders bumped. "You can't be speaking from experience about how to get into places. You mean you don't just get waved through as soon as you're recognized?"

"That's a bit trickier abroad, when you're in Muggle plainclothes."

"Ah. So you managed instead to pick up some charisma along the way, then."

"I don't know. Did I?"

Draco scoffed, turning his face slightly away. He feigned interest in a cartful of potions. "I suppose you aren't as sulky as you were at Hogwarts."

"Oh!" Potter exclaimed. "I was sulky?"

Draco smiled nastily, eyes squinted and all. "I've frankly no idea what you're on about. I never had a single issue between being told by some boy on our first train ride that I was the wrong sort, and then being arrested after Voldemort's defeat."

"Other than those two things, right?"

"Mere blips in my memory. Complete non-sequiturs."

"Have you by chance ever heard what they say about the Nile, Malfoy?"

"Longest river in the world, isn't it?" Draco feigned ignorance again.

They started up the stairs for the fourth floor. By the end of the second flight, Draco lagged behind Potter. Potter waited for him at the top of the fourth when they'd gotten that far.

"Fuck off," Draco panted.

"Didn't say anything." Potter's tone sure did, though.

Draco needed a moment to catch his breath and compose himself. They more than likely wouldn't actually need to speak to any Healer working the Janus Thickey ward. If Weasley was there, he'd make himself known. Well, he may have been sequestered if he'd gotten belligerent—on second thought, yes, they would need to speak to a Healer.

A quick scan of the ward came up with nothing. There were no yells of 'Harry!' or 'What the bloody hell is Malfoy doing here with you?'

"Hm," Draco said as that failed to change with a closer look.

"We ought to ask," Potter suggested.

They'd already garnered the attention of a nearby Healer. Draco kicked Potter's ankle in hasty reminder not to tip his grandmother off that anything beyond their visit in itself was amiss.

Euphemia Potter smiled tightly at them. "I received a note that two Unspeakables were on their way up. That must be you."

"That would indeed be us," Draco said. "Our apologies to intrude on you. I would imagine you already figured out the little white lie we told, to get past the guard downstairs."

She laughed, her olive skin crinkling in places of well-worn habit. Her teeth were bright, and her eyes very warm. "All right. So what's the real story, then? Oh—Healer Potter, but you can just call me Effie. Everyone else does."

She held her hand out. Draco took it. "Mulder."

Potter shook it next. "Scully."

Effie folded her arms around a clipboard afterward, looking expectantly between them. "So why are you really here?"

"We're looking for somebody," Draco said. "We thought perhaps he might have landed himself here, considering the gravity of what went wrong. We've been experimenting with false memories. Particularly, sorting them out from real ones after they've been implanted into a victim."

Effie hummed and tilted her head, intrigued.

"It's still a rather sensitive project, hence the subterfuge." Draco glanced at Potter to check on him, and was satisfied to see him impassive. "It isn't ready to be handed off to Magical Enforcement for use yet, so we certainly don't want any dark wizards aware that such a thing is possible. You know what they're like. As soon as they get their hands on any little sort of magic, they make hasty work of perverting it."

"Mhm." Effie's eyes widened briefly with a jump of her brow. "Especially these days."

"Precisely." Draco let out a short sigh. "I don't see him on the floor, though. Perhaps you have, somewhere else? He's a redhead, freckles, thirty years old. He'll think his name is Ronald Weasley, and that he's an Auror. He's about, oh. . .how tall would you say, Scully?"

"About here." Potter held a hand flat six inches above his head.

"About that tall." Draco nodded.

"I can't say it's ringing a bell." Effie pursed her lips—the same way Potter did, when he was thinking. "Mind, he would only wind up here had he actually been picked up by Magical Enforcement. What were the extent of the false memories implanted in him?"

"Extensive, unfortunately." As a show of shame, Draco scratched the back of his neck and worked his mouth. "He won't even recognize the world around him."

"Maybe it'll take time for him to clue in on that," Effie suggested. "If he thinks he's an Auror, he might show up where he thinks he works. He thinks he's a Weasley, you said? Arthur Weasley works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Maybe he would pop in for a visit. It's a stone's throw from the Auror office."

"We took a peek in there, but maybe he's shown up since," Draco lied. "If we hit another dead end, would it be all right if we came back to see if anything's changed here?"

"Certainly."

With that, they left. Draco waited until they were on the stairs and confirmed to be alone before speaking. "You played the part well in there. I couldn't even tell if you were having an internal fit."

"It's almost as if I occasionally do undercover work in my real life." Potter bumped their shoulders. "What did you expect me to do, crush her in a hug and call her Grandma?"

"I suppose you're more composed now than I was, in your position," Draco drawled with a practiced tone of boredom. "Then again, you received warnings that I did not."

"Who did you see that cocked you up?"

"My father."

Potter idly nodded. "Guess I could've guessed that."

"Considering the amount of times I've run into him in situations like this. . ." Draco shrugged, trying to pretend it didn't faze him. "It's honestly hard to believe I haven't actually seen him in so long. Sometimes in other places, I catch myself thinking that it's lovely to see him alive and well. He might as well be dead, back home. It wouldn't put me off for an entire day every time I glimpse mention of him in the Prophet, if he was. I just want it to be over, one way or the other."

In the silence to follow, anxious regret seeped in on Draco to have shared that. It was the truth, yes, but also very personal. In a way, he felt he almost owed it to Potter after he'd just met his grandmother. He deserved to know that whatever strange or heavy emotions he experienced were completely normal. He wasn't alone in them.

"I can't say I hear in your tone that you hate your father," Potter eventually said. "Usually when someone wishes someone else dead, it's coming from that dark little corner of human feeling."

"Sometimes I hate him," Draco admitted. "I hate him when I see some sort of potential for good somewhere else. This is literally you. So why couldn't you be that man for me?"

"Yeah."

More excruciating silence followed. Draco breathed in some sort of relief when they'd reached the reception area. There were too many people around while they queued at the Floo to carry on with any sort of conversation. Potter was distracted anyway, looking around through the crowd. Undoubtedly, Draco figured, he sought out a glimpse of anyone else he might recognize.

They jumped over to the Ministry. Draco ended up following Potter, rather than the other way around, as they headed for the lifts. They rode up to Level Two, and had hardly taken five steps into the Auror office when a gruff and hostile voice greeted them. "Can I help you boys with something?"

A significantly less scarred and otherwise maimed Alastor Moody had stepped out of the Head Auror office behind him, of which his name was on. Although the first wizarding war had yet to leave its various marks, the look of aggressive mistrust that curled Moody's upper lip had already developed.

"We're looking for someone," Draco answered simply, sticking his hand out. "I'm Mulder. This is Scully."

Just as Draco expected, Moody's paranoia kept his own hand at his side. Draco let his fall as Moody grunted.

"Thought you might have been Lucius Malfoy," Moody said. "I've noticed Mr Heir Apparent skulking about where he in't welcome a lot lately."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Nobody." Moody appraised them again. "So, who would a couple of Level Nine spooks be looking for? And what makes you think they're here?"

"It's possible you may have arrested him," Potter said. "He's under the impression he's an Auror, so he might have believed he was coming into work. Any happenings like that today?"

"No." The furrow of Moody's brow deepened. "Why does he think he's an Auror?"

Draco stepped up closer to Moody and dropped his voice. "We're part of a team working on how to sort out false memories from real ones. The false memories we implanted for the latest experiment were very extensive. Our subject came out the other end of the spell believing he was an Auror being detained in the Department of Mysteries."

Moody grunted. "That's what you lot get up to down there, is it?"

"That's a strange way to show gratitude for the ones that had a hand in developing the Secrecy Sensing Spell. Been coming in handy for you, hasn't it?"

Moody's chin lifted, and his hard expression flickered with tentative respect. "Still not much a match for a powerful Imperius, but I won't deny it's handy. Who's this lad you're looking for, then? Or, should I say, who's this lad think he is?"

Potter gave him a physical description of Weasley. "If he shows up, just toss him in holding—er, if you don't mind. Tell him Harry came by, and I'll pick him up when I'm back around."

"That's your first name, is it?"

"He thinks it is," Potter replied.

"I'll tell him, but a comment like that might make him paranoid," Moody said.

"Yeah, well. That'll be his problem, won't it?"

The barking quality of Moody's laughter turned it cruel. That was about as good as it ever got with him. They stepped out of the office, and Draco turned them back toward the lifts.

"Were we going to pop in on Arthur?" Potter asked.

Draco shrugged. "I don't see the point. Weasley won't get past Moody."

"Guess not." Potter pushed the lift button. "Where to next?"

"Weasley's home?"

"I don't think it was built until the mid-eighties, so he wouldn't have gone there. Burrow, maybe? It's not far from where Ron and Hermione live."

"Shocking, that," Draco said. "Granger doesn't mind living so close to the in-laws?"

"You think they don't get along, or something?" Potter lifted an eyebrow. "Makes for easy childcare too."

"Ah," Draco replied as an empty lift opened to them. "You must be close to their children."

"Yeah." Potter's voice softened. "As good as an uncle. There's Teddy too."

"Yes."

"Come to think of it. . ." Potter started, but had to trail off when people clambered into the lift on Level Three. He couldn't continue his thought until he had Side-Along-Apparated Draco to some dirt road in the middle of apparent nowhere. "Speaking of Teddy, how come I've never heard from Andromeda that you're in contact? You've been in Britain all this time. It made sense that you hadn't been when I thought you lived abroad."

"Not my place." Draco slipped his hands into his coat pockets. With the sun beating down on them, he didn't think it would be long until he started shedding layers. "My mother's tried a few times to reconnect with Andromeda, but you can hardly blame her for rejecting her."

Potter was quiet for a moment. "I guess I'm no stranger to how jaded Andromeda can be."

"She would loathe me to make the comparison, but she has more in common with Aunt Bella than my mother, personality-wise. That was always my impression, anyway. Very stubborn, and not someone you'd relish to cross."

"No. Definitely not." Potter kicked a rock and sent it skipping ahead of them. "She's gentle with Teddy. I think she was with Tonks, too."

"That's good."

Draco looked at the bare white poplars that lined the road, while Potter studied him.

"You've never been interested in meeting him?" Potter asked. "He's your cousin's son."

"I never knew Nymphadora. I'm not big on children anyway."

"He's thirteen."

"A child, then."

Potter rolled his eyes.

"You can't possibly tell me I could just show up and expect a thirteen year old to like me, Potter," Draco said. "He's not a baby with object permanence issues."

"I think he'd think you're cool." Potter shrugged. "Showing up with thirteen years worth of birthday and Christmas presents wouldn't hurt either."

"So, what? Like a Firebolt, or something?"

"Nah. Well, something like that, maybe. Not a Firebolt, though. I'm planning on getting him one for his sixteenth birthday."

Draco smirked, waiting for Potter to notice. Sure enough—

"Don't you dare," Potter snapped.

"Don't worry that messy head of yours." Draco swatted him amicably on the shoulder. "I won't usurp the bought-and-paid-for love of your godson."

"It's more than that!"

"Obviously, Potter. Don't be so sensitive."

Potter looked away, muttering under his breath. "Bit rich coming from someone who won't even bother to try."

Draco had nothing good to say to that, so he bit his tongue. It wouldn't suit them to get into a row as the Weasley abode came into view. For the sake of the job, Draco swallowed back his fuming anger.

Two little boys played out front, one about five years old and the other around three. Charlie, the little one, was as red in the face as his hair. "My turn! It's my turn, Bill!"

Bill floated a couple feet above the lawn on a toy broomstick, barely outrunning Charlie following on foot. He looked cross. "No, you had it long enough. It's my turn."

Charlie grabbed the broomstick tail with both hands and dug his heels in.

"MUM!" Bill yelled. "MUUUUM!"

"Gimme!" Charlie kept on. "It's my turn!"

"Blagging! That's blagging!"

The front door of the house slammed open. A young Mrs Weasley—younger even than Draco and Potter currently—stomped out.

"Now I mean really—!" she started, then stopped.

She'd noticed them. Draco raised a hand in what he hoped was a disarming way. They were certainly still at enough of a distance that Mrs Weasley couldn't possibly think they'd presented some sort of threat to her boys.

"Inside," Draco heard her say to them. Charlie started to whinge, but she quelled him with a look. "I said inside.

"Might I help you?" she called from a distance. She gripped her wand in her right hand.

"We're from the Department of Mysteries," Draco replied. "Could we have a quick word?"

"What about?"

"We're looking for someone that might have come by here. Have you had any visitors recently? Today, in particular?"

"No," Mrs Weasley stiffly said. "No visitors, spare you."

Draco tilted his head toward Potter. "What do you reckon? Is she telling the truth?"

Potter kept on studying her, eyes slightly narrowed. "I'd say so. She's honestly a horrible liar."

"All right." Draco lifted a hand again. "Sorry to have bothered you, then."

Although he didn't look back, Draco could feel Mrs Weasley's gaze on them until they had disappeared again around a bend in the road. Trees obscured them from view.

Potter slowed to a stop with a sigh. "What now?"

"Can you think of anywhere else Weasley might have gone?" Draco tugged at the neck of his undervest shirt. Even the smallest amount of air moving against his warm skin was a relief. "I mean as a first resort, if he had no idea that anything was off?"

"Home, work, hospital. . ." Potter lifted his shoulders in a listless shrug. "Not really. And I guess he wouldn't know enough to bother sneaking around until he caught wise."

"We could give it some time for now, and see if he shows up somewhere," Draco suggested. "The afternoon's getting on, and I'm starting to grow too warm for comfort in this uniform."

"Yeah," Potter agreed.

"Let's head back to Hogsmeade," Draco suggested. "It seems to me like we ought to settle in."