The restaurant is mostly full when they arrive. Harry gives his name to the waiter and the man leads them to an empty table towards the back of the restaurant. Harry is a little bit tipsy from the wine, but not so much that he can't concentrate on the purpose of his mission. They had not finished the bottle he had brought, but rather corked it with just over a glass and a half left. And Harry knows that food will help lessen his intoxication.

He opens the menu and pretends to read through it, even though he already knows what he is going to order. It is what he gets every time he comes here. Except this time, the bill will helpfully be picked up by the Ministry, so he is going to order more food than he knows he will eat and then take the rest home as leftovers. Does he feel slightly guilty about doing this? Yes, but not guilty enough that he's not going to do it.

"Do you know what you want?" he asks after enough time has passed that it seems reasonable to broach the subject.

"Top Hats," Malfoy says without hesitation. "I've been dreaming about them since I was last here." Harry smiles.

"We might want two orders then," he says. "Because they're my absolute favorite thing on the menu." Malfoy nods.

"How about the Szechuan crispy pork?"

"And some noodles?" Harry prompts.

"Noodles and rice," Malfoy agrees. They decide to split some hot and sour soup as well and are very ready to order by the time the waiter comes to their table. Harry throws in another bottle of wine, almost as an afterthought. It can't hurt. He has promised both wining and dining after all.

With the ordering out of the way, Harry watches as Draco looks around the restaurant. He still seems nervous, which Harry supposes is a good thing, although it does make him feel a little bit bad about asking him out under false pretenses. Harry is enjoying himself more than he thought he would, but he knows their relationship likely can't last past this evening. He is unsure if he would want it to anyway. He is still mourning Oliver, even if he does have to put those feelings aside for work. Perhaps that was what had made it so easy to kiss Malfoy earlier, though Harry would be a liar if he said he hadn't enjoyed it.

The waiter comes with their bottle of wine and they watch as he laboriously opens it. Harry knows that they do this in order to show that the wine is freshly opened, but sometimes when he watches a waiter struggle with a corkscrew, he wishes they would just bring open bottles. As it is, he feels like he has to nod and smile and appear appreciative for the entire time the man is there. Finally the cork releases with a soft pop. The waiter looks at Harry and then at Malfoy, enquiring who should try it. Harry points at Malfoy. He had known that the wine he had brought over this evening had been good, so Harry assumes Malfoy must know more about wine than he does. Granted, that is not hard. Harry knows that he likes wine and that is pretty much the extent of his thoughts on the matter.

Malfoy lifts the glass to his nose, smells it, swills the wine around briefly and then takes a sip. He seems to consider the wine in his mouth for a moment before he nods.

"It's good," he says. Then they both watch as the waiter pours wine for both of them. Harry almost wishes they had ordered by the glass by this point. Eventually the man retreats to the kitchen again and they both pick up their glasses.

"Cheers," Harry says, holding his glass out. Malfoy clinks his glass on Harry's.

"To stupid school rivalries," Malfoy says.

"And getting over them."

"Speak for yourself." But there is a smirk on Malfoy's face and a sparkle in his eye that tells Harry he is kidding. Perhaps this wining and dining is going better than he thought. But it should be going well, Harry supposes. After all, he is trained in it.

Before they have the time to start another conversation, the waiter returns, this time bearing plates. One is covered in tiny wonton cups whose edges splay out like the brim of a top hat, from whence the dish gets its name. The top hat filling is in a separate bowl so that they can fill the cups as much or as little as they want. Once the waiter leaves, they both reach for the spoon at the same time. Harry inwardly winces. In response, they both draw their hands back, each of them trying to be polite to the other.

"You go first," Harry eventually says after they do the same thing again. Malfoy nods and picks up the spoon and one of the little cups. Harry's mouth waters. He has not realized quite how hungry he is and it is taking all of his self control not to leap over the table and take the spoon out of Malfoy's hand as he serves himself. Harry bites his lip and instead takes a sip of his wine.

The first bite, once Harry finally gets to it, is heavenly. The shells are crisp, the shrimp based filling is salty and a little bit sweet and the vegetables, which Harry thinks might be jicama or some sort of water chestnut, give the filling just the right amount of crunch. He looks over at Malfoy and sees a similar expression of ecstasy on the blond's face as he chews.

"Mmm, oh," Malfoy all but moans as he finishes his bite. "These are just as good as I remembered them." Harry grins.

"Good," Harry says. Then he goes back to concentrating on the food. Malfoy can wait. His stomach cannot.

"It was so strange, this morning I really wanted to sleep in, but I was interrupted by a songbird outside my window," Harry says, changing the subject.

He watches Malfoy carefully as he casually drops a benign mission code name into the conversation. Croaker had mentioned this particular mission as a test whether or not Malfoy had (stupidly) read The Reliquary. Of course, if he had, then the mission to bring the book back is decidedly a bust. The information would be gone. Or, rather, it would be stuck in Malfoy's head.

They are onto the crispy shredded pork now and Harry keeps having to take sips of water to combat the spice of the dish. He watches Malfoy over the top of his water glass.

For a moment, Malfoy looks at him blankly, but then Harry sees something in Malfoy's posture shift as he almost imperceptibly stiffens in surprise and Harry's heart sinks. The book is gone. Malfoy has read it. And in that moment, Harry knows that his mission has changed. Now, Malfoy is the asset, and thus is the thing that Harry will have to bring in to Croaker as soon as he possibly can. And to do that, he is going to need Malfoy to trust him. He quickly changes the subject, moving away from any work-related topics.

Eye on Malfoy, Harry watches him sit for a moment, right before before he seemingly catches himself and begins to eat again. The pork almost tastes like cardboard in Harry's mouth now. The fact that The Reliquary is gone and the potential implications of that are swimming around his head. What will happen to Malfoy? Is it possible to get the information out of the blond's head? And more importantly, is it possible to do that while keeping him alive. Because he sure as hell does not want to explain to Narcissa that her son is dead. He knows first-hand how much she cares for him. It's the reason Harry is still alive.

All of a sudden, he catches a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and acts without thinking, throwing himself in front of Draco, and putting up a shield charm as he does. All heads turn as the front window of the restaurant shatters. He feels rather than sees a stunning spell hit his shield and ricochet across the restaurant. An unfortunate patron slumps in her chair. He pulls Malfoy down, throwing up another shield in front of the both of them. Harry gestures for Malfoy to head towards the back of the restaurant, but Malfoy is immobile with either shock or fear, or perhaps a combination of the two.

"Move," Harry hisses at him. Malfoy blinks as though coming out of a dream and then begins to run in the direction that Harry indicates.

"What is going on?" Draco asks as they run down the corridor that goes past the kitchen. There are screams and crashes coming from the restaurant behind them.

"I'm not quite sure," Harry gasps, still running. "But don't worry. I'm going to protect you." The corridor ends in a door and they burst through it and out into the night. Harry quickly pulls Draco to the side and whips out his invisibility cloak. He presses Malfoy to him and throws it over both of them. He leans back so that Malfoy can see his face and then holds a finger up to his lips. Malfoy snaps his mouth shut and nods. His eyes are wide with fear and Harry can feel how fast he is breathing.

The back door opens again a moment later and Harry hears Malfoy's sharp intake of breath. He turns his head and sees Major Pansy Parkinson with her wand out. Her eyes flash with irritation when she can't find them. Harry clamps a hand over Malfoy's mouth, not trusting him not to say anything. Malfoy glares at him but Harry ignores him.

They watch as Parkinson scowls at the alleyway. She slowly lowers her wand. Her shoulders slump.

"Fucking Potter," she mutters and then adds something inaudible. Harry almost feels sorry for her, but then he remembers that she had just tried to knock them out. He is surprised that she was so brazen. The DMLEHS must be really gunning to fix the situation before the Unspeakables can. He wonders if she knows The Reliquary is gone. He doubts it, or she would have been more gentle in trying to bring Malfoy in.

He jumps as he feels Malfoy lick the hand that is clamped over his mouth. Harry slowly removes it and they watch as Parkinson taps on her watch briefly before turning back to the back door of the restaurant. She has begun to pull the door open, when Malfoy sneezes. She whips around, wand up and advances toward them again.

"Who's there?" she asks. "Show yourself or I start hurling jinxes." Harry sighs.

"Circe, Parkinson," he says, pulling off the invisibility cloak. "You're going to have to Obliviate every muggle in that restaurant. Let's not make it the whole street." Harry is more than miffed about this. He really likes the food there, but now he is worried they'll never let him back in. Parkinson ignores Harry and instead focuses her attention on Malfoy.

"Hi Draco," she says. Malfoy nods at her.

"Pansy," he says. "I see you're a hit wizard now." Harry groans, convinced that Malfoy has given away that he has read The Reliquary, but then he notices that Parkinson's jacket is embroidered with their crossed wand seal. Then he realizes that Malfoy must know he is an Unspeakable as that information is likely in the database that now lives in Malfoy's head. He wonders why Malfoy hasn't said anything about it. Then he wonders if Malfoy has figured out that is the reason for their date. Harry partly hopes that he hasn't.

"Let's skip the pleasantries, Draco," Parkinson says. "Why did Wood send you The Reliquary and where is it?" Harry watches as the color drains from Malfoy's face.

"I, uh, don't know what you're," Malfoy starts to say. Parkinson rolls her eyes at him.

"Cut the crap. You know exactly what I'm talking about." She points her wand at him. Harry sees a mix of astonishment and fear cross Malfoy's face. Harry frowns and takes a step towards Parkinson, raising his own wand.

"It's gone," Malfoy blurts out.

"What?"

"Well, the cover is still there. But the pages are missing." Parkinson's eyes narrow as she stares at Malfoy.

"Are you telling me you fucking read it?" Malfoy audibly gulps.

"Yes?" Parkinson rounds on Harry.

"Did you know about this?" she asks. Malfoy frowns and looks at Harry.

"I suspected."

"Fuck."

"Indeed." They stand there for a long moment while Parkinson continues to glare at both of them, alternating between them.

"Could we," Malfoy starts to say. Both Harry and Parkinson turn quickly towards him. "Ah, could we perhaps lower the wands?" Parkinson frowns but she and Harry both slowly point their wands at the ground, though neither of them put them away.

"What now, then?" she asks.

"I dunno," Harry says. "We bring him in?"

"Woah now," Malfoy says, holding his arms out in front of himself as though calming a nervous horse. "Bring me in where? And why? Have I committed a crime?"

"You didn't," Parkinson says. "That idiot's partner did though, when he stole the damn thing from the Ministry."

"It's stolen property?" Malfoy gasps. He leans against the side of the alleyway for support. He covers his mouth and looks as though he is on the verge of tears. Parkinson glances nervously at the door.

"Why don't we move this conversation inside," Harry suggests. "I live just down the road." He points is the general direction of his house.

"Sure," Parkinson says, although her tone makes it clear that this is not what she wants to do. "I just need to call this in. Give me your address, Potter. I'll meet you there once I've contacted my boss."

"My street is literally right there," Harry says. "I'm number twelve." Parkinson nods and turns away, already fiddling with her watch. Harry takes Malfoy by the hand and leads him down the alleyway. The blond stumbles a couple of times over his own feet before he comes more to his senses. Gently, Harry steers Malfoy down the street until they reach his front door. Harry leans Malfoy against the wall while he undoes the locks and alters his security wards, then he propels Malfoy inside.

Pansy is so angry, she thinks she could kill Draco. Of course the idiot read the damn book. He's Draco Malfoy after all and the Draco Malfoy that Pansy had known in school did whatever he damn well pleased, consequences be damned. And it seems as though nothing has changed. She could quite honestly kill him.

Except, now he's the asset, isn't he? He is the proud owner of all of the Ministry's secrets, whether he knows it or not. So she can't kill him. In fact, she must do the opposite of that, at least until they figure out a way of getting all of the bloody secrets out of his head. She suddenly wants to curse whomever thought up with The Reliquary in the first place. It seems like such a stupid idea in hindsight. All the Ministry's secrets in one book? Now in just a single person's head? What a stupid idea in hindsight! It seems like madness just thinking about it.

But then, she thinks, if someone else had read it – someone like her – well, then there would've been value in the idea. She would have been amazing with all that information. That is to say, she would have been even more amazing than she already is.

Pansy can think of at least fifty other people who would be better suited to the task of keeping all that knowledge, and their main qualifications are that they are not Draco Malfoy. Not that Draco is all terrible. There was a time when they had been friends after all. He could be charming, occasionally thoughtful and, like most Slytherins, fiercely loyal, but he is still a selfish jerk at heart.

There are days when Pansy wishes they had stayed friends, but then she remembers how withdrawn and miserable he was in their sixth year school – the last year that she really saw him – and how he pushed everyone away as opposed to letting them help him. She knows why he did it, of course. It is part of the reason she doesn't think he is the right person to be the living incarnation of The Reliquary. At the end of the day, he had balked at killing Dumbledore, or so she had heard. If she is being fair, which isn't often, she knows she would have done the same thing in his place. She, too, had been a coward at the age of seventeen. She knows she wouldn't have helped him back then, even if he had asked her to. But Pansy knows a lot can change in ten years. Perhaps she is being too hard on Draco. Either way, she needs to stop stalling and call this in.

She watches as Draco and Potter exit the end of the alleyway and turn onto the street beyond. They take a left and are quickly lost from view. She waits another thirty seconds or so before she taps her watch with her wand. She twirls it with practiced ease until she reaches the portable Floo-Chat functionality. She taps the watch face one more time and says General Dempsey's name. There is a whooshing noise and then a small, ghostly image of Dempsey's office projects above the watch face.

"Major Parkinson reporting in, General," Pansy says once she sees that Dempsey is alone. She waits while Dempsey makes her way over to the fire place and crouches down.

"Go on, Major," she says once she is seated next to the fire.

"I located Draco Malfoy. He was at dinner with Agent Potter. I believe Potter was on a reconnaissance mission. I observed them from the window for a short while until I noticed a figure emerging from the kitchen with what appeared to be a Confuso-bomb in one hand and an Instant Swamp in the other. I swear, I would recognize those Triple W logos anywhere. So I, er, got involved." Pansy pauses here and looks shamefaced down at her shoes. She knows he's has created a giant mess inside that restaurant, and Minister Tusneem will not be pleased with her.

"Involved?" Dempsey prompts. Pansy purses her lips for a moment and then continues.

"Yes, General, I went in wands blazing. I imagine I will hear the Muggle sirens at any minute now." She pauses again and strains her ears. Sure enough, she can hear a wail starting to pick up in the distance. "But I secured the asset."

"You have The Reliquary?" Dempsey asks. Her tone is filled with undisguised excitement.

"Yes and no," Pansy says. She watches as the tiny image of Dempsey cocks its head to the side.

"I ascertained that Draco Malfoy did have The Reliquary and also that he had read it." It is hard to tell with the tiny image, but Pansy swears she sees Dempsey's posture slip for a second.

"And where is this Malfoy now?"

"With Agent Potter."

"You just let them go?"

"General, all due respect, but we needed to get Malfoy off the street as soon as possible. I'm going to meet them at Potter's residence, but I need to secure the bogey before I can do that. I knocked him out before pursuing Potter and Malfoy, but he is still inside the Muggle restaurant."

"Banks," Dempsey yells and a moment later, the image flickers and Pansy knows that Mortimer Banks has stuck his head in the room. He is so tiny on the image floating over Pansy's watch that if she had not known to look for it, she would have missed him. "We need an emergency team at," she pauses to allow Pansy to fill in the rest of the location.

"Made in China, in Chelsea. Near the corner of Limerston Street and Fulham Road."

"Potential hostile," Dempsey adds. "I want wands blazing. And a full team of Obliviators." Pansy sees the small shape that is Mortimer nod and leave.

"I will stay here until–" Pansy begins to say.

"–Like hell you will. Get over to Potter's. Now. I will not have the Unspeakables be the only team to secure The Reliquary. This is now a joint mission whether we like it or not." Pansy nods and signs off. Though she does not think Draco is much of a flight risk, she is not going to tell Dempsey that. Pansy has the feeling that she is on thin ice as it is. She pauses, staring at the door of the restaurant for a moment, before she turns and strides down the alley towards Potter's house.

Draco feels numb. Oliver has fucked him. And not in a good way. And, Draco supposes, he has fucked himself even more by reading the damn thing. Why did he have such poor impulse control? Why could he have not just left the stupid thing until the morning? Greg had been right. And he hates it when Greg is right.

But then how had he been supposed to know it was stolen? Or that it would disappear like that? He still has no idea how it got to him. Or, well, he knows the how, but he is still clueless about the why. And what was that that Pansy had said about Oliver being Potter's partner? Did that mean that Oliver had been dating Potter or that he had been an Unspeakable as well? He is not sure which of those would be worse.

He suddenly realizes that he is in Potter's house and takes a second to look around himself while Potter locks the multiple locks on the door. He is in a small entrance hall which has a cream marble tiled floor and off-white walls. A small, round fish eyed mirror hangs on the wall to his left. There is a staircase in front of him, carpeted in some sort of natural fiber that is a golden straw color and an open door to his right, through which he can see part of the sitting room.

He allows Potter to lead him into the sitting room, which is bigger than Draco would have thought it would be from the outside, but somehow it doesn't feel like it has been magically extended. There is a large red sofa against one wall and Draco sits down on this. It is more plush than it looks and he sinks down into the cushions. Potter walks over to the window and lowers the blinds before opening the lid to what Draco had assumed was a side table, but appears instead to be a hidden bar.

"Would you like a drink?" Potter asks. Draco considers this for a moment. He has already had a decent amount of wine tonight, but he also feels like he had most of the sobriety scared back into him by their mad dash out of the restaurant. He looks down at his hands in his lap and notices that they are shaking

"What's on offer?"

"Whisky, port, gin," Potter recites, pulling each bottle up briefly to allow Draco to see their labels.

"Whisky," Draco says and then adds "please," when he remembers his manners. Potter squats down next to the bar and opens another part of the contraption in order to pull out two glasses. He pours significantly more than a finger into each of them and then hands one of the glasses to Draco.

"Thank you."

"It's the least I can do." Potter sits down next to Draco on the sofa. He kicks his shoes off and pulls his knees up in front of him, leaning back into the cushions. He takes a large sip of his whisky and then throws his head back to rest on the back of the sofa. "Fuck," he says, still staring at the ceiling. Then he seems to come to himself and he sits up again. "I'm so sorry about this, Malfoy."

"I'm not even sure what this is." Potter grimaces and takes another sip of his whisky. Almost a quarter of the amber liquid is gone and Draco has not even had a single sip of his. He raises his glass to his lips and lets the whisky slide over his tongue. It is very peaty and the taste of it recalls memories of home and sneaking into Lucius's whisky collection when he was fifteen.

"It's complicated," Potter says. "And I'm not going to get into it before Parkinson gets here."

"I take it she wasn't originally part of the plan?"

"No, she wasn't." A thought occurs to Draco.

"Was that even a real date?" He watches Potter's face carefully and his heart sinks when he sees a small frown flit across Potter's face. Potter seems to think that this an important enough conversation to warrant sitting up again, which he does, placing his feet back on the floor and turning to look at Draco.

"Yes and no."

"That's not a real answer." Draco tries to think back to all the things they talked about. He knows he bared his soul to Potter, and he regrets this now. Potter puts a hand up to his forehead and massages his temples between his thumb and middle finger.

"The pretense for the date was a pretense," Potter says eventually, lowering his hand again. "But everything else was real."

"So you're saying the kissing was real then?" Draco is not sure why he picked that to be the thing he fixed on. He figures it has something to do with the fact that he hasn't been on a date in two months. Perhaps Greg is right. Draco does want to fuck Potter.

"Yes."

"Prove it."

"Prove it?"

"Kiss me."

"Kiss you?"

"Yes, damn it."

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"Ok." Potter shifts sideways on the sofa until he is pressed up beside Draco. Then he reaches out with his free hand and cups Draco's cheek, turning his face until they are looking at each other. Draco realizes he has been holding his breath and takes a hurried breath through his nose. He can smell Potter's cologne. It is spicy and sweet in a way that reminds Draco of chai tea. Potter closes the gap between them and presses their lips together.

And then the doorbell rings and they spring guiltily apart.