"You realize that's going to be the cover," Harry says once they have changed back into their own clothes and left the Witch Weekly offices.
"What is?"
"The kiss."
"What?" Draco stops walking in his surprise.
"It's Witch Weekly. Of course they're going to go with the raciest picture for the cover."
"Oh shit." But Harry just shrugs.
"Gillian will probably make it look classy. She has a soft spot for me."
"Is that why you had a translucent shirt?" Draco asks, unable to keep the amusement out of his tone.
"Oh, most definitely. Her readers will love it." Draco starts to laugh, but Harry continues speaking. "Just like you did." Draco stops walking again.
"That's not fair," he splutters. "I was acting."
"Were you?"
"You have no evidence that says otherwise." Harry arches an eyebrow at him.
"No evidence, you say?" His eyes flick downwards towards Draco's crotch and Draco flushes.
"You can hardly talk," Draco retorts. Harry shrugs and starts to walk again. Draco follows. They walk through the streets of Muggle London in silence for a few minutes, taking turns seemingly at random until Draco asks where they are going.
"Nowhere in particular," Harry says. "I was slowly directing us back towards my house, but is there anywhere else you would want to go?"
"Potter, your house is bloody miles from here."
"It's not miles. It's about a half hour's brisk walk," Harry protests. "And it's a lovely one - down the Embankment." Draco narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Plus, it's a beautiful day," Harry continues.
This is true. It is one of the rare sunny days where London is warm, but not sweltering. They turn the corner of the street they are on and the river comes into view at the end of the road. Sunlight streams down through the trees that line the Embankment and Draco finds himself relenting.
"Fine," he grouses. "Let's go on your bloody romantic walk."
"It's not romantic. It's just a walk along the river."
"You say that, but look." Draco gestures at the dappled light and the - well, mostly brown - river. "Just look at that bridge."
"If you think that bridge is nice, just wait until you see the next one."
"This is not helping your case."
"All I suggested was walking home. You're the one who called it a romantic walk." Draco cannot admit that Harry is right as that will mean that Harry has won, so instead he says nothing until they have crossed the street and are walking along the river path.
"Half an hour, you said?" he asks, checking his watch.
"Give or take." But Draco has stopped walking again and is staring at his watch. The face of it has turned a funny purple color.
"What's this?" he asks, pointing at it.
"It means you have a message."
"A message?" Harry sighs. It is clear to Draco that Harry thinks someone else should have explained this to him.
"You'll need to poke it with your wand and whisper 'Show me' for it to work." He steers Draco to the nearest bench and sits him down. "But try to make it subtle." He glances around at the few pedestrians who are also strolling along the Embankment at one pm on a Monday.
Draco gently extends his wand out from under his sleeve and taps the watch, following Harry's instructions. Small words scroll around the watch face.
Meet your newest co-worker: me! How are you two doing on establishing your cover? - Pansy
Draco glances up at Harry, but the other man is not looking at him, but rather gazing out over the river.
"How do I respond?" Draco asks, bringing Harry's attention back to him.
"Tap your watch with your finger now." Draco does and a small menu pops up. One option reads 'respond', so Draco taps that.
"Now what?"
"Hold it up to your mouth and say your response. The watch will translate it into text which will show up on the other Unspeakable's watch." Draco nods and does as instructed, holding the watch close and muttering in to it so that Harry cannot hear him.
"We have just been to Witch Weekly to establish Potter and me as a couple. Thanks for your wonderful suggestion of a cover story, by the way." He pulls his wrist away and looks down at the watch. Sure enough, his words are there in text form, with a small 'Send?' above it. Draco realizes that sarcasm might not come across well in text only format. It looks as though he is actually thanking her, when he means the opposite. (Or does he?) He tries again, replacing the word wonderful with terrible and then sends it.
"I'll have Banks show you how it fully works the next time we're in the office," Harry says. He pushes himself off the bench and they continue their walk. A few paces later, Draco feels his watch vibrate. He starts and looks down at it. It is glowing purple again. He is not sure how he missed the vibration the first time around. He supposes he must have been distracted during their photo shoot.
He doesn't stop as he quickly prods the watch face with his wand.
Haha is all that Pansy's response reads. He scowls at the watch. Of course she is enjoying this. And if Draco's honest with himself, he kind of is too.
…
Harry knows he should stop flirting. Harry knows he should give himself more time to get over Oliver before launching his emotions into anything new, particularly if that thing is also not supposed to happen or he could lose his job. He knows he is playing with fire. But he just can't stop himself.
There is something about Draco Malfoy that he just can't resist. There probably always has been. And now that Draco has suggested that this walk is a romantic one, Harry almost sees it that way. The weather is nice. There are very few people around, and the view of Battersea Park across the river is so green and inviting.
"Do you want to go to the park?" he asks on a whim.
"The park?" Draco asks. Harry points across the river.
"That park."
"Why?"
"To get spotted by wizarding paparazzi, of course."
"But we just-"
"-More can only help."
"You have no off button, do you?" Draco asks. Harry shrugs.
"It's my job." Does it tire Harry to always be on alert and be aware that people could spot him at any minute? Yes, but he also feels like he has trained for it his whole life. He knows how to have a good time while also worrying about other things. "But at least the park might be relaxing."
"How so?"
"In the park, we can lie on the grass and just chat." Harry is now very enthusiastic about this idea and so he turns back to the Battersea bridge and they start in that direction.
"What would we have to chat about?"
"Oh, I don't know. How about our halcyon school days?" Harry grins.
"You mean the ones where we tried to kill each other all the time?"
"You never really tried to kill me," Harry says. He reaches out and takes Draco's hand as they walk. For appearances sake, of course.
"No, but you did try to kill me," Draco replies softly. He gently pulls his hand out of Harry's grasp.
They make their way across the bridge in silence. Harry doesn't know what to say. He's not a hundred percent sure what Draco means, but he doesn't want to ask about it until they are sprawled on the grass in the sun. The closer they get to the park, the more Harry feels like this is the right way to spend the afternoon. They both have baggage, much of which concerns each other, and it will be easier to talk about in a neutral setting for both of them.
As they enter Battersea park, they encounter an ice cream truck. Harry decides that ice cream is exactly what they need on this sunny, summer day, and so gets them each a Cornetto. They meander through the park, eating their ice creams, until they find a small knoll topped with a tree, which provides shade from the afternoon sun. They settle under the tree, Harry sprawled on the grass but propped up by his elbow and Draco sitting cross legged beside him.
It is warm, but not overly so, and Harry takes his time finishing his ice cream. He wishes he'd had the foresight to buy some water as well, as the Cornetto is making him thirsty. He supposes he could apparate home to get some, but that would defeat the purpose of walking home. Instead, he finishes his ice cream, savoring the chocolate at the end of the cone. When he is done, he rolls onto his back and stretches his arms above his head.
"Comfy, Potter?" Draco asks.
"Very." Harry closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. But they are not just here to relax, so he sits up after luxuriating for a moment.
"What did you mean by saying that I'd tried to kill you?" he asks. There is no point in avoiding the topic, so he decides to get right to the point.
"You don't remember?" Draco looks almost hurt.
"I more meant, can you remind me which particular time?" Harry hazards. He knows this doesn't really make it sound better. Draco narrows his eyes but nods. He reaches up and undoes his top two buttons, pulling open his shirt to reveal a spiderweb of pale scars.
"Do you remember now?" Draco asks. He lets the shirt go and the cloth falls back to cover the majority of the scars, but Harry can still see the shiny edge of one just below Draco's collar. He bites his lip. This is what he had thought Draco was referring to.
"That was one of the worst days of my life," Harry whispers. "I felt absolutely awful for what I had done to you." In his mind's eye, he can still see Draco lying on the bathroom floor, covered in blood, with Moaning Myrtle's shrieks in the background. He shudders at the memory.
"Why? We were enemies," Draco says.
"No, we weren't. I didn't like you," Harry clarifies. "But I never really thought of you as my enemy. Had I known that was what the curse did, I would never have used it."
"You used an unknown curse on me?" Draco asks, incredulous.
"It's a long story."
"We have time." Harry sighs. Draco is right. They have all the time in the world to talk about all of the things he has tried to forget from his school days. He sighs.
"Where do I even start?"
…
"So let me get this straight," Draco says after listening to Harry relate much of his sixth year at Hogwarts. "You had a book that helped you with potions?" He is laying on his side in the grass now, propped up on an elbow.
"Yes."
"And it was Snape's old book that he had written in?"
"Yes."
"Shit, no wonder you were suddenly better at Potions than I was." Harry gives him a tight lipped smile. "You know you took away my only joy from that year?" It is true. Potions was the only class that had kept Draco going during sixth year, consumed as he was by the challenge of getting the stupid matching cabinets to work.
"I'm sorry," Harry says. He truly looks it. He is looking up at Draco through his eyelashes.
"Oh, stop it with the puppy dog eyes," Draco snaps at him, but he smiles to let him know he isn't overly annoyed.
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not sure I actually learned anything. I was still clueless when it came to theory. Do you remember the lesson where Slughorn had us brew antidotes to his mystery poison?"
"Do I ever? That was possibly the hardest potions challenge he ever gave us. And possibly the only one that I beat you at that year."
"Yep," Harry says. "All I could think of was a bezoar." He buries his face in his hands, ashamed even now.
"That took balls," Draco says. He gives Harry a small smile as he thinks back to how shocked everyone had been that the Golden Boy had all but cheated on that assignment.
"That was my Hail Mary pass," Harry says. Draco frowns at him, unsure of what the phrase means. "Right, that's a muggle term, and an American one on top of that. It's basically a very long pass in American football, typically made in desperation, with only a small chance of success and or time running out on the clock. Which is exactly what the bezoar was for me." Draco nods.
"So you mean to say that I am better at Potions than you are?" he asks. Harry smirks at him.
"You still care about that?"
"Of course. It was the only time I ever felt more accomplished than you in school."
"Well, then I'm sure you will be pleased to hear that there are still times that we have to brew potions at the Ministry. You can show me up to all my superiors." Draco pumps his fist in excitement.
"Yes," he cries. Harry rolls his eyes.
"Oh, quiet you," he says. "And come here." Harry gestures towards himself.
"Sorry?"
"Don't you want to pose for the tabloid witches?"
"Are they around? I can't see anyone." Draco looks around, wondering if Harry can see something he can't. Perhaps Harry has better eyes for this kind of thing as he has lived with it his whole life.
"Oh, I have no idea," Harry says, dispelling this idea. "I just figure that if I'm out in a public place, they must be hiding somewhere."
"I can't decide if that is vanity or paranoia," Draco says, but he shifts over until he is laying closer to Harry. It is clearly not what Harry wanted him to do, because the brunet sighs deeply before raising himself up on his knees and shuffling behind Draco's head and sitting down again.
"Lay on me," he commands. "Rest your head on my chest. Oh, better yet, I will lean against the tree and then you lean against me."
"This is quite the production," Draco mutters, but he does as Harry requests and a moment later, he finds himself happily ensconced between Harry's legs, resting his head on Harry's chest. Harry shifts underneath him, until he is comfortable, and then wraps his arms around Draco.
"I'm so sorry about that curse," he says quietly into Draco's hair. "I really didn't mean to hurt you." Draco shrugs.
"I probably deserved it."
"No." Harry's voice is fierce against his head.
"But I was working to get Death Eaters into the school." It is a thing Draco regrets to this day.
"Did you have a choice?" Draco closes his eyes and the image of Voldemort looming at him in the middle of his father's study, shortly after Lucius's arrest is as clear as day in his head. He shudders and feels Harry's arms tighten around him. "I didn't think so."
…
They stay in the park for another few hours, talking about their school days, laughing about how much a jerk Snape had been to Harry. They apologize ad nauseum to each other for how mean they had been to each other. Draco tries not to take it too personally when Harry laughs for a solid minute at the memory of the time Mad Eyed Moody had turned him into a ferret. But Draco has to admit, when he looks back at those days, he is almost unsurprised that his parents had had a bet on he and Potter getting together. His entire school years were filled with their (mostly awful) interactions.
"Now, did you really want to come here for the photo op?" Draco asks. He is now laying in the grass with his head in Harry's lap. "Or was it just an excuse to get close to me again."
"How unprofessional of you to even ask. I am not enjoying this in the slightest." But the grin on Harry's face betrays that he is kidding. Or at least that he is good enough at pretending to date someone that he can joke about whether or not he is or is not enjoying himself. Draco isn't sure how good Harry's poker face is. He wonders if he should challenge him to an actual game of poker in order to find out. Draco's own poker face is out of practice, but he knows that with time, it will come right back to him. A benefit of growing up with the threat of Voldemort around the house.
"Yeah, me neither," Draco says. "Absolutely miserable." Harry reaches down and ruffles Draco's hair. Draco sits up abruptly and smooths it back down.
"That was uncalled for, you cretin," he says.
"I'm a cretin, am I?"
"Yes."
"Eh," Harry says, leaning back against the tree trunk. "I've been called worse."
"By me, I'm sure." At this, Harry laughs. He reaches out and pulls Draco back against his chest, they way they had been earlier. Draco smiles as Harry wraps his arms around him again. In spite of himself, he feels safe in Harry's arms. But then, is that so strange? Harry is around to protect him. Just as he feels Harry lean down and kiss the top of his head, which makes his stomach turn over in excitement, his watch buzzes and turns orange.
"What does this mean?" he asks, holding up his wrist to show Harry.
"Moving picture message with sound."
"So, like a video?" Draco asks.
"I wasn't sure if you knew what videos were," Harry mumbles.
"How do I watch it?" Harry pushes Draco off of his chest, and then sits up straighter. He looks around for a long moment, sweeping his gaze around the park.
"Ideally, it wouldn't be in public," he says quietly.
"So, we should go pretend to make out in some bushes like we're horny teenagers?" Draco points to a large, leafy tangle of bushes a few hundred meters away. Harry seems to weigh this idea for a moment before nodding. Draco clambers to his feet and then takes Harry's hand and pulls him up. Then he drags him, looking around conspiratorially, to the bush.
Once they are ensconced in its leafy embrace, he pulls out his wand and looks to Harry as to how to get the message to play.
"You just tap it and say 'Show me'," Harry says. "Same as the other messages." Draco nods and does so. Pansy's face projects out from the watch face.
"Draco," she says. Her voice seems to fill Draco's head without traveling through his ears. "We need you to look at this. This man just entered the country on a falsified visa." He frowns as she holds up a picture of a person. And then it happens again. That strange feeling of suddenly knowing something. Or, more accurately, suddenly recalling a thing he already knows, but had briefly forgotten. He stares at the face again.
"What is is?" Harry asks.
"That man is plotting to kill someone tonight. At the Dorchester Hotel." Another puzzle piece slides into place in Draco's brain. "That Croatian diplomat. Heilgar Mottić." He blinks, suddenly fatigued and slumps his shoulders.
"Is that all you know?" Harry asks. "Do you know how he's going to do it?" Draco shakes his head, and then frowns.
"The man, Marc Thiessen, is a known poisoner. Or, at least suspected. He's often been in the area when high profile poisonings have taken place, but no one has been able to pin anything on him yet."
"We need to take this to Croaker," Harry says. Draco nods, then jumps as Harry grabs his arm and they disapparate.
It has been a while since Draco has done side-along apparition, and the feeling panics him for a moment. But he takes a deep breath, remembering to relax, and then the squeezing sensation is gone and they are standing in the Atrium of the Ministry. There are witches and wizards milling about, something which surprises Draco until he remembers that it is a Monday and that most people have work.
He spots Pansy through the throngs of people and he tugs Harry in her direction.
"Well?" she asks, falling into step with them as they make their way over to the elevators. Draco fills her in on his vision. Then he wonders if he should call it a vision as he doesn't necessarily see anything, he just knows things. Like a flash of inspiration.
"We should take this to Croaker," Pansy says as he finishes his explanation. "Or Granger." Harry shrugs.
"Either one," he says. "I think Hermione is our direct Head for this project, right?" Pansy thinks for a minute before nodding. She presses the down button on the elevator.
…
"Good work, Malfoy," Hermione says once Draco has told her what he knows. Then she turns to Harry and Parkinson, who are standing slightly off to the side. "You three will go to the party tonight. Harry, you will go as yourself. Malfoy, you are his date. After all, it's official now isn't it?" She allows herself a small smile. "Parkinson, you will disguised as a waiter."
Parkinson looks as though she is about to roll her eyes, but she nods instead.
"I want you to stop this murder from happening. When you get to the party, I want you to find Thiessen and surreptitiously tail him. If you can, photograph him slipping Mottić the poison, and then prevent the poisoned object from getting to Mottić. Once we have evidence that he's been behind these poisonings, we can arrest him. But until then, you are to keep a low profile. Is that understood?" The three of them nod.
"What's the attire?" Harry asks. He prays that it's black tie. It's been so long since he's been to a formal function and he's dying to get his tuxedo out again.
"Black tie," Hermione confirms. Harry tries to hide his little wiggle of joy, but he knows Hermione caught it. He can tell by the twinkle in her eye.
"Crap," Draco says. They all turn to him. "I don't have a tuxedo."
"Well then," Hermione says, clapping her hand together once. "I guess you should go and see Bertie."
…
Draco says nothing as he follows Harry and Pansy back out of Hermione's office. There is a bounce in Potter's step for reasons that Draco doesn't know. He wants to ask who the mysterious Bertie is, but he reckons he will learn in short order, so he stays quiet. Seemingly whoever put together the Reliquary did not include information on this Bertie fellow. Either he is so top secret that he is not even in the Reliquary, or he is so universally known that he wears deemed unnecessary in a database of secret information.
It turns out to be the latter.
They take the elevator to the fourteenth floor of the ministry and step out into a bustling corridor. Draco follows Harry and Pansy as they make their way past a long line along one wall. He is surprised to see that it leads to a single room, and is even more surprised when Harry pulls out his Unspeakable badge, flashes it, and cuts to the head of said line.
Draco squints at the plaque next to the door. It reads Bertram Rail, Clothier. Draco is still frowning at the plaque when the door opens and Harry ushers him inside. Pansy waits outside for reasons that become abundantly clear when Harry immediately pushes Draco into a changing room and instructs him to strip down to his underwear.
"But," he says.
"Bertie is very busy, Draco. He doesn't have time for your modesty." Draco tries to protest, but realizes it is useless. He quickly disrobes and then peeks his head out from behind the changing room door.
Harry is deep in conversation with a tall (relatively), slender young goblin. Draco coughs nervously and they turn to face him.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," the goblin says. "Please come here." Draco steps tentatively out into the room and stands on the box that the goblin points to.
"This is Bertie," Harry says to Draco. He is taking great care to look only at Draco's face, which Draco appreciates. "He's going to fit you for some clothes." Harry turns back to Bertie. "He probably needs a full party set, Bert. Suits in all colors and styles, both Muggle and wizard. Also a tuxedo. Oh, and some pajamas."
"Pajamas?" Draco asks.
"I think maybe silk ones, don't you think?" Harry carries on, ignoring Draco.
"Yes, silk is good," Bertie says. Then he turns to Draco. "Stand up straight. Arms out. Don't move."
Once Draco is measured, a process which seems to take an age and involves pretending to be fine with a stranger touching him all over, Bertie claps his hands and sends Draco back to the dressing room. He gratefully changes back into his clothes and when he emerges, Bertie waves him out into the corridor.
"I shall send your items to your residence, Mr. Malfoy. Expect them in," he consults his watch. "About an hour." And that is that.
…
Bertie is true to his word. An hour after Draco leaves his… office? a large parcel arrives by owl mail to his house.
"What's that?" Greg asks, eyeing the small fleet of owls that were employed to carry the package.
"Mail order clothes," Draco says in what he hopes is a convincing voice. He had not anticipated Greg being home when the clothes arrived. Nor did he imagine there would be so bloody many of them.
"You been mail ordering while drunk again?" Greg asks.
"Yes," Draco says. "With my birthday money." Greg nods, satisfied at this explanation, and goes back to the game of Wizard's Chess he is playing against Harry. Harry, as it turns out, is not very good at Wizard's Chess.
"Ah, shit," Harry says as Greg's queen dismembers his knight. "I did not see that coming."
"Aren't you supposed to be good at this?" Draco asks. He has wrestled the parcel in the window, using a shrinking charm. Now he is surrounded by a gaggle of owls, all wanting treats. He reaches into the bread bin and tears off chunks of a loaf for them.
"What makes you say that?" Harry asks.
"Wasn't there that thing, in first year, when there was something to do with you and a giant chess match or whatever?" Draco asks. He ushers the owls back out of the window and then shuts it behind them with a loud bang.
"Nah," Harry says. "That was all Ron."
"That explains a lot," Greg says. He watches as Harry makes his next move and then sends his bishop after one of Harry's pawns. Harry looks as though he might protest for a moment, but then slowly nods his head as the bishop whacks his pawn clear off of the board.
"What is the Weasel up to these days anyway?" Draco asks. He sits down next to Harry at the table.
"Ron," Harry says pointedly. "Is running Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with George."
"Oh," Greg says. "That's just up the street. We should invite him over sometime." Draco wants to vehemently say no, but Harry's face lights up at the idea, so he squashes his feelings. He supposes this is what comes from fake dating Potter. At least Granger knows their relationship is a cover and so he won't need to befriend her.
"Yes," Harry says. "We should have Ron and Hermione over. Then you can have a proper game of chess." So much for not needing to get to know Granger. Draco looks at his watch.
"Uh, Harry," he says. "We need to get ready." Both Harry and Greg turn to look at him.
"Ready for what?" Greg asks.
"We're going to a party," Harry explains. He sighs, as though bored by it already. "I get invited to all these boring diplomatic parties."
"Ah, yes," Greg says. "Being famous must be so difficult." Harry purses his lips but says nothing.
"So, shall we go change?" Draco asks pointedly after enough time has gone by that it is awkward. Harry nods and pushes his chair back from the table.
"Don't wait up," he says, winking at Greg.
"Golden cock," Greg mutters to himself as they leave the room.
