Harry activates the tracking spell as soon as they are back to their room, but Massi doesn't leave the hotel that night. In fact, he doesn't leave for another day and they spend an awkward twelve hours avoiding him around the resort.

Then they watch on a map as he makes his way back to Milan. At least they know that he wasn't lying about that. Harry books them on the next train down from the mountain and soon they are checking into another luxurious hotel, this time in the heart of a city. Draco delights in the chocolates on his pillow at the turndown service and they both enjoy their gigantic bathtub ("Still not as big as the one in the prefect's bathroom," Draco says. "No bath is that big," Harry replies.)

Under the guise of seeing the city, they track the object to a building near the Galleria. They spend an afternoon sitting in a cafe while they surreptitiously watch the comings and goings of various people. Draco sparks on many of them and Harry notes them down in his city guide while he pretends to be deciding where they should go next.

"We're going to have to break in," Draco says quietly after they are on their third macchiato. "Aren't we? So we can see what we're tracking?" Harry frowns. His foot jitters up and down from the caffeine.

"Maybe," he says after a moment. Draco sighs.

"All I want to do is go to La Scala," he says.

"Really?" Harry asks.

"Yes," Draco says. "Opera is a passion of mine."

"Is it?"

"No," Draco says, looking daggers at Harry. "You should know that. But I've heard La Scala is amazing and I want to go." Harry flips through his guide book until he reaches the page on the Teatro alla Scala.

"Well you might be shit out of luck," he says. "Their season doesn't start until the 7th of December. That's a week away." Draco crosses his arms in front of his chest and glowers at Harry. "You just have to hope that whatever it is that we're tracking doesn't move before then."

Draco is shit out of luck as it turns out. Not because he has to miss the opening of La Scala but because they run into Massi the following evening in the VIP area of a night club. Draco had wanted to dance the night away with Harry, but now they have to make small talk with the dickhead who thought he could take advantage of Draco.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?" Massi asks when he sees them. He is wary, for obvious reasons, but Harry has greets him like an old friend.

"You mentioned Milan when we were in Zermatt and Draco said he had never been here," Harry says.

"So you just," Massi pauses. "Came?" Harry shrugs.

"Professional celebrity," he says. "I do what I want." At this, Massi grins.

"Is that why you're in the VIP section?"

"Don't be an arsehole, Massi. Of course that's why. Why are you here?"

"Same fucking reason you are," Massi says. "To drink, dance and fuck. Maybe in that order, maybe not." He smirks. It is clear now that they are all pretending that the night in the last club never happened.

"I think he meant how did you get into this area of the club," Draco says. He tries to keep the bite out of his tone, but looking at Massi's smirk has made Draco angry. "What seeing as you couldn't afford a better room when we were in Zermatt."

"Oh, Draco," Massi says. His voice is soft, almost silky. "I most certainly could have." He reaches out and puts a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco suppresses the urge to shudder. "I just chose not to. I was there alone. I had no one to impress." He shrugs. "But enough of this. It's time to drink."

And drink they do. They drink until Draco doesn't really care that Massi is an arsehole, because really, he's kind of pretty. All wavy brown hair and dark eyes. And he's tall. Taller than both Draco and Harry. And if Draco pretends that Massi is an object, the way Massi had seen him, he can just observe him as a pretty object. And really, he's kind of funny. He's a funny object. Which doesn't excuse his actions in the slightest, but it makes being around him slightly more bearable. Draco still hates him, obviously, but as long as he keeps his hands to himself, Draco can tolerate him. At least until they arrest him and all of his family.

Draco doesn't know how Harry does it, but Harry talks Massi into inviting them into the Battaglia family box for opening night of La Scala.

"Really," Massi says as the night winds down. "You should come. My father would love to meet you." So they graciously accept. And it's only in the morning that Draco realizes they will be walking into a den of vipers.

"It's going to be fine," Harry says as he straightens Draco's bowtie five days later. Draco is wearing a brand new tuxedo. It has been tailored for him and in Harry's opinion, it looks amazing.

"I know," Draco snaps. He bats Harry's hands away. "I'm very good at small talk."

"I'm not saying you aren't. You just seem tense."

"That's because I am tense." Draco shrugs. "But I'll be fine. We'll be fine." He takes Harry's hand in his. "And who knows, maybe we'll get someone to admit to them being an international crime family on recording!" Harry laughs.

"Maybe," he says.

...

"Parkinson." Pansy groans and turns away from the punching bag she had been hitting.

"What is it McLaggen?"

"I need to talk to you."

"You are talking to me," Pansy says.

"In private," McLaggen says, gesturing around the training room. There are other Ministry employees, mostly Hit Wizards, working out on the various equipment.

"Can it wait? I'm busy." To make her point, Pansy turns back to the punching bag and hits it with a sharp jab.

"Don't blow me off like that," McLaggen says. He walks into her field of vision on the other side of the bag.

"I'm not," Pansy grunts as she swings her fist at the bag again. "Just let me finish up here. Unless you want to spar with me?" She looks questioningly at McLaggen, a small smile playing about her lips.

"What, and have you beat me up again? No thanks." She shrugs.

"Fine." She glances up at the clock on the wall. "Why don't you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron in half an hour."

"That's hardly private."

"I know the owner. We can get a seat in the back."

"I know Hannah too," McLaggen snaps. "We were both at school with her."

"Merlin, don't get your knickers in a twist. I only meant I can get her to let us into the VIP area."

"Right," McLaggen sneers. "Because you're friends with Potter now." Pansy is surprised at the venom in McLaggen's tone when he says Harry's name.

"Just meet me there at five thirty," Pansy says. She turns her attention back to the punching bag, dismissing him with her body language. She hears him sigh, but he does what she says and leaves the room.

True to his word, McLaggen is waiting for Pansy at the Leaky Cauldron at five thirty. Pansy scowls slightly when she sees him. She was halfway hoping he would give up on whatever it is he wants to tell her. She jerks her head in the direction of the bar and he meets here there. She studiously ignores him while she orders a whisky and soda water, but she waits while Hannah pours his gin and tonic.

"Can we go to the VIP section, Hannah?" Pansy asks as Hannah hands over McLaggen's drink. After the Halloween party, a few weeks ago, Pansy has decided that she likes Hannah and has gone out of her way to visit her at the Leaky Cauldron. They are now comfortably on a first name basis, which is more than she can say about McLaggen.

It helps that Hannah is friends with Greg. Pansy has seen Greg outside of Flourish and Blotts a few more times since that night. Each of those evenings had started in the Leaky Cauldron and ended in Greg's bed. Pansy thinks she could get used to this. Not that she will admit it to anyone, least of all Greg.

"Of course," Hannah says. "It's all yours."

"Ta."

Pansy picks up her drink and walks towards the back of the pub. McLaggen follows her. Once they are settled in a booth at the very back of the empty VIP room, she turns her attention to him.

"What did you want, McLaggen?" she asks. She waits while he finishes the sip of his G&T that he has just taken.

"There's something strange going on," he says. His voice is quiet and it is clear to Pansy that he is scared of being overheard, even when there's no one around.

"Isn't there always?" she says. He gives her a look.

"This is different."

"Sure it is." He frowns and leans forward across the table towards her. It takes every ounce of her self control not to jerk backwards.

"I mean," he says, so quietly that his voice is little more than a whisper. "There's something strange about that Muggle murder that Potter and Malfoy stumbled into."

"What about it?"

"Did Malfoy say anything to you about that night?" Pansy shakes her head.

"He just said that some Muggles had been murdered," she says. She takes a sip of her drink and the bubbles tickle her nose. "Why? Do you think he did it?"

"No," McLaggen says slowly. "I believe that they found the bodies the way that they were. But I do think that a wizard did kill them and tried to make it look like another Muggle had done it."

"What makes you say that?" Pansy asks. McLaggen looks around again. Pansy sighs and pulls out her wand. "Muffliato," she says. It is a spell Potter had shown her a little while ago that muffles conversations so that people can't overhear them. She wonders why it is not in any Ministry guidelines. McLaggen looks at her in confusion, so she explains the spell. He nods and his shoulders relax a bit.

"Ok, so, I re-read Potter's statement about finding the heard creaking floorboards and the sound of glass breaking while they were in the house," McLaggen says.

"Stupid Gryffindors," Pansy mutters. McLaggen ignores this and continues talking.

"But when they got to the room where the bodies were, there was no sign of the assailant. Potter said that Malfoy looked out of the window to try to find the perp, but there was no trace of them. We combed that garden for evidence, but aside from some shards of glass, there was nothing. No blood, no fibers - nothing. Potter also said Malfoy had used hominem revelio but that no-one had shown up. So how did the assailant get away? They weren't in the house and they didn't flee by foot through the garden."

"It could be a murder suicide?" Pansy suggests.

"But the broken window," McLaggen points out. Pansy frowns.

"And you're sure it was broken from the inside?"

"Yes."

"Why are you telling me this anyway? I'm not even on your team." Pansy leans back in her seat and crosses her arms. "This is your case."

"Because I think you're one of the good ones," McLaggen says.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Pansy snaps. McLaggen takes a deep breath. He leans forward across the table again and when he speaks, his voice is very quiet, in spite of the Muffliato. Pansy has to lean in to hear him.

"I think there are some bad people in the Ministry."

"Oh my god, McLaggen," Pansy says, leaning back again. "Did you bring me here to talk about some fucking conspiracy theory?"

"No! I just think you're a good Hit Wizard - I mean, clearly Dempsey trusts you, what with putting you on the Reliquary project."

"What did you just say?" Pansy asks. Her pulse spikes and she fights to keep her face neutral and free from any micro expressions that might give away her sudden tension.

"Isn't that why you've been working with Potter more often?"

"I'm not sure what you mean." Pansy takes a sip of her drink. "I haven't been working with Potter."

"Parkinson, I know he's an Unspeakable," McLaggen says.

"Is he?" she asks. She tries to sound like this is new information, but McLaggen knows far more about things than she thought he did and she's quite sure he can see through her charade.

"Parkinson," he says again. He lays his hands flat on the table. "I know about the Ministry hideout under Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor." Pansy can't help it. Her mouth drops open.

"How?" she asks.

"You're not the only Reliquary task force at the Ministry." Pansy blinks at him. "I assume Potter's the Reliquary, yes? That's why he opened the ice cream parlor and checks in with you at Flourish and Blott's? Good cover by the way. It would be far too obvious if you also worked at Fortescue's."

Pansy has to think fast. If McLaggen thinks that Harry is the Reliquary, Draco's cover will remain intact. But at the same time, the fact that McLaggen knows so much about the Reliquary and has mentioned another task force gives her pause.

"If you know so much about the Reliquary, why are you asking me to confirm who the Reliquary is?"

"Because the information is still classified. Once the Reliquary was found, Dempsey pulled us all off of the case, except for you. Most of the Hit Wizards moved on to other things, but the other team I'm on is still working on it, just from afar."

"Tell me more about this other team," she says, still lying by omission until she learns more about what McLaggen knows. McLaggen frowns at her.

"I'm not sure how much I should tell you," he says.

"Stop dicking around, Cormac," Pansy snaps. "You said you thought I was 'one of the good ones'," and here she uses air quotes. "Tell me about this other task force you're on, or I swear to Morgana I will take this to Dempsey. I take it she doesn't know?"

"Fine," McLaggen says. He takes a large sip of his G&T and swallows it. Then he takes a deep breath. "I'll level with you. There's a secret group within the Ministry who are working to undermine Tusneem's pro-Muggle cooperation agenda." Pansy is a fan of Tusneem's "Be a light in the darkness for our magic free allies" posters. She finds them wonderfully quaint.

"Is there?" She can't keep the sarcasm out of her tone. Winding up Cormac McLaggen come so naturally to her that even though they are discussing serious matters, she can't help herself.

"For fuck's sake, Parkinson, yes. Yes, there bloody well is." There is a flush in McLaggen's cheeks now.

"And you know this how?"

"Because I'm part of the group that's trying to thwart them. That's the special team I'm on." Pansy snorts with laughter. She takes a large sip of her whisky and soda water.

"Yeah, ok," she says.

"I'm being serious."

"I'm sure you are."

"Fucking hell, Parkinson." McLaggen says, his voice too loud for the Muffliato space they're in. The word Parkinson echoes around their booth for a moment. He has clearly reached the end of his patience. He turns his eyes to the ceiling and takes a deep breath. Then he lowers he gaze back to hers. "I'm part of the team that stole the Reliquary," he says.

Pansy swears that her heart stops beating for a moment. She stares at him, bug eyed.

"Oh, that got your attention, did it? Now will you take me seriously?"

"How?" she asks. "You were on the team that tried to stop Wood."

"Of course I was. That's my job. And I didn't interfere with our work, but I also didn't interfere with his."

"Well if you were working with him, you should know where Wood sent it then."

"It went to Potter, didn't it? They were lovers, after all," McLaggen says. Pansy had chosen the wrong time to take a sip of her drink and now chokes on it for a moment.

"They were what?" she asks once she can breathe properly again.

"Potter didn't tell you?"

"No, he bloody well didn't." She's going to wring his neck when she sees him. That is something that as a member of the team, he should have told her. She wonders if Draco knows. Then she wonders if it matters whether or not Draco knows. Oliver Wood is Draco's ex too after all and it might cause friction between them. Friction that could affect their cover story… She pushes the thought away.

"Why else do you think Oliver sent him the Reliquary?" McLaggen asks. And there it is again. The implication that Harry is the Reliquary, not Draco.

She is about to tell him the truth when doubt enters her mind. McLaggen had mentioned a group who were trying to undermine the Minister for Magic and had said that he was part of the counter group, but she has no proof of this. For all she knows, Wood had been trying to steal the Reliquary for the "bad" group. What is to say he was actually part of the "good" group?

She frowns at McLaggen and crosses her arms.

"How do I know I can trust you?" she asks. "How do I know you're not part of the group trying to undermine Tusneem?"

"Come on, Parkinson," McLaggen says. "You know me. I'm a good guy."

"Do I know you?" she asks. "All I know is that when we were in training together you we're a complete dickhead to me. That doesn't make you very good in my book." McLaggen purses his lips. He is silent for a long moment, and then he says,

"I'm sorry. I was an arse." Pansy raises an eyebrow at him. "A huge arse," he amends.

"You were," she agrees. "But apologizing doesn't automatically make it better. Nor does it prove to me that you're part of the group you say you're part of." McLaggen nods and chews the inside of his cheek.

"That's fair," he says. "There is no reason to trust me. And I'm not quite sure how to gain your trust on this matter."

"Then are we at an impasse?"

"Perhaps the Reliquary knows about our group," McLaggen says. "Where is Potter, anyway? I haven't seen him in weeks."

"We've just established that I don't trust you, McLaggen," Pansy says. "So why the hell would I tell you where he is?" McLaggen scrunches up his face.

"Fair," he says. They lapse into silence. Pansy' notices that her whisky and soda water is empty.

"I'm going to get another," she says, gesturing at it." Do you want anything?" She slides out of the booth and stands up. McLaggen nods and Pansy heads out to the front room. There is a gaggle of patrons around the bar, but she signals Hannah through the throng, and bless her Hufflepuff heart, Hannah makes her another whisky soda water on the spot and hands it over.

"And for him?" Hannah jerks her head towards the VIP room. Pansy nods and Hannah mixes up another gin and tonic as well.

"They're on your tab," she yells over the crowd and Pansy shoots her a thumbs up.

"I've got it," McLaggen says when she sits back down. "I'll bring you proof of what the Simurgh Society are up to."

"The what now?"

"The Simurgh Society," McLaggen says again. "The group trying to undermine Tusneem."

"That doesn't prove you're not a part of their group," Pansy says with a shrug. "You could just provide me with information that you know because you are a part of it."

"Circe," McLaggen says, "What the hell do I have to do for you to trust me?"

"I would say undergo veritaserum, but we both know you're trained to resist that," Pansy says.

"Are you any good at Legilimency?" McLaggen asks. Pansy sighs. She was hoping it wouldn't come to this. She doesn't want to see into McLaggen's mind. She's sure it's full of things she doesn't want to see. Plus, she's sure he's trained in Occlumency. He could show her whatever he wanted her to see. But she supposes that's the point. He can show here what he wants her to see, and while it's possible that he could fabricate things, Pansy has had training in spotting false memories.

"Of course I am, McLaggen," she snaps. "I'm fucking good at everything."

Legilimency on Cormac McLaggen goes exactly how Pansy would have expected it to. It doesn't help that they have both had alcohol. It means that Pansy's delving into McLaggen's mind is sharper than intended and it also means that McLaggen is far more loose with what he shows her.

She gets flashes of Mortimer Banks and McLaggen talking in whispers about the Reliquary. Flashes of McLaggen and Wood planning the heist to steal the Reliquary. Flashes of conversations between McLaggen and an unknown, cloaked figure talking about an overheard conversation regarding Simurgh's plan to redistribute Muggle real estate. Flashes of McLaggen fantasizing about renting a room at the Leaky Cauldron and slowly taking her clothes off - and then she pulls back out of his mind and slaps him.

"Ow."

":Shut up. You deserved it."

An image of McLaggen taking an Unbreakable Vow to protect Tusneem and his vision for the wizarding community.

"An Unbreakable Vow, McLaggen, really?"

"Yes, really."

A long memory of Wood's heist on the Ministry vault where Pansy sees that it is true that McLaggen didn't try to impede the Hit Wizards, but also helped Wood escape by being part of the group that broke down the door to the room where the Reliquary was housed and shooting spells in wildly wrong directions while Wood ran. Another image of what McLaggen thinks she would look like spread out on a bed, looking up at him, thankfully clothed. Another slap.

"Sorry. How can I not think about you when you're inside my head?"

"Try harder," she snarls.

Images of McLaggen trying to figure out where the Reliquary has gone, because it didn't end up in the safe house where Wood was supposed to go. Thoughts of "It must be with Potter." A long stretch of McLaggen following Harry's movements in his spare time. McLaggen asking Dempsey about the Reliquary investigation and getting nothing. McLaggen reporting back to his mysterious, hooded counterparts (why do all secret groups have to wear hooded cloaks?) that he doesn't know where the Reliquary is and he's sorry, but he's still working to make sure that the Simurgh Society can't do anything. A long memory of the night McLaggen brought Harry and Draco in for questioning. The bodies on the floor. Blood everywhere. McLaggen questioning Draco.

"Why were you with Harry Potter tonight?" McLaggen asks. Pansy watches as Draco frowns at him. Draco's eyes are slightly unfocussed.

"What are you getting at McLaggen? Harry's my boyfriend." Pansy is relieved that Draco keeps his cover. Of course he does. He's trained to.

"Is he?"

"Yes. I practically live with him."

"Oh that's cute. Do you love him?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I do," And Pansy isn't sure if that's the truth or not. Because Draco's been trained, and she knows he has. But it still seems so genuine.

"I felt that," McLaggen says.

"Felt what?"

"Your relief."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Pansy snaps.

"Draco Malfoy is the Reliquary, isn't he?" And then she feels him pushing into her mind. She tries to put her mental walls up, but she's not fast enough. "Holy shit, he is, isn't he?"

"Get out of my mind, McLaggen," Pansy hisses. She grits her teeth and slams down the hardest defenses she can. McLaggen physically flinches as she forces him out of her mind.

"But he's a civilian," McLaggen says, slumping back in his seat. "How the hell did that happen? Why would Oliver send it there?" He seems dazed.

"He's Wood's ex," Pansy says with a sigh. She supposes there is no point pretending it's Harry any longer. McLaggen knows it's Draco.

"And Malfoy read it?" She nods.

"Draco loves books. I'm sure he couldn't help himself."

"So you're what? His handler?"

"One of."

"Potter's the other one?" McLaggen asks. Pansy nods.

"And they're dating?"

"Cover story." McLaggen raises his eyebrows at this.

"If you say so," he mutters.

"Potter's not that stupid," Pansy says.

"Yes, he is. Just look at Oliver." Pansy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"Shit," she says.

"Where are they, anyway?" McLaggen asks.

"Last I heard," Pansy says. "Switzerland."

"Switzerland?"

"Tracking some stolen object."

"That was more important than anything here?"

"It's supposed to lead to the Battaglia family," Pansy says. "Dempsey had some intel they were about to move something, and figured it might be the perfect opportunity to bring them down."

"I guess that's fair," McLaggen says. "But I wish they were here. The Reliquary could do what it was created to do - spot patterns in crimes." He reaches out to take another sip of his G&T, but it's empty. "You want another?" he asks, gesturing to Pansy's half finished drink.

"Sure." He leaves and Pansy leans forward to rest her elbows on the table. McLaggen's conversation with Draco runs through her mind again.

"Do you love him?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I do."

Even though Draco has had veritaserum training, Pansy thinks that confession was real. That idiot. Why did he have fall for his handler? Pansy supposes part of this is her fault. After all, it had been her idea for Draco's cover to be that he was dating Potter. She had suggested it for a laugh, and because they had been on a date when she'd found them. Fuck, if anything bad came from this, it would be her fault.

But then, hadn't Potter always fought harder for the people he loved? Wasn't that part of his whole stupid, brave Gryffindorness? Whatever the case was, she would have to wait to question the pair of them about it. They were on a communications embargo while they were in Europe. Emergencies only. And this wasn't exactly an emergency. Even if McLaggen seemed to think it was.

But McLaggen had Pansy to help him now. She'd had plenty of success before the Reliquary even existed, just using her own brain. Pansy had always thought that had she not been in Slytherin, she might have been a Ravenclaw. Perhaps that was vanity, but she had always done well in her exams, both at school and since. And she was the youngest Major at least a decade. And it can't really be called vanity if it's true.

Harry and Draco do not manage to get anyone on recording stating that they're part of an international crime ring. The Battaglia family are not idiots. They know what not to talk about in public settings. But the evening is not a waste of their time. Both Draco and Harry have recording spells running the entire night, and they capture a lot of faces, along with a lot of innocuous, but perhaps not so innocuous, conversations. Draco sparks all night long, so much so that he feels like he needs to empty his brain. Luckily, Harry brought along pensieve phials, so Draco excuses himself to run to the restroom, where he puts thought after thought and memory after memory into every single phial Harry had handed him.

Though it feels like the absolute least they can be doing, Draco is sure that these memories will prove useful during any trial used to convict the Battaglias and their associates. He should know. Pensieve memories were used in the trial for his family, most notably those of his now boyfriend.

He really hasn't thanked Harry enough for fighting so hard to keep him out of Azkaban, because Draco knows that it is mostly due to Harry's testimony that he had stayed a free man. True, it had been hard to hear Harry say that Draco had been a coward for most of the war, but now, with ten years of reflection, Draco supposes it was probably true. He had done all the things that he had in order to save his own skin, while Harry had literally sacrificed himself for the wizarding world. Draco's not sure any number of blowjobs will be enough to thank Harry for all that he did.

He extracts one last memory from his mind and places it a phial. He corks it and places the phial in his inner, undetectably extended pocket and stands up. He flushes the toilet for good measure, just in case anyone is around, and then exits the stall. Just as he's walking to the sink, the door to the bathroom opens and Massi walks in. Draco forces a smile as Massi stumbles towards him.

"Draco," Massi slurs. He is clearly three sheets to the wind. "My favorite blond Englishman."

"Hello Massi," Draco says.

"I still can't believe you're here," Massi continues on as though Draco hadn't spoken. "I mean, what are the odds? I'm in Zermatt. You're in Zermatt. Now I'm here and you're here."

"What are you getting at?"

"It's almost like there's another reason you're here in Milan. I don't buy Harry's bullshit that you just wanted to because you had never been." Draco's blood runs cold. He thinks fast.

"That's because that's not the reason we're here," he hears himself say. "You're right."

"Oh?" Massi is now leaning against the wall next to the sinks, his arms crossed in front of him.

"We came here because I couldn't stop thinking about you," Draco says. He takes a step towards Massi.

"Is that so?"

"I know you put me under the imperius curse," Draco says. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "But you were right." He takes another step forward. He and Massi are very close now. Draco can smell the alcohol on Massi's breath. "I did want to suck your dick."

"Yeah?" Massi asks, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. Draco wants to gag, but he forces himself to keep speaking.

"I still want to suck your dick." Massi uncrosses his arms and lowers them. Draco reaches out and takes one of Massi's hands. He tugs the other man close and looks up at him. He tells himself that Massi is just a pretty object. He's a mark. And right now he's wrapped around Draco's little finger. Quite literally. Massi has intertwined their fingers.

"Draco," Massi says. "You know I'm straight, right?"

"You're clearly at least a little curious," Draco whispers. He moves his face closer to Massi's.

"Mm," Massi says, his breath ghosting over Draco's lips. "Perhaps a little."

So Draco kisses the pretty object.