"We should probably disarm them," Draco says after they have been sitting there for a minute.

"They're unconscious," Harry points out.

"It's still good practice," Draco says. "What if someone comes round?"

"They won't."

"I don't want to take that chance," Draco says. He takes a deep breath and then scrambles to his feet. "Can I have my wand back?" Harry nods absently and holds out one of his hands.

"That's your wand."

"Oh, is it?" Harry holds out the other.

"Doesn't it feel different to you?" Draco asks. Harry shrugs.

"I used your wand for several months after we escaped your house during the war," Harry says. "I guess I got used to the feeling of it."

"I had no idea," Draco says. He looks down at his wand in wonder. "Why?"

"Mine had broken." Harry doesn't elaborate. Draco starts to walk towards the nearest body. "Your wand felt the friendliest."

"What's that?" Draco turns back to Harry.

"Of the wands we had at the time. Yours felt the friendliest."

"Huh," Draco says. "I wonder if our wands knew more than we did."

He turns back to the nearest body and freezes when he sees that it is Massi. He is sprawled on his back on the floor and his legs are bent at an awkward angle as though he had been running when he had been stunned. Presumably stunned. Draco almost doesn't want to check if he's alive, just in case he isn't. But he forces himself to kneel down next to Massi. He puts two fingers on Massi's neck and feels for a pulse.

His breath is in his throat and a wave of terror washes through him when he can't feel anything. Then he realizes his fingers are in the wrong place and he shifts them. He finds it - Massi's pulse. It is as slow and steady as if he were just sleeping. Draco breathes a sigh of relief and then frowns at himself.

Why should he care about Massi? His family had just tried to kill them.

He fumbles in Massi's jacket pocket, looking for his wand. Instead he finds a small bottle. He pulls it out and looks at it. The writing on it is in Italian, but as he stares at it, the Reliquary translates.

It's a love potion. But it's not just any love potion. It's a love potion that works through the touch of the person drinking it.

Suddenly the past few days jump into startling clarity for Draco. Massi's insistence on touching him all the time. Massi's insistence that no one fuck him during their threesomes. Massi then wanting Draco to fuck him when they were alone. No wonder Draco had started to feel affection for him. Massi has been slowly intoxicating him.

"You fucking asshole," Draco says to the unconscious figure of Massi. He stands up again. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry look up. "You. Absolute. Fucking. Asshole," Draco says again, embellishing each word with a kick to Massi's side. He thinks he feels one of Massi's ribs break and is overcome with a mix of satisfaction and compunction. He blames the potion for his feelings of guilt.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks. He has leapt up from his spot on the floor and now drags Draco away from Massi before he can hurt the other man any more.

"Kicking him," Draco says. "I thought that was obvious."

"Yes, but why?" Draco thrusts the love potion into Harry's hands.

"This asshole has been using a love potion on me." Draco points to the instructions and translates them for Harry. "So, really, probably on both of us to an extent."

"But mostly you," Harry says. "I couldn't help but notice that he had his hands on you at every opportunity he could." As Harry says this, he reaches out an arm wraps it around Draco's waist, pulling him close.

"Mm," Draco says. "Were you jealous?" He turns until he is facing Harry. Harry keeps his arm wrapped around him.

"Incredibly."

"I'm sorry," Draco says.

"Don't be." Harry's tone is fierce. He wraps his other arm around Draco's waist, encircling him all the way. Draco leans into Harry and presses their foreheads together. "It's not your fault," Harry says.

"I'm still sorry."

"He used you."

"And we used him" Draco says.

"Because his family are criminals and we were trying to bring them to justice."

"Have you called the Polizia Magica by the way?" Draco asks. He hasn't seen a patronus go out, but he's not one hundred percent sure what Harry's patronus looks like. He thinks it is big, because he remembers being knocked down by something in his third year when he and Greg (and Vince, RIP) had tried to scare Harry by (stupidly) dressing up as dementors at a Quidditch game.

"No," Harry says. "I'll do it now." He lets go of Draco and waves his wand. An entire bloody stag bursts forth and Draco is now sure he has never seen this before. Surely that hadn't been Harry's patronus when he was thirteen? Surely Harry hadn't been able to produce a full patronus when he was thirteen? Though, with everything Draco knows about Harry, it probably had been.

Harry talks to it quickly and then dispatches the patronus. Then he lowers his wand and his shoulders sag. Draco reaches out and pulls Harry back into his arms and Harry falls into them gratefully, resting his head on Draco's shoulder.

"I love you too by the way," Draco says as he strokes Harry's hair. Harry pulls his head back to look at Draco.

"What?"

"You said-"

"-I know."

"And I said I love you too - in fact, I said it at the time, but I don't think you heard me over the yelling."

"I didn't," Harry says quietly.

"So I'm saying it again. I love you too." A slow smile spreads across Harry's face. He leans his head forward and presses their foreheads together.

They stay that way until the Polizia Magica arrive.

"What the hell do you mean 'Cormac McLaggen is on our team now'?" It is Thursday morning and Hermione Granger is pacing behind her desk. Pansy watches her impassively. Granger is one of the few people their age in the Ministry who outranks Pansy and it is something that irks her. She can't help but think that if she'd made Lieutenant Colonel by now that she would be in charge of the Reliquary team, not Granger. But she would have needed to be a Major for more than a year before she could have been promoted and she's still got three months to go before that.

"I mean Cormac McLaggen is on our team now," Pansy says. "I've already cleared it with Dempsey."

"But why didn't you clear it with me first?" Granger asks, rounding on Pansy with her hands on her hips.

"Because I thought you would have said no," Pansy fires back.

"I absolutely would have said no," Granger snaps.

"Then I'm glad I didn't ask," Pansy says. Granger raises her eyebrows in surprise. It is clear no one has dared challenge her authority before. Pansy squares her shoulders and keeps her face impassive.

"I beg your pardon?" Granger asks with barely controlled rage.

"Look," Pansy says. "McLaggen's one of the best Hit Wizards we have and we need him on our team."

"There is a clear chain of command, Parkinson."

"Fine, demote me," Pansy shoots back. "I don't care. You know what I do care about? Keeping Draco safe." Of course, she does care, a lot, but she doesn't think Granger will call her on it.

"As do I."

"Then why are you letting your dislike for McLaggen cloud your judgement?"

"I don't think we need him," Granger says. "I think the team is great as is. And that includes you." She adds the last part in an aggrieved tone. Pansy twists her mouth to the side in irritation. She doesn't need Granger's praise to know that she is good at her job.

"Have you heard of the Simurgh Society?" Pansy asks quietly. Confusion clouds Granger's face. "There you go then. That is why we need McLaggen."

"What do you mean?" Granger asks. Pansy shakes her head.

"Not here."

"Parkinson," Granger says warningly.

"I don't know who might overhear."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Pansy narrows her eyes and stares at Granger without saying anything for a long moment. She hopes this conveys that this is serious enough that she's a) not going to answer Granger's question because it's stupid and b) that she can't talk about it at all in this room. When Granger doesn't say anything for a long moment, Pansy sighs, refrains from rolling her eyes, and crosses her arms. She reaches into an inner pocket and pulls out some parchment and a quill. She writes down "the Cooler" and slides it across the desk to Granger.

"What?"

"Meet me there," Pansy says. Then she turns on her heels and leaves the office. She doesn't turn back to look, but she's sure she's left Granger speechless as she doesn't hear her call anything after her as she hurries away down the corridor.

"Where the hell do you get off, walking into my office and asking me - me! - to meet you somewhere else?" Granger fumes as she charges down the stairs and into the Cooler. She stops short when she sees that both Pansy and McLaggen are there. They are sitting at the table in front of their evidence board, their hands clasped in front of themselves on the table.

"Thank you for joining us," Pansy says.

"What is this?" Granger asks.

"This," Pansy says. "Is everything McLaggen has amassed about the Simurgh Society."

"And who are they?"

"I'm glad you asked," McLaggen says, cutting in. "The Simurgh Society are a secret organization within the Ministry who are trying to undermine Tusneem's pro-Muggle agenda." Granger sighs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. McLaggen indicates the chair across the table from them and Granger twists her mouth in irritation but sits.

"And how is it you know about them?" she asks once she is settled.

Pansy leans back in her chair as McLaggen fills Hermione in on everything he has told Pansy. Having McLaggen explain everything is half the reason that Pansy wanted to bring Granger back here. That, and she really didn't want anyone to overhear. She is pretty confident that no one would be eavesdropping on Granger's office, but if it is a group inside the Ministry, Pansy is taking no chances.

When McLaggen finally finishes speaking, Granger stares at them. Pansy can tell that she's thinking by the small frown lines between her eyebrows.

"So let me get this straight," Granger says after a long moment. "Mortimer Banks overheard someone talking about this and now the three of you, and at some point Oliver Wood, have taken it upon yourselves to stop them?"

"That's the long and short of it," McLaggen says. Granger presses her lips into a line.

"And you believe them?" she asks Pansy.

"Let me walk you through this board," Pansy says. She stands up and pulls the evidence board forward. About twenty seconds into her explanation, Granger's hand flies to her mouth.

"Oh my god," she says, her eyes wide. "I think I know what they're planning."

"You can see it too?" Pansy indicates the area on the map. Granger nods slowly.

"So you believe us?" McLaggen asks.

"I am as shocked as anyone, but yes."

"Will you join us?" At this question, Granger pauses and chews on her lower lip.

"And there are four of you?" she asks.

'Yes," Pansy says with a heavy sigh. Granger nods sharply.

"Right," she says. "With Harry and Draco that will make seven."

"Really?" McLaggen asks.

"Yes," Grangers says with another sharp nod. "This is officially a Reliquary matter." McLaggen pumps his fist in excitement. "But first, I need you to tell me the whole plan behind Agent Wood stealing it. I mean, what on earth were you thinking?"

"Uh," McLaggen says. He looks nervously at Pansy who shakes her head.

"This is all on you," she says. McLaggen nods. He must have known this was coming, because when he starts to talk, it sounds rather rehearsed.

"Banks was walking back from a meeting one day back in July when he heard someone mention the Reliquary. His ears perked up, because as Dempsey's secretary, it was a project he had heard of before. He slowed as the voices he heard seemed strained. He said he went as far as to dawdle, tying his shoes, in order to learn as much as he can. He heard someone say that they needed to destroy the Reliquary as it could ruin them, but the person they were with said it would be better if they could control it. If the Simurgh Society had access to whomever the Reliquary ended up being, they could control what the people outside of the Society knew.

"We decided it would be better if one of us were the Reliquary so that we could prevent it from falling into the Simurgh Society's hands."

"So Oliver Wood stole it," Granger says. McLaggen nods.

"So Oliver Wood stole it," McLaggen agrees. "He was supposed to send it to Braithwaite, but he sent to to Malfoy instead. The best I can guess is that he couldn't get to the portkey we had planted in the facility where the Reliquary had been housed and so improvised."

"Why Draco though?" Granger asks. "They hadn't been together in years." McLaggen shrugs.

"All I can guess is that they were the first safe coordinates he thought of," he says. "We'll never know."

"Mm," Granger muses. It is clear to Pansy that she has more questions but she wants to move the conversation along. She puts her hands flat on the table in front of herself and pushes herself up to standing. "Right," she says. She looks around the room and spots what she is looking for. She walks over to the supplies cabinet and pulls out parchment and a quill before sitting back down opposite them.

"What are your next steps?" Granger asks. She stares expectantly at McLaggen.

"The first step," Pansy says. "Is to change the name of our group." Granger frowns at her. "Tell her, McLaggen." She nudges him with her elbow and watches as his face turns scarlet.

"Uh, the working name has been the Coalition Undermining Nefarious Traitors," he mutters. Granger looks at Pansy and Pansy rolls her eyes.

"I'm sure you thought it was hilarious," Granger says with a sigh.

"Actually," Pansy says, unable to keep the smugness out of her voice. "He didn't figure out the acronym until I pointed it out."

"Circe, McLaggen," Granger says. She turns to Pansy. "And you said he's one of the best?"

"Would you mind," Harry says to Draco over breakfast. "If we took our time getting home?"

"Why would I mind?" Draco asks. Harry shrugs.

"I figured you wanted to get home to see people."

"Not if you're not there." Harry makes a face.

"If I had known you'd be this sappy after I told you I loved you, I would never have done it." Draco kicks Harry lightly under the table and smirks at him over his coffee cup.

"Oh you love it," Draco says. Harry grins at him.

They had gotten back to their hotel at around one in the morning after they had supervised as the Polizia Magica had taken both the Luczkowski and Battaglia families into custody. They had paused just long enough to peel off their clothes before they had fallen into bed and slept until the maid had knocked on the door to inquire about cleaning the room. Now they are enjoying a leisurely continental breakfast at the hotel restaurant and each other's company.

"What did you have in mind for today then?" Draco asks. He catches Harry midway through a bite of toast and waits while Harry chews. He notes that in spite of an almost full night's rest, Harry still has dark circles under his eyes. But then, after all the magic he performed yesterday, Draco is hardly surprised.

"Christmas shopping?" Harry suggests once he's finished his bite.

"Really?"

"Only if you want to," Harry mutters. He looks up as Draco covers his hand in his.

"Oh, I would love to."

"Do you think Pansy would like this?" Draco asks, holding up a Prada bag.

"Have you ever seen Pansy carry a handbag?"

"Not in a while," Draco admits. "But ten years ago she would have loved it." He appears to come to a decision. "I'm getting it for her." Harry wisely does not mention that Draco has already gotten Pansy several other things. Draco, it seems, likes to be very generous at Christmas.

"I'm sure she'll love it," Harry says. He is holding approximately twenty bags at this point in the day but Draco doesn't seem to be tiring at all.

"Blast," he says. "I can't remember what shoe size Greg wears. I want to get him some of these loafers."

"You could ask him," Harry suggests.

"How? We're still on a communications embargo, presumably." They are not, technically, but Harry hasn't reached out to the Ministry to re-activate their watches yet. He wants to have this time with Draco alone.

"Kreacher?"

"Will Kreacher come if you call him from this far away?" Draco asks. Harry shrugs.

"We can see." They badger the helpful sales clerk until she lets them share a changing room and once the door is closed, Harry pulls out his wand. First he adds a secondary lock to the door and then he calls the house elf.

It takes about a minute, during which time they stand there feeling stupid, but then Kreacher appears with a muffled pop. Draco looks happy enough to hug him, but refrains because it's Kreacher and the elf is grumpy even on the best of days. Kreacher, as it turns out, has Greg's sizes memorized, and even some of Pansy's.

"The lovely Ms. Parkinson has stayed over quite a few nights now," Kreacher informs them. Harry catches Draco's eye, raises his eyebrows and smiles. "I have assisted in washing her clothes." He lists off their sizes and Draco scribbles them onto a piece of parchment that Harry has pulled out of his pocket. Kreacher then offers to take the bags that Harry is carrying home.

"Really? You can do that?" Harry asks. He is still a little fuzzy on all of the powers of a house elf, no matter how many times Hermione has tried to tell him.

"Of course," Kreachers says. "Anything for Master Draco." He scoops up the bags, even though they dwarf his tiny frame. "Can I ask when you might be back?" All Harry can see of him is two ear tips poking out from behind a Fendi bag.

"We'll be back on Saturday," Harry says. "In the evening."

"Very good, Master Harry." And then Kreacher disappears, taking all of their shopping bags with him.

"Perfect," Draco says. "Let's go get Greg some shoes!"

"McLaggen," Granger says. "You're going to need a cover story as to why you're in Diagon Alley all the time."

"He can't work at Flourish and Blotts," Pansy says quickly. She has enough to put up with in the form of Luca and Joe as is. She refuses to have to deal with McLaggen and his damnable swagger and irritatingly good looks as well. "It would look too suspicious if there were two of us there."

"Don't you mean three of you?" Granger asks.

"I meant Hit Wizards. Greg is suspicious enough as is."

"Very well," Granger says. "What if you worked at Florean Fortescue's?"

"Scooping ice cream?" McLaggen asks.

"Yes, alongside Harry when he's back."

"When are they scheduled to come back?" Pansy asks. It's been over a month now and she's tired of working at Flourish and Blott's for no reason other than keeping up her cover. She hasn't arrested anyone, or stunned them in too long and her wand hand is itchy. This isn't strictly true as she did briefly stun Luca the week before when he tried to convince her to buy the debut album of his and Joe's band, Joca! but Pansy doesn't count this.

"Any day now," Granger said. "I received word from the Polizia Magica that they had arrested the entirety of the Battaglia family on Wednesday night, along with several prominent members of the Luczowski family in one of the largest arrests in their history. Tusneem is working with President Cattaneo to keep Draco and Harry's names out of the press, while still giving credit to the British Ministry for their arrests."

"Why aren't they back yet?" McLaggen asks. "That was two days ago."

"They need to stay under the radar," Granger explains. "They've been using Muggle transportation to get around."

"Muggle transport doesn't take that long."

"And from what I heard, Wednesday night was a bit of a bloodbath."

"What?" Pansy asks. Her hand flies to her mouth.

"Harry and Draco are fine," Granger says quickly. "But it certainly appears there was an ambush of sorts. I'll be interested to hear what happened when they get back."

"I think we all will," Pansy says.

Harry and Draco spend Friday on a train from Milan to Paris. Though Harry had suggested that they apparate to France, Draco decided that he quite liked the quiet solitude one could find on a train and had insisted they finish their journey like Muggles. And so they sit and watch the countryside pass by while eating cheese and charcuterie and sharing a bottle of wine.

They spend the evening in Paris. Draco finds them a charming French bistro called Josephine Chez Dumonet and shows off the French skills that Harry didn't know he had as he chats animatedly with the maître d'. Harry finds the menu being taken out of his hands and he looks curiously at Draco who waves away his concern.

"Trust me," he says. So Harry does. Instead of worrying about the menu, he looks around the restaurant. It is everything he would imagine a French bistro would be. There are tables covered in white tablecloths, richly upholstered booths and a wooden bar on which sit multiple bottles of wine.

Draco sits opposite him. He is wearing a red sweater over a collared shirt and has a tweed jacket over the top. He looks very English. His hair is freshly washed and lightly tousled. It looks incredibly soft and Harry wants nothing more than to run his hands through it. Instead he contents himself with reaching across the table and holding Draco's hand. His chest feels like it's filled with warmth as he watches a smile spread across Draco's face.

"I love you," he whispers.

"Je t'aime aussi," Draco replies.

They are interrupted by the waiter bringing wine, which Harry can hardly complain about, particularly when he tries it and it is delicious. It is such a contrast to Wednesday evening, where he was so worried about everything, that he finds tears springing to his eyes. He takes another sip of wine in order to hide his expression behind the glass.

Part of him can't believe it had turned out so well. He's almost scared he's going to wake up and find that evening was all a dream and that he has to go through it all again. The fear that he felt when the room went dark has haunted him the past two nights. He had lain awake for what felt like hours, in spite of his exhaustion, and the only thing that had finally lulled him to sleep were Draco's snores in the bed beside him.

And now here they are, having a lovely dinner in Paris. It's a dinner which starts with foie gras and is followed by the best beef bourguignon that Harry has ever had. Part of him feels like he has died and gone to food heaven. He voices this thought aloud and Draco laughs.

"You're still alive," Draco reassures him. "But I'm glad you think it's that good."

"This is amazing," Harry says as soon as he finishes his latest mouthful of food. Draco beams at him.

"I'm so glad."

"Thank you for finding this place."

"Oh, it's an old family favorite."

"I thought we just stumbled upon it?"

"You think I would leave dinner to chance?" Draco asks, cocking his head to the side.

"Yes?"

"Oh Harry. I thought you knew me better than that."

"I just thought you had a preternatural ability to find good food," Harry protests. Draco laughs loud and long at this and Harry hides his face in his napkin.

"Harry," Draco says. He reaches across the table and takes Harry's hand briefly. "I'm flattered you think that, but in reality, I'm just good at researching things. Those guidebooks that you scribble notes in? I actually read them. How do you think I knew where to go shopping in Milan?"

"Preternatural ability?" Harry guesses, but the cheeky grin on his face makes it obvious that he is joking.

"You're ridiculous."

"And yet you love me anyway."

"Perhaps I was mistaken." Harry claps a hand over his heart.

"Say it isn't so," he cries. Draco chuckles.

"I think I might love you in part becasuse you are ridiculous," he says softly. They have finished the main course now and so Draco pushes his plate ever so slightly away and leans back in his chair. He has let Harry sit on the banquette while he sits opposite in a wooden chair. He had wanted Harry to be able to look out over the restaurant. There's a mirror above the banquette and Draco can see flashes of waiters and people but it still takes him somewhat by surprise when the waiter comes to clear their plates.

He orders dessert even though Harry protests that he is full. Harry doesn't know it, but dessert is half the reason they came here. He is confident that Harry will be able to eat at least a few mouthfuls of soufflé once he sees it.

He is right. Harry's eyes go wide as he sees the soufflé make its way through the restaurant. It has risen twice as tall as the dish it is in and the most impressive part of it is that no magic was involved in making it (that Draco knows of). It is the perfect end to a lovely meal and as they fall into bed at the end of the night, Draco holds Harry close and thinks that just maybe, everything will be alright.


I am so sorry this is two days late!