"You know," Harry says. "When I said I wanted you to do naughty things to me, I meant that I wanted you to sleep with me, not tie me down and interrogate me about the Simurgh Society."
"You promised me you would fill me in when we got home," Draco says. "I'm holding you to that. And you're not tied down."
"That's fair," Harry says. "But can I tell you in the morning?"
"No," Draco says emphatically. "I'm tired of not knowing what's going on."
"So I take it the Simurgh Society is not in the Reliquary then."
"Not in as many words." Harry scrunches up his face and then sighs.
"Fine," he says. "But what if I turn it into foreplay?"
"What?"
"What if I tell you about the Simurgh Society while undressing you and…" He gestures towards Draco's crotch.
"I feel like you're not taking this seriously."
"I beg your pardon. I most certainly am."
"Oh," Draco says. He walks up to Harry and hooks his fingers through Harry's belt loops, tugging him close. "Are you?"
"Definitely." Harry closes the distance between them and presses his lips to Draco's. After a moment, Draco's lips part and Harry slips his tongue into Draco's mouth. Draco lets himself be kissed for a minute or so before he gently pulls away.
"Talk first," he says. Harry starts to protest but Draco shakes his head. "Think of the safety of the country, Potter."
So Harry explains and Draco listens and by the time he is done, they are both too tired to do anything other than quickly jerk each other off and then fall asleep.
…
"What do you mean 'Draco's going to have to wear prosthetics'?" Draco asks the following day at lunch time.
"I mean just that," McLaggen says. "We're going to have to disguise your face, and the best way to do that is with Muggle prosthetics."
"Why not magic?" Draco protests.
"Do you really think there are no security wards that will go off if someone enters the building disguised with magic?" Pansy asks. "And before you ask, no, we can't disguise you once you're there because the wards also prevent that."
"Hang on," Harry says. "I once got into the Ministry using polyjuice potion. That's magic."
"Polyjuice is harder to detect," Pansy allows. "But it's December 17th. We don't have time to brew one before Christmas."
"So you're going to stick plastic on my face?" Draco asks.
"So we're going to stick plastic on your face," Pansy confirms.
"I hate everything about this."
"Just wait until you see Harry's elf costume," Pansy says. "You'll enjoy that at the very least."
"Elf costume?"
"Weren't you listening last night?"
"No?"
"Potter, you're impossible," Pansy says, but she smiles as she says it. McLaggen looks less amused.
"What are you wearing?" Harry asks.
"Oh, we'll also be dressed as elves," Pansy says. "But Draco wouldn't be as excited to see me in leggings."
"Leggings?" Harry splutters.
"Oh yes," Pansy says. "Bertie's already working on our costumes, so there's no changing them now." Harry grumbles to himself but doesn't protest. "Christmas is a Thursday this year, so I think we should go in this Friday. Draco, I've already secured your afternoon off with Big Dick, so you needn't worry about that."
"Big Dick?" McLaggen asks, not bothering to hide his snort of amusement.
"The manager at Flourish and Blotts," Pansy says, breezing past his comment. "And I've ordered five hundred peppermint toads from Honeydukes to hand out."
"We have the budget for that?"
"We had the budget for this," Pansy gestures around at the Cooler.
"Fair."
"Of course," Draco says. "We don't even know if this is going to work. What if nothing sparks?" No one says anything. Harry chews nervously on his bottom lip and Pansy stares down at her hands for a long moment. Finally McLaggen says,
"It'll work." McLaggen says it with such confidence that for a moment, Draco believes him.
"I hope so," he says.
…
"Heya George," Harry says as he walks into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "Ron here?"
"In the back," George says. He jerks his head toward the door that lead to the stockroom before turning his attention back to the patron who is waiting by the till.
Harry makes his way through the shop, pausing to look at some of their new merchandise as he goes. There are a few new holiday items including singing jumpers (now with 10 different carols), super deluxe Christmas crackers (Adult and Child editions), and a line of Christmas outfits for pygmy puffs. Harry has a feeling Ginny'd had a hand in the pygmy puff clothes. He makes a note of the deluxe crackers and then pushes his way into the back room, where he finds Ron rummaging through boxes.
"I don't know what's happened to it," Ron says, not turning around. "I could have sworn we had more."
"What's that?" Harry asks. Ron looks up.
"Harry!" he cries. "I thought you were George." He straightens up and then crosses the space between them and throws his arms around Harry. Harry returns the hug with a chuckle.
"I'm not George," he says. "But can I help you find anything?" He is offering more out of politeness than anything else, because the stockroom of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes looks like a bomb has gone off in it. Or, perhaps, a Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-bang.
"Nah," Ron says. "We're just out of Peruvian Darkness Powder again. Third time this month." Ron sighs and then rolls his shoulders up by his ears before dropping them again. "Anyhow, what brings you here?"
"I came to see you."
"If you want relationship advice," Ron says. "I don't have any for you." Harry laughs and shakes his head.
"No," he says. "I think I'm alright on that front."
"How as Europe?" Ron asks. He looks around the stockroom for a moment before beckoning Harry forward. "D'you want some tea?" Harry nods and follows Ron further into the stockroom until they reach a pair of armchairs which are sat next to a little kitchenette. Ron fills a kettle and puts it on the stove before prodding it with his wand. He indicates that Harry should sit in one of the chairs, so Harry does.
"Eh, Europe was alright. Some skiing, some culture, some taking down an international crime ring." He shrugs. "The usual." Ron snorts with laughter.
"Yeah, I saw that in the papers," he says. "And wondered if that was you."
"Didn't Hermione tell you?"
"No. Not even when I asked her about it."
"Does she normally tell you about things?" Harry asks, his interest piqued. Perhaps he can ask Ron if Hermione had been acting strangely without having to outright ask him in as many words.
"If it involves you, she generally does, yeah. I figured this was just very top secret." The kettle lets out a whistle and Ron busies himself making two cups of tea. He hands one to Harry and then settles in the armchair across from him.
"Ta," Harry says, raising his mug at Ron who mirrors the gesture. He blows on the hot liquid and takes a small sip. He burns the tip of his tongue and so puts the mug down on the floor next to his feet for the time being. "No," he continues. "Nothing secret about the Battaglia dinner. They were using the dinner we were at as a cover to take out a rival family." Harry shrugs. "All I did was knock everyone out and call local authorities."
"How did Malfoy react to you casually bringing down a Mafia family over dinner?"
"He hid under the table."
"Classic Malfoy," Ron says with a chuckle. Harry feels a pang of guilt over this as Draco had been instrumental in bringing in the Battaglias, but he has to keep Draco's cover intact so he doesn't say any more.
"Speaking of Malfoy," Ron continues. "Mum wants to know if he's coming for Christmas dinner."
"Oh," Harry says. "I hadn't thought."
"Well, ask him, will you?"
"'Course." Harry feels slightly dazed. He has never had to split the holidays between families before. He's never even had to think about it. When he was with Ginny, there was no question as to where they would go for Christmas, but now… It quite suddenly hits Harry how real and serious his relationship with Draco is. It's possibly the first serious one he's ever had. Maybe he does need relationship advice from Ron after all. "It won't be weird, will it?"
"What?"
"Bringing Draco to Christmas dinner?"
"No?"
"You don't sound very certain."
"Harry," Ron says, leaning forward to emphasize his point. "You're family. Mum's gonna love anyone you bring home."
"What about your dad?"
"We'll give him lots of gin and sit him in the corner." He takes a deep breath. "Plus, it's probably about time the Malfoys and the Weasleys buried the hatchet."
"You're not suggesting that the senior Malfoys come to dinner, are you?" Harry asks suddenly worried.
"No."
"Good."
"Or, at least I don't think so. I should check with mum."
"Don't," Harry says. "Not yet. Maybe if we're still together in a year."
"Do you think you will be?"
"I think so?" Ron stares at Harry impassively and takes a sip of his tea before he speaks again.
"Good for you. I'm glad you found someone who makes you happy. Even if it is him." Harry cracks a smile at that.
"How are you and Hermione doing by the way?" Harry asks and Ron shrugs.
"Fine."
"She's hasn't seemed off, has she?" Ron looks up at him sharply.
"What do you mean?"
"She's seemed rather stressed at work," Harry says, backpedaling. Really, right before Christmas is not the time to ask if your best friend's wife has perhaps been kidnapped and replaced by an imposter. Unless, in fact, she has been, in which case they should try to get her back before Christmas.
"She's been a little short with Rose, but Rose is two and so she doesn't really notice." Ron takes another sip of his tea. "But she's been a bit more enthusiastic in the bedroom," he mumbles, his ears turning red. Well that was something Harry hadn't wanted to hear. He takes a deep breath.
"Look, Ron," he says. "Don't freak out."
"It's never good when you start a sentence with 'don't freak out'," Ron says. He clutches his mug of tea to his chest. Harry bites his lip, then ploughs on.
"Don't freak out, but we think Hermione might have been kidnapped."
"What?" Ron asks, clearly flabbergasted. He leans forward in his chair, eyes and mouth wide.
"We don't know for sure," Harry says quickly. Ron sits back in his chair again. He's sloshed tea on his chest, but he doesn't seem to have noticed.
"But then how is she," He gestures in front of him. "Here?"
"We think polyjuice."
"Fuck."
"Again," Harry says. "It's just a theory. That's why I wanted to ask you how things were with you two." But Ron's not listening to him. He's staring at a spot over Harry's left shoulder with a frown on his face and his mouth hanging slightly open. Harry waits for him to speak and as he does, glances around the stockroom. It truly is a mess - the absolute opposite of the Flourish and Blott's stockroom. He wonders if he should suggest Draco come help them organize.
"What makes you think it's not her?" Ron asks. Harry sighs.
"You remember the bluebell flames?"
"Oh Merlin, the ones she used to conjure all the time first year?" Ron asks. "You know, I think she might have been showing off." He smiles at the memory.
"Yeah, those ones. Well, I conjured some last night 'cause we were on an outdoor mission and it was cold."
"Standard."
"Yeah, well, she asked me how I'd done it."
"The fuck?"
"Exactly."
"Shit." Ron frowns again, blinking rapidly. Harry takes a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," he says. Ron looks up at him.
"How do we prove it? How do we know that's not just some momentary, I don't know, hormonal or accidental thing?" he asks.
"Same way as during the War, I s'pose," Harry says. "Ask her something only the two of you would know." Ron nods slowly. "But make it casual."
"What?"
"If they don't know that we know that they have Hermione, it gives us the element of surprise."
"They?" Ron asks, but Harry shakes his head.
"It's classified."
"Harry."
"Ron."
"This is my wife we're talking about."
"And until we get her back, it's safer for both of you if I don't tell you," Harry says firmly. Ron leans angrily back in his chair and crosses his arms across his chest. He glares at Harry for a long moment before his gaze finally softens.
"You're probably right," he says. "Say, why don't you and Malfoy come to dinner tonight and you can help me figure out if she's my wife or an imposter."
"Yeah, alright," Harry says.
"And that way you can come up with the incredibly subtle question for me," Ron says, smirking at Harry. Harry rolls his eyes but agrees. Because really, what else can he do?
…
"And you're sure we have to do this?" Draco asks. They are standing on the front stoop of Ron and Hermione's house in Barnes.
"Have dinner? Yes," Harry says. "Ron invited us." Draco knows damn well why they are here. Harry filled him in on the plan earlier that afternoon.
"But I don't want to have dinner with the Weasel," Draco grouses, scuffing his foot on the doormat.
"Yeah," Ron says, opening the door. "Well, I don't overly want to have dinner with the Ferret." But there's a goodnatured grin on his face. "Come on in."
Harry is very aware that this is Draco's first time in the Weasley-Granger house and as he looks around, he sees it anew through Draco's eyes. The entrance hall is tall and spacious, leading to the dining room, through which the open plan kitchen and family area can be glimpsed. The sitting room juts off to the side, its door just to the right of the stairs which lead to the bedrooms. It's rather modern, with lots of clean lines and light, though as it's the dead of winter, the skylights in the kitchen loom dark above them, rather than bright.
Ron leads them through to the kitchen where Hermione is standing at the kitchen island with a glass of white wine. When they walk in, she embraces them warmly. Harry has to admit that if she truly isn't Hermione, whoever is impersonating her is doing a damn fine job.
Ron pours them some wine and they make their way to the sitting room.
"Dinner's in the oven," Ron says. He looks at his watch. "Should be another half an hour or so. We're having roast chicken, and before you ask, Harry, yes, it is cooked over a bed of potatoes so that the potatoes cook in the chicken fat." Harry pumps his fist in excitement.
"Brilliant. I can't wait."
They chat about Harry and Draco's Europe trip, excluding any mention of the Battaglia dinner. Ron and Draco bond over the story of Harry learning to ski.
"He just stayed there?" Ron asks. "In the snowbank?"
"For about fifteen minutes," Draco says through tears of laughter.
"Harry Potter," Ron says. "Vanquisher of Voldemort. Defeated by a snowbank."
"Oh shut up," Harry mumbles, leaning back in his seat. He takes a large sip of his wine to hide his displeasure but in reality he's pleased that Draco and Ron appear to be getting along, particularly if he's going to bring Draco to Christmas dinner.
Presently a timer goes off in the kitchen, and Ron excuses himself to finish putting everything together. Hermione offers to help, but Ron waves her away.
"Any news from the Swinns?" Harry asks by way of conversation. He knows that McLaggen spent his day leading a team of his fellow Hit Wizards, but aside from that, he hadn't heard anything.
"Nothing yet," Hermione says. "But Harry, you know the rules. No work talk." She was right. They did have a mostly unspoken agreement not to talk about work when he was over - it always made Ron jealous.
"Ron's in the other room."
"Still." She presses her lips together and Harry drops the subject. Instead they talk about books and Hermione asks Draco if he has any recommendations from Flourish and Blotts. It turns out that he does and they spend the time until Ron calls them in to dinner discussing a new memoir by Aiden Lynch, the Irish seeker who played during the 1994 Quidditch World Cup.
"'Course you lot were there," Draco says suddenly.
"In the top box no less," Harry says. "Slumming it with you." Draco smirks and nudges Harry's knee with his own.
"I'd forgotten about that," Draco admits. "I remember the match of course - who could forget Krum and those Wronksi Feints? I still can't quite believe that Ireland won but he got the snitch. Who would have guessed?"
"Fred and George Weasley, actually," Harry says.
"You must be joking."
"It's true."
"Is that where they got the money to start Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"
"No, Ludo Bagman paid them back in Leprechaun gold." Draco snorts in amusement. "I gave them my Triwizard winnings for the store."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Harry says with a shrug.
"Why?"
"I didn't want it. It felt like blood money."
"Ah." Harry nods, his mouth twisting to the side as he stares awkwardly down at his feet. They are saved further discomfort by Ron walking triumphantly into the sitting room and announcing,
"Dinner's ready!"
…
"You have to give me this recipe," Draco says. "These potatoes are incredible."
"Thanks," Ron says. "It's my mum's. You should ask her about it at Christmas dinner." Draco blinks at him for a moment before turning his head sharply and staring at Harry.
"Potter," he says. "Is there something you forgot to mention?" Harry slaps a hand to his forehead.
"Yes," he says. "We've been invited to Christmas dinner at the Burrow." To Draco's credit, he does not protest or make a horrified face, merely nods.
"No need to make the decision now," Ron says hurriedly. "Just, you know, some time before next Thursday." Draco nods again and swallows the bite of chicken that he had just taken.
"We usually do a lunch, so perhaps we can do both." Harry shoots him a grateful smile.
"A Christmas surrounded by friends," Harry say. "I can't wait."
"Friends," Draco says. "Of course."
"Oh come on, Malfoy," Ron says. "We're friends now, right?" Draco raises an eyebrow.
"Do you call all your friends by their last name, Weasley?"
"Yes," Ron says in mock seriousness. "Potter and I have been friends since First Year and it took me until at least Second Year for me to call him Harry." Draco laughs.
"Speaking of," Harry says, hoping that he isn't shoehorning the conversation too much. "Hermione." Hermione has been concentrating on her food, but now she jerks to attention at the sound of her name.
"Yes?" she asks.
"Settle a bet for me. Ron and I can't agree on the exact moment we all became friends. What would you say it was?" Ron's eyes cloud in confusion for a moment before he realizes what Harry is doing.
"Yeah," he says. "Go on, 'Mione. I've got a galleon riding on this." Harry, who was watching Hermione carefully, thought he saw a flash of panic in her eyes, but if he did, it was momentary.
"Really?" she asks. "You've made a bet about our friendship?"
"About whose memory is better," Harry clarifies.
"What even brought this on?" She continues to deflect the question with another question, but Harry is ready for her.
"I stopped by the shop today to ask Ron for Christmas present ideas and we got into a friendly argument."
"I insisted Harry was wrong," Ron says.
"So then we made a bet," Harry continues. "To see what you thought it was."
"You were meant to bring it up more subtly, Har." Harry laughs because it's true. He really should have, but Ron has saved his bacon. Hermione sighs and puts down her knife and fork.
"Obviously," she says. "It was when we were all sorted into Gryffindor."
And suddenly, Harry doesn't have an appetite. He looks over at Ron, who has visibly paled. Shit. He needs to distract Hermione. Or, the person who is impersonating her.
"Ha, you owe me," he cries triumphantly. "Hand over that galleon, Ronald." Ron catches his eye and Harry raises his eyebrows and grins at him.
"Shit," Ron says. "Can't believe you got me. I'll just run and get it now." Hermione reaches out and puts a hand on his arm.
"Surely it can wait," she says.
"I'd best get it now before I forget," he says. He pushes back hard from the table and leaves the room quickly. Harry bites his bottom lip.
"Perhaps I shouldn't have rubbed it in his face that I knew his wife better than he does," he says quietly. "Maybe I should go talk to him." Draco nods and Harry leaves after Ron.
Harry finds him in the master bedroom up the stairs. He is sitting, perched on the side of the bed. He looks up when Harry enters the room and Harry can see that tears are threatening to spill from his eyes.
"We'll find her," Harry says. He sits down next to Ron and the other man falls sideways into him, so Harry wraps an arm around him.
"How could this happen?" Ron whispers. "How did I not realize it wasn't her?"
"Do you generally go through life thinking that your loved ones aren't who they say they are? No. Because you're not an Auror anymore and the war has been over for ten years."
"I still should have noticed that my wife wasn't my wife."
"No," Harry says firmly. "This is not on you."
"What am I going to do?"
"You are going to pretend that everything is normal," Harry says. "And Draco and I are going to find her."
"Draco?"
"Forget I mentioned him." Ron sits up and looks at Harry.
"You're going to explain at some point," he says. "But right now, I just want you to do whatever you need to do to get her back." Harry nods.
"We will," he promises. "And on that note." He stands up and walks over to the wardrobe. "I'm going to put bugs on all of Hermione's clothing."
"Harry," Ron says. "I know I haven't been there in a while, but I know the Ministry has sensors."
"Not for Muggle bugs," Harry says, pulling a handful out of his pocket. He also pulls out his wand and uses it to spell the bugs onto unseen places on all of Hermione's clothing that he can see.
"But they won't work at the Ministry," Ron protests.
"We don't think she's there. They should work most anywhere else."
"Oh. That's a good point."
"It was McLaggen's idea."
"Cormac McLaggen?"
"The one and same."
"But-"
"-He's on my team now."
"You poor bastard. Does he still think he's god's gift to women?" Harry shrugs.
"He's fine when he's being professional, but yes, he does."
"Hermione must hate that," Ron says. There's a pause and then his face crumples again. Harry sits down on the bed again.
"We'll get her back," he says. "I promise." He squeezes Ron around the shoulders again and then jerks his head towards the door. "We should get back."
"Of course," Ron says. "Yes." He wipes under his eyes with the heels of his palms and then stands. Harry follows him back to the dining room, his heart aching for his friend.
…
"I look fucking ridiculous," says the old man sitting in front of Harry. It is now Friday morning and Draco is sitting in the middle of the cooler while McLaggen flits around him holding a Muggle prosthetics kit.
Harry has to bite back a smile because Draco's not wrong. He does look a bit silly. But he's supposed to be Father Christmas, so that's kind of the point. He has so much latex on his face that Harry can barely recognize him. The only thing that gives him away is his hair, but McLaggen's now working on getting his wig ready, so even that will be disguised shortly.
The bugs that they planted on Hermione haven't lead them anywhere strange yet, but Harry is confident it will only be a matter of time. It's barely been a day since he planted them.
"You look great," Pansy says to Draco.
"If by great you mean five hundred years old," Draco grouses.
"Exactly." Draco sticks out his tongue at her and then screws his face up as much as he can with the latex on it.
"Blech," he says. "That tastes foul."
"Don't lick it then," McLaggen snaps. He is fiddling with Draco's hair, stuffing it into a wig cap with his wand. "And stop moving, you cretin."
"Ooh," Draco sneers. "Wonderful insult. Ten points to Gryffindor." McLaggen jabs rather sharply with his wand and so tugs at a strand of Draco's hair. "Ow."
After another ten or so minutes of fussing, McLaggen get's Draco's wig on, then he steps back to admire his handiwork and Harry bursts out laughing.
"Oh, fuck off, Potter," Draco says. He scowls at his reflection in the mirror.
"Right then," McLaggen says. "Time for your fat suit."
"My what?"
"Fat suit. Then we'll put your costume over that. We figured pillows wouldn't stay up well enough, so Bertie made you a full on suit."
"Can you lot get into your costumes first so I have something to giggle about in the meantime?" McLaggen rolls his eyes, but Harry picks up his costume and walks over to one of the bathrooms in order to change.
By the time he comes back out, Draco is in the fat suit and Pansy is doubled over, fighting back tears of laughter behind him where he can't see her. He does his best to keep his face impassive. As it is, Draco's face lights up at the sight of Harry in his leggings and tunic.
"Looking good, Harry," he says, which sounds strange coming out of Father Christmas's mouth.
"Oh, you're back," McLaggen says. "Can you help him into the rest of the costume. I'm going to go and change." Pansy followed McLaggen a moment later, leaving Harry with Draco.
"I don't think I have ever suffered such an indignity," Draco says melodramatically.
"You have to be seen with me on a daily basis," Harry replies. "That's much worse."
"Don't be daft. You're lovely."
"Come on," Harry says. "Let's get you into this costume." He picks up the trousers and walks over to Draco. He holds them out and stands steady as Draco braces himself on his shoulder and clambers inelegantly into them. Then he buttons Draco into his jacket and slips boots onto Draco's feet. When he's done, he stands back to look at him.
"Well?" Draco asks after Harry has stared at him for a long moment. "How do I look?"
"Nothing like yourself."
"Perfect."
…
"Ho ho ho," Draco says to the security guard on duty. "Happy Christmas."
"Have a Peppermint Toad, Steve," Pansy says, handing him one.
"Ta," says Steve the guard, taking a toad. "You doing some caroling then?"
"Yes. Figured we might spread some holiday cheer."
"Good on ya," Steve says. "Happy Christmas." And he waves them off.
They start on the top floor and work their way down, which means they start at Tusneem's office. Nothing about Tusneem sparks, nor do any of his various secretaries - or at the very least, nothing sparks aside from their names. But Tusneem does appreciate the rendition of Jingle Bells that they sing to him and is even more thrilled when Pansy hands him a Peppermint Toad.
It is not until they reach the second to the top floor that Draco sparks on anything, and when he does, he's not even sure how he saw it. But see it, he does. It is a tiny, embroidered, purple Simurgh on the sleeve of the Undersecretary for the Muggle Liaison Office. Draco looks up at the face that the sleeve belongs to and the Reliquary informs him that he is looking at a Mr. Chester Davies.
It's a start.
While Pansy and McLaggen sing a quick verse of O Come All Ye Faithful, Draco and Harry distribute Peppermint Toads to Chester and his colleagues and Draco's eyes sweep the room for any other Simurgh related flashes but there aren't any more.
"I've got one name," Draco says quietly as they bundle into the elevator to descend to the next floor.
"What?" Pansy asks, surprised.
"Chester Davies."
"What did you spark on?"
"He has an embroidered, purple Simurgh on his sleeve."
"And you noticed that?" McLaggen asks.
"The Reliquary did." Draco says. "It sometimes picks up on things I would ordinarily miss. I think because it's, well, magic."
"Well great. We have one name."
"Now let's get some more."
So sorry this has been so delayed - my schedule is a mess right now.
