Harry Potter and the Trouble with Veela

Chapter 5: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Harry spent the next day doing one of three things: worrying about the possible corruption within the Ministry, having nightmares about the corruption within the Ministry, or shooing Draco Malfoy out of his borrowed bedroom. Surprisingly enough, the last was incidentally the least of his problems, though considerably more annoying. Especially the bits where Malfoy watched him too closely, or touched him without permission, whereupon Harry would grouse and threaten to hex him, then Malfoy would subject Harry to the Allure and Harry would become a useless, babbling mass of Harry-shaped jelly and eventually fall back asleep only to later awaken, and the process would begin anew. Harry was beginning to be of the opinion that if reincarnation existed, it was bound to be a bitch of a cycle.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say that you –liked- being under my influence. Is that it then, Harry?" Draco asked, the smarmy git leaning forward and brushing his too pale fingers over the back of Harry's knuckles. And what was with him using Harry's first name all of a sudden? Harry had been perfectly content to continue as they'd been. There was no need to change what worked, and the less contact Harry had with Malfoy, the better.

Harry scowled. Not only had Malfoy insisted on addressing him as Harry, but had started touching him. A lot. He never would have pegged Malfoy (although a whisper in the back of his mind supplied 'Draco' instead-good thing that Harry had a lot of practice in ignoring the whispers in his head) for the touchy-feely sort. Then again, ever since that whole kiss-that-didn't-happen business, the blond had been remarkably non-combative.

Argh. This shit was too weird. And that was saying something, coming from Harry Potter, master of all things weird. He really ought to do something about that particular association, later, when he wasn't fighting for privacy from Draco sodding Malfoy.

"If I say yes, will you leave me alone?" Harry asked hopefully.

Draco gave him a thoroughly incredulous look. "You do realise that you shouldn't be left to your own devices? Auror or no, you're still vulnerable for the moment."

Boy it rankled all kinds of Harry's senses that Malfoy was sort of right. "I've still got my wand," he said with a petulant huff, crossing his arms over his chest and thusly putting more of him out of Malfoy's reach. It did wonky things to his brain when the Veela touched him, and he didn't like it. At all.

"Harry," Draco said quietly, leaning closer to him. Harry's skin tingled, and he didn't like that either. "You can't use magic for seventy-two hours, or else you'll just deplete yourself again, and be worse off for it the second time." He was trying to be patient, show his Chosen that he was worthy and kind and all that nonsense, but sweet Salazar, Harry tried his patience like no one ever had. The Veela in his mind pointed out helpfully that this was a good chunk of the reason why they were in this predicament now, because they'd never known how to leave each other alone. Yes, yes, they'd done this to themselves, but did he have to be reminded quite so often?

"I can hear your thoughts from over here," Harry said warily. "Care to tell me what's bothering you, since you won't leave me alone?"

Draco was –not- ready to talk about his embarrassingly Hufflepuff like thoughts, so instead, he turned the tables, as any former Slytherin would have done. "I could say the same for you. You've been muttering in your sleep, even." Draco looked at him then, in what Harry would have sworn was concern, and had it come from anyone else. They hated each other, and that was just the way things were. If a small corner of his brain suggested that things could change, he ignored it admirably.

But if that were true, then why had Malfoy helped him in the first place, and all that other weird business after the kiss that wasn't? He groaned softly. Malfoy made his head hurt.

"No, really, stop, the sudden influx of information might send me into a fit," Draco said blithely, brushing an errant strand of hair away from his face.

Harry almost laughed, almost. "Alright already, don't get your knickers in a twist. I-," he paused briefly, "I'm worried."

"Well, I'm so glad that we had this little chat," Draco said wearily. "What are you worried about, Harry?" He sincerely hoped that this conversation thing got easier, because, Merlin's pants.

Harry rolled his eyes, deciding against death by obnoxious prat. "I'm worried about what happened, okay? No one should have been able to find this place."

Draco watching him quietly, again, "You think that someone in the Ministry is involved, don't you?"

Harry blanched. "You're not supposed to use Legilimency like that, Malfoy!" Damn! And here he'd thought that he'd done better at maintaining his Occlumency shields.

Draco sighed, slumping back against the chair, and tilting his gaze up to the gently sloped ceiling, presumably in search of that elusive mistress Patience. "I'm not a Legililmens, Harry, as you should already know, what with them being registered through the Ministry and all. It's too much of a bother, if you ask me. But you just walked right through the trap door. How, exactly, are you an Auror? Don't answer that," he said quickly before Harry could open his mouth, the wanker.

Harry pulled a face. "I know what to expect from criminals, Malfoy. I've never known what to expect from you." Like he was suddenly trying to be a friend or something; that one threw Harry right off the map and into entirely uncharted territory.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Draco replied with a grin.

Malfoy could pass for a used broom salesman with that expression. "Please knock it off. I'm getting sort of creeped out over here," Harry remarked with a shudder.

Draco scoffed. "You just don't have an eye for art, Harry, even when it's staring you in the face, evidently. No matter, that'll change with time. Now," he continued brightly, "why don't you tell me what's going on with the Ministry, Wonder Boy?"

"I can't tell you anything that any other civilian doesn't already know, Malfoy," Harry said wearily after nearly twenty minutes of repeating himself. It was getting old, and fast.

Draco tossed his head in irritation like an Abraxan: proud, haughty, and out of patience with the world. "Harry," Draco said slowly, "I already know more than the average citizen, considering that I am one of the Veela under attack." He crossed his arms and watched Harry with a scrutinizing gaze. "I don't see what the harm would be in letting me be aware of the full risks posed to my family and me." He sort of sounded perplexed by then.

What happened to the reckless teenager he'd known? "I just don't get you, Potter," Draco said quietly. "What's so bad about wanting to keep my family, my race, safe from our enemies?" The pain beneath his words ate at Harry's resolve.

Harry wouldn't meet Draco's eyes. "You have got to be the single most infuriating, stubborn arse on the face of the planet," Harry grumbled.

"Does that mean you'll tell me something useful?" Draco asked, not bothering to mask his curiosity.

"What kind of a Slytherin are you, anyway? Your emotions are written across your face like some first year." Harry huffed, procrastinating. He was very good at that. Any of his Hogwarts professors would wholeheartedly agree.

"The sort who has progressed beyond the stereotypes of House affiliations, and has come to terms with the reality that some situations call for a more forward approach, for the sake of satisfying curiosity and soothing the less delicate nature of his companions," Draco replied succinctly.

Harry couldn't say for sure, but it almost sounded as though Malfoy had accused him of being insensitive. "You just don't give up, do you, Malfoy?" Harry asked rather than confirm that, no, he wasn't especially in touch with his feelings, though that was likely due more to the precarious nature of his upbringing rather than anything else.

Draco regarded him intently. "No, I don't, Harry. I don't give up until I have what I want." He said it with a smile that wouldn't be amiss on a shark, and Harry fidgeted.

"Er, right," Harry began uneasily, "so, about the Ministry," he said in a pitiful bid to change the subject.

"I'm all ears," Draco answered, settling himself comfortably into his chair, leaning forward with his best 'I'm listening' expression firmly in place, and Harry really wished that he wouldn't.

"Of course," Harry grumbled, "well, it's awfully strange that someone found you lot here, under Auror protection and surveillance. Bloody hell," he paused to scrub at his hair until he resembled a surprised hedgehog. "You do realise that I'm breaking about a dozen rules here, right, Malfoy?" Harry looked distinctly out of sorts.

Draco laughed, the bastard. "Rules? And since when have something as menial as rules ever deterred you in your oft misguided quests for 'justice' and other illusions? Come now, Harry. Surely you can do better than bleat feebly about the regulations of the Auror department in defence of the danger we face? Or," and Draco paused then, to skewer Harry with a soul-searing glance (Merlin! How did he do that?), "or is your job just a job, and the great Harry Potter can't be arsed to worry about a few dozen Veela? Are we just half-breeds to you, Potter?" His eyes glittered bright and dangerous and Harry wanted to be offended at the implications, but just couldn't muster the energy.

"No, Malfoy. The only sort I'm biased against are Dark Wizards, and, unfortunately, they're just as human as you or me. Well, most of them are anyway. No one's a half-breed in my books," Harry said, regarding Draco with a strange expression. "So, you're not going to spontaneously jump down my throat again, are you? I don't fancy a repeat performance."

If Harry had learned anything from the war, apart from the fact that making Horcruxes was BAD juju, it was that he couldn't afford to be prejudiced or hold grudges. Severus Snape had taught him that. The man had certainly been a vicious, greasy, bastard, but he hadn't been evil. Harry had misjudged him somewhat, and that had been a bitter medicine to swallow, and sometimes it haunted him when things grew too still and quiet in the dark. So he really ought to try and ignore the uncomfortable sensations that happened around Malfoy, and grow up. Biting the 'bullet' was just easier said than done.

"I reckon I've been a bit of a git to you," Harry said haltingly.

"I reckon that you have," Draco agreed with one pale eyebrow arched in question. What exactly did he think he was playing at?

Harry scowled. "I notice that you don't own up to any wrongdoings."

"Naturally," Draco answered smoothly. "Malfoys don't do 'I'm sorry.' However, fair is fair, so, I accept your slantwise apology. I know how heavily guilt must plague the conscience of saints," he added, looking at Harry from the corner of his vision.

Harry briefly considered Stunning himself, but ultimately decided that it would likely do more harm than good. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that. So, truce then, Malfoy?" Harry asked. They were adults. They should act like them, or something.

"Draco," Draco said quietly, as though he wasn't sure what to make of this mess himself. And maybe he didn't.

"Pardon?" Harry replied, blinking.

"I said, call me Draco," Draco insisted calmly. "Referring to one another by surname, will only serve to remind us of our past enmity. So, Harry, call me Draco." He smiled, then, and Harry knew it to be genuine. Most likely.

Harry considered this a moment. Who knew exactly how long this assignment might last? And he –had- been the first to extend the olive branch, however hesitantly. It wasn't that far-fetched that Malfoy should extend it in return then, assuming of course, that he was honest about all of this reconciliation business. Who could ruddy tell with Slytherins anyway?

"Draco, then," Harry said slowly, no idiot, but decidedly unused to referring to Draco Malfoy by his given name. "That's going to take some getting used to, just so you know. It's nothing personal."

Draco shifted and crossed his ankles, eyeing Harry with something like exasperated fondness, which made absolutely no sense. "It's always been personal with us, Harry." He paused, as though giving thought to his next words. "Which is why you can trust me. What would I gain by spreading privileged information around like some conspiracy theorist? Nothing that I desired, that's what," especially when what Draco desired most, was sitting diagonally from him, more quietly contemplative than he'd ever seen him, and from what Draco could deduce, flirting with the edge of that elusive mistress, trust. If Draco made an error now, it would surely prove fatal.

Harry faltered, swallowed his protests and spoke so softly that Draco had to lean forward to be able to hear him properly. "It isn't just the Veela who've been attacked, Draco. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is strained to its considerable limit trying to protect centaurs, werewolves, and even vampires." He laughed before continuing, "Protecting vampires isn't that fit to beat the band? But these are covens that adhere to Ministry guidelines, and don't harm humans, Wizarding or Muggle, and the murders were… Brutal." He looked a little bit sick as he remembered some undoubtedly awful scene.

"The centaurs don't trust us, of course, and that makes guarding them all the more difficult. It's a mess and a nightmare, but no one outside of the department has really paid attention, because they're only near human. Isn't that just an awful term?" He brought himself under control again, knocking back the glass of water that refilled itself near his bed, holding the glass tightly in his hands, and seeming to speak to it rather than Draco. "None of us know who's going to be next, and I'm not going to let it be-." His thoughts flickered to Victoire, and then to Draco and his mother, as his voice failed him, and his fingers tightened against the cool, smooth glass beneath them. "Draco, all of these people have been under Ministry protection, and yet, something, someone, always manages to get through. It's either one hell of a coincidence-"

But Draco interrupted him. "Harry. I'm sure you've lived long enough to know by now that there are no coincidences, no tricks of Chance." His voice was softer than Harry might have imagined.

"Only people too blind to see the connection," Harry finished, eyes locked on Draco, impossibly wide, and the beginnings of panic not far away. "That means-"

But Draco interrupted him again. "You know as well as I do what it means. What you've suspected since the start of these specialised attacks, but didn't want to see any more than the rest of the Aurors. Someone deeply rooted within the Ministry is orchestrating these monstrous displays of violence, and possibly using others without their knowledge or consent, to assist in carrying it through."

Harry's face was very solemn. "The Imperius Curse."

"The one and the same, Harry. Or even something more sinister." Draco hesitated at first, but slowly, slowly enough that Harry could pull away at any time, rested his palm over the back of the white-knuckled hand nearest him. Harry didn't so much as flinch, though the crystal glass tumbled from his fingers like sand.

What Harry couldn't bring himself to tell Draco, was that, at each of these sites of destruction, it was his team that had been called in to help. And that meant that someone Harry –knew- could be involved, probably was, involved. Maybe even Harry himself. There was more than one way to bend someone's will.

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Meanwhile…

A woman who held herself in high regard, and indeed, with more than half of the respect she deserved, tidied her already tidy desk, and waved a wicked hand to grant entrance to the four persons who waited outside the heavily-ornamented door. She had always been unsuitably vain and self-important, leaving little room for how she viewed the rest of the world.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said softly, indicating the chairs around her with unnecessary pomp and circumstance.

They seemed momentarily confused, before taking the seats allotted them, each marked by a place card bearing his or her name. They did not speak, as they had been given neither leave nor indication to do so. They were so blessedly obedient, which suited her.

"Now that we're all cosy, I wish to discuss the situation which has been brought to my attention." She smiled at them, though she received none in return. "I am well aware of the constraints on your time, and will not keep you overlong. However, something must be done about Harry Potter."

At the mention of his name, one of their number seemed to stir from a waking sleep that overshadowed his every being, but stilled again at the disapproving look she directed his way.

"Now that we have been made aware of the problem, it is now time for us to find a solution that benefits everyone. He has interfered too many times with our mission, and that simply will not do. That is what I wish all of you to think over until next we meet. See that you don't return empty-handed, or I shall be displeased." Even through their stupefied states, none of them cared to see that display again.

She allowed the heavy silence to linger until it coiled about them like a massive, hungry snake, waiting to squeeze the breath and life from them. Only then did she dispel it. "You may return to your families and positions until such time as I request your presence again. You will not speak of this occasion to anyone, as I'm sure you already knew. That will be all."

And so they departed for their distinct destinations, lies at the ready should they become necessary, planted there by their ever-vigilant 'leader.'

A storm was brewing in London, borne on the wings of hatred and fear, and of those in its path, few would survive.