Disclaimer: The usual. We own nothing except what we own, every thing else belongs to other fortunate and infinitely more talented souls than us.
Chapter One: A New Beginning
"The first step, my son, which one makes in the world, is the one on which depends the rest of our days." –Voltaire
This probably wasn't one of her best ideas. She moved forward carefully, trying to keep the pile of books precariously stacked in her arms from falling, and had almost reached the front desk when she tripped over herself and stumbled forward. Bridget managed to catch herself, but she was now clutching the brand new books to her chest, frozen and afraid to move lest she cause the ones balanced at the peak of the pile to topple over.
Her nose itched. This could not be happening to—to—"Ah-choo!"
Bridget opened her eyes carefully; afraid that she'd lost most of the books she'd been carrying. She breathed a sigh of blessed relief when she saw the pair of familiar hands supporting the stack towering over her.
"Are you okay?" the softly accented voice asked. Bridget felt her cheeks begin to heat up.
"Uh, yes," she said. "Thanks, James."
"You're very welcome."
The man straightened up, placing the book on the counter and taking a few of the more dangerously placed books from her arms. He was about 6'1" with a lean, thin, sturdy frame, a mop of barely controlled black hair, and a pair of the most gorgeous green eyes she'd ever seen… eyes that were currently looking at her in a very concerned manner. She flushed; it was hard to think when he was looking at her like that. Of course, she had difficulty concentrating when he was around on even the best of days.
"Um…" Bridget dumped the rest of the books on the counter, checking to make sure that she had the titles she needed. "Is there something I can help you with? Does that friend of yours need another book?"
James Evans had walked into The Bookshop a little over a year earlier, just after she'd arrived, with an utterly hopeless expression and a paper clutched in his hand, and he had never really left, coming by at least once a week with a request or just to browse. Bridget claimed that it was because she'd been the only one to find the book he'd wanted and the poor man had been desperate; Kagumi said he obviously had a thing for her, but just didn't have the guts to do anything about it. Then again, Kagumi also said that she "communed with nature" and her dreams gave her déjà-vu, so not everything could be taken seriously.
"No," he said, taking a seat next to the register on the stool he'd commandeered a month after his first visit, "but I was wondering if that one I ordered last week came in."
"Oh!" Bridget ducked behind the counter, searching for the package they'd received the day before. "Yes, it did; yesterday." She popped back up, book in hand, and gave it to him. "Here you go. And it's already paid for, so, yeah."
"Thanks."
Bridget started sorting the books into stacks according to where they belonged in the 'Shop. She hesitated, halfway through her task, and shot a worried look at James. "Is everything okay? You seem very quiet today." He seemed to be very focused on the inexpensive check-writing pen she had connected to the desk with a rubber band. It normally did not attract such single-minded focus, not even from the easily distracted children occasionally dragged in by harried parents.
"James?"
"Hm?" He dropped the pen back on the desk, glancing around the store as she drew his attention.
"Are you okay?" she repeated, concern now obvious in her voice.
"I'm fine." James tucked the book into his jacket, turning his full attention on her. "Nothing… unusual has happened to you or your flatmate, right? No strange people following you or coming into The Bookshop?"
Bridget shook her head. "No. Everything has been perfectly normal." She frowned. "Is this one of your cop things again?"
"Something like that," he conceded. He handed her a slip of strangely thick paper, his hand lingering in hers for several moments longer than she'd have expected; the contact gave her an odd feeling in her chest. "Just… call me if anything weird happens, even if it seems silly."
"Sure." She smiled. "I'll call even if we're visited by Father Christmas."
But James was completely serious, his green eyes staring at her with intensity she wasn't used to. "Promise me."
"Um, sure," she said, cheeks burning, "I promise."
"You never mentioned how hot she was, Potter," a voice drawled as soon as Harry left the 'Shop (great, Bridget even had him mentally capitalizing the name).
"Shut up, Malfoy," he growled, striding down towards Grimmauld Place. Malfoy easily caught up, nursing his coffee cup as if it were the Holy Grail itself instead of merely his main source of caffeine. "I'm not in the mood."
"You're never in the mood. I think this bookstore bird could help with that. You really need to get laid." Harry tried to ignore him. Sometimes it worked… just not today. "I know she's not exactly a red-head like your former fiery mistress, but auburn should be close enough to satisfy your Oedipus complex. And you may be too much of a Gryffindor to notice it, but your girl is fit. The doe-eyed, blushing innocent thing is a bit much for my tastes, but she seems just like your bottle of Butterbeer."
"She's not my girl. Bridget's just a friend."
"Of course," Malfoy took a long sip of his coffee while Harry waited for him to show his hand; he'd spent entirely too much time with the Slytherin to expect any less, "which is why you rushed off to check on her as soon as someone credible threatened your 'girlfriend.' Why would I even entertain the idea that you might have feelings for her?"
Draco's eyes surveyed Harry as he took another long drink from the cup, sighing contentedly when the caffeine began to hit his system; his waitress had been working today, and for some odd reason, she was the only one there who could make his order perfectly. (Personally, Draco suspected sabotage; perhaps some elaborate form of addictive drugging.) After another glorious sip, he turned his thoughts back to what Potter was saying.
"She's not involved in the War," Harry said shortly. "I just want to make sure it stays that way."
"This bookstore clerk's a Muggle, Potter."
"Exactly," Harry turned to face the other man. "She's defenseless and the only reason she'd be dragged into it is because of me, because I couldn't keep away. Don't you dare tell me it's ridiculous."
"I wasn't going to," Malfoy replied coolly, eyebrows raised. "I was going to suggest that we ward that store of hers and her flat, but I needed you to admit she was in danger first." He pushed pass Harry and opened the door to the Headquarters. "Of course, you do know where she lives, don't you?"
Kagumi sighed deeply, resting her hand on the last coffee machine of the night. Her coworker, Amanda, cast a speculative look at her friend, who was absently playing with the edge of the rag she was holding, a far-away look on her face and a faint tinge of pink on her high cheekbones.
"Gumi? You all right?" the girl's soft Cockney accent was soothing, a thing of familiarity, and brought Kagumi out of the trance she'd been in.
"Yeah, 'Manda. I'm fine, just irritated."
Kagumi finished wiping down the machine and threw her towel into the bucket of water, green eyes narrowed as she remembered the source of her irritation. Amanda shot her an understanding look, smiling knowingly. Since the Irish-American had come to London a little over a year ago, they'd become good friends; Amanda knew most of her little quirks by now, and that look only meant one thing: the blond looker who came in and gave her a snarkily hard time was on her mind.
"Is it him again?" the girl's teasing was nothing new, so Kagumi shoved her very gently and turned the lock on the front door. Her eyes slid automatically to the second table on the right, where he normally sat. "Mm-hm," Amanda said, her little smile stretching into a full-blown smirk as she finished up the sweeping. "You've got it bad."
"I've got nothing bad," Kagumi shot defensively. She had the same argument with Gregory, her favorite cashier, all the time, as well as with Jet whenever she happened to mention Him.
It really wasn't as often as her friend implied. Simply couldn't be. Surely she would have noticed if it was that often.
"Gumi, love, just admit it. You're obsessed! I mean, he comes in and puts you in a bad mood, or he doesn't come in and still manages to put you in a bad mood. You're not happy unless you can gripe about him," Amanda said, giving her friend a wide-eyed look of innocence that would fool no one.
"All right, all right!" Kagumi threw her hands up in defeat. "You win. I might be a little obsessed. But it's more like I want him to notice me as more than just his waitress. I mean, even if it's just as a, 'Oh, hey, I sorta know you, but not really. How've you been?' You know?
"But no, the smarmy little git can't even be human for five minutes. I'm not even sure why I want him to notice me." Kagumi's voice was soft, and very uncertain. Amanda threw her arm casually over her friend's shoulder and gave her a one-armed hug; she was positive that Kagumi hadn't been in many relationships, or else she'd see the looks the boy gave her when he thought she wasn't looking. In fact, as far as Amanda knew, Kagumi had mentioned all of three people she'd ever fancied (a dance partner, an old schoolmate, and a pilot; though with the pilot, Gumi's eyes were so haunted, no one ever pushed for more details and no one dared ask about the thin steel chain she never took off), which was unusual in a twenty-one year old of her looks.
"Gumi, I'm sure that he knows you as more than a waitress." When Kagumi shot her friend one of her infamous Looks, Amanda shied away a bit. "See, the girls and I have a—"
"If you say that you've got a pool going, I will have to shove you into the cooler." Kagumi's flat expression was worthy of the word deadpan.
"All right, so I won't say it."
"That's it." Kagumi took her friend by the arm, and wrestled her out the door; it was a common practice among the two night shift workers. Both women were laughing by the time they locked the last door, and Amanda waved goodbye as she took off down the alley and Kagumi was left alone with her thoughts and recollections of the day.
Stupid prat; doesn't even tip when I make his coffee just the way he likes it. I mean, that's one of the things that got me my raise: I remember all of my regulars, and the way they like their orders... orders and… wait a tic, do I hear footsteps? Kagumi tore her thoughts away from the tall, smooth-talking blond who never failed to infuriate her to scan her surroundings. Shivering, she didn't feel as alone as she had a moment ago.
Even though she took this walk often enough (every day, twice a day), to know exactly where she was, for some reason she was nervous; something was wrong. Kagumi surreptitiously looked at the flickering shadows around her and noticed a hulking shape dogging her footsteps. Keep it cool, keep it cool... The mantra repeated in her head, and she struggled to keep her breathing even.
Maybe it was her flatmate's repeated worries from her constable friend, or maybe it was being alone in London, where she still wasn't entirely at home, but being followed on her way home from work scared her more than anything else ever had. And, coming from a complicated family life and the southern (mostly Irish) side of Madison, Wisconsin, and parts of Ireland that never made it to the little travel brochures, she didn't scare easily.
This, however, terrified her.
As she turned the corner, she was able to shoot a quick, covert glance over her shoulder; the man following her looked more like a bouncer at an American nightclub than a stalker: he was about six-two, a little on the heavy side, though it looked to be all muscle, and had short brown hair. No, it wouldn't do to have him catch her. He'd likely break her neck as ask for the time of night.
Time of night? Why, I do believe it's time to disappear, a rather adventurous side of her answered wryly. She didn't ask why it sounded like the git who never tipped, but took the advice just the same.
Good advice was good advice, after all.
Kagumi quickened her pace, pulling her leather jacket tighter at the collar, trying very hard to make it seem like she just wanted to get home because of the slight nip in the air. Although it's still early fall; there shouldn't be this much chill. I mean, it should be cool and a little misty, but not...cold. She blew her breath out, and watched it puff in a small cloud before finally turning onto her street. She'd never known that an elegant little building could be so very comforting. Nonchalantly, Kagumi swung herself easily onto the steep stairs, and watched the hulk of a man stand at the street corner before turning and walking into another alley.
Bridget set the knife down, hands shaking so badly she couldn't even bring herself to pretend that Gumi's typical, rather loud methods of opening the door (also known as slamming, or quite possibly breaking down) hadn't startled her. Normally, she would have just written off James's concern— her father had been a police officer, too, and she knew they could be paranoid about everything, especially with friends and family— but James was usually much more laid back about this sort of thing.
She hadn't even realized he was an officer until some idiot had tried to rob her (A bookstore? Really. If there was ever a more ridiculous place to rob…) while he was on his way to visit, and she usually could spot his sort a mile off. If he was really worried enough to make her promise to call whenever something strange happened, at any time of day, then she should probably be worried, too.
"Bridget?"
She jumped, nearly upending the entire chopping board, and spun around to face her friend, who had just entered the kitchen. Bridget took in a deep breath, one hand to her chest as if to catch her pounding heart as it leapt from her ribs.
"Don't do that," she muttered, still breathing heavily.
"Are you okay?" Kagumi asked, setting her bag on the counter and taking the knife and cutting board from her friend. It was good to have something that needed to be done; it kept her mind away from the rather frightening incident, and she was able to calm down and be herself again. Having someone else to take care of always soothed her, even if it was only fixing dinner.
"I'm fine," Bridget said with a crooked smile. "I'm just a little jumpy."
"No kidding." Kagumi washed her hands in the sink and took over for Bridget, while the other girl pulled up one of their kitchen stools and put her head in her arms. "What's wrong?"
"Nothin'," she replied, voice muffled by her arms.
"Don't give me that, Jet!" threatened Kagumi, waving the knife. "It is not nothing and you will tell me what is bothering you."
"Or what?" came the muffled reply. It actually sounded like a question, without the slightest hint of challenge in her voice, which just showed how tired the girl really was, and it threw Kagumi off a bit.
"Or I'll... I dunno, eat all the food myself." Kagumi had to laugh; her five foot one frame could barely hold her eight stone six weight as it was. Bridget chuckled a little and raised her head, propping her chin on her hand and glaring in a way that seemed more tired than dangerous.
"James said something that worried me today. It's not that big of a deal."
"Oh? Did he finally buck up and ask you out?" Teasing was good, Kagumi reflected, roughly chopping the rest of the vegetables. Teasing was normal in their house.
"No!" Bridget sighed. "God, do you think of nothing else?"
"Nope," she said, popping one of the vegetables in her mouth before dumping everything in the pan to make the stir-fry. "I have a bet with Greg as to how long it'll take you two. If you don't hurry up, I'll lose. Five pound, fifty p if you must know, and it's rising every day."
"Gee, thanks," Bridget deadpanned. "I'm glad to be of service."
"So…" Kagumi turned around, a flash of something in her eyes as she studied her friend's body language. Bridget peeked one eye open and sighed; she forgotten what it was like to have the Irish girl's full attention. She imagined that it was probably quite like receiving her own full attention. "What's really going on with Bookshop Boy?"
The girl groaned, letting her head drop into her hands again; Gumi was relatively sure she was chuckling. "You make him sound like a lame superhero."
Kagumi grinned. "Who knows? He might just be the hero you're looking for." She flipped the food in the pan with an ease that most line-chefs would envy. "If we could all be so lucky," she grumbled, hoping her friend couldn't hear her.
"Oh, shut it." Apparently, she hadn't heard the statement. "He just asked if anything weird had happened to us recently, and said to be careful. I'm probably making a big deal out of nothing."
"Hm," Kagumi's hand paused where it was stirring the vegetables and meat, and she took stock of her friend's mental state. No, it probably wouldn't be wise to tell her what had happened on her way home; there was no reason to worry her over nothing. And she was determined to treat just as that: nothing. "You're right. He was probably talking about those weird vandals; the ones that almost destroyed that street last week; betcha they still don't have any leads on what caused it."
Kagumi crept quietly into Bridget's bedroom, noticing that her laptop was still on. Good, that means she fell asleep doing homework and likely won't wake up soon... Casting her eyes about, Kagumi quickly found what she was looking for lying on her friend's desk. Seizing the thick scrap of paper, the girl stepped lightly out of the room, headed for the phone.
Even though it was past midnight, she didn't have to work the morning shift at the Coffee Pot and Kagumi was still wide-awake. She'd tried washing nearly every dish in their flat, but that only left her mind free while her hands were busy. Late night telly had held little interest and she wasn't able to write with herself so pent up.
Finally, she'd settled on rearranging the living room as quietly as possible and was halfway done when she'd remembered that this James fellow was a cop. And he sounded like the type of officer who worried too much, which was a definite plus around Bridget. So if a cop worried too much about someone he seemed quite keen on protecting, what did he do?
Give her his phone number, of course.
And that was why Kagumi was standing in the middle of a furniture pile-up, holding their cordless phone in one hand and the paper in the other, really hoping that her friend hadn't managed to snag a random guy's phone number as well as an up-and-coming policeman. For the fifth time, she dialed the numbers, and actually let it ring this time. She blew out a deep breath of immense relief when she heard "This is Detective Inspector James Evans. Please leave your name, number and a brief message, and I will get you in the queue as soon as possible."
There was a loud, shrill beep.
"Inspector Evans, my name is Kagumi Pheonix. I'm Bridget's flatmate. Um, I know that you told her to call you if anything strange happened, but she's passed out about now—well, she fell asleep, and it didn't happen to her, anyway. Although, really, much as I adore my mate, I'm not entirely sure she'd notice if something strange were to happen to her. Oh, and I really should thank you for finding Snuffy. She'd die without him, I think."
Kagumi took a deep breath, knowing that she was babbling. It rather irritated her that some random guy up to no good could shatter her cool like this. "I apologize for my babbling, Inspector, but I was followed home tonight. And I'm rather frightened. I can give you a good description, but if you're intent on protecting Bridget, and by extension, me, then I suggest you find a reason to come over as soon as humanly possible. Good night." Hand still shaking a bit, Kagumi hung up the phone and went back to rearranging furniture after replacing the parchment (who used parchment?) on the table in Bridget's room, finally falling asleep just as the orange London sun peeked its way over the top of the neighboring building.
Bridget walked in the next morning, yawning, to find a sight that was getting more and more common over the weeks. Kagumi was curled up, rather like a little cat, in between the arms of her favorite reading chair. The living room looked entirely different, and the area rug had been rolled up and placed near the door. It wasn't really all that surprising. Kagumi tended to do that, had done it ever since Bridget had first moved in with the girl, but what worried Bridget was the lavender-colored smudges underneath the girl's eyes. She only did nighttime housework when she was stressed.
How late was she up? Bridget wondered, taking a quick look at the kitchen, which was piled up with merrily sparkling dishes waiting to be put away. I wonder what's got her so stressed out?
Bridget took one of the newly clean mugs, poured some milk in it, and set it in the microwave, also starting the coffee pot (without coffee, Kagumi would never be awake enough to do anything), and feeding Snuffles like she did every morning. A minute later she was sipping her hot chocolate as her large, white, golden-retriever German shepherd mix was trying to push her out the door with his nose.
"I'm going, Snuff, I'm going," she grumbled, looping his leash around one wrist and trying to balance her mug and book with her other hand.
With Harry close on his tail, Draco stepped out of the dim Muggle building that housed the entrance to the Auror Headquarters. It was a little past dawn; the partners had just pulled another night shift. They were just turning the corner to find a safe spot to Apparate home in when Harry's pocket began to buzz.
"Do you now carry bees in your pockets, Potter?" Draco asked, leaning against the lightpost and doing his best to stay awake. The comment itself was a measure of his fatigue; Draco was usually much more snarky.
"No, it's my mobile, you bloody ponce," Harry muttered, digging in pocket for the vibrating phone. He'd turned it on just a few minutes ago; there was no way it had sunk all the way down in the mess of stuff in his pockets, right? Just as he found it, he saw the voicemail light blinking, and an unfamiliar number flashing across the too-bright screen.
With ice cascading into his stomach, Harry called the voicebox number and listened with growing trepidation as the soft, Irish-accented voice described a genuine problem.
"What's going on?" Draco asked, finally budging from his spot. "You look a little…green."
"Bridget's flatmate was followed on the way home. She said he stopped at the corner and watched her all the way inside."
"Well, is she pretty? Lots of guys watch pretty girls leave."
"All the way to their house? Besides, I've no idea," Harry shrugged. "Never met her."
But then he got a certain, familiar look on his face and Draco groaned. "Oh, you can't be thinking what I think you're thinking!"
"I knew you were thinking it," Malfoy accused as they walked towards Bridget's flat. "I just knew it. I can't believe you convinced me to do this."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You're the one who suggested it."
"Yes, but I thought you would take a few days to figure out where she lived, and you could get Weasel to go with you." Malfoy sighed heavily, and Harry resisted looking back to see if he was acting as dramatic as he sounded. "I never expected that you would have actually been there before; you're not the one night stand type."
"It wasn't a one night stand." Harry's defensive tone only left Malfoy grinning in the early morning air. "Or anything more... drawn out. At least not the way you're thinking."
"Then what was it?" he paused for a second, taking into account his partner's nature. "Oh, God, you were being chivalrous again, weren't you? Weasel can't quite manage his bit, so you double up to keep the Gryffindor status quo." Harry could tell Malfoy was grinning. There was no way this could end well. "It was, wasn't it? What? Did you save her cat from a tree?" He didn't say anything; which probably wasn't the best idea. "Oh, Merlin, tell me you didn't."
"I didn't." Harry sighed, realizing that he had no other way out of this. "She lost her dog."
Malfoy let out a sharp laugh. "That's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."
"Shut up, Malfoy. We're here."
The two men looked up at the apartment and Malfoy whistled. "You're trying to tell me that a bookstore clerk lives here?"
Harry looked up at the building, which he hadn't really taken notice of since the first time he ended up there. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but the building was very nice, and Bridget and her flatmate were the only tenets. It had at least three floors, and was brick with traditional white-trimmed windows and a large, thick wooden door.
"Well, she has a flatmate and technically she owns The Bookshop."
"Maybe your taste doesn't need as much work as I thought, Potter." Draco whistled slightly through his teeth as he looked at the well-kept gardens and old-style lampposts. "Right," he drawled, starting for the door, "let's get this over with."
"James?"
Harry spun around. "Bridget?" She was standing right outside her door, wrapped in a bathrobe, and blinking tiredly at him. Snuffles was sniffing around a tree down by the sidewalk, his leash trailing behind him.
"James, what are you doing here?"
"Um… walking."
"Brilliant, Potter," Malfoy whispered behind him. "We had the evening shift," he said to the girl. "Thought we'd walk back to our flat this way."
"Oh, I'd forgotten that you lived near here." She sounded half-awake, and her hair was a mess, completely unrestrained for the first time since Harry had met her, falling over her shoulders in soft auburn waves and framing her fair-skinned face with her big, brown eyes and full, pink lips— He was having difficulty focusing. "Where is that again?"
"Where's what?"
Bridget frowned, and Harry knew that Malfoy was rolling his eyes. Luckily, she still seemed to be half-asleep and would probably write off her confusion. "Your flat?"
"Oh, right up the street, a few blocks down."
She took a long sip out of her mug and put it down on the concrete steps next to her in an almost absent-minded way along with a thick, leather-bound book. Bridget called Snuffles over, the dog having finished his business, and took his leash, strolling down the steps towards them with her hands shoved deep into her robe pockets. When the girl reached them, Malfoy stuck his hand out.
"I'm Drake, James's partner."
Bridget smiled, and shook his hand. "I'm Bridget Griffins; I run The Bookshop. James helped me find Snuffles here once," she gave Harry a blinding smile that made the five-hour search for her dog in the freezing cold London rain worthwhile, "and he's my most frequent customer."
"Yes, I know. I've heard a lot about you." Harry dug his elbow into Malfoy's side, but the other man ignored him. "You're just as pretty as he's said."
Harry felt his cheeks heat up, but was mollified when he saw that Bridget was having a similar reaction… and glancing at him every other second, not the other Auror. At least he knew there was something, even if it was only embarrassment. It would have been so much worse if she had just laughed it off, or only had eyes for Malfoy. That... Harry wasn't sure what he would do if that were the case.
"Did anything happen after I left the 'Shop?" he asked, attempting to ignore the way Malfoy was bribing the dog with a biscuit (they'd learned early on to keep dog biscuits and cat treats on their person at all times—you never knew when they would come in handy).
"Nope," she replied, shaking her head, "not even a customer. It was a slow day. But that's okay; gave me time to do homework."
"All right," he said. Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly, unsure where he was going next wit this conversation. Then Bridget stumbled into him the exact same time something wrapped around the back of his legs, and pulled his feet out from under him. He fell, cracking his head on the sidewalk right before Bridget fell on him.
"No, Snuffles!" the girl scolded as she rolled off him to untangle their legs from the leash. "Bad boy. I'm sorry, Ja—oh God, are you okay?"
Harry was feeling a little dizzy from hitting his head against the sidewalk, but at her horrified look, he touched his nose. His fingers came back bloody. This was all Malfoy's fault; he wasn't sure how he'd done it, yet, but—it was those damn dog biscuits!
He let his head fall back on the curb and closed his eyes. Malfoy was going to pay for this.
"James?"
Bridget's panicked call brought him back and he pushed himself up, ignoring the spinning sensation that came with it and the fact that she wasn't more than a few centimeters away from him.
"I'm fine," he said, trying to give her a reassuring smile. "I've had much..." Bridget leaned forward, an intense look on her face, and carefully trailed her fingers down his cheekbones, and around the bloodied area, pushing his chin up to get a better look. She tilted her head, frowning thoughtfully, and Harry realized that he'd trailed off, "worse."
"You are not fine! James, you're bleeding." Her eyes widened, latching onto his. "Oh, did I do that?"
"Um, yes, I think so." Bridget gave him an upset look, absolutely mortified, and he quickly added, "But that's okay. It's not even broken."
"It may not be broken, sweetheart, but it's bleeding. Come upstairs, and I'll take care of it."
Before Harry was entirely aware of what was going on, she and Malfoy had pulled him onto his feet and he was leaning heavily on the girl. He must've hit the ground a lot harder than he thought, and he was pretty sure he was seeing double. Although the idea of two Bridgets was a nice one. He grinned slightly, and Bridget shot him another worried look.
"I'll keep your pup company down here," Malfoy said. Harry tried to ignore the self-satisfied smirk curving his partner's lips as Bridget steadied him from leaning the other way again; it didn't work as well when he was injured.
"Just come," Bridget said, taking a deep breath, as she fished through her pocket for her keys with one hand, "come on inside when you're done. I'll leave the door unlocked."
Harry was going to kill Malfoy... as soon as he could figure out which one was real.
Bridget didn't know how this had happened. James was sitting at her dinner table at six in the morning, holding a rapidly darkening handkerchief to his nose. She hurried off to get another cloth, searching through the drawers for a handful of the unfortunately white rags. She made a mental note to buy more dark colored cloths; it would save on bleach.
"What's going on?"
She turned around. "Gumi, will you stop startling me?"
"Sorry," her friend replied in a very unapologetic tone. Bridget rolled her eyes. "Who's the guy in the dining room?"
"That's, um," Bridget steeled herself for the inevitable reaction from her flatmate and tried to convince her cheeks not to turn pink, "that's James."
Gumi, who wasn't normally at her best in the mornings, suddenly looked much more alert than was usual that early on. She pushed the door open a few inches, and peered around the doorframe at the man. "Oh, Jet, he's cute."
"You can't even see his face," she replied, brushing past Kagumi with the rags, some ice, and a first aide kit in hand. "I bloodied his nose. He might have a concussion, too; he seemed a little... confused."
"Really? What did you do?" The yawning girl gave her friend a wide-eyed look of feigned innocence; Bridget sighed, and decided that truth was the easiest option.
"I may or may not have, um, fallen on him." At Gumi's incredulous, though hardly surprised, look, Jet glared. "I blame Snuffles."
"Oh, sure, blame the dog." Kagumi yawned widely again, eyes watering; she didn't look much better than she had when Bridget had woken up. "Still, anything requiring more than a bandage, a cuppa, and some aspirin, and I'm out of my league. Ask him if he wants breakfast while I'm in here."
Bridget sighed, strode into the dining room and deposited her supplies on the table. Gently, she pulled his hand away from his face. "I'm fine," he protested, attempting to wave her away. "I've had much worse."
"Either you're lying to make me feel better, or you get into way too much trouble." She took one of the damp rags and started wiping the blood away, holding his arm down. "You're covered in blood and gore, and your pupils are sluggish. You are nowhere near fine."
"I'm not?"
"No. Yes. I don't know; I'm an English major, not Pre-Med. But you'll get there soon enough. Look," Bridget smiled triumphantly, plopping the rag on the side, "I already got most of the blood off. Now, how do you like your eggs?"
"You are not going to feed me after I bled all over you," he said, pinching his nose gingerly.
"Right. I'm afraid you have two choices here, hon," Bridget said as she gently cleaned the blood off of his hand. She looked up at him, her eyes lit up with amusement. "Either you can argue with me and eat it cold-- and I guarantee you will eat it-- or you can be a big boy and tell me what you want. Now, how do you like your eggs?"
Harry sighed, he knew better than to argue when her voice sounded like that and she was only in her pajamas (it was unfairly distracting), and grumbled an answer, feeling very cornered in.
Kagumi left Bridget behind in the kitchen, simultaneously cooking some eggs, toast, bacon, and sausage and humming vaguely to herself. She shifted the extra coffee mug into her free hand and pushed the door open with her shoulder.
She placed the mugs on the table and took up the nearest seat. "Detective Inspector Evans?" she inquired. This early in the morning, her brogue was a bit more pronounced and he lowered the cloth from his face and gave Kagumi a searching look. He seemed much sharper than Bridget had given him credit for. Then again, Bridget didn't fancy guys without a brain, not counting that one guy in school; that one was just... she shook her head and made herself focus, difficult as it was. The sleep deprivation was beginning to catch up on her.
"Yes, I'm James Evans." He wiped the blood from under his nose. "Miss Pheonix?"
"Yes. I brought you some coffee. I wasn't sure how you liked it, though. Or if you preferred tea."
"Coffee. In the morning, at any rate. Black's fine."
"Yes, there is little life without coffee," she smiled tightly. "Aside from Bridget, who I consider to be a freak of nature. My brothers used to call it my human juice, since I wasn't what they deemed human before my first cup."
"You'd get along well with my partner, then." Or kill him, thought Harry. And wouldn't that be amusing to see? "He is exactly the same way. You risk death if you try to talk to him before his two cups." They shared an amused look, before Kagumi gave up and decided to get to stop beating around the bush.
"I was wondering," Kagumi asked, her light tone belying the worry that had plagued her dreams, "if you'd gotten the message I left you last night?" Her quick eyes made sure that Bridget wasn't in hearing range; she really didn't want her friend worrying more than was absolutely necessary.
James nodded. "Yes, I got it this morning; in truth, it's why I was heading this way. And I must say, you sounded tired."
"No, I was frightened. That's a bit different. And tired, but still."
"Still. You said someone followed you?" His green eyes narrowed as she described her stalker the night before, and she found herself unaccountably nervous. Taking a long drink from her mug to try to ease the sudden dryness of her mouth, she lowered her eyes to the steaming coffee she had brewed strong enough to bite. Obviously uncomfortable, she fiddled with the mug in her hands until the handle was exactly parallel to the edge of the table and looked up. He seemed ill at ease, and kept checking his back pocket as if for something that wasn't there.
"Forget it on your desk?" she asked kindly, knowing how it was to feel naked and exposed without something familiar.
"Forget what?" he asked, throwing her a sharp look, trying to read her face. There was no way she could possibly know.... They were just Muggles, after all. Weren't they?
"Well, I assume you must've left your badge at the office or something. You keep checking your back pocket for it," she smiled knowingly. He blushed a little, and wouldn't meet her eyes. Good thing Malfoy wasn't here to see that reaction. Little git probably pinched it from my pocket.
"Something like that..." he muttered, forcing his hand down to the table. She smiled and drank from her mug when he caught her eye. "Do you smell something burning?"
"Gumi!" Bridget called from the kitchen, and it was shortly followed by a high-pitched beeping noise. Kagumi sighed.
"Here we go again... I'll be right back," Kagumi told the man. He was already on his feet, and she tried to give him a reassuring smile. "It's just some smoke. Happens all the time." His eyes widened; Kagumi realized that that probably wasn't the most comforting statement.
"Ow!" came the voice from the kitchen. "Crap!" Shaking her head, Kagumi went to the kitchen to see Jet fighting with a fire extinguisher, battling a smoking mess on the stove.
"Why doesn't this sight surprise me as much as it should?" James asked from over her shoulder.
"Bridget, love, this is the third time since New Year's that you've set our kitchen on fire. And each time you were trying to multitask. What have I told you about multitasking?"
"It's, uh, just another word for messing up more than one thing at a time?"
"And only to multitask on Tuesdays or Thursdays," Kagumi finished an old joke between them.
"It's only one of the rags," she muttered, pouting. "I've never accidentally set food on fire."
"So you tell me."
She grinned. James was staring at her friend with something akin to awe, with the look of a bewildered male trying to figure out how the hell someone covered in extinguisher foam, absent-mindedly patting her still-smoking singed robes, could be so incredibly charming; he shook his head as Kagumi grabbed several rags and shooed them into the dining room. At least there he could moon over her without running the risk of falling on his face. Bridget stuck her tongue out at Gumi and let James lead her out of the smoky kitchen; Gumi responded in kind.
Draco opened the door and took in the comfortable décor of the flat. Potter and the girl were sitting at the table, and it looked like Potter's nose had finally stopped bleeding. He was also pretty sure he could hear someone muttering in another room, but that could be a— what was it called? — oh, yes, a television. Snuffles didn't like the delay, and used his large body mass to push past the man.
"I thought you had a flatmate?" was the first question out of his mouth, and "Why does it smell like smoke?" was the second.
Potter glared daggers at him, as if hoping to Silence him with his eyes alone. Draco shrugged, and leaned against the table, smiling cheekily at his partner. He'd already had coffee, thought it wasn't nearly as good as his waitress's, and bothering Potter as much as possible without actually crossing any lines was high on his to-do list for the day... as it was every day. The furtive glares Potter was giving him was immensely satisfying, as was the way his entire focus shifted to the girl when she spoke.
"She's in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from... well, from a fire… a small fire. I mean it was only a rag and I'm pretty sure I'd have gotten it under control on my own. Then again, I wouldn't have been cooking on my own; I'm not much of a breakfast person."
Potter avoided Draco's eyes, which was wise, because he was feeling quite triumphant. Bridget flushed red, from the neck up, as he looked her over again, trailing Snuffles's leash behind him. The big dog gave the girl a sloppy kiss, then nosed his way into the kitchen, sneezing.
"Oh, don't you make fun of me too!" Bridget called after him; apparently, she had a habit of talking to him. One eyebrow raised, Draco turned to Potter.
"So, Evans, how's the injury?"
"Shut it," Potter muttered. Bridget's gaze dropped to the floor, and Draco used the opportunity to slap something into his partner's hand, shoving his own hand back into his pocket when Bridget looked up. Settling himself quite comfortably with one hip against the table still, he threw his expensive looking jacket over the back of one chair.
"You left that, by the way. Thought you might need it," he said lightly as Harry slipped the wand into his back pocket. He turned to Bridget, who was rubbing her eyes. "May I use your loo?" Wordlessly, she pointed down the hall, and he took off, pulling out his wand in the hallway.
Kagumi cursed once, loudly, and there was a yelp as she nearly trod on the dog.
"Well, get out of my way, Snuff!" she barked, exiting the kitchen with three plates of food.
Bridget's eyes lit up at the prospect of food, and she watched as the other girl put a plate in front of her and Harry, noticing the unfamiliar jacket on the back on the last chair.
"Whose is that?" she asked, cutting a piece off of her French toast but freezing at the foreign object in her territory.
Bridget swallowed her forkful of egg. "James's partner," she responded for Harry.
"Oh damn, I didn't know he was here too. Does he want anything to eat?" she looked at Harry, and he shrugged; truthfully, Malfoy never turned down food, so even if he wasn't hungry, he'd still take it. At his blank expression, Kagumi pushed herself to her feet. Grumbling slightly, she went back to the kitchen as Malfoy came out of the bathroom. Hearing another sharp curse, Bridget went to see what was wrong, and Malfoy sat across from Harry.
"I couldn't find any sort of Surveillance Spell, or Scrying traces. But you should ward the inside here while you're so comfortably ensconced," Malfoy's voice took a turn towards the amused again as Bridget came out with a plate piled high with food. She set it in front of him, smiling when his eyes widened at the selection there.
"She didn't know what you liked, so you got it all, I'm afraid."
Tentatively, (and Harry would reflect that it was one of the few times he'd ever seen Malfoy tentative) he picked up the fork and took a few bites, sighing in satisfaction. When about a fourth of the plate was polished off, which seemed to surprise Bridget, who was giving him a very amused look, Draco looked up and raised one imperatively questioning eyebrow.
"Are you all right?" Bridget asked, looking like she was attempting to suppress a smile. Harry could understand; the man ate like he was half-starved.
Malfoy swallowed the food in his mouth. "Fine. Grand. Smashing," he said thickly; there was a piece of scrambled egg hanging from the side of his mouth, which he slurped back in and washed it all down with a taste of Harry's coffee; Harry glowered and grabbed the mug back.
"And the food is...?" Bridget asked, looking far too amused by the give and take between the two partners. Draco proved exactly why when he knocked Harry's arm out of the way, seized the mug and guzzled about half of it.
"You know, there's a pot in the kitchen, Black."
"Yes, but that would involve me actually getting up and getting it, wouldn't it, Evans?"
Harry snatched his mug back, sending the plate nearly flying as the two constables grappled over it; it was only Jet's smirk, which Harry caught as he was being dangled by his collar off the edge of the table, that made him give in and disappear back into the kitchen for another mug of coffee. As Harry sat back down, fresh steaming mug in hand, Bridget asked Draco how the food was again, as the original question had been lost in the grappling.
"Excellent." He ate a few more bites, drank some more coffee and then looked to Bridget, who was fiddling with the cup of cocoa in front of her. "Well, I hate to say this, but I got a call from downtown a few moments ago," ("In the loo?") "and I have to go back soon. But," Malfoy's voice took on a triumphant tone, "since Evans here is injured," Harry made a face at him, "he should stay and recuperate." Taking the plate and saying that he'd drop it off at The Bookshop later, Harry's partner opened the front door and let himself out.
"Meaning that I get to do all the paperwork," Harry groaned, poking despondently at the remains of his food. Bridget gave him a sympathetic smile, and Harry remembered how much she would avoid her own paperwork at The Bookshop, usually getting one of her employees to do it for her. It made him feel slightly better.
Kagumi came back in the room with fresh coffee for herself and Harry, looking around. "The coat's gone; did your partner leave?" Harry nodded, taking another bite to prevent himself from saying something stupid.
"Well," she declared, sitting down to finish her French Toast, "he'd better bring my plate back. Or he'll meet the business end of my skillet." Harry snorted briefly into his tea, utterly amused by the idea of Kagumi taking a skillet to Malfoy; it was a desire he could deeply sympathize with.
Author's Notes: Well there it is, the first full length chapter installment of Per Vultas Vas, from here on out known as PVV. (Note: Per Vultas Vas is a rough translation of the phrase Through the Looking Glass. Fitting? We think so.)
Question or comments, feel free to review! Reviews make us feel ultimately guilty, so we write faster. Flames will be used to make more coffee for Draco, thereby avoiding potential disaster and homicide. (After all, we can't afford to bail him out of jail, and Harry refuses to break him out of Azkaban.)
~Gumi
EDIT: Thank you for all the wonderful review we recieved for the first time we posted this. We're sorry to pull the rug out from under you like this, but we figured it would be better to do so early, at this stage, rather than later when everything has really had time to settle. ~Gumi