Chapter 7: Of Dogs, Birds and Animagus
Draco wasn't sure how he ended up in Dartmoor. He hadn't consciously decided to Apparate to the national park wedged between Exeter and Plymouth rather than onto the outskirts of Smittson's View, but nonetheless found himself cracking into existence in the pitch black moors at eleven thirty at night.
He put it down to the conversation he'd shared with Harry. That, and his sudden remembrance in the instant before Apparation that Weasley's Patronus was a dog.
The moors suddenly seemed like the place to be that night.
What Draco was most surprised at, however, was that contrary to the specifications his subconsciousness would have undoubtedly set, he did not find himself in front of the Two Bridges Hotel that was nestled in the heart of the moors. He knew from both his brief inclusion in researching the region and from Harry's offhand words that the tidy little hotel was the relay point for trips into the area. It had become something of a convenient port of call for extended missions or night stays.
Draco could only make out the distant twinkle of artificial lights a significant distance down the road he found himself standing upon. Around him was instead were stretches of flat blackness embedded with darker splodges of what he could only assume to be huddles of trees and collections of rocks. The darkness of night was so profound that, despite the fog smoking before him with every breath and the icy slickness of the road beneath his feet, the surrounding countryside layered in a blanket of snow was illuminated only faintly grey.
With a shiver in his suddenly minimalistic robes, Draco extricated his wand and muttered a Warming Charm. Heat flooded through him and eased his tensing muscles, allowing him to consider his situation once more without the added weight of compressing chills. Which was when he noticed the Anti-Apparation wards.
Every member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was forced to undergo a series of particular training sessions. These courses ranged from basic relaying of information and how to adequately draft reports in succinct language to a range of shield charms and basic healing. Even the Investigatory sub-department, Draco included, had to know how to defend oneself.
One such lesson was in the detection of magic. It was by and large expected that every Auror and Investigator was able to notice traces of magic, to deduce potential spells from the density of those traces and the presence of Dark magic, and to detect lingering charms that remained suspended without the direct presence of the caster. Experienced or particularly sensitive individuals could even detect magical signatures, to correlate the traces of one spell with another by the 'flavour' that remained behind like a fingerprint. It was because of these lessons of which Draco thoroughly approved of that he noticed the Anti-Apparation wards at all. Such as the one hanging directly before him like an invisible curtain in the frozen air.
He prodded at the ward with his wand, feeling the faint, tell tale tremble of magic as he eased the tip through. Well, that would explain why he hadn't been able to Apparate to the hotel. From the looks of it, the wards domed directly over the site. The owners of Two Bridges were Muggle but had been working in conjunction with wizards and witches for years, so it wasn't to preserve their ignorance in excluding nearby Apparations entirely. Meaning it must be for protective purposes.
Which also meant both that the situation had become more severe and the knowledge of the target location more refined in the days since Draco had last been in the loop. That understanding vexed him a little, even knowing that it was not his place to become involved in the field.
Draco didn't know exactly what he'd intended to do, but whether, given time, he would have continued down the road towards Two Bridges or simply Apparated to Smittson's View once more he didn't know. And wouldn't know, either, for before he could make any decision a deep, dark echo of magic erupted from behind him.
Since the war, Draco had wondered if he was perhaps more sensitive to Dark magic than most. Perhaps he noticed it more than others, was more in tune to it due to overexposure in the war, but for whatever reason he'd always found himself to be quite partial to recognising traces of its occurrence.
Not that the explosion of magic in the distance behind him could have been easily overlooked by anyone with an iota of sensitivity to magic. Spinning around, Draco felt with his magical senses a tidal wave of magic exploding like a firework in the night. The exact nature of the spell was uncertain, but from the following eruption of Light magic that followed Draco could only assume there was some kind of a battle going on.
Draco had always been quite proud of his self-preservation skills. Subconscious as they were, they had often in the past served him in reacting before he was consciously aware of the danger he was in. There were incidents in the past were that preservation had been subverted, where Draco found himself acting out in an entirely un-self-serving manner, but they were relatively few and far between when considering the overall picture. And most of those incidents, Draco had to admit, involved situations pertaining to Harry Potter. The incident at his manor when he was seventeen, for instance, or their numerous clashes at school, both actively and passively induced by Harry. The situation with a certain hippogriff in third year sprung to mind; Draco was not deluded enough to believe that his inclination to act out had been driven significantly by anything but Harry's actions with the horse-bird earlier in the class.
So in any other situation, Draco was certain that his self-preservation would have kicked him and immediately Apparated him from the moors. However, undermining his most logical of voices was the niggling reminder that it was the Elite squad that was apparently on duty that night, and that Harry was the captain of that squad. And, more importantly, that Harry had received a Patronus messenger from Weasley – on duty in said moors – and had thence disappeared. Was Harry somewhere out in the darkness, battling a Dark witch or wizard? It was unlikely that Draco would be of any assistance – more likely that he would be a hindrance – but just the thought, the very prospect of not knowing, was agitating.
Harry could take care of himself. He was an Elite Auror, so of course he could. But Draco just had to check anyway. No one even knew the nature of the Dark spell casters in the region. They could be anyone, of any skillset. Who knew what the Elites were up against?
So, casting a wordless Lumos to light his way – for he didn't have so much confidence in his ice-skating abilities that he felt he didn't need to watch his step on the slick roads – Draco strode in the direction of the explosive magic and away from the hotel. He kept his eyes fastened on the invisible point of blackness in the night, magical senses open and questing. He even took a moment to cast a Detection Charm at a twenty-meter radius around himself; it would be better to have even a split second of warning of a fired spell or charging assailant than nothing at all.
That charm was the very reason that he froze in step not five minutes later, breath stuttering to a halt and eyes narrowing to peer into the darkness. One… no, two… four magical presences abruptly broke through the sensitive tangle of magical weaves he'd cast around himself. He couldn't discern if they were aggressive, if they were of a Dark or a Light nature. His heart beat loudly in his chest, the sound throbbing in his ears. Calm… breathe… he wasn't trained for this, not for field work, but that didn't mean he was ignorant of what to do.
Grounding his feet, Draco hefted his lit wand. With narrowed eyes, he peered through the darkness towards his potential attackers. His wand barely wavered, hardly trembling only slightly as he directed it defensively before himself. He'd fight if he had to… if he had to, regardless of who they were. Regardless of it they were a –
A… a dog.
Blinking in surprise, Draco's wand arm unconsciously dropped slightly. Trotting into the light of his Lumos was very obviously a dog. Not even a wolf but a large, long-haired dog, its fur nearly maroon for the darkness of the ruddy shade. It approached him head on, barely slowing within five steps and Draco, hardly fond of canines at the best of times, took an unconscious step backwards.
The dog changed, then. It reared on its hind legs, morphing in the nauseating transfiguration that Draco immediately realised was that of an Animagus. Fur retracted disconcertingly into pale skin, knees popping forwards instead of backwards and snout scrunching inwards like a crumpled tin can. Within seconds the tall, broad figure of a man in dark red Auror robes took its place.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Malfoy?"
Weasley. It was Weasley. Somehow, impossibly, Weasley was an Animagus. Admittedly only a shaggy mutt, but still… Weasley? Had Draco not just seen the transformation with his own eyes, he would have believed it impossible. Animagus transfigurations were hard. Impossible for some, even. Draco had never tried – he hardly felt the inclination to transfigure himself into any sort of beast, even knowing that he'd be a respectable one because, naturally, he would be – but he knew it to be true. It was a rare witch or wizard that could achieve it so easily.
The shock of the moment, of the revelation that Weasley was the dog, momentarily floored Draco. It was enough that he was rendered speechless, his mounting concern for the potential confrontation with Dark spell casters forgotten. Because Weasley was an Animagus. He would never have guessed that. Would likely never fully get over his surprise.
Before he could recollect himself, Draco was jolted with another surprise. For trotting up just behind Weasley were another pair of beasts. The hulking black bear was a little hard to miss even in the darkness, and induced an entirely different sensation of nausea in Draco's gut. The dainty deer, picking its way delicately over the icy road, was less so, but still disconcerting. Because if Weasley was an Animagus, then that would likely make the other two similarly Aurors. He doubted that a deer and a bear would otherwise get along quite so companionably; surely the bear would be more inclined to rip one of its companion's haunches off.
And then it clicked.
The Elites. That's what they were? Animagus Aurors? Draco had not seen that coming. Not in the slightest.
"Oi. Malfoy. I asked you a question."
Shaking himself out of his surprised stupor, Draco collected himself and pushed an aloof, condescending expression upon his face. "I am well aware you spoke, Weasley. I merely felt it unnecessary for me to deign to reply to such a statement."
Even in the feebly glowing light of his Lumos, Draco could make out the gradual mottling of Weasley's cheeks. He scowled fiercely, fists clenching and jaw tightening. Draco wondered if the taller man considered hitting him. He'd like to see him try; Draco might not be a Field Auror but he was more than capable of defending himself from such base assaults. Weasley would be tumbling arse over head in an instant should he attempt as much.
Surprisingly, however, Weasley showed remarkable restraint. Casting his eyes briefly heavenward, he took a deep breath. "This is a restricted area, Malfoy. You should know that. It's been posted on the Ministry noticeboard all week."
Draco shrugged in an attempt at off-handedness. "Restricted to the public, yes. I, however, am not the public."
"You and your bloody inflated ego –"
"Kindly leave my very healthy ego out of the conversation, Weasley. It has nothing to do with the situation."
Weasley's scowl deepened. "Shut up, for once, would you? Krax could get you suspended for this."
"I quiver with fear," Draco drawled, disregarding the shiver of discontent that ran through him at Weasley's words. He was correct in that regard. Restricted areas were restricted for a reason. Draco knew this; he'd simply… not altogether considered his actions too thoroughly when very obviously not thinking about the destination of his Apparation. "But, as it happens, I have little inclination to remain here tonight. I, unlike some, am not bound to the miserable duty of scouting for potential Dark witches and wizards. The cold does my disposition no good at all."
As if to punctuate his words, a feather-light snowfall began, sprinkling white blossoms onto them both. The glare that Weasley gave Draco could have melted the snowflakes that settled upon his shoulders. "You do realise that this is actually dangerous, right? I mean, that does actually get through your thick skull, doesn't it?"
"What happened to all of that supposedly in-department amicability, Weasley?" Draco smirked, though if he was being truthful with himself he much preferred the objectionable Weasley to that which appeared nothing if not painfully incontinent whenever in his presence. Weasley was trying for the societal acceptance scheme, but didn't appear to manage it quite so well when away from potentially onlooking eyes. "Should you not be caring for my wellbeing? Encouraging my leave to 'protect myself'?"
"I couldn't give a toss if you want to protect yourself or not," Weasley growled, sounding very much like Draco anticipated the dog his Animagus form took would. "But I'm the one that has to clean up your bloody mess if you get caught in the crossfire –"
"Your concern is touching."
"It's not concern! There's half a dozen bloody Dark magicals out here tonight, and –"
Weasley broke off at the last minute as the deer darted forwards and jabbed him with its nose. Weasley started, glancing towards it and adopting an expression of faint repent. When he turned back towards Draco it was with schooled composure, very nearly masking his obvious disgruntlement. "You really need to leave, Malfoy. It's not safe here, and we need to leave here, too."
"We meaning you and your fellow Elites, I'm assuming?" Draco nodded his head towards the stoic figures of the bear and the deer behind Weasley. The redhead shifted uncomfortably. He didn't reply except to nod his head curtly.
Draco pursed his lips, inclining his head after a moment as though he were indeed the one doing Weasley the favour in obliging. "Alright, Weasley. I suppose to spit in the face of your concern should be the option less gratuitous. Such a road would lead to satisfaction for only one of us."
Weasley's face mottled again briefly, and he opened his mouth to speak before clamping it shut once more. His eyes snapped skyward again, and this time Draco realised that he appeared to be looking for something. Or someone, was more the disconcerting impression. Shaking his head slightly, he spun on his heel. "Whatever, Malfoy. Do whatever you want. But just so you know, I'm letting Krax and Lurring in on this when I check in at the office, and they'll chew you out for it."
"Resorting to schoolyard tattle-tales, Weasley? How juvenile of you," Draco murmured, but he may as well have been speaking to empty air. For Weasley's attention was already thoroughly consumed with his Animagus transformation, the likes of which caused Draco's stomach to rebel, and in seconds the big, red dog took his place. Without a backwards glance he broke into a loping canter and disappeared into the darkness. The bear and deer followed after, only the deer pausing to spare Draco a brief glance before it too disappeared.
Draco stared after them, stupefied, for a moment longer. The looming threat of Dark spell casters should have been enough to drive him to Apparate away from the moors instantly, and if not that then the increasingly heavy shower of sprinkling snowflakes should have. But Draco was still in a state of incredulity.
Weasley was an Animagus.
And the Elites, too. Apparently they were all Animagus. Weasley hadn't confirmed as much, but his lack of denial and his accompaniment was indication enough.
And right on the tail of that, just surfacing with a flooring realisation… did that mean that Harry was too? Harry was an Animagus? All this time, for their years of not-quite-friendship, he'd held such an incredible secret and hadn't told Draco?
It was irrational to think in such a way; Harry had no such compulsion to tell Draco his secrets. And such an enormous secret that was obviously utilised on a confidential basis for his Auror work? No, there was no necessity, and that was disregarding the fact that, despite Draco's best wishes, he and Harry weren't really all that close. But even so, Draco couldn't help but feel disgruntled. It was that rather than the threat of being assaulted by dark spells, of facing Krax's wrath and, even more tiresome, Lurring's disapproving and fixed gaze, that filled his mind as he shook himself from stillness and spun into Apparation.
And it was likely because of that thought that Draco only realised later that he'd detected four presences with his Detection Charm, not three. That realisation was only slow in coming, and disregarded when it eventually did.
TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-
Draco was torn from the depths of his sleep with a start. Swimming groggily into consciousness he pushed himself up in his bed. The incessant tapping, the sharp rap of beak on glass, continued, becoming increasingly demanding and rising in volume.
Blinking into the darkness, Draco thrust his blankets aside and swung himself from his bed. Grabbing for his wand, he cast a hasty Warming Charm on the chilled floorboards beneath his feet followed by a Lumos and a subsequent Tempus Charm.
Two forty-one.
He'd been asleep for barely an hour.
Apparating back to Smittson's View had found Draco caught in a mulling mixture of moodiness and curiosity over the events that had transpired in Dartmoor. Of the Dark witches and wizards, certainly, and their apparent increase in activity, which was interesting enough in itself. Especially considering that neither the identity nor the intentions of the spell casters had yet been identified by the DMLE as far as Draco knew.
But more than that, it was the revelation of the reality of the Elites that left him floored. Images of Weasley as a dog, of the bear and the doe, of Harry and the continued secret of his Animagus form, niggled at him like a birr in his sock. It had taken him what felt like far more than an hour and a half to eventually fall to sleep, even knowing as he logically did that thinking about the situation would do him absolutely no good at all.
So it was with resentment that Draco made his way over to the window and the waiting merlin. Because of course it was Jack. Who else would be so presumptuous as to batter away at his window in the wee hours of the morning, demanding entry?
Sweeping aside the curtains, Draco glared down at the tapping silhouette. Even peering through the window didn't cause Jack to pause in his relentless tapping. "What do you want? You were only here last night. Don't you have somewhere to be?"
There was no reply other than the continued tapping.
Frowning, Draco reached for the latch. His anger shifted with a brief and unexpected flicker of worry. Jack had made a habit of visiting more frequently over the past months, but he had never done so in successive nights. Draco couldn't think of a valid reason for such – surely his belly was still filled with pasta from the previous night – so the only other possibility was that the merlin had somehow injured himself.
And despite himself, despite his fatigue and the disgruntlement he should feel, the thought caused Draco concern.
That concern vanished the instant the window opened. Draco didn't have time to even catch a glimpse of the bird for potential injuries before Jack was upon him. Literally upon him.
In a mad, fluttering attack, the merlin launched himself through the window and towards Draco's face. It was only reflexes that caused Draco to throw his hands up to cover his eyes, preventing a full-blown collision of beak to nose. Stumbling backwards, Draco released a cry that was definitely not terrified and tumbled onto his bed.
Jack didn't relent, even when Draco was lying flat on his back. Still flapping, still batting Draco's head and cheeks and fingers with his wings while his vicious talons scored paper cut-like scratches upon every inch of bare skin, he attacked. The bird was mad. Had become mad, rabid, and noisy with the "ki-ki-ki-ki-ki" that had erupted from him the instant he flung himself through the window.
Draco didn't want to hurt the bird. Or at least, he hadn't wanted to until about thirty seconds ago, when Jack abruptly decided that his face was his latest victim. Shock and confusion gave way to anger in a rapid burst, and with a muttered curse Draco swept his wand in a Repelling Charm. The blast threw the bird from him to tumble across the room.
Panting, Draco lay sprawled for a moment before heaving himself up. Wand still raised, still wary, he peered guardedly at the shadowy form of the merlin on the floor. A Protection Charm sat on the edge of his tongue, quivering in nervous anticipation of use.
It appeared to be unnecessary, however. Whatever fit of madness had overcome Jack had abruptly vanished. By the light of his Lumos, Draco could see the little falcon slumped awkwardly on the floor, wings splayed at an uncouth angle and head bowed. His breaths were so heavy that they inflated his chest in a visible rise and fall. Draco considered that he might have been able to hear them.
"What… the fuck was that?"
It was all Draco could think to say. His breath was a warbling gasp, pitiful and humiliating had anyone been around to hear it. Thankfully, only Jack was in the room, and he looked even more pathetic that Draco felt. Though anger still coursed through him, Draco could at least recognise that.
Shaking his head, he turned his attention to his fingers and clicked his tongue in distaste. A smattering of bloody cuts smeared his pale skin, some deep enough that they still wept blood. Muttering a string of curses at the insanity of animals, Draco resolutely ignored the merlin as he set to healing himself.
When he finished, fingers tingling warmly and Scourgify-ed clean of blood, Draco turned his attention once more towards Jack. The bird hadn't moved except to slow slightly in his gasps. His dark eyes glinted unblinkingly at Draco, expressionless as always but somehow seeming to say so much.
Folding his arms across his chest, Draco felt his face fall into a savage scowl. "I should kill you, bird. You're obviously insane."
Jack made no response.
"This, this is the reason I hate animals. For absolutely no reason you'll take a turn and bite the hand that literally feeds you." No response. "What, was I not fast enough in getting to the window to let you in as per your demands? You were hardly waiting that long, you bloody chicken! And this is my house. You have no reason to complain!"
His anger continued to boil, would have likely risen further, had Jack not chosen that moment to reply. And he did so in a pathetic chirp that Draco had never heard before, a pitiful cheep that was so mournful that it almost sounded apologetic. Sorrow didn't begin to describe that sound. It was entirely too human.
And despite himself, it somehow swept Draco's anger aside. Or maybe that was simply his weariness acting upon the fiery emotion. For now that the heat of the moment had died, the attack stemmed and his assailant effectively subdued, tiredness fell upon Draco once more. The events of earlier that evening, of his minimal sleep and nagging thoughts, all seemed far too much to deal with on top of a bipolar merlin.
Sighing, Draco heaved himself to his feet and stepped gingerly towards the bird. Jack's black eyes followed his progress, but he didn't move, not even to tuck his wings into his body. Still wary, still on the verge of hexing the bird into oblivion and finally wishing it good riddance, Draco slunk into a crouch.
"What the fuck was that?" He repeated.
Jack cheeped that mournful sound once more. He shifted slightly but otherwise made no response.
Shaking his head, Draco closed his eyes and raised his wandless hand to the bridge of his nose. He swore he felt a headache coming on. "You're insane. Utterly insane. And I'm insane for letting you in my house every other night." He cracked one eye open, glaring at the merlin. "You know, most people wouldn't stand for this."
Another cheep, less mournful this time. Draco considered it might have even been in agreement.
"I don't understand you. Are you just going to up and attack me at any given moment now?"
Jack cheeped again, in very definite dissent. Or perhaps that was simply Draco's wishful thinking. Frowning, he dropped his hand from his face. "Now how can I believe you? I've done nothing to deserve such treatment from you; perhaps you'd like the same? Shall I finally lock you out? I do know some very effective Silencing Charms, you know." Draco resolutely ignored the reasoning that, had he wanted to truly silence the merlin he could have done so a long time ago.
To his utter shock, however, Jack replied. He actually replied, in such a manner that Draco felt his eyebrows positively clamber into his hairline. Shuffling into a nestling pose and finally repositioning his wings, Jack peered Draco directly in the eye and gave a very deliberate shake of his head.
No. The meaning couldn't be clearer.
It was only when Draco had the presence of mind to realise his mouth had dropped open that he shook himself from his stupor. Clicking his jaw shut he blinked. "You… you're a smart bird, aren't you?"
Jack nodded. Draco's eyes widened further, stunned. Did birds usually do that? He didn't know, no more than he knew if random attacks upon semi-owners were a routine occurrence. His forehead throbbed, right above his nose in a painful jab; yes, definitely a headache coming on.
"I must be going insane. That, or I'm still dreaming." That sounded plausible. It certainly made more sense than did anything that had befallen him since he'd awoken. From the avian attack to the conversation of sorts… no, Draco didn't want to think about it. Surely, surely it would make more sense the next morning. That and everything else, including Animagus and covert Elitist operations.
Surely.
Turning deliberately away from the merlin, not sparing him another glance, Draco made his way back towards his bed. He closed his eyes mid step and kept them shut as he muttered "Knox", slipped back into his bed, and buried himself firmly beneath his blankets. He'd leave the window open, just in case the apparition of Jack needed to escape, and that would be it.
No more thinking.
Enough.
It was a skill of sorts he'd developed, to deliberately turn his thoughts off. It hadn't worked earlier that evening, being largely sporadic in nature, but perhaps it was the accumulation of too much confusion at once for his mind seemed to happily accept the welcoming embrace of oblivion.
Just before he drifted off to sleep, Draco could have sworn he felt the light, distinctive tread of avian footsteps creeping up his mattress alongside yet not quite touching his cocooned body. He wasn't certain, however, and he would not check.
The next morning there was no sign of Jack. It could have truly been a dream for all Draco knew had it not been for the impression of a merlin-sized shape on the pillow beside his own.
The Floo call from Krax came as Draco was preparing breakfast. It would have been earlier than he usually found himself out of bed on a Sunday morning, except that for once, quite irrationally, he'd risen with the sun. Pausing in the act of smearing butter on bread, Draco strode into his living room to the chiming of the Alert Charm.
Krax's broad, flat face peered up at him through the flames when Draco flicked open the connection. If his eyes were a little sagging and narrowed for lack of sleep, Draco could hardly blame him; the man had likely spent the previous evening becoming thoroughly acquainted with the sweet champagne offered by Our Saint's Hall.
"Malfoy," he began by way of greeting. His voice was gravelly and appeared as sleep-deprived as his face.
"Mr Krax. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Don't play ignorant with me, Malfoy. You're not stupid, and I'm hardly in the mood for it." It was a testament to Krax's said mood, and the earliness of the hour, that he spoke so curtly. Krax was recognised throughout the Ministry at large as being unanimously fair to his employees, and always attempted to be embody the kinder end of the severity spectrum. That morning, however, he appeared positively disgruntled.
Swallowing down the distasteful flavour of unease, Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement. "You refer to my presence at Devon last night?"
"Very perceptive of you, Malfoy."
"Shall I come through to the Ministry, sir?" Draco strove for calm collectedness. One of them had to be, and Krax still seemed at least partially incapable.
Krax sniffed in more of a snort than a delicate display of consideration. "I think that might be best. My office, if you would."
Which was how Draco found himself striding through the atrium of the Ministry at seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. The Ministry was never empty, but given the earliness of the day and the weekend status that saw most people tucked firmly in there beds, it took him trekking through two departments and down two levels before he happened upon more than half a dozen people. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was similarly a ghost town, with only the figure of a scurrying, vaguely familiar face – Draco thought the young woman was a trainee – breaking up the static stillness. It wasn't until he turned the last corner into the hallway ending in Krax's office that he was confronted by someone.
And that someone was Harry.
Harry looked like he hadn't had a whole lot of sleep the previous night either. His face was pale, hair even more unkempt than usual, and the slump of his back against the wall, the folding of his arms across his chest as he stood stationed outside Krax's rooms, bespoke weariness and slight frustration. At what in particular Draco could not quite discern. He was dressed in slightly dishevelled Auror robes, the deep red colour and silver trim of the Elites slightly stained. He looked as though he'd been wearing them for several hours, and Draco had a moment of detached wonder to consider at what point the previous night Harry had changed from his dress robes to his uniform before his attention was captured by Harry's rising gaze.
He wasn't happy. That much was evident. Although anything further than that Draco couldn't discern. Angry? Frustrated? Disappointed? A little sad, maybe? He didn't get a chance to reach any conclusions, for, as though he'd been waiting just inside the door for Draco's arrival, Krax poked his head out of his office and immediately beckoned him in. Draco spared only a moment longer of holding Harry's eyes, keeping his own expression carefully guarded, before slipping past him.
Krax looked even more haggard in person than he did through Floo flames. He, unlike Harry, hadn't exchanged his dress robes for something more suitable for work, and though they too were stained, it was of a different kind. With an impressive sigh that was echoed by the squeak of his chair, he dropped into sitting. Upon urging, Draco did the same.
"So," Krax began, folding his hands across the table before him. He regarded Draco thoughtfully, apparently striving once more to assume on his 'friendly boss' persona than falling prey to allowing the disgruntlement exhibited that morning to seep through.
Knowing full well that Krax's silence was not an invitation to speak – he may have only been into the man's office on a series of remarkably brief situations, and then only in the last year or so, but he knew that much about the man – Draco kept silent. That silence was justified when, with another sigh, Krax continued.
"Why do you do this to me, Malfoy?" Wisely, Draco held his tongue. "As if this situation wasn't tricky enough, what with the bloody coven cropping up…"
"It's a coven, then?" Draco couldn't prevent the words from slipping out, could only press his lips together firmly afterwards.
Krax gave him a flat stare that said he'd pushed him too far. "Don't take advantage of my leniency, Malfoy," he said, and Draco mentally supplanted 'leniency' with 'drunkenness'. "That information is classified. Even in the DMLE we keep our operations as exclusive as possible."
Draco inclined his head in a nod. He'd heard the speech many a time before, both in mocking jest and in utter seriousness. That Law Enforcement operations were to be contained within the bounds of those Aurors and investigators immediately relevant and that any breach in that confidentiality could result in a suspension or even loss of Auror licence. And that those who were granted the gratuitous right to be included would quickly learn the benefits of maintaining such confidentiality. There were those like Harry that disregarded such compunctions on a regular basis – at least when sharing with Draco – but people like him were few and far between. But for most, silence was maintained, or else an employee may find themselves readily and repeatedly assigned to the most boring of rounds on the table.
Like Scouring. Draco hating chasing the pathetic excuses for Dark magic situations on a Hades reading of less than two. Dark magic was still Dark magic, so had to be followed up, but there was little that was less preferable for an Auror. Even less for an investigator, who had to do all of the legwork before the exalted Field Aurors would even sniff at the situation.
"Of course, Mr Krax. I didn't mean to assume. I confess that my previous involvement in investigating the history of Dartmoor's magical incidents left me somewhat intrigued by the situation."
"That's what it was, then? Curiosity?" Krax raised an eyebrow. "You took yourself to a potentially dangerous situation out of curiosity?"
Draco maintained the façade of casual aloofness for which the Mafloy's were once so famed. Surprisingly, Krax never seemed to get annoyed by it. Unlike Lurring, who would develop a very noticeable tick in his right cheek after barely a minute of exposure. Draco loved prodding the spindly man; it was no secret to either of them that they shared little love.
Nodding his head once more, Draco met Krax's eyes. Krax liked that. He believed in honesty and hardworking attitudes, and direct eye contact suggested at least one of those boxes was ticked. "It was, sir. And I have since seen the error of my ways. I understand that it was a rash decision on my part, especially given that the situation appears to have escalated." He didn't need the slight quirk of Krax's eyebrow to know his words were accurate. "But I do believe I acted impulsively. Call it a product of the evening's festivities, if you would."
If Draco had said similar to Lurring, he would have been up for suspension. Even as exemplary and valuable as he was as an investigator, Lurring didn't take kindly to such casual and underhanded approaches. But Krax? No, Krax appreciated bluntness. Draco could tell as much from the faint guardedness of his expression that gradually faded into acceptance.
With a third sigh in as many minutes, Krax nodded his head. "Very well, Malfoy. I'll believe you in this one instance. And I'll let it pass; you weren't the only one to get into a spot of trouble last night, and at least you weren't public in your display."
"Did I perhaps miss a confrontation between Marvough and O'Connelly, sir?"
Krax appeared torn between amusement and frustration. He nodded. "I don't know what it is, but they set each other off. Blew a hole in the wall with a Bombarda, and that'll take more than a simple Reparo to fix." He shook his head. "Bloody idiots."
Draco nodded consolingly, which Krax seemed to appreciate for he actually gave something of a smile when he continued. "You know what this means, though, Malfoy. I've got no other choice."
Thinning his lips, Draco took a moment to reply. "It's that serious, sir?"
"It is. The situation is truly becoming… quite an exceptional case." Krax raised a hand to rub wearily at his forehead. "Without revealing more than necessary, I can say that the operation has become concerning." He frowned at the distant wall over Draco's shoulder for a moment, thoughtful, before turning back to him. "So. Which is it, Malfoy? Keep or Forget?"
It was a common turn-a-phrase amongst Aurors and Investigators. More correctly known as the Oath or Obliviate Precautionary Method, it ensured through magical means that confidentiality was maintained in classified operations. And this on the flip side of discovery; one would either provide a binding oath that encouraged muteness and a telling infliction of facial hives and incessant twitches in those that sought to break it, or a fool-proof and highly recommended Obliviate option. Many objected to the masking of thoughts – for who truly wanted their memories tampered with? – but it was often considered preferable due to its temporary nature, being removed after the completion of the relevant operation. In contrast, the Oath was eternally binding. Controversial though the procedure may be to many, it was written into the contract of each and every employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that such repercussions would be instilled when necessary.
It was a tough call, silence or forgetfulness. Tough for most.
"I know it's a tough call," Krax conceded, mirroring Draco's thoughts. "If you'd like to take a moment, I won't resent you –"
"Oath, sir."
It was not, however, a difficult decision for Draco. Face ignorance, with the knowledge that something had been removed from his thoughts, over simply keeping silent on a matter that would largely hold no relevance to most people? There was no question which option he'd choose. The few people he may consider possible conversation partners would have little interest in Dark magic being conducted at the other end of Britain. It was hardly a choice at all, really. Besides, Draco coveted his memory all too much for that.
Krax snorted a chuckle. "Somehow, I think I might have guessed you'd choose that." Leaning back in his seat, he tugged open a drawer and fumbled around for a few moments before pulling out a sheaf of crinkled papers and a polished white rod of unicorn ivory. An antique, Draco knew; it had been decades since unicorns were poached for their horns, despite the sheer magnitude of magical uses the ivory possessed.
Krax held out one end of the foot-long rod to Draco. From his casualness, both in extricating it from his desk and wielding it, no one would guess that the Oath Rod was one of the most important magical artefacts in the Ministry. Draco knew better. The gesture being self-explanatory enough, he reached out and took the other end.
Glancing down at the papers before him and spreading them with one hand, Krax's brow crinkled. He skimmed the minute lines of script for a few moments, flipping through the instructional pages – the Oaths apparently varied depending upon the situation at hand – before his face cleared and he settled back in his seat slightly. "Right. Here we go. Erm…" He paused, glancing once more at the papers, before speaking again with a modicum more of formality. "Draco Malfoy, do you swear to breathe not a word to those not of Law Enforcement status pertaining to the events surrounding the operation being conducted at Dartmoor National Park, Devon, as officially initiated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on the twelfth of November two thousand and four?"
"I do," Draco complied. He shivered slightly as a ripple of magic tingled from his gripping fingers along his arm and trickled down his neck.
"Do you swear to breathe not a word of that which you saw, heard, felt or sensed pertaining to the Dark magic operation in Dartmoor National Park, Devon, unless a trio of direct superior should request such from you?"
"I do," Draco agreed once more. Of course there was a loophole. Merlin forbid Draco should somehow discover something important and not be able to tell anyone. Although…
"Do you swear to neither write, gesture nor in any other mode of communication, relay information about the situation in Dartmoor National Park, Devon, unless a trio of direct superiors should request such from you?"
And there it was. The final loophole patched up. "I do."
As was customary for magical Oaths, with three as the magic number, the ivory rod thrummed for a moment and glowed faintly. Draco felt another tingle of magic shoot up his arm before it faded and all traces of the binding Oath disappeared. He dropped his grasp from the artefact and Krax tossed it – with his continued carelessness – back into his desk drawer.
"Right, that's it, Malfoy." Krax slumped back into his chair with another heavy sigh. He seemed rather partial to them that morning, and Draco felt not a hint of guilt with the knowledge that he was at least a small part of the reason for the man's weariness. It wasn't Draco's fault that he'd partaken a little too thoroughly in the previous night's revelries. Draco refused to feel the slightest iota of remorse. "I'll write this up now, then. And you," he raised his eyebrows pointedly and jabbed a finger towards Draco. "You will not do that again. Understand."
"Perfectly, sir," Draco replied smoothly. Krax's attempt at making him feel like a scolded schoolboy fell far short. Draco regretted Apparating to Devon last night but only because of the Oath that now tied his tongue. Learning of an increase in activity of Dark witches and wizards – a coven, apparently – and just as interestingly of the Animagus status of the Elites was definitely worth it. It was the very reason that Draco had pursued a career in the ministry in the first place; he simply wanted to be in the know.
Pansy would be so proud of his knowledge gathering.
Rising to his feet, Draco turned towards the door, aloof expression still affixed. He was in the process of reaching for the door handle when Krax stopped him with a word. "Malfoy, do be sure to talk to Potter on the way through, won't you? He was rather adamant about being here this morning when I was talking to him. Pretty angry, I'd hazard, especially when Weasley was telling me about you being there." Krax chuckled behind him. "I hope you've said your goodbyes to your loved ones. I've seen my fair share of those chewed out by him, mark my words."
Not even bothering to reply, Draco tugged the door open. He wouldn't lie; Krax's words touched him with an itch of dread like the prospect of Keep or Forget couldn't. Not the thought of Harry being angry with him. Quite the contrary, that thought was almost intoxicating. Nostalgic, yes, but at times Draco almost craved the volatility of their past rivalry. Not in exchange for their amicability, mind, but still.
Yes, intoxicating was a very good word for their bouts of anger. Even in hindsight Draco remembered them being as such. No, what filled Draco with dread was the possibility that Harry might hold it against him indefinitely.
Harry was standing exactly as he had been when Draco had entered Krax's office. He didn't even glance Draco's way when the door clicked shut with a sense of finality. Of privacy. Draco stood silently, waiting. If Harry was still angry, if he felt the need to growl his discontent or yell furiously, Draco wouldn't put him past doing so immediately. Get it off his chest, out in the open. The walls and doors in the Law Enforcement department were renowned for being soundproof, for whatever reason and even if they weren't there was hardly anyone around to here him.
But there was nothing. Only silence. And Harry still wouldn't look at him. That was worse than anything he could have said.
Draco couldn't help himself. He'd developed quite a thorough restraint for his tongue in recent years, but Harry always seemed to flip his expectations, his rules and practices, on their head. He blurted out the first thing that very definitely did not pass through his head.
"So Weasley's an Animagus. A dog Animagus."
Harry finally glanced towards him. Sidelong and otherwise unmoving, but at least he was looking at him. There was a pause. When Harry replied, his voice was low and quiet in a way that Draco had never heard before. "Yes, he is. A red setter."
"Typical, that he'd be red."
Harry didn't reply this time. Even worse, he turned his sidelong attention from Draco to the middle distance before him, as though the dust motes drifting invisibly in the air before him were purely fascinating. Draco hated it. His tongue did, too, and acted for him once more.
"So that would make all of the Elites Animagus? Those two last night, they were as well?"
As soon as the words slipped out, Draco wished he could take them back. Did that count as 'breathing a word' of the operation? But… no, apparently not given that he'd actually been able to speak them easily and hadn't erupted into boils and itching hives.
But even so, Draco wished he could retract them for the expression they elicited from Harry's face. He'd hadn't seen it so closed, so guarded with wariness directed towards Draco, since their schooling days. He hated it. "Why do you ask?"
Draco shrugged with more nonchalance than he could possibly possess when considering his rising discontent. It wasn't uneasiness and was definitely not panic, but disregard was impossible to attain even so. "Call it simple curiosity. But I'm mostly just interested in what your Animagus form is. Because you have one, aren't you?"
Harry didn't answer again. He didn't glance sideways at Draco, nor give any other indication that he'd heard the question. Those fucking dust motes. Why were they so deserving of Harry's attention? "Aren't you?"
This time Harry shrugged. It was a confirmation, if not a particularly open one, and in spite of his rising uneasiness Draco felt satisfied at learning that much. "What are -?"
"Draco."
That single word stopped Draco's tongue in its wagging. It was all he could do to maintain a blank expression, let alone nonchalance. Harry turned towards him and his stare was penetrating. "What were you thinking?"
There was silence. A silence more uncomfortable and more desperately in need of being broken than any Draco had ever beheld, but he couldn't seem to push himself to do it himself. He could see Harry's expression now, and it caught his voice in his throat.
There was sadness and… and worry on Harry's face. It was entirely unexpected given the circumstances. To be truthful, Draco had anticipated just about anything else: anger, frustration, disgust, ambivalence, disregard, even amusement. Perhaps Harry would have thought Draco a fool?
And he might have, once upon a time. In that same time that he would have disregarded the actions of his schoolyard rival as stupid and irrelevant to himself. It was an epiphany of sorts to Draco that Harry so obviously no longer felt that way. He'd seen concern on Harry's face before, but certainly never directed towards him. It left Draco with a complicated mixture of feelings of which he very definitely noted satisfaction and even delight but also a very profound and unfamiliar sense of guilt.
Stoically avoiding showing any hint wariness, that the guilt he felt might be seeping through, Draco tilted his head and regarded Harry. He finally managed to urge speech from his tongue. "You're not angry." He paused, struggling to find words. "I'd expected you to be."
For a long moment Harry didn't reply. His shoulders remained hunched, his head bowed and expression barely visible. However, after a moment in which Draco was suddenly very grateful that it was a weekend and hence very few people likely to happen upon their confrontation, raised his chin. His face was a complicated mixture of expressions that left Draco at a loss. "No. No, I'm not angry." He was silent for a moment until a slightly rueful smile overrode all other tautness in his face. "At least, I'm not anymore."
"You were?"
"Of course," Harry replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My friend Apparated to the middle of a potentially dangerous field operation. Why wouldn't I be worried?"
"I thought you said angry," Draco pointed out, struggling internally both with his familiar frustration at the word 'friend' and satisfaction at the suggestion to Harry's worry.
Harry shrugged. "They're one and the same, aren't they?"
"They most certainly are not."
"Well, they are to me," Harry said, smiling tightly. "At least they are when they concern my friends."
That blasted 'friend' again set Draco's teeth on edge. Really, he should expect nothing more. It was almost a blessing when compared to the cold shoulder Draco had been receiving, but it still irked him. Soothed his unease, yes, but irritated nonetheless. Pursing his lips, he drew his eyes to the side, to the opposite wall of the hallway. This… this was going to be difficult, but it needed to be done. "I…" He paused to clear his throat. "Well, then, I suppose I… apologise for worrying you."
The silence that followed was very telling. Draco couldn't bring himself to turn towards Harry to behold what must be a very profound surprise. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I heard you apologise," Harry replied incredulously, his tone already catching slightly with… was that amusement? That was a good thing, wasn't it? "But I'm sure I must have misheard given it's coming from you."
Draco scowled at the door to Milkin's Office that was positioned directly in his line of sight just down from Krax's. Such a plain, wooden door had never seemed so desperately in need of his absolute attention. "Is it so difficult to believe that I'd… I'd…"
"Apologise?"
"Yes, that."
Harry snorted with genuine amusement this time. It was an irresistible enough sound that made Draco incapable of suppressing the urge to glance back towards him. He shouldn't have done it, because Harry's crooked smile, the way he bit the side of his lip to keep from laughing aloud, the half-inclination of his chin and his dancing eyes peering over the top of his glasses, were criminal in what they did to Draco's head. It was so different to that complicated expression of moments before as to be almost a different face entirely. He was sure he'd cross oceans for a bare moment of such a smile.
Infatuated? No, Draco wasn't infatuated. He was further gone than that.
"I don't think," Harry spoke through his bubbling chuckles, "that an apology really suffices, actually."
Draco raised an eyebrow. Cool. Calm. Remain entirely composed. "Is that so?"
"Definitely not. Do you know how much of a heart attack I got when I saw you?"
Opening his mouth to reply, Draco paused. Slowly a frown settled upon his brow. "Saw me? What, this morning?"
Harry's smile wavered slightly before quirking once more in faint confusion. "Yeah, of course. After… Ron told me about last night – Floo called me – and then Krax called this morning and told me about the situation. What did you think I meant?"
Draco shook his head slowly, shaking off his own confusion and the niggling thought he couldn't quite hear. "Nothing at all. But that's hardly important. What is important," and he took a deliberate step towards Harry so that they were nearly eye to eye, "is the issue of this apology. Insufficient? Pray tell, what, then, would suffice?"
Harry regarded him silently for a moment, smile playing across his lips as he slowly tilted his head in the other direction. "Why don't you tell me? I'm sure you could think of something."
Draco could. He really, really could, and oh, it was so tempting. Harry was unintentionally dangling a very tasty carrot indeed. It was so profound, played such thoughts through Draco's head, that he would have thought Harry was doing it on purpose if it hadn't been, well… Harry that was saying it. Though he may have acquired a modicum of cunning since leaving Hogwarts, Draco was certain that anything quite so subtle as dextrous flirtation was beyond his grasp. He was, and always would be, a Gryffindor after all. Gryffindor's didn't flirt but resorted to the reflexive "I like you, lets do this!" approach.
Besides, the very fact that Draco wanted it so much was telling. Wishful thinking did things to perspective.
But it is so, so tempting…
Before he could quite help himself, Draco found his mouth speaking for him. "Then perhaps you'd allow me to finally take you up on the offer of sharing drinks one Friday night?"
The surprise on Harry's face confirmed Draco's beliefs if not his hopes that he'd been flirting. Eyebrows rising, he blinked at Draco blankly for a moment. "What?"
"Drinks. Were you not of the mind to partake in such an endeavour?" Dangerous, very dangerous, stop, it would be best to stop –
"You'd actually go out with me?" Harry's smile should definitely be illegal. And why did he have to choose those words expressly?
Raising a hand to peer nonchalantly at his fingernails, Draco raised one shoulder in a shrug. "I wouldn't force you if you were so disinclined, but –"
"No! No, it's not that. I'm just surprised." There was something akin to adolescent excitement in Harry's tone. Another flicker of guilt unexpectedly prodded at Draco; was he so eager to simply share drinks? Draco almost wished he'd suggested it beforehand if it meant so much to him. And that in itself was saying something; Draco didn't like doing things for other people. "It's just… you've always been so resistant to my suggestions, I thought maybe you were, I don't know, teetotaller or something?"
"Teetotaller? Really?" Draco smirked. "Big words, Harry."
"Shove off," Harry grinned. His good humour appeared to have returned exceptionally fast.
Draco shrugged, smirking himself. "It's not that I don't drink. I simply object to the venue."
"The Charming?"
"Disgustingly benevolent. It hosts far too many upstanding clients," Draco sniffed. Harry laughed again. "That, and the choice of companionship."
"You really don't like spending time with your colleagues, do you?"
"I believe that statement answers itself."
"You know, everyone thinks of you as the silent ghost of the department. Your closed-lipped approach to communication has become quite infamous."
Fighting to suppress a smile of satisfaction, Draco raised an eyebrow. "The silent ghost? How utterly ridiculous."
"Well, it's sort of true," Harry said, still seeming on the verge of laughter. "You don't really talk to anyone. I mean, at all."
"I talk to you," Draco pointed out.
Harry paused, and another strangely expression crossed his face. Different this time to that of moments before but still unreadable. "Yes, you do. Why is that?"
Not deigning to – or admittedly avoiding – reply, Draco turned his regard once more to Milkin's door. "Is that a yes to Friday or not?"
Harry chuckled. His good mood was catching, remarkably jovial considering he'd seemed most upset all of ten minutes before. "Definitely. Not this Friday, I'm sorry, what with Christmas and all, and pulling duty –"
"Pertaining to… last night?"
"It's classified, Draco. Didn't you get that impression from Krax's interrogation? We're keeping that operation tightly under wraps from now on. Even I am." Harry paused, frowning in something that was more amused than reprimanding. "And you just made a bloody Oath!"
"Ah, yes, of course." Which meant Draco had hit the truth exactly.
"But maybe the Friday after? If you can?"
"Hmm…" Draco pondered, pursing his lips as though he were actually considering. As though, even at Christmas time – or perhaps especially at Christmas time – there was anywhere in the world he'd rather be than with Harry and only Harry. The only other individual vying for his attention was Jack and, well… after the incident last night, perhaps the merlin needed a bit of a dressing down. He still hadn't decided how he felt about the bird anymore. Maybe it would do him some good to have to wait on Draco's beck and call for once. "Yes, I do believe that two Friday's from now will be quite suitable."
Harry beamed at him when Draco turned his full attention towards him once more. As though he'd been waiting to do so since Draco had turned away. Draco immediately regretted not turning back to him sooner. "Great. Fantastic. I'll just ask –"
"Potter, if you even think to ask Weasley along, I'm standing you up."
Harry laughed. "That wasn't actually what I was going to say, but I'll keep it in mind. I was going to say I'd ask my acquaintance at the Falcon's Nest if he could reserve us a table."
"The Falcon's Nest?" An acquaintance? What did that mean? Who was this acquaintance? How did Harry know him? Draco immediately found himself assaulted by unanswerable questions and had to smother them firmly. Harry was sure to have friends that Draco didn't know. There was nothing wrong with that. He thanked not for the first time that morning that he was a master of schooling his expression; his few slip ups already would have undoubtedly been far worse otherwise.
Harry nodded. "Yeah, he owns the place."
"Of course he does. And of course you'd know him."
Harry smirked. "No need to be a grippe."
"I'm not being a… a grippe," Draco refuted. Grippe?
"If you've got a problem with the Falcon's Nest, we can just go somewhere else. I know some people have a bit of an… issue with it."
I couldn't fathom why, Draco thought, recalling Theodore's description, but he kept the thought to himself. He wouldn't be able to mask the sarcasm if he hadn't. Shrugging with the nonchalance he'd worn at several times throughout the evening, he nodded. "It hardly matters to me the venue."
"So long as it's not the Charming."
"So long as it's not the Charming," Draco agreed.
"So picky," Harry tutted. He sounded remarkably like Pansy when he did that, and Draco couldn't help but frown uneasily. "Alright then. Looking forward to it."
"Indeed," Draco said and, following in Harry's footsteps they made their way to the Floo ports. Harry appeared to have recovered from his disgruntlement remarkably, and Draco soon found himself engaged in a most confusing discussion in which Harry referred to what had been discovered the past night without specifying any specifics whatsoever. So much for 'keeping it classified'; Harry seemed unable to do so, at least when talking to Draco. The thought was as confusing as it was satisfying. Draco was so thoroughly distracted that he didn't realise he'd completely neglected the topic of Harry's Animagus form until he was strolling down snow-laden Wanderer Lane.
Well, there would always be another time. A whole night of another time, Draco thought with a surfacing smile of satisfaction. Truly, he should have made that step much sooner. Even if it would amount to nothing, even if Harry were too obliviously straight to realise Draco flirted with him, it was an opportunity that simply could not be missed.