A/N: Sorry for the long wait guys! I've been writing a few other things for some exchanges I'm in. Also, I am participating in NaNoWriMo this year for the fourth time, so updates will be sparse in November. But I promise to get you another update before then.

Enjoy this Chapter, I put a little sap in it for you!

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Chapter 15
"Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"
Snow Patrol – Chasing Cars

"Greg!" Draco called out, pushing his way past the two men poised to attack and opened the door—his own wand at the ready just in case it did prove a trap.

"Draco, thank Merlin. Been lookin' for ya." Greg spoke with an urgency of lost time but his words fell heavy to the floor after he scanned the rest of the room's inhabitants, noticing three wands aimed his way. He took a step back. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, come in," Draco said. Ron and Harry exchanged glances, passing secret knowledge through faint facial expressions that Draco read like an open book. Stepping back, Ron let Greg enter but still held his wand aloft. Harry had lowered his to his side.

"Draco, about that thing, ya know… what you came to visit me for? I got that info." He stood on his guard, visibly shaken, eyes dancing between the other men and Draco.

"What did you find out?" Draco urged him. He noted a wild, trapped look about Greg and then registered the animosity in the air. "Oh for Merlin's sake, lower your wands, Greg's trustworthy."

"But he's a Death Eater!" Ron called out as Harry asked, "But how'd he find you?"

"Howdid you find me?" Draco asked, grasping onto the more relevant question.

"Well…" Greg shifted around nervously and Draco couldn't blame him. While Greg certainly claimed the largest stature in the room, Ron stood as tall as he and was a fully trained Auror. Not to mention Harry "Savior of the Wizarding World" Potter's presence as well as that of a werewolf. The intimidation factor boiled high. "I sent ya an owl that returned to me… and I knew this was really important, so I left 'Peia a note and came to London. You know I'm still wanted…" his eyes darted to Ron again. "I went to your club and met with your bouncer, but it was actually your bartender who talked him into tellin' me where ya were."

"Tyrone told you I was in Merida?" Draco asked. Greg nodded. "How did you find me from there?"

"A few magical detection charms and a ton of questions. Really, all I had to do was ask 'round. It took time, but you're pretty distinctive."

"Shite," Ron said, finally lowering his wand, but still keeping it firmly gripped in his fist. "Fuck."

"Ron, calm down," Harry said. "Let's let him talk." Remus remained in a spare corner, leaning against the wall.

Draco glanced at Harry, offering silent thanks. "Okay, Greg. Please, what did you find out?"

With a nervous glance at the other three men, Greg finally started talking. "Those meetin's that were going on… They were called by old allies… People you and I both knew. But those old allies were plants, polyjuiced or disguised in some way. Fakes! People ended up dead, Draco! In fact, Nott's dad was one of 'em, so was Bulstrode—"

"We know about her," Harry interrupted.

"Really? What's going on? They're killin' us. Is it the Ministry?" Greg's eyes pleaded for Draco to offer him some explanation, to tell him everything was going to be fine and nobody else they knew would turn up dead.

"Greg," Draco said, "calm down. What else do you know? Take a breath—calm down and tell us everything, from the top."

Greg took in a deep breath and slowly let it out, and then another and finally a third. Ron rolled his eyes, but both Harry and Remus quietly waited. Greg looked around the room, and when he found no chairs, he hopped up to sit on the table, causing it to briefly rock back and forth. Finally, he took one more breath and began.

"First, I talked to Doug Carrow and Nicetus Spence, remember them? Spence was the one who approached me first, before I even heard about all this. Then I talked with Nott; he'd been invited to a meetin' as well. That's when I found out 'bout his dad. This fucking rots!" Greg once again seemed to have lost his focus.

"Greg, do you know anything about a magical item at these meetings?" Harry asked, his voice quiet and calm. "An artefact or something unusual. That might have been used on people there?"

He looked up at Harry, eyes wide, "like the ball?"

"What ball, Greg?" Harry urged.

"Well, people had seen some bloke with this crystal ball and some said there was a light or something from it that zapped folks. A guy with a crew cut had the ball, not someone anyone knew, not one of the Dark Lord's men. No one would talk to him though, I mean, ya can't trust someone with such Muggle tastes."

Ron groaned, but Harry appeared very interested.

"So, someone had a crystal ball and was 'zapping' people with it? Did anyone tell you how they felt after they got zapped?"

"Well, only a few people really saw it, but after Carrow visited one of those meetin's and a friend of his told him he saw the guy with the ball and that was when Carrow said he weren't feeling right."

"How do you mean?"

"Problems with his magic." Greg locked eyes with Draco and Draco nodded, encouraging him to go on. Greg cleared his throat and continued in a faint voice. "They had no magic at all for a while."

"Like they were rendered a squib?" Draco asked.

Greg nodded.

"But after time they got their magic back," Draco said, more to himself than to Greg.

"You're right," Greg replied, surprised.

"Do you know anything more about this ball?" Harry asked, showing no sense of the urgency Draco knew he must be feeling.

Greg shook his head. "I never saw it. Just that it was a crystal ball, but smaller than the normal kind. Carrow's friend told him it was palm sized. What's goin' on?"

"We don't know yet." Harry answered him before Draco had a chance. "Only what you already know; people are losing their magic, then getting it back. Someone's apparently cursing people with what looks to be a small divination tool and that's what's killing their magic. More people are being cursed, not just people at your gatherings, and we're trying everything to stop it and hopefully cure everyone."

"Ya don't know who's behind it?"

Harry shook his head. "Only I think I know who this bloke you described might be." He glanced over to Remus. "Agent Riley is my first guess."

Remus made a low noise, akin to a growl from a human throat, and Greg stared at him warily.

"Riley?" Ron about choked. "What the hell, why do you suspect him?"

"How many wizards do you know with a crew cut? He's an undercover agent, hunts Death Eaters, has access to people both in the Ministry and at St. Mungo's. Plus… my gut tells me not to trust him."

"He's been down here a few times," Ron said, his voice soft with shock.

"What!?" Harry demanded.

"He's been down here, supposedly to check on our progress and offer his help…"

The entire room sat as quiet as winter's first morning while new ideas popped into overtaxed brains.

"Bernard Underhill and Ted Riley are cousins aren't they? They joined together, trained together, spend every fucking Christmas together." Ron's temper flared. "Didn't they work together on the Nott Sr. case?" He looked over at Harry and Draco, his eyes flaring, reminding Draco that this man might have been the Weasel back in school, but was an entirely different force as an adult. "Nott worked with the Ministry to avoid the kiss and got reduced time. Underhill never got over that… wasn't his wife's death attributed to Nott? Damn it! I've worked with him for years. He's been on our team for two."

"I think it's time we set up a little test for the team. What do you say, Ron?"

Ron stood silently, staunch resolve his only expression. He nodded silently.

"Well," Draco broke the silence, "let's get planning."

Hot damn, it'd been a long day. He knew just how important his whole mission was, but it didn't mean he wasn't frustrated at still being down in Mexico. Home called to him just as it did to every other member of his team. He stifled a yawn as he stumbled his way to his rented room down a small, quiet street. It was more of an alley really and it reminded him of some of the more cramped areas of Knockturn Alley, though lacking the bustle of people skulking in the shadows that the infamous wizarding sector had. This place always stood deserted.

But as the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled, Bernard looked around. Someone was here. He didn't see anyone but his honed awareness gave him a sense of being watched. A gentle breeze ruffled his long hair, blowing some stray bits of paper down the narrow road. He mumbled a few spells, wand hidden up his jacket sleeve, but they revealed nothing of the night. With a shrug, but no less tense attentiveness, he continued on to his residence. Nothing stopped him in the darkness.

The next day was as uneventful as the previous week. Tempers simmered close to the surface amongst the Aurors and he felt no different than the rest. All of them just wanted to go home. But they had their mission. Agent Weasley was particularly subdued today, which usually meant something had recently blown up in his face. This was the quiet after the storm and all of the field agents knew to let him have his space.

Bernard worked quietly at his desk, but with little to actually do, he mainly puttered around, organizing his thoughts and some of the evidence they had collected on the case so far. There were seven of them here, including Agent Weasley, their superior. He and the other agents all crammed into a little rented space fuddling with papers and files and even some artefacts they had requisitioned from minor criminals.

Through established contacts in the relic trading business in Mexico, they'd been getting more and more hints on when a purchase or exchange might be happening, but they were never able to catch the perpetrator. It frustrated everyone, especially Weasley, and nerves stretched thin as the months puddled by with infuriatingly slow progress.

An excited murmur reached his ears and he glanced up at the doorway. Other Aurors rose from their seats and chattered happily as they saw a new person standing in the doorway to their tiny office. Harry Potter.

"Potter!" "Damn good to see you here." "You gunna help us out, you old rotter?"

"Hey everyone! Hear you've been having a hell of a time on this case," Harry said. The excited din of voices all concurred and the man was immediately surrounded by his fellow Aurors, all excited to see him.

"Okay guys, I gotta talk to Ron. But maybe later we can all go grab acerveza."

"Sure thing Potter and you're buying," Pilcher said and everyone keenly agreed.

Harry laughed, smiling at the gathered agents. "Fine, but someone else gets the nachos."

"Hey Harry," Agent Abbot interrupted, "how's Hermione doing?"

The soft features of Harry's face suddenly went stiff and sadness rimmed the man's eyes. "Still in a coma."

"Well, we're all thinking of her." Everyone in the room agreed, offering their heartfelt condolences. All of them knew Hermione and each had had their life saved at least once by one of her inventions, now standard issue in their Auror kits.

"Thanks," said Harry as he entered the small office with Ron. Before he closed the door a few of his words landed on the ears of the men and women in the room. "Ron, I think I figured out a way to catch this guy." The room erupted in cheers.

One cheer was a little less enthusiastic than the others. Fuck. Potter. I need to tell Herr Kogelmann immediately. And that feeling again. Someone watching him. But Potter and Weasley were occupied and their other friend, Granger, was laid up. Nobody else could possibly be following him.

Bernard Underhill excused himself after the excitement lulled and stumbled out of the office into the early morning streets, already brimming with business. Another precautionary cast of spells to assure he wasn't being followed and the man almost raced down the street, words repeating in his head. Fucking Harry Potter. Fuck me.

"Do you think our traitor took the bait?" Harry asked, munching on an empanada he'd bought on the street, a thin string of cheese attaching the pastry to his lips.

"We'll find out soon enough," grumbled Ron, glaring at the empanada.

"Did you want one?" Harry asked, slight abashed.

"What?! No… Yes! Anyway, I can't see how you can eat right now."

"What? I'm hungry," he mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, cheese and beef. "We missed dinner… and breakfast." After Goyle left and they had informed Mr. Popicon about the orb, they remained up late into the evening devising cunning and convoluted plans both Ron and Draco approved until Harry suggest something simple and practically guaranteed. Draco had pouted and even Ron seemed put out, but they both agreed on a simple scheme to get their traitor to reveal himself. Remus added his subtle touch to the plan, but had to leave that morning to return to Blumgeower Books or risk his job. Plus, someone needed to check in on Hermione, make sure she knew her guardian angels hadn't abandoned her in their crusade for retribution.

"Fine, give me some." Ron stared at the half-eaten empanada and Harry grudgingly passed it over to him.

"Have the rest," he sighed.

"Really?" That perked Ron right up. "Thanks!" And he finished the rest of the pastry, hmming in delight.

Draco understood, with some complaint, why he had to be the one to follow Auror Underhill. He was the unknown. But he still didn't enjoy tailing the suspect. He was Machiavellian, polishing his crafty nature to plan intricate tactics to earn favor and get his own way. This type of dirty work was more suited to less shrewd, more hands-on type of people, for example—Gryffindors.

Why was he doing this again? Oh yes, some sense of follow-through or something silly like that. Plus, Potter was hot. Potter had asked him out to dinner. Potter… Harry… smiled at him and asked nicely. Shite. Wasn't it Harry who owed Draco?

Fuck me

Agent Underhill walked with quick, short strides through the streets of Merida, turning down an alley then walking up a set of stairs to an upper-story market and then back down to the street on the other side. He offered no glance at the wares on sale, didn't browse at all, causing him to stand out like a goth boy in a cowboy bar. Even for someone with little skill in tailing someone, Draco was having no problem. Plus, a little spell he devised years ago kept him hidden from even the Auror quality detection charms. Ah, it was good to be brilliant.

Finally, after the man finished wandering the streets, in true zombie-like fashion, he came to a bus station with a small battery of lockers. Underhill glanced around, finally out of his panicked daze, and pulled out a bit of spare paper and pen and scribbled down something. Then he placed his thumb on the front of locker 27. It popped open and he stuffed in the paper, closed it and quickly walked away.

With a graceful flip to the tip of his wand, Draco cast a communication spell and informed Harry and Ron of the situation. Five minutes later, he felt a tap on his arm.

He heroically held in a mighty yelp.

"Draco, it's me." Harry's whisper tickled his ear.

"I figured," he replied, dully.

They stood together, shoulder to shoulder leaning against the concrete wall of the bus station. Draco could feel Harry breathing next to him and was keenly aware whenever the other man shifted. He felt a tingling, almost a spark of magic between them, and he found it quite a chore to keep his mind on task. All he wanted was to lean into that touch, have it envelop him. For twenty minutes he experienced this exquisite affliction before someone approached locker 27 drawing both men away from the wall, away from each other's touch.

Draco felt chilled by the lack of Harry.

A middle-aged man came towards the locker, pressed his thumb against it and took out the paper. He scanned it quickly and turned away, returning the way he came.

"It's him. He's got my tracking spell on him," Harry whispered. "Let's follow him."

Draco took a few steps and slammed into Harry's invisible body. "This isn't going to work."

"Grab my hand." Draco felt a hand fumbling over his front, finding his shoulder and sliding down his arm to grasp his fingers. Draco grasped back. He wasn't sure if he was in heaven or hell.

The two men, obfuscated from the world, followed their target through the bus station hall to the cobbled back streets. The man walked with sure strides, but didn't appear to be in any hurry, didn't alter his course in any way and finally walked right up to a small warehouse lost amidst other warehouses in the industrial district. He opened a corrugated metal door that scraped against the pavement in a sharp squeal, and walked in leaving Harry and Draco behind in the bright light of early afternoon.

"Well. What now?" Draco asked, his voice pitched low and quiet. Their palms were sweaty and Draco wished to rub it against his jeans to dry it off. But Harry didn't let go.

"Let's check out the perimeter and return here. Don't go in," Harry said, finally dropping his hand. Draco quickly wiped it. "You go right and I'll go left. Okay?"

"Sure," Draco said. He tried to pull in his thoughts, focus them on his surveyance of the building, but all he could think of, all he could feel was the strong hand in his. Merlin, he was being such a girl, and an innocent, pure, young thing at that.

He walked away to the right and around the side of the building. The walls were shabby metal, hastily constructed and rusted through in spots. He glanced through one of the holes to find nothing but a deserted building with a few stacks of boxes and crates. He pulled out his wand and cast a few spells; yes there were illusion wards in place. He continued around the back of the building, noting the grimy window, the fire escape attached to the back wall, some vent louvers and stacks. A one-way street ran from left to right behind the building. This was only a portion of the large grid that made up the industrial district.

He paused to sniff the air, smelled the faint odour of engine oil and styrene, then resumed his walk around the building and returned to their starting point, standing in the same location from which he began.

The wait was short when he finally felt a hand on his back. This time he expected it and no embarrassing cry tried to crawl off his tongue.

Neither said a word as they stood facing the warehouse. Harry's hand had settled on Draco's shoulder like a permanent resident and Draco found himself leaning into the sturdy touch. He could hear Harry's deep breaths. Time slowly expended itself but neither man took any notice.

Finally, with an internal struggle, Draco said, "We should return."

"Yeah. You're right." Harry let his hand fall and again Draco felt bereft. The two men walked a few blocks away and nobody heard the soft pop of their Disapparition.

Upon their return, they relayed the news. Ron sat in a chair, his back straight and his eyes downcast, listening to their report.

"Ron?" Harry asked softly. "What do you want to do?"

Ron offered no answer, just continued to look blindly off to one side, eyes vacant, lips turned down.

Harry stood and gestured for Draco to follow him. They left the small flat and took the stairs up, a direction Draco hadn't explored before, and eventually came out on the top of the building's tiled roof. The tiles were slippery, but they slowly made their way onto the surface and sat. Harry leaned back, cradling his head with his arms and just stared into space. Draco settled next to him.

"I love the night, the stars, the endlessness of the sky," Harry murmured.

The night air harboured a slight nip to it and Draco shivered against the cold tiles.

"Cold?" Harry asked.

"Not much," Draco said. Harry slid closer to him anyway and Draco could feel the warmth radiate off the other wizard. Body heat and magic.

"The stars are different here," Harry mused, his voice soft and contemplative. Draco stared into the sky, counted the specks of light to keep his mind off of the man next to him. This wizard, once an enemy, then a comrade and finally a friend. There was really no denying it anymore. His friends were few and far between and the addition of another was something noteworthy.

It had been good to see Greg again. Something profoundly invaluable about people who knew you when you still had acne and didn't even know how to turn a matchstick into a needle. Not that Draco ever had acne, his inheritance of good genetics and family hygiene spells took care of that, but Greg had seen him at his gangliest, even if he still had more poise at five than most people modeled as adults.

They had been to each other's Presentation Ceremonies when each of them had proven to have magic. They flew together in the Manor's gardens and talked about girls. He told Greg about his first crush, Pansy Parkinson—Draco shuddered, what had he been thinking—and came out to him during the close of their seventh year the day before his 18th birthday. The day he took the Mark.

He really didn't want to think about that, locked away behind a big, mental padlock and a sign "Do Not Enter" plastered over the door.

He had too many memories locked away there, stuffed in those far reaches of his mind. He didn't want to dredge them up. He didn't want to roll the past around in his mind, study it or analyze it in any way. That was old hat. The past was past, a faded moment that would never happen again. His lessons were earned with the pain of living and he didn't want to examine that bill again.

But there would always be pain, and as he glanced over at Harry lying next to him, he also knew there would always be joy.

"Ron will come out of it," said Harry. "We'll probably storm the place soon, take down the Bad Guy, ship Underhill off to trial, find this crystal ball, cure Hermione and the rest of England, and live happily ever after. Ta da!"

"Ta da?" Draco asked, amused.

"Ta. Da. Just like that. The world will be merry, everyone will be happy and goodness and light will prevail forever."

Harry smiled over at Draco; the smile was incandescent, brilliantly lit by a thousand suns. It caused his heart to ache, tighten in his chest and refuse to beat. A beating heart would mean the passage of time and Draco didn't want to ever forget this moment.

Some memories he did cherish.

But then he relaxed and his heart beat again and nothing changed. Harry still smiled. The stars still glittered. Something magical still burned between them. For once in his life, Draco was happy. He returned Harry's smile.

"Goodness and light? Where would such a creature as I belong in this fairytale world of yours?" Draco joked.

"Oh, I don't know. Even paradise needs its snakes to offer temptation for the pure to struggle against. How boring would life be without a little struggle?"

"Well," Draco said, propping himself up on his elbow and leaning towards Harry. "Beware then, for Slytherins are sneaky and enjoy corrupting the innocent." He leaned closer to Harry with a leering grin, caught in the camaraderie of the moment.

Harry gazed up at him, the stars and crescent moon reflected in those green eyes, so deep in the darkness of the evening. They held Draco's own, peering, searching for some knowledge or secret. Maybe for the truth or even a promise, Draco didn't know. Then they darted down to Draco's lips and with the weight of inevitability, Draco leaned forward and kissed him.

As Harry's lips fluttered across Draco's he was suddenly filled with warmth. It was almost like being free. Like the future was a possibility.

Draco lifted his hand and cradled Harry's cheek, every cell in his body vibrating at the touch. The kiss wasn't fevered, but it wasn't chaste either and after they finally pulled apart Harry pulled Draco down into an embrace, laying Draco's head on his shoulder. He sighed softly, sinking into how right it felt.

Time passed with no expectations. Draco ran his fingers through the thick hair tickling his cheek. After uncountable moments, Draco pulled back up, facing Harry. He looked directly into Harry's eyes, who stared back, searching again those gray depths. Draco realised he could lose himself in those eyes, or perhaps unearth something so much more. Belonging. Or maybe redemption.

"I have not known joy before this day," Draco murmured.

Harry jerked at the softly spoken expression, so reverent and honest, like Draco bound the truth in his open words and offered it with no regret.

Home. That is what this was. Draco had finally found home.

DAILY PROPHET
BAD OYSTERS BRING HALT TO WIZARD CONFERENCE

Glasgow, Scotland – A bad batch of oysters turned a gathering of goodwill and international relations into a weekend of illness and bed rest during the British Isles Wizard Relations Conference this last weekend.

"I am shocked that an entire batch of oysters and clams was contaminated with Alexandrium toxin," reported Arlene Launter, head caterer to the event. "My oysters are the most excellent found in the western hemisphere. What a terrible waste of good shellfish."

Neurotoxic shellfish poisoning (NSP) is caused by red algae toxin concentrations in fish and shellfish. It causes nausea, weakness, and paralysis of the respiratory system. Due to the large attendance at the conference, it is believe that most people did not overindulge in the shellfish, causing most symptoms to be minor. Such an outbreak of NSP has not occurred since the Watcher family Christmas soirée of 1872 where three people died from the effects of the contamination. Following the Watcher family incident, Alexandrium defeacotia was developed by Emily Watcher, which removes the deadly toxin from the shellfish. Why the spell was not utilized for the conference hors d'oeuvres is still under examination.

British Minister Scrimgeour and Irish Minister Blachett were not available for comment; however they both have been reported to be fully recovered, as are the rest of the Conference's attendants.