28th June, 2005 - Tuesday
"Why didn't you just incapacitate Rosier during your meeting?" Potter demanded. "You could have stopped him right then."
Draco fought a sense of deja-vu and repeated the explanation he'd given Blaise. "He would have blown up the building with us in it. Rosier likes to strap explosives to himself these days, in case something goes wrong. Besides, unless we allow him to continue, his employers will simply find someone else and we will be back to square one, except without leads. N'est-ce pas?"
"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense." Potter dragged a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up on top more than usual. It made Draco think of bedhead, which led him down a merry ramble into picturing Potter in the altogether. "Sorry, I'm just tired."
"Did you spend the night at the hospital?"
"No. Ron and Hermione's. I still have to go home and… clean up." Potter looked away and Draco felt a jolt of sympathy. Potter would have to clean up his lover's blood. That was never an easy task.
"I can send someone to take care of that for you," he offered.
"No. I should do it. I sort of feel responsible."
Draco impulsively reached out and gripped Potter's wrist. He caught Potter's startled gaze and met it evenly. "Stop. You are not responsible for every madman in the world. Believe me, there are plenty of them. And it would not have mattered if you had warded the place seven ways from Sunday, Rosier would have broken through. It's what he does, Harry. Not even your magical prowess could have stopped him."
"Then how are we going to stop him from doing whatever he is planning?"
Draco squeezed his wrist once more and then let go. "By outwitting him."
Potter took a deep breath and nodded. "Merlin, I can't believe I let him take my wand. How am I going to get that back? Assuming he hasn't snapped it or burned it or something."
"He probably keeps it on him. He enjoys souvenirs. Once we incapacitate him, we'll simply take it back. How did you get here?"
They sat in a tiny Muggle used bookshop that contained a number of small nooks with cosy chairs and wooden tables for reading. The place served coffee and pastries. Draco loved the atmosphere, even if the cappuccino was a bit watered down for his taste.
"I, um…" Potter coughed and then pulled a wand out of his sleeve. Draco blinked, but allowed no other expression to mar his features. "I'm using yours. Sorry I never gave it back."
Draco nearly reached out and touched the hawthorn as a wave of nostalgia broke over him. He had been through hell and back with that wand. Most of the memories associated with it were far from pleasant. He much preferred the slender, arrow-straight length of ash he currently used. It suited him better than the hawthorn ever had.
He smiled at Potter. "Given how closely it is tied to that Dark Lord nonsense, I am not surprised. I wouldn't have given it back." In fact, Draco would have snapped it into several pieces and burned them all, but he suspected Potter was far too sentimental to ever do such a thing. He straightened with a gasp and then launched himself from his seat. "What is that?"
Potter was on his feet in an instant, wand held defensively stiff. Draco nearly laughed aloud. It was ludicrous to think of Potter giving up the Aurors. He had practically been born into the role. It suited him. "What?"
Draco strode to a nearby shelf and tugged down a tattered book. He flipped through it. "Sun Tzu's The Art of War. Such a shame to see it in this condition. Look, I think someone's cat got at it." Draco fingered the bite marks on the upper edge of the cover and clucked his tongue.
Potter relaxed and sat back down. "Oh. A book."
"Yes, Potter. A book. Have you ever read one?"
"I've read one."
Draco chuckled. "One."
"Shut it, you." Despite his words, a smile played at the corner of Potter's mouth. Draco was captivated for a moment, basking in the rare gift of Harry Potter's unabashed amusement.
Stop it, Draco, he warned himself. It would be stupid to become any more enamoured of the man than you already are.
"I'll buy it and you can give it to Granger. Does she still have that horrid kneazle?"
"Crookshanks, yeah. I think I still have a few hairs on my trousers from him rubbing on me this morning." Potter reached down and brushed at his calves. "So you didn't learn anything useful from Rosier?"
"I didn't say that. I will share my suspicions the moment I can give you something more than vague possibilities. I don't need you running around in a panic."
"You think I'd panic?" Potter cocked a brow over his glasses.
"Gryffindors aren't known for placidity."
Potter grinned. "Yeah, okay, you got me there. But when do you think he'll strike?"
"Not soon. He needs more information. He is planning something specific and we need to discover what it is. You'll have to trust me."
"I think I'm beginning to."
Draco gave him another smile and this one edged into fondness before Draco could stop it. "It's a start, Harry."
oooOooo
Harry went home and half of his mind was occupied with his meeting with Malfoy. He hadn't lied. Although it still set up warning bells in his psyche, he was beginning to trust Malfoy. Something about him just seemed sincere.
Harry remembered the warmth of Malfoy's hand on his wrist and the intense look in his silver eyes. Bloody hell, at times Malfoy actually seemed to care about him. The whole thing was madness.
His attention sharply left Malfoy the moment he spied the dark stain splashed all over the carpet beneath the chair. A small pool of coagulated blood lay on the wood at the edge of the carpet. It was a grim reminder and Harry forced down a bout of queasiness tainted with guilt. He took a shaking breath and went into the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. He knew he was going to need it.
An hour later, he had rolled up the carpet and sent it out for cleaning, righted the furniture, and scrubbed the floor both manually and with as many cleaning charms as he could manage. He was amazed at how far the blood spatters had travelled. He tried not to think about the fact that it was Eddie's blood as he followed each spot and scrubbed it clean with a spell and a swipe of his cleaning cloth.
He frowned when he noticed a couple of droplets marring the covers of Eddie's books. A low bookshelf in the living room contained three dozen volumes of varied sizes and genres, although Harry had seldom caught him reading. Laughing, Eddie had once told him they were more for show, so that visitors would think he was well-read. "And aren't Ravenclaws supposed to love books?"
Harry shut his eyes on the memory and took a steadying breath. Eddie, he thought, I'll make it up to you. Eddie had been so patient, waiting for Harry to get his head straight, postponing necessary intimacy until Harry felt comfortable and ready to commit—Harry wanted to Crucio himself for having been so stupid. What had he been waiting for?
Don't trust him. Unbidden, Malfoy's words came back to him. Harry scowled and shook his head. It was nonsense. He reached for a volume and spelled it clean with the gentlest spell he knew. After placing it on the floor, he took down another one. Some of them were dusty, so he thought he might as well clean the whole lot.
When the books were stacked in assorted piles on the floor, Harry dusted and polished the wooden bookshelf, and then began to place the books inside. He lifted a large, leather-bound volume emblazoned with The Veracious Origins of Hegemony Through Imperius and Other Cognizance Altering Incantations and snorted at the title. That one certainly seemed like something a book-loving Ravenclaw boy would read.
Harry flipped it open, expecting to see tiny, dry print written in archaic or highbrow script. What he did not anticipate was a false centre—the pages had been cut out to create a space in the middle of the book, large enough for the collection of photos and clipping that had been stored inside. Several of them fluttered to the floor as Harry released the false pages.
He picked up a photo and noticed with a start that it was him, walking out of Flourish and Blott's with Hermione. Photo-Harry laughed and Hermione gave him a poke on the shoulder. It was such a commonplace scene that Harry could not even recall the specific occasion. Had Eddie taken the photo?
Harry placed the book on the floor and picked up another photo. This one was of him dressed in Auror robes walking with Seamus. The shimmer of glass told him the photo had been taken from inside a building as he and Seamus had walked past. They reached the sill of the window and the photo looped.
Harry frowned and picked up a large stack to fan through them. Every picture was a photo of him. Some were of him alone—sitting at a park bench feeding pigeons—and many were of him in random situations with other people—he and Ron walking towards their seat at the last Quidditch World Cup; he and Kay-Kay taking a statement from an old shopkeeper after a theft; he and Dean Thomas enjoying a pint at the Leaky—
Harry shoved the photos aside. His heart was beginning to pound uncomfortably. He grabbed a clipping. Harry Potter to Attend Grand Opening! Below the headline was a grainy photo of him waving half-heartedly. He picked up another. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley - Is There Tarnish on the Golden Couple? That one had a photo of Ginny pushing him away and shoving through the crowd around them. Harry had to shut his eyes at the memory. It had been close to the end for them, when fighting had replaced conversation, and hurt feelings were more numerous than smiles.
Steeling himself, he spread everything out in a large fan on the floor. The material was numerous. What he'd thought were mementos seemed to be anything but. It was not a collection of photos gathered by a lover; it was a dossier. But why would Eddie have a profile on him? He was a Quidditch gear salesman. It made no sense!
Is he really? Harry's cynical side seemed to have Malfoy's voice. What do you really know about Eddie Carmichael?
"Everything," Harry muttered to himself. "I know everything. I moved in with him, for fuck's sake!" And Eddie had never been anything but lovely, had never done anything even vaguely suspicious.
Harry swept all of the photos and clippings together and stuffed them back into the false book. He replaced it on the shelf and then stared at it for long minutes. No answers came to him, so he killed the lights in the flat and went to bed.
Sleep eluded him for a long time.
29th June, 2005 - Wednesday
An old woman opened the door and smiled at Harry toothily. One of her front teeth was gold and her glasses were thicker than butterbeer bottles, making her eyes look enormous. Her wispy white hair was partially covered in a lacy purple shawl.
"Come in out of the rain, deary, you'll catch your death." She hobbled back and motioned Harry inside. He stepped through the door, trying not to think of gingerbread houses and hungry witches, but the room was prohibitively dark, with only a single candle on the mantle, guttering weakly in a glass jar full of melted wax. "This way."
She tottered slowly through another doorway and Harry followed, tempted to light his wand to keep from tripping over any obstacles. Thankfully, the light brightened as they traversed a long hallway. She pushed open a wooden portal and the brightness therein was a welcome change from the rest of the house.
Once inside, Harry stopped and stared. The room was huge, and filled with tables, desks, and shelves, all of which were covered in row upon row of small blue bottles.
"Hello, Harry! I see you found the place." Malfoy sat in one corner, perched upon a tall stool with a small notebook and quill in his hands.
"Um… yeah. I'm not sure why you wanted me to meet you here."
"Well, I needed to drop in and see Agatha—isn't she a dear—and since I should not be meeting you in any more public places, at least until this Rosier business is attended to, I thought why not kill two birds with one stone? So here we are."
The old woman, Agatha, Harry presumed, wandered over to a table and lifted her wand. She picked up a blue bottle and spelled the stopper free before pouring the contents into a large bowl. She set the empty bottle aside and repeated the motion with another. Puzzled, Harry turned back to Malfoy.
"Okay. What did you find out?"
Malfoy beckoned to him and Harry navigated his way through the tables to stand nearer Malfoy, who Transfigured a small rubbish bin into a second stool for Harry. "And the other reason is that dear Agatha is deaf as a post unless you stand next to her and bellow. She won't pay us any mind unless we specifically include her."
Harry nodded and glanced again at Agatha, who carried on with her bottle emptying as though they were not even present.
"What is the matter?"
Harry's attention snapped back to Malfoy, surprised at the question. "Nothing."
"You've found something. Tell me."
About to deny it, Harry paused, wishing he could unburden himself, but not quite ready to do so. "Why did you tell me not to trust Eddie? Do you know something about him?"
"I know he is not worthy of you. What do you know about him?"
Harry gave him a wry grin. "You realise that sounds insane, coming from you?"
Malfoy leaned closer, so close that Harry thought he might topple off the stool and into his lap. "One day you might have to acknowledge that I've changed since our tumultuous school days."
He was near enough that Harry could see the marvellous colour of his lashes—pale near the lids and darkening to gold at the tips—and smell the smooth bite of his cologne. This time it made Harry think of mountain lakes. He wanted to lean closer and breathe it in. Something about Malfoy's scent was strangely calming, or perhaps it was Malfoy himself who was beginning to have that effect on him. It was a dangerous thought; even so, Harry did not pull away.
"You have changed," Harry admitted, "but that is not helping me with Eddie."
Malfoy straightened slowly and went back to making notes in his book. "Is Eddie darling awake yet?"
"No." Harry felt a twinge of guilt. In truth, he didn't know whether or not Eddie had awakened. After wrestling with suspicion over the photos all night, Harry hadn't been ready to go to St Mungo's and face him. He needed to set his mind straight first.
And there was still the possibility that Malfoy had planted the photos. He had warned Harry about Eddie from the beginning—what if he had some strange agenda that involved separating Harry from Eddie? From the case files linked, however vaguely, to Malfoy, Harry suspected he was ruthless enough to think little of planting a few suspicious pictures and news clippings.
"I am fairly certain that Rosier's target is Hermione Granger." Malfoy's tone did not change from his usual cheerful conversational lilt and it took Harry a moment to process it.
"What?"
There was a loud clink and Harry looked over to see Agatha staring at him through her distorting lenses. He fixed a reassuring smile on his face and she smiled back before returning to her task. Harry turned back to Malfoy with a tense frown. Malfoy nodded.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Rosier asked me for something and I did some sleuthing amongst some acquaintances. It seemed Rosier has also requested floor plans and property layouts of several large-scale event venues. Including Shepherd's Farm."
If Harry hadn't been already seated he would have needed a chair. He felt knocked for a loop. "The House-Elf Freedom Fair."
"The House-Elf Freedom Fair." Malfoy's repetition was quiet.
Hermione had been working tirelessly since the war to free house-elves and her position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had turned her into a force to be reckoned with. She had finally introduced the House-Elf Freedom Act, which would go before the Wizengamot for a vote within a few weeks. Hermione had been instrumental in drumming up support for the bill, inciting letter-writing campaigns and fund-raising events aimed at swaying the members of the Wizengamot towards growing public support for the idea.
"I thought you said Rosier typically takes out his victims by causing large-scale explosions or things that have multiple victims, as a way of pointing the blame towards an accident, and obfuscating the identity of the real victim."
Malfoy raised a brow—surprised that Harry knew the meaning of the words obfuscating, possibly—and then nodded. "Generally, yes."
"Then who would hire him? This event will entertain people from all over the wizarding world! What if the guest list contained someone the patron would not want to lose?"
"Harry, you realise that some old-school pure-blood is probably behind it, and they would consider it a bonus if Muggleborns and blood traitors were killed in the process of taking out Granger. Of course they would warn away anyone they wanted to preserve."
"All right, we will keep a close eye on the guest list and check everyone who cancels prior to the event. We can follow up and delve into their backgrounds."
"A good place to start." Malfoy nodded.
"And I'll talk Hermione out of attending."
Malfoy chuckled. "I wish you luck with that."
Harry pushed a hand through his hair, knowing Malfoy was right on that account. This was Hermione's life-blood. She would not step away easily, if at all. He frowned and looked at Agatha, who was carefully pouring liquid back into the tiny blue bottles. "What is Agatha doing, anyway?"
"Diluting Pepper-up potion."
"Diluting… why?"
"Well, she pours the contents of twenty bottles into the bowl and adds vodka, increasing the potency and the soporific effects of the potion by nine percent. And then she refills the old bottles, plus an additional twenty, and sells them to apothecaries. We purchase the original Pepper-up wholesale in bulk quantity, and procure the vodka directly from a renegade manufacturer in Russia for a song. It's a real money maker." Malfoy sounded genuinely pleased.
"That's… totally illegal. I should arrest you right now for admitting all that to me."
Malfoy gave him a disappointed stare. "Harry, honestly. Are you actually going to arrest me for petty potions diluting when Hermione Granger's life is at stake? No one is being hurt by the transaction—as I said, the alcohol actually increases the potency. And I'm far better help to you out here with access to my network than I would be locked away inside that dingy room on Level Ten."
Harry gave him a level stare, but Malfoy did not look away. "Can you just… keep your illegal activities to yourself from now on? Please?"
Malfoy beamed at him. "Of course."
Harry had to look away before he started internally waxing poetic about how attractive Malfoy's smile had become. "What are you writing, anyway?"
"I am calculating how rich this little… illegal endeavour is going to make me. And Agatha, of course, since she receives the largest portion of it. She lost her only son in the war. I do what I can."
Harry looked at Agatha, happily emptying bottles for Malfoy's potion racket, and felt a peculiar twist in his heart. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Malfoy was a git.
oOo
"No, Harry. I can't cancel this. It's too important."
"Told you she'd say that, mate." Ron lifted a giant spoonful of crunchy cereal flakes to his mouth. Hermione spelled the milk jug back into the cooler with a twitch of her wand.
Harry frowned at them both. He was annoyed with Ron for not being more concerned about Hermione's welfare. He had warned them about Rosier plotting to kill her—and possibly many others in attendance—and Hermione had simply looked thoughtful whilst Ron had shrugged and said, "We'll just have to stop him."
"Look, Rosier is incredibly dangerous. Malfoy even says not to take him lightly. Looke what he did to Eddie! He uses Muggle weapons and magic together. We have no idea what he's planning!"
"I've been working too long and too hard for this, Harry. Whether I'm in danger or not has no bearing on the upcoming vote. This could mean freedom for all house-elves! I'm willing to take that risk. Of course, that doesn't mean I won't take precautions. Do you have any information on this Rosier?"
"Yeah." Harry pulled the file from his pocket and restored it to original size. Malfoy had given him most of it, far more information than the tiny report he'd gathered from the Ministry. He dropped the thick mass onto the table. "It's ugly. Things we'd never suspected he'd been involved in. So many deaths. It's sickening."
"How is Eddie?" Hermione asked gently. She sat down next to Ron and reached across to touch Harry's hand.
"He's…" Harry powered through the stab of guilt. "I'm going to see him this afternoon. He might be awake by then."
Still crunching bites of cereal, Ron took the file and began to flip through it. His expression grew sober and he finally pushed away his bowl, partially uneaten. "Hermione… this is really serious. Are you sure you have to go? Can't you send someone else and not attend? We can Polyjuice someone to take your place."
Harry nodded. Finally, someone was realising the severity of the situation. "Rosier is ruthless, Hermione. He stabbed Eddie nearly to death in order to ask a question." Harry still wasn't certain why Rosier had targeted Eddie, or more likely, Harry himself. Malfoy had only looked thoughtful when Harry had asked about Rosier's motive.
"Are you honestly suggesting that we send someone else into danger in my place?"
Ron flushed. "I meant an Auror, or something. You know, someone trained to deal with dangerous situations?"
"And what about the innocents in attendance? Who is going to Polyjuice as them? The whole Auror department?"
Ron perked up. "Hey! That's not a bad idea."
Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry sighed and shook his head. "An operation on that scale would not go unnoticed. It would get back to Rosier."
Hermione began to look through the papers Ron had scattered on the table. "Why wouldn't he simply attack me somewhere else? Diagon Alley would be simpler than this elaborate setup. It's no secret that I go to Flourish and Blott's regularly, and it was in the Daily Prophet that I purchase scones every Wednesday at The Busy Baker. There must be a reason he is planning to do it at the House-Elf Freedom Fair. Does Malfoy know?"
Harry nodded. "Rosier does things on a large scale with massive casualties in order to confuse the identity of the real victim. Most of his assassinations have been written off as freak accidents. Also, Malfoy thinks he's being paid by someone opposed to the House-elf Freedom Act. Possibly a pure-blood with deep pockets."
Hermione sighed. "Well, there are certainly a lot of those, and most pure-bloods are opposed to the Act. That hardly narrows it down, but at least it explains the motive. Don't they realise that killing me at such an event might backfire? It could elevate me to the level of martyr and sway public opinion in favour of the bill as a backlash." She seemed disturbingly okay with the notion.
"Malfoy says Rosier's backers tend to be not too bright."
"You say that a lot these days, mate. 'Malfoy says.'"
"He hasn't been wrong yet."
"He could still be setting up this whole thing. Hell, he could be the one paying Rosier."
Harry felt a twinge at that, but then he shook his head. "Why would Malfoy care about house-elf rights? Malfoy Manor is half-demolished. Abandoned."
Ron snorted. "That doesn't mean he hasn't set himself up somewhere else with a collection of house-elf slaves. Where does he live now? Do you even know?"
Harry shook his head and thought about asking Malfoy the next time he saw him, even though he doubted he would get a straight answer. The story about Malfoy's bisexuality was the only personal detail Harry had received; everything else was clouded in mystery.
"I think I'll go see Eddie now. Just try to think about alternatives, okay?" Harry gave Hermione a stern look.
She nodded. "Let us know if Eddie's coherent enough for visitors. We'll drop in as soon as he's awake enough to appreciate company."
Ron nodded. Hermione frequently spoke for both of them. They had lived together for five years, although Hermione refused to get married and "start popping out babies" and Ron seemed perfectly fine with the arrangement, despite his mother's arguments.
"I will," Harry promised and took the Floo to St Mungo's.
Eddie seemed to be peacefully resting, but he opened his eyes and smiled after Harry sat next to the bed for a few minutes.
"Hey," Eddie whispered and raised his hand. After a few moments of groping in the air, Harry caught his hand and held it tightly.
"You're going to be okay."
"So they tell me. How are you?"
Harry snorted, suddenly feeling guilty, not only for suspecting Eddie, but for having such a dangerous job that invited senseless attacks from people like Ralston Rosier. Maybe he really did need to leave the Aurors. After he made sure Hermione was safe, of course, and Rosier was locked up for good.
"Fine. All things considered."
"I should have let you strengthen the wards." Eddie's voice broke and Harry swallowed over the lump in his throat.
"I took care of that." It was true. Harry had spent a solid hour working on the wards. He doubted a team of trained Aurors could break through them now. Pushing aside his doubts, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Eddie's forehead. "Ron and Hermione said they will drop in and visit when you're feeling better."
Eddie nodded. "It's so hard… to stay awake."
Harry chuckled. "They like to keep their patients asleep here, I've noticed. Less trouble, I think."
"You should know."
Another rush of guilt assaulted Harry. His frequent visits to the hospital had been a sore point between them in the past, and part of what had spurred Eddie into asking him to quit, despite the fact that Harry didn't think he'd spent more time at St Mungo's than any other Auror. At least, not excessively more time.
"Yeah.
Eddie's voice became a whisper. "Harry. When you come back…"
Harry leaned closer. "Yes?"
"Bring Cauldron Cakes. The food here is terrible."
Harry chuckled and kissed the knuckles of Eddie's hand before placing it gently back on the bed. He got to his feet and went out, wrestling with his doubts. How could Eddie be anything other than what he seemed?
He took the Floo to the Ministry and then went to his office to see if anything urgent had arisen. His Inbox was empty, since he was technically still on leave. He sent a memo to see if Kingsley was free. He was, so Harry went to his office and detailed Malfoy's information and suspicions regarding Rosier and Hermione. Kingsley advised him not to tell anyone else, since they had no way of knowing who was financing Rosier's operation. It could have been anyone, even those with ties to the Ministry. There were many opponents to the House-elf Freedom Act, and only some of those had been vocal.
After leaving Kingsley's office, Harry headed back to the Auror Division and dropped in to Seamus Finnigan's cubicle. Seamus was just finishing up a report, so Harry waited until he rolled it up and tossed it into his Outbox, where it vanished with a tiny pop.
"What's up, Harry?"
"Do you mind knocking off a few minutes early? I'm in the mood for a pint."
"As long as you clear it with Robards if he decides to chew my arse over it."
"Deal." Harry grinned.
Seamus straightened his desk and then shucked his Auror robes and pulled on a brown cloak. "Still raining out there?"
"Of course. Kneazles and krups."
"Damn it. I'm pants at Umbrella Charms."
"We can Floo to the Leaky."
"Brilliant."
The Leaky Cauldron was nearly empty, which would change once the Ministry and other businesses let out for the evening, so they chose a corner table near the front. Harry bought them a couple of pints and some gravy-covered open-faced beef sandwiches. Then he cast a Muffliato to mask their conversation.
"What's up?" Seamus mumbled through a mouthful of food.
"I need you to do a background check for me. As thorough as possible, but I'd prefer no one else know about it."
Seamus lifted a brow as he chewed.
"On Eddie Carmichael."
Seamus nearly choked. He swallowed hard, coughed, and then took a gulp of his beer. . "Eddie? Why?"
"I have reason to suspect he might be hiding something. It could be nothing. It could be someone trying to make me believe in things that aren't there, but I need to be certain. Can you do it for me?"
"Sure."
"And be careful. If there is something there, I don't want it getting back to Eddie. And if there isn't… Well, I don't want him thinking I suspect him."
"Yeah, that could be awkward." Seamus smirked.
"Thanks, Seamus. I owe you one."
~TBC~