Despite Draco's outward calm, his anticipation had turned into a simmering anxiety. What if he was wrong? What if Ralston had planted a red herring and had a different plot in mind? What if something actually happened to Granger, or even worse, to Potter? Not that he would let anything happen to Potter, of course. Draco wasn't letting him out of his sight-so to speak, since he was, at the moment, invisible.
Potter would never forgive him if anything happened to his precious Granger, which was why Draco had assigned Blaise and Pansy to stick close to her and the Weasel, in order to get them out in the event that the shit hit the cauldron.
Draco smiled vapidly at an elderly wizard he recognised as having more Galleons in his Gringotts account than the fabled Midas, mainly because he was a white-knuckled tightwad, evidenced by the fact that the robes he currently wore hadn't been in fashion since 1812. Granger would be lucky to squeeze a single Knut out of the old skinflint. He would certainly eat his weight in free food, however. The old man took the proffered paper from Draco's hand and ogled him through thick-lensed spectacles.
"Thank you, dearie," he said with a leer.
Draco refrained from hexing him and instead pointed him firmly towards the manor. Hopefully he would run into Pansy, who wouldn't be so reluctant with the hexes. Behind Draco, Potter sighed, barely audible.
"Patience, Potter. It's only been thirty-five minutes. We've got dozens of guests still to come."
"If Rosier will even show up. Merlin, why did she invite Wells-Barton? The man is an insufferable asshat."
Draco looked at the approaching couple with disdain. Potter was right; Wells-Barton was a tall man with a bearing similar to Draco's father; he wore entitlement like a cloak of office. He was a tall, sallow man with a sharp goatee and heavy, steel-grey eyebrows that seemed an extension of his wiry hair. His companion was a mousy, timid-looking woman who appeared thirty years his junior.
Draco snorted. "Granger is wasting her time with that one. It's pointless to attempt to convert the un-convertible. Anton will never give up his house-elves."
Wells-Barton approached and dropped his wand onto the clipboard. Auror Klein greeted him familiarly, but with a reserved tone. It was obvious she knew him as well, and found him distasteful. Then Draco caught a better look at his wand. He stepped back and trod on Potter's foot, earning a tiny exhalation of protest.
"Welcome to the House-elf Freedom Faire, sir. Please take the path to the house where you will be greeted. Enjoy your afternoon." Draco pasted on a fake smile as Wells-Barton and the woman turned away. Draco gestured at a point past the gates, effectively dismissing Wells-Barton. "Oh, is that Oliver Wood? Catch me, Auror Klein, I might swoon! Isn't he handsome?"
When Wells-Barton was out of earshot, Potter leaned close enough that Draco could feel his warmth. Merlin, it was a rather cold day; he hadn't noticed until the urge to cosy up to Potter's side became overwhelming.
"Are you sure?" Potter whispered.
"Absolutely positive." Draco barely moved his lips. Louder, he said, "Oh my, I need to tinky! Hand these out for me, won't you, darling? I'll be right back. Nature calls!"
Auror Klein took the programmes and gave him a hard stare that he returned. She had caught the wand, then, and had merely waited for him to react. Draco thought he might have to recruit her to his employment. She was quite good.
"Come on. I need to gauge his reactions." Draco's high heels clacked loudly on the cobbles as he walked. He could hear Potter trotting next to him, struggling to keep up.
"His reactions to what?"
"Certain things."
"Are you going to tell me anything about this or do I need to hex you?"
"No time, Potter. I'll need to stick close to him. You can probably take off the cloak and mingle—he might want to save his big moment for your presence."
Rosier had disappeared into the house, but when Draco entered he noticed him standing in the entry hall with his companion, who Draco expected was Wells-Barton's actual wife. He only vaguely wondered what had happened to the real Wells-Barton, because the man was an arse and it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing if he no longer walked the mortal path, not that Draco planned to mention that to Potter.
Two Ministry officials were talking with Rosier and Draco sidled near enough to overhear them discussing the rain, a familiar, if dull, topic. He moved closer to Wells-Barton's wife, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else on earth.
"What a lovely brooch!" Draco exclaimed and peered at the hideous monstrosity of garnet and opal. The woman preened.
"Thank you. It belonged to my great grand-gran."
It should have been buried with her, Draco thought, but he only gave her a girlish giggle and said in a stage whisper, "I'm supposed to be outside but I was freezing my bum off and I want a drink. Personally, I think the very idea of freeing house-elves is nonsense. Do you think they are serving the cocktails yet?"
Mrs Wells-Barton's eyes lit up and she smiled at Draco. "Let's go and find out, shall we? Do you know which way is the ballroom? Excuse us, won't you, Anton?"
Draco felt Rosier's sharp stare for a moment, but he kept up a show of feminine solidarity and escorted Mrs Wells-Barton down the hall to the ballroom. Rosier and the others followed, as expected. Any mention of alcohol was guaranteed to pull every Ministry freeloader in range.
The ballroom was filled with small cliques. Draco made note of key patterns for future reference; Darrington was hovering far too close to Appleby's current mistress—that could be useful for later blackmail—and Sampson was already drunk. It was likely he'd arrived that way, the idiotic sot. If Draco'd only had the time, he would have attempted to extract some insider Quidditch information from him. There was always money to be made if one knew which players were injured or were about to leave one team for another. Draco sighed; business before business.
Rosier had taken a glass of champagne and Draco watched as he pretended to drink. Rosier was a teetotaller, although Wells-Barton certainly wasn't. Rosier's eyes swept over the crowd and fixed on a few objects in the room before he smiled. Draco relaxed minutely.
Granger swept into the room a moment later—accompanied by a watchful Weasley—and accepted a scattering of applause with a stiff bow and a short speech of welcome. Draco listened politely as Mrs Wells-Barton murmured hateful things about the disgrace of freeing house-elves and the fact that they had only come to keep abreast of the horrible situation. Draco made sympathetic noises and remained relatively near to Rosier.
Harry Potter tried to sidle in unobtrusively, but a group of sycophantic officials hurried over and pounced on him with greedy handshakes and booming voices. Draco smirked. Potter should have remained under the cloak. He'd be lucky to fight free of admirers in the event of a crisis.
"I disagree with his choice of political allies," Mrs Wells-Barton said in a mere whisper, leaning close to speak into Draco's ear, "but Mr Potter is rather handsome, don't you think?"
"My, yes," Draco said in a purring tone. "If he's half as good in the sack as he is at ridding the world of evil… Well, can you imagine?"
Mrs Wells-Barton fanned herself. "I certainly can."
There was more mingling and a small cluster of bigoted, like-minded souls attached themselves to Rosier and spoke bitterly about the good old days. They spoke quietly, however, because it was obvious to anyone with political ambition that opposing this particular measure would not be a wise idea, as the Minister for Magic and most of the Department Heads of the Ministry were on board. Draco had little doubt that the Wizengamot would bow to public pressure and allow it to pass. Everyone present knew it as well, and dared not engage in arguments at social functions.
That very conundrum was what had caused Rosier's employers to hire him. Only a violent statement could shake up the vote now, and Draco doubted anyone currently present had been bold enough to stoop to such a plot. Those responsible would be lurking in their homes, awaiting news of the imminent disaster.
Draco saw Potter becoming more and more obviously alarmed and he signalled Pansy with a minute toss of his head towards Rosier. She strolled over and inserted herself next to Rosier, and really, the man would have to be dead not to spend a few minutes admiring her assets, while Draco excused himself to use the loo.
Potter followed and dragged Draco into the nearest unlocked room. Draco removed his wrist from Potter's grip and rubbed it with a frown. "I bruise easily, you brute."
"You need to give us more information about what's going to happen. I'm about to take him down out of sheer nerves. I should have made Hermione stay home. I should have hexed her and Polyjuiced into her—"
"Gross, Potter. Trust me, Polyjuicing into your best friend is not something you'll ever want to do. There are things you will be unable to forget."
"Malfoy." Potter's tone was implacable.
Draco moved closer and ran a finger up Potter's lapel before gazing up at him flirtatiously, a move she'd seen Pansy perform thousands of times. It didn't seem to have any effect on Potter, possibly because of the momentary gender issue.
"Look, I know you have little reason to trust me beyond everything that I've done for you and the fact that I'm inherently trustworthy, but everything is going to plan. Rosier is completely relaxed and self-satisfied—honestly, he makes a better Wells-Barton than Wells-Barton. Did you notice?"
"Malfoy."
"Just stick close to Granger and the Weasel and if you see me even twitch in your direction, then you get them out immediately."
"I can't let all of these other people die!"
Draco reached up and took Potter's face in both hands. "You are so adorable when you puff up with self-righteousness! I could kiss you again."
The power of Potter's glower was rivalled only by the depth of his blush, although Draco admitted it could have been a flush of rage rather than discomfit.
"Look, you know Granger bought into this plan. At least trust her if you won't give me the benefit of the doubt. I would not have allowed Pansy and Blaise to attend if I thought they would be in the slightest danger. I have few enough friends that I can't risk the ones I have. In fact, they are the only two. Well, there is Gryphon, but—frankly, Potter, we don't have time for this. I'm certain you'll do whatever heroic act is needed should the occasion warrant. We've already gone over every possible scenario and I need to get back to Rosier before Pansy does something stupid and gives it all away. What do you use to shave, by the way? Your face is delightfully smooth."
Potter gripped Draco's wrists and pushed him firmly away. "You are maddening, you know that?"
"You know, I've been told that, but I don't understand what they mean. Ta, Potter." Draco turned and sashayed out, giving him a wink as he passed through the door. As luck would have it, Draco nearly ran down the same serving boy that had caught them before. "The Boy-Who-Lived is insatiable," he whispered loudly, "but you didn't hear it from me."
Draco chuckled wickedly, imagining the headlines. If they all survived the next hour.
oooOooo
Harry watched as Malfoy exited the room. The man was infuriating no matter what form he wore. And yet, despite his growing anxiety and need to do something, Harry found that he really did trust Malfoy. Or maybe he was just gullible and falling prey to Malfoy's newfound charm.
Harry shook his head and left the small study, only to encounter the wide eyes of the serving boy in the hallway.
"Mums the word, sir." With those cryptic words, the boy sped away.
"Merlin," Harry muttered and went to find Ron, who was still in the ballroom. Hermione was holding an animated conversation about the house-elves at Hogwarts—freed a year prior—and how they were beginning to value their abilities to come and go at will. Harry leaned close to Ron. "Nothing useful from Malfoy. I'll move to the other side of the room, just in case."
Ron nodded. The three of them had agreed to stay alert for anything, prepared to cast Shield Charms or offensive hexes at the first sign of danger. Harry's first concern would be for his friends, but he hadn't lied to Malfoy; there was no way he planned to let Rosier hurt anyone even to get Hermione and Ron safely away.
Malfoy had returned to Rosier's side and as Harry watched he jabbed an elbow into Parkinson's side. There followed a quiet argument that Rosier seemed to find amusing, until Parkinson gave Malfoy a venomous glare and stalked away. Malfoy leaned close to Mrs Wells-Barton and spoke. Both women laughed and Rosier's speculative gaze travelled over Malfoy, who had turned away from him.
Hermione tapped the lip of her wineglass with her wand, drawing the attention of everyone. "Dinner will be served shortly. If you will all follow me to the dining room?"
They made their way down the hall and Harry knelt down as though adjusting a shoe. He followed shortly after Rosier and his party.
"You will find your name cards hovering over the plates," Hermione said. "We wanted to give everyone a chance to mingle and so drew the names randomly."
Harry knew that was a blatant lie. Hermione had spent days on the seating assignments, making certain that each undecided person—or even her direct opponents—would be seated next to someone with the potential to sway them to her cause.
As the group broke up and everyone headed towards the long table, seeking their own names, Harry noticed that Rosier had his wand out.
Immediately, he pulled out Malfoy's old wand and pushed aside a wizard in dusty orange robes, seeking a clear shot. Rosier's other hand was clenched around a small object and his lips were moving. Harry decided on a Stupefy, but before he could cast, Malfoy stepped between them.
A bolt of yellow-green light shot from Rosier's wand and hit the largest of the black vases on the table. At the same moment, Malfoy's hand reached up and dropped over Rosier's, closing over whatever object was in his hand. An instant later, Rosier and Malfoy vanished. There was a hissing sound from the vase and Harry cast a Protego over the nearest bystanders, hoping to shield them from whatever chain reaction Rosier had set off.
Portkey, Harry realised and felt a sickening wrench of panic as he realised Malfoy could have been working with Rosier from the beginning. A heartbeat later and purple sparks began to explode from each of the floral centrepieces. The guests watched in awe and Harry's gaze shot to Ron, silently willing him to get Hermione out whilst Harry dealt with the threat.
To his surprise, Ron gaped at the growing cascade of purple and then a smile cracked his features. "Hey!" he called. "I know what this is!"
oooOooo
Draco spun out of the Portkey whirl and did not even have time to appreciate the shocked expression on the face of Wells-Barton cum Rosier before the outstretched wand was turning on him. Luckily, Draco was well prepared.
"Stupefy!" he hissed and jammed his wand-tip into Rosier's kidney. He followed it with an Expelliarmus and a veritable whirlwind of magical ropes. Rosier toppled over like a fallen spruce.
Draco turned in a slow circle, alert for anything. It was possible Rosier had set up traps in the event someone should locate his hiding place. Nothing jumped out to attack him, so Draco began to cast Detection Charms, seeking anything and everything of potential danger.
Other than a Garroting Gas Hex trigger on a locked box, a nasty Muggle explosive wired to a leather knapsack, and a Stunner Step in front of the bedside table, Draco found nothing. He looked at Rosier's still form and shook his head in disappointment. "That's all, Ralston, really? Either you're getting lazy or your ego has grown so large that you've become complacent. Judging by the number of empty food boxes in here, I fear the latter. I believe you've joined the ranks of the unmotivated."
Draco disarmed the deadly spells, placed a Stasis Charm on the explosives—he'd let the Ministry deal with that, since he detested the inner workings of Muggle devices—and then made a slow circuit of the room searching for anything he'd missed. As he did so, he collected a small pile of treasures and placed them on the bed. The locked box, once unlocked, revealed a stack of papers, a journal, and a collection of items that would need further examination. An expensive-looking forearm wand sheath (with attached antique dagger) joined a marble potions mixing kit, a cashmere scarf, and a well-used book joined the box of treasures. Draco reached into the bodice of his dress and pulled out the small clutch purse he'd tucked in there earlier. A spell and a twist opened it to six times its width and he quickly scooped the items inside, giving thanks for the inventor of wizard-space.
When the purse was closed and returned to its snug hiding place, Draco turned to make certain Rosier was still unconscious. He was beginning to stir, so Draco hit him with an extra strong Stunner, mostly because he felt like it.
"Just two more things before I go. Accio Harry Potter's wand!" The wardrobe door shot open and Potter's wand shot out from its hiding place inside the pocket of a black cape. Obviously, Rosier hadn't decided what to do with it even up to the point of putting the damned thing under lock and key. It was sad how the mighty had fallen. Draco's final bit of business was to cast a Locator Charm and attune it with a long range.
He peered out the window to look for landmarks, but saw nothing familiar through the pouring rain. A double-decker bus trundled past, so Draco assumed he was in London. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long a jaunt back to the Farm.
He Apparated in front of the iron gates to see Auror Finnigan standing alone, looking bored.
"I see the place is still standing," Draco commented as he approached and jerked his chin towards the house.
"How did you get out?" Finnigan asked.
"Portkey," Draco admitted and held up the crumpled cigarette pack that had been Rosier's Portkey.
"Does Harry know you're gone?"
"He was standing not eight feet away when I disappeared, so I'm quite certain he does. Are you going to let me back in?"
"Yeah, all right." Finnigan pushed the gate open and Draco gave him a jaunty wave before striding back to the manor. Although he was nearly one hundred percent confident of his plan's success, there was still a miniscule chance that he'd been wrong. He allowed himself a moment or two of worry and then he pushed open the door to the house. The Auror on duty glanced up at him, looking bored as ever.
Blaise stood near the floral display with the massive arms of his borrowed body crossed over his chest. The look of relief on his face was familiar, however. He gave Draco a wide grin and then beckoned him into the small study Draco and Potter had occupied earlier.
Inside, Potter, Pansy, and Auror Klein were stood next to a sofa that contained a distraught-looking Mrs Wells-Barton. Draco hoped he didn't imagine the softening of Potter's expression when he caught sight of Draco, nor the brief smile that curved his lips.
"Persephone! You disappeared with my… Well, they are telling me it wasn't Anton! What happened?"
"No, he definitely wasn't your dear Anton." Draco handed Potter a Charmed Knut. "This will take you to Ralston. He might be difficult to awaken."
Potter gave it to Auror Klein with an official-sounding murmur.
Mrs Wells-Barton looked disappointed. "Are you an Auror, also?"
"That's top secret, I'm afraid. But it was lovely to meet you."
"If you'll come with me, madam, I'll take you to Auror Headquarters where you can await word of your husband. We have sent someone to look for him and you may be able to help with that."
Mrs Wells-Barton gave a tearful gasp that Draco suspected was entirely faked. He could practically see the gears turning and wished her luck, although he doubted that Wells-Barton was deceased. Either he had been in on Rosier's plot from the beginning or he was bound and stuffed into a closet somewhere. Of course, there was always the chance that he wouldn't be found before starving to death or suffocating. She could hope for that, at least.
Auror Klein escorted her out and Draco walked over and pumped Pansy's hand enthusiastically. Giving her a hug in his current state would have been awkward. "Well done, Pansy, my darling. Excellent work, as always. You also, Blaise. Take the rest of the night off. In fact, take the rest of the week. I'll owl if I need you."
Pansy gave him a fond smirk and a kiss on the cheek. "We're all alive, so you were right again. I suppose it will go to your head."
"Of course it will." Draco winked at her and she looped her arm through Blaise's. She smirked and said, "Goodbye, Potter. Give us a call if you'd like to give the other side another try."
Draco frowned as she disappeared. Flirting with Potter was simply not on. Potter turned on him the moment the door closed behind Draco's friends. "How did you do it? How did you know? And you couldn't have mentioned it?"
"And spoil the surprise? What's the fun in that? Actually, I had a bit of luck that Ralston could not have foreseen. When I was looking into that Wolfsbane potion during the unpleasantness with Fenrir, I discovered that someone had sold a large quantity of cassava root to one of Rosier's aliases. If there is one thing I've discovered, it's that people are sentimental when it comes to aliases and they are reluctant to part with their favourites."
"The potion?" Potter's exasperation was evident.
"Right you are, Potter. On task, as always. Once I learnt that Rosier had acquired concentrated cassava root, I immediately suspected that he was making a Blood Suffocation Potion." He nodded at Potter's horrified expression. "Indeed, it's one of the nastier things in Rosier's arsenal. He utilised in in Brussels during… Well, never mind that. I had Blaise stake out the florist, since Granger had the catering situation well in hand. Those were the two likeliest methods for Rosier to smuggle in enough of the potion to take out the entire party. I was correct, of course."
"The potion was in the vases."
"The potion was in the vases." Draco beamed at Potter. "I simply waited for Lovegood to deliver them, unsuspecting, of course, and then I spelled out all of the nasty potion and replaced it with that ridiculous Sparkler Storm Potion brewed by that Weasley friend of yours. The other Weasley, I mean."
"And what did you do with the Blood Suffocation Potion?"
"The vases are quite clever, actually. They contain a central chamber with a thin membrane separating it from the outer chamber. A simple spell releases the membrane and causes the two substances to blend. Rosier's intention was for the Blood Suffocation Potion to mix with Sulfuric Acid to produce an immediate and deadly gas cloud. The Weasley potion instead mixed with pure water to produce a brilliant shower of sparks. I assume it was fabulous?"
"Fabulous and nearly gave me a bloody heart attack. You could have warned me. Luckily, Ron recognised the effects immediately."
"As I said, I didn't want to spoil the surprise." Draco smiled and then gave a start of surprise as his body shifted and melted back into a more comfortable form. "Lovely! The Polyjuice has worn off. As much as I enjoy being Persephone, I much prefer my natural state. And these shoes no longer fit." Draco kicked off the high heels with a sigh of relief and then had the distinct pleasure of watching Potter re-evaluate him with a slow stare that travelled from his head to his toes.
Potter smirked. "Well, the dress certainly fit better before."
Draco sauntered closer. Potter's eyes widened and he backed away. "Indeed. Would you like to see if the kissing remains commensurate?" Before Potter could negate his suggestion, Draco stepped quickly forwards and pressed his lips to Potter's, curling one hand behind his neck to hold him in place. It was so much better being of a more equitable height and in possession of one's own mouth.
Potter was still for one heartbeat, and then two…allowing Draco to taste him. Draco scarcely dared marvel at not being shoved aside and he followed temptation into bringing his tongue into play, just the slightest touch, and then the push came, followed by a brilliant green glower and dark brows marring a famous scar with a wrinkle.
"Very funny," Potter said, but he sounded breathless to Draco. "What's your excuse this time?"
"No excuse," said Draco. "I just wanted to. Bloody hell, I can't leave now that the Polyjuice has worn off. I would rather not be seen."
Potter pressed the fingers of both hands to his temples and rubbed slowly, as if Draco's mere presence induced a migraine, and then he reached into his knapsack and handed Draco a shimmery length of fabric—the famed invisibility cloak.
"I expect you to go straight to my house and leave this on the sofa in my living room, since you apparently know how to get into my house. Touch nothing in there and take no detours with my cloak. Do you understand?"
Draco suppressed a smile and six sorts of sardonic comments, because he felt rather touched to be trusted with such a sacred item. It was a massive statement, to Draco's thinking, and felt something like a thank you for potentially saving Granger's life.
"You're welcome," Draco said solemnly and took the cloak. He slung it over his shoulders. "Oh, by the way, you seem to have dropped this." Draco pulled out the small bag—now held in place by a flattened bra, and reached in to pull out Potter's wand. "You're welcome again."
With that, Draco flipped the hood over his head, considered and rejected kissing Potter once more, for good measure, and then went out.
~TBC~