Chapter Thirteen

Stretching his arms out in the open space, Harry Potter yawned as his emerald eyes adjusted to the light confined inside his four walls. He walked out of his bedroom, already a few minutes behind schedule as his body decided that he needed more than four hours of sleep and it was not about to let the Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic walk out into danger without another five hours of rest. (It was his fault, for one, but after a lifetime of never being able to actually rest due to the fact that he was saving the world constantly, he was allowed to slide by. Oh, the perks of being The Chosen One.)

"—Morning, Harry."

"—Afternoon is more like it."

Crossing his arms over his bare chest, Harry's eyes widened at the faces looking up at him; startling him as he just expected to find the redhead of his heart scowling at him as he walked half-nude in the light of the sun, windows open as he exposed himself. (Again, he was allowed to slide by with whatever he wanted nowadays.) "It's not that late, is it?" He asked those peering faces.

"Past noon, mate, but it's alright. Ginny tells us you were sleeping like a baby."

"With the kicking and stealing of blankets." Walking into the living room, Ginny Potter handed her husband an old shirt, smirking at him as George sat waiting patiently to make a joke. "Now I know where James got it from. Because Merlin knows that boy almost crushed a couple of bones when he was in the womb."

"Reminds me of the twins," Molly Weasley said, serving the people around her daughter's center table a bit of tea. "It was like a constant party for those two. My pelvis was never quite right after that."

Ginny grimaced. She didn't want to know about her mother's pelvis or areas around there.

"Fred came out throwing punches," George interjected cheerfully, some nostalgia that'll forever be a part of him when his dead brother came into conversation shone brightly in his eyes. "Got a good swing at the Healer, mate, that he gladly smacked Fred back. We ruled that cradle-room."

Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother. "You don't know that, George. And you didn't rule anything."

"Oi, don't underestimate my ability to kick ass, Gin."

"We've just got here a few minutes ago, Harry." Ron called as Hermione nudged him, taking a pumpkin pasty from his hands and a frown for not greeting their best friend. "Found it a bit weird that you weren't in your office, but Teddy told me you had slept in."

Harry furrowed his brows, taking a seat on the armchair facing the small group around him. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Relax, Harry," Hermione smiled peacefully at the bespectacled man. "You look frightened. This isn't an intervention."

"Yeah, mate, the next one is for Ron. Take a breath."

"Me?" Ron snapped. "Why me?"

George grinned wickedly, shrugging casually as he snuggled casually next to his mother. Almost as if he was measuring his protection against 'Ickle Ronniekens' in case he decided to fight back. (Which, George could never be certain of. Pansy seemed to have given him some courage, but then again she's the man of their relationship. He was never sure if Ron would hit or runaway crying for backup.) "We're starting to get worried about your weight, Ron. Another month of your sick eating-habits and you won't be fitting through the Floo anymore."

"It's baby weight!" Ron hissed, looking outraged as his fingers let slip that sweet he had taken back from Hermione. "I've never been in this spectacular shape in years!"

Sighing to herself, Hermione had to speak up in defense for her redhead best friend. "George, don't be so mean. Ron's just building up that weight after years; his metabolism isn't the same as when he was a teenager."

The tall redheaded man grinned more largely. Even as his mother removed him from her side, his protection vanishing. "But of course, 'Mione. That can only justify why he is out of breath every three seconds and why Kingsley is thinking about retiring him."

Ron's eyes opened wildly.

"Didn't know?" George continued, looking up at his brother-in-law with a teasing stare; putting him on the spot as Ron turned pink. "Harry, mate, can't believe you haven't told my little brother about his sacking. It's okay, Ron, there is always the position of caretaker for the shop open just for you. What is family for anyway, right?"

Having had forgotten his wand on his nightstand, Harry exhaled nosily to catch the attention of his flushing-in-anger friend. "You're not getting sacked, Ron. Now, will someone care to explain what do I owe this huddle for before my living room gets torn into pieces and Gin makes me clean up after you lot?"

"Zabini," Ginny answered for her husband, leering secretively as the others raised their eyebrows at Harry's comment. (Yes, she kept her man controlled.) "He's been talking to Lavender these past few weeks, discussing 'speculations' that he has come up with. We already asked Cho to smack him for us, you know, just how she usually does, but it seems that Lavender has lost all of her marbles now that Seamus—We're just worried about Lavender and Dash, Harry."

Turning to look at Ron, Harry tried to pull on his most serious expression. "Speculations of what?"

"Blaise thinks Seamus was killed," Hermione responded, grimacing to hide her suspicion. (Not like she didn't catch that calculated stare among her two best friends, like she hadn't grown up with them. Knowing every little secret message among the two. Harry might be the Boy-Who-Lived, but she was the Brightest Witch of the Age; that qualified her to be smarter than what they were giving her credit for.) "He's been telling Lavender, that since she works at the Ministry, she should try and check up on the file the Aurors have for Seamus' case."

"There's no file," Harry replied quietly. "Finnegan's death was accidental. Caused by a mishap with muggle electricity. We didn't run an investigation, Lavender knows that. No case was open because it wasn't murder or anything that qualifies it as an Auror-matter. "

The brunette woman frowned. "There is always a file, Harry. The Ministry has to keep record of the deaths among our population, that's how they created the Marriage Law that bound us with our respective partners ages ago. The Ministry sends in people to get every detail about a wizard's death no matter if they died in muggle locations."

Attempting not to roll his eyes, because Hermione never seemed to stop thinking and knowing stuff, Harry kept his facade on as Ron pretended to be interested on the pattern on the teapot. "A record of their death, Hermione, is not a file. It's a simple name on a list. I don't know what you expect me to do about this, Zabini is not my concern. I can talk to Lavender, show her the list if she wished...but Zabini's faulty mind is something not even Merlin can help him with."

Looking awkward, Ron chuckled in exaggerated puffs. "That's the same thing Malfoy said, mate. I told Hermione and Ginny to nose off about this, that they're reading too much into Zabini's crazy ramblings, but you know them. Women." He snorted the last word, earning quick frowns from his sister and best friend, but a smack upside the head by his mother.

"Spot of breakfast, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked happily, rising up from her seat to subdue the pressure that was being forced on Harry. "I'll cook you up something while you get ready to go to the Ministry." Molly Weasley was not to be fooled with, ever. She knew what was going on before anyone could even attempt to explain it to her. Which meant that she knew the cold-case that'd been cracked up by the Minister and given to her son, son-in-law and Draco. It wasn't, however, her place to undermine the authority of Aurors or the concerns of husbands—so she chose to pretend like she was oblivious.

"Mum—Mum!" Groaning as the elder woman wobbled her way into her kitchen, Ginny glared at her husband. "You see, Harry Potter? If you would've woken up earlier you could have had breakfast with Teddy and I and my mother wouldn't be preparing a lecture about how to keep your husband satisfied."

Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses. "…You didn't wake me up."

"And now it's my fault?" Ginny snorted. "Hermione, come with me please. That way Molly won't yell."

"—Close call, mate."

"—You should consider telling Lavender like you did Luna, Harry."

Watching as the two women disappeared into the kitchen, the Boy-Who-Lived scowled annoyed at his best friend as George looked all-knowingly as soon as the women disappeared. "Really, Ron? Really?"

Ron looked nervously at Harry, shoving a sweet into his mouth. "It 'ort uff 'lipped out, 'ate."

George smirked evilly. "Can't keep anything from me, Potter." Cracking his fingers as he handed his brother another sweet, George leered grandly. "Now, since we're kicking-ass, and I am known to be bloody good at that, when do I get my Auror title?"

The Chosen One narrowed his eyes, dreading not to be right on what George was thinking.

But as soon as the last remaining half of the Weasley-twins caught sight of that bit of doubt in his eyes, George left it perfectly clear for the Head Auror. "I want an office with a loo inside and a giant sign that reads: George Weasley; Wicked Auror and Sexy Man."

X

"You're late."

Walking into his office with a stack of papers, robes scattered and messy, Draco Malfoy glared at the person seated on his chair; looking like they owned his desk with that look of superiority burning in their eyes. "Didn't know I was being timed or monitored."

"We keep our entire ex-Death Eaters monitored, Mister Malfoy," the dark man on the chair said, leaning back casually and eyeing the Auror with such calmness that he knew he was igniting a flame of fury in the blonde man before him. "Certainly you must know that." A finger was pointed at Malfoy's pale arm, where the sleeve of his robe was rolled up. Exposing that mark that reminded the world of who he used to be—of what he did.

"You have three seconds to get out of my chair before they find you missing," Draco snapped threateningly, lowering his work on his desk as he stared at the man across from him. "Don't think I won't hesitate to do it. Just because some people find you important doesn't mean I do."

"You're no fun," Blaise scoffed, spinning the black-leather chair as his best friend continued to frown. "I come to visit you and your little minions tell me the great Mister Malfoy is off running some errands like a common worker. And not one—not one—offered me a glass of Firewhiskey. You have terrible service, mate."

Flicking his wand towards his fellow Slytherin, Draco made his chair stop spinning and his friend's neck to sway, making him look like an idiot with a bad tick. "We are not a pub, Zabini. We're here to work and solve cases. And unlike yourself, I don't spend half of my working-day on my ass, hoping to Merlin that my wife will come in and do me on my desk. There are much more time-consuming things to do, but it must be bloody easy for a corporation owner, right?"

"Oi!" Blaise scowled, getting off the chair and shoving Malfoy a step to the side as he passed him to get to the empty, dull chairs across and rubbing his neck at the same time. (If he was still stiff by the time he irritated Draco so much and he got kicked out, Blaise was heading straight to that muggle spa where they made him feel like a god after a nap.) "I resent that, mate. It is quite fulfilling when Cho shows up and I dismiss my workers so the boss can handle serious matters. That way they all know that I am in charge."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at the dark man. "How does your company survive?"

"Everyone loves me," Blaise shrugged casually, his teeth gleaming a pearly-white as he grinned.

"It's a good thing you're here," Draco interjected rudely, but still making the man grin more at his words. (Oh, it was always a happy day when Zabini got to hear Draco say he cared.) "For the past couple of weeks I've been getting owls from Goyle, but none with an actual message. Until now."

"Goyle?" Zabini asked, distracted slightly as his best friend handed him an envelope. "We haven't heard anything from the prat since the Thomas' wedding the summer after our Seventh Year." He snapped his fingers quickly, with a bright smirk. "He heard I'm doing quite well, eh? Bet he wants to borrow a few galleons. He can't possibly be keeping Padma Patil happy; she was always such an expensive witch."

Malfoy rolled his silvery eyes, sighing. "He married Parvati Patil, Blaise."

"Different name, same person," the dark man waved it off, opening the letter.

Malfoy,

It has been a while, hasn't it, mate? I'm sorry for the disappearance all those years ago. For never saying farewell properly, or even keeping in touch after all these years. I hope your children are doing just fine and that Granger hasn't driven you into the loony-bin after all this time. I doubt it, though. You were very much in love last time I saw you. I really hope that is still burning brightly.

Now, to be direct—I need a favor. I do know that you've made yourself a good career in the Auror Department and that you're practically second-in-command if it wasn't for Weasley trailing behind Potter after all these years. But I suppose if I was married to Pansy I'd make sure I was ranked high too.

Anyway, I need to know how well your protection program is, for children. How well are they protected after the deaths of their parents, where they go, and who qualifies to adopt them if they end up in an orphanage instead of with any surviving relatives.

Hope you can assist with information without any questioning.

G. Goyle.

"Whoa, Drake."

Malfoy nodded slowly. "…I know."

"Who knew Goyle could write, yeah?" Blaise laughed loudly, reminiscing about the times Crabbe and Goyle used to get frustrated when they tried reading their books from First Year. (Oh, how they failed their O.W.L's and the entertainment that that gave Blaise for months.) "All those fancy words. You know the sorting hat was spot on when he tied him to that Ravenclaw. He's more articulate now than ever—bravo to Parvati, bravo."

"Not the writing, you thickhead! The bloody message within!" Draco hissed, snatching the envelope back. "And, once again, he is married to Parvati, the Gryffindor twin!"

Blaise raised his dark brow, his emerald eyes looking suspicious. "Well, who would've known you were paying attention after all these years? I don't ruddy care what twin he married, just if he managed to get them both. Salazar knows I had trouble identifying them back in Fifth Year. A bit reluctant at first, but both got around to keeping Blaise happy."

"How are you not infected with something, I will never know."

"I check up with my Healer monthly," Zabini smiled happily. "He's been looking after me since I was two. Great bloke. Always gives me a sweet."

Subduing a frustrated curse, Draco spoke through his teeth in order to keep his anger controlled. (Living with an idiot like Zabini as a best friend was just a curse that he learned to deal with, and those breathing-exercises Hermione taught him really did pay off at the end.) "Why would Goyle be interested in knowing about protection the Ministry provides for the children that are left orphans? If I recall, Goyle and Parvati are owners of a restaurant in Australia. There's no need for him to need that kind of private information from the Ministry."

"Maybe his brats are doing a project," Blaise shrugged. "Honestly, mate, how can you not be shocked that Goyle is writing to you? Wait— he owns a restaurant? How come I haven't been invited?"

Feeling like colliding his head with his glass desk repeatedly, Draco submerged another curse. "...It's in a muggle region, Blaise."

"Ugh, nevermind," the dark-skinned man made a sour face, remembering the time he gave up a house-elf made dish to eat tacos in muggle London a year ago. "I don't want to end up kicking the cauldron surrounded by muggles like Finnegan did."

Draco dropped the irritated expression to look blankly at the Slytherin.

"Too soon?" Blaise mumbled shamefully.

Knock. Knock.

"Mister Malfoy?" The glass door of Auror Malfoy's office opened lightly, clear eyes looking inside shyly. "I've got the copies of the report you asked me to get from the Head Auror."

"Potter's here already? Took him all morning," Malfoy grunted. "Come in," he added, signaling for his secretary to march in.

"Miss Rowle!" Blaise practically fell out of his chair as he scurried out of it, hands fixing the wrinkles on his black blazer as he attempted to look sharp for the young witch. "How lovely to see you! Looking beautiful as always."

Tanya looked skeptically at the man. "Mister Zabini...didn't recognize you. How are you?"

"I've been working out," Blaise said with a little giggle.

The secretary tried to hide an awkward expression. "Erm...I actually referred to the fact that you are wearing pants this time."

Draco smirked brightly at his secretary, enjoying the cocky expression crumbling from his friend's face. "Don't get used to it, Tanya. He always manages to find a way not to wear his trousers."

"It gives me courage and a grand sex-appeal," Zabini snapped, patting down his expensive clothes. "You would be surprised to know the amount of blokes that have trouble getting undressed in front of people. It just shows that I am incredible in bed and that I have no trouble expressing myself sexually."

Catching the light purr his friend threw at his secretary, Draco pulled on his annoyed expression on his pale, pointed face again. "Unless you are going to start sorting out my mail, Zabini, I suggest you bugger off to another office or department. Better yet, go find Teddy and help him sort out the Azkaban files."

Blaise snorted. "Good one, mate. Like I'm going to be doing manual labor for the Ministry without wages. Ha. I'll go find Potter, there's something I want to run by him." Waving at his best friend, throwing a wink at the secretary, Blaise marched with his swag towards the door, shimming his hips along the way.

"…Charming man," Tanya said, brows furrowed as Zabini gave a hip-thrust outside the glass walls of her boss' office. "—Mister Potter wished me to inform you that he's moving the location of the recent cases from their original location. He seemed a bit worried that someone might try to take them."

"Have you sent Mrs. Finnegan the information of her new vault in Gringotts?" Malfoy asked after he nodded, taking the report his secretary handed to him.

"Yes, sir. She was reluctant at first to accept it, but since her son and she will be out of Britain for quite awhile, she figured it was the best thing to do."

Lucius Malfoy—Death Eater; murdered

Seamus Finnegan—Former D.A member; murdered on the outskirts of London.

Draco stared at the last two entries of the list the Aurors were putting together. His chest felt odd, almost heavy. Like if there was an undying pressure seeping into him, making his blood run a little thicker. His conscience was gripping him inside, making him feel like the names were written in blood and flesh; like there was more guilt combined into their deaths than he could have expected. He felt his dark mark burn, signaling to him that there was evil behind this.

Kevin Goldstein—Ten year-old son of deceased Anthony Goldstein; murdered

Zoe Smith—Fifteen year-old daughter of Zacharias Smith; tortured and murdered. (Died in muggle hospital.)

"They're just children." Feeling a cold palm on his shoulder, Draco flicked his gaze up to see his secretary looking intensely at him; her see-through green eyes appearing worried and understanding for the silence that had taken over him as he looked over the report. She was stretched over his desk, just looking at him, making him feel colder and frozen in his seat. "You're afraid, I can tell."

"They will kill anyone," Malfoy responded, his voice almost cryptic as he continued to stare at the dark-haired woman. "My children, even."

Adding force onto her grip on his shoulder, Tanya Rowle nodded. "They will." Her tone was blank, almost like if there was no use to try and pretend that wasn't the case. These people were going to go after everyone, and they wouldn't stop for the young ones. They were ruthless murderers, no point denying that. "Your daughter won't survive the shock her body went into, Mister Malfoy. She will be comatose forever."

Not being able to blink, captivated by the transparent color in his secretary's eyes, Draco nodded once to her statement. His skin went rigid, his muscles tight against his flesh, senses dropping, his heartbeat slowing down inside his chest; barely even feeling it.

"…You will solve the case soon, Mister Malfoy, and it will all be over." Whispering to the blonde man, Tanya reached a white hand to the side of his face. Tracing the back of her knuckles onto his skin, watching him as his metallic-eyes looked fixated into hers. "It will all be over soon."

And with a blink of her eyes, Tanya settled herself into her chair once again, her quill in one hand and her parchment ready to take notes.

"Have you sent Mrs. Finnegan the information of her new vault at Gringotts?" Draco asked, feeling like the room filled with color again. Like that pressure he had felt seconds ago was just a figment of his imagination.

Tanya waited until Auror Malfoy went back to looking over the report to answer, a grin stretching on her pink lips. "Yes, sir. She was reluctant at first to accept it, but since her son and she will be out of Britain for quite awhile, she figured it was the best thing to do," she repeated like she had done before.

Oh, the weakness of the mind—no one ever suspected a thing.

AN: D U N. D U N. D U N.