Draco hoped this wasn't going to become a regular thing.
He'd been more than happy to let Zabini and Rosier handle everything pertaining to the Wizengamot. But he had promised to be available if called upon, to be considered cooperative and - hopefully - agreeable.
Well, that would depend on what they talked about.
But he was here, even if it was reluctant. He had taken the opportunity to swing through Gringotts again, to return the other Malfoy jewellery not currently decorating his fiance-mate, and to pick up some more pocket money. He wished he felt comfortable with Granger being here, but he hadn't, and so she was still at the Manor.
Draco would have liked the chance to let her peruse through the vault herself and pick out anything she'd like to take back with them. But as it was, he didn't trust that they still weren't a target. Even if Ronan wasn't passing information any longer, someone else easily could be.
Not to mention the very active protest happening outside the Ministry steps at this moment. No secrecy in the visit this time. Draco had been taken aback by their fervour, the anger in the streets.
But his separation from Granger chafed. The longer it went on, the more he felt as if he had ants flowing through his veins instead of blood. He reached out to her constantly through the thread, and while this should have eased his mind, it only seemed to make things worse.
It shouldn't have been necessary. It was a constant reminder that she wasn't with him.
He still couldn't stop doing it.
Somehow whenever he'd go flying around as the Veela, it didn't feel like this. Maybe it was the sensation of the flying that overwhelmed the rest, maybe his exhilaration simply didn't leave room for the rampant worrying. Or maybe it was because he knew he could still get back to the Manor in a heartbeat if he felt she needed something.
It wouldn't be so simple or quick from the bowels of the Ministry, and he hated the feeling. What if she did need him?
Ants. Ants crawling everywhere.
Not lessening his concern was that Zabini was with him. He'd had to leave Granger on her own, truly unguarded, for the first time. Oh, sure, she and Patil were playing Snap in the hospital ward this morning. They were nowhere near a full moon and the Manor's wards were secure. But even so.
Draco tried to focus. The faster they got this done, the faster he could get home.
Working in his favour - he hoped - was that he was one of three representatives today. Zabini and Rosier were handling nearly everything. Draco was just sitting here impatiently, an ankle crossed over one knee.
They were discussing the financial settlement. Draco was annoyed at his inclusion for this for two reasons: he didn't need it, and he'd have to relay everything here to Ronan and Rose. They presumably would need it and Draco was here to represent the Veelas. Sigh.
He didn't feel right voicing an opinion on the amount for those reasons alone. He let Zabini and Rosier battle the points back and forth.
Rosier was a force of nature in this room, Draco had to admit. He couldn't quite square the man he saw pacing back and forth before the panel, forcefully emphasising point and counterpoint, with the angry wolf he'd met in the hospital ward all those months ago.
A hasty settlement was in everyone's favour, the Wizengamot was arguing. But the American Muggles didn't want to kick in as much as they had before the Colonel's death. That left the Ministry of Magic on the hook for a larger percentage, unless they could get the British PM to step up.
The British PM was having a delightful time harassing the American President to step up in turn, from what Draco could gather, but it wasn't going anywhere.
Child's play. Juvenile bollocks. Draco groaned internally and poked the thread. Granger, Granger. She was fine, of course.
Ants.
The next topic on the docket was the Minister's concern of stoking anti-Muggle tensions. He did not want another wizarding war. Sweet Merlin, Draco didn't either. He couldn't express enough how little he wanted that to happen again. He didn't know how the others felt about it, but another war seemed like a bit of a step backwards.
The Muggle PM and American President agreed on one solitary point: neither wanted their citizen public to know a damn thing. The wizarding world agreed, if only to maintain the Statute of Secrecy.
That left the sentiments of their own society to manage. Aside from Gareth who'd been dumped on the front steps of the Prophet out of necessity, the public knew little about the investigations or the perpetrators. The Minister was keen to keep it that way as long as possible but Draco knew it could get leaked at any time.
Gods, this could go all day. He cleared his throat and motioned for Rosier to come over.
"Committee, could we have a ten-minute break?" Rosier called out, which was granted. He and Zabini huddled around.
"Would your respective groups accept a lower settlement now if we also got custody of the three collaborators? Full custody?"
"They've already agreed to that, they're letting us handle the justice bit -" Zabini began but Draco cut him off.
"I don't mean the Muggles letting the Ministry have custody. I mean we would."
Rosier looked eager and wary at once, a jumbled mix on his face. His red eyes gleamed. "They'd have to know what we'd do to them. Would they agree to that?"
"Let's say the Ministry did agree. Would your people?"
The two exchanged a look before Zabini spoke. "It would probably depend on how low the settlement offer was, to get it over with now."
"We'd have to agree to keep the silence about their identities," Draco cautioned. "It would defeat the purpose if we let outside people get riled up about who they were. Would your people agree to have no public justice, to keep it completely within the group?"
Zabini and Rosier looked at each other again. "I think mine would," Rosier said at last.
"If the tradeoff was that they could watch retribution doled out in person, and participate if they felt like it? I think mine would, too," Zabini said thoughtfully.
"I feel fairly certain Ronan would," Draco added in a dry tone.
"So…" Rosier began, thinking out loud, "we'd take whatever the American President and Muggle PM are willing to give. We'll drive it up as much as we can, but we won't die on the hill for it. The Wizengamot could… maybe contribute a little less than we'd originally discussed, which should make the public happy. And we get the three all to ourselves, nice and quiet."
Zabini was nodding along.
"So then it just comes down to the amount. When we start back up in a few minutes, tell them we're willing to discuss a faster settlement and what our terms would be. Let's see what sort of numbers we can take back to the Manor for discussion."
Rosier gave him an approving look. "Nice one, Malfoy."
Yeah, sure. Whatever got them out of here. It seemed like the best deal on the table for all parties and it might get him home faster. He prodded at Granger again. She was fine. Of course.
Ants. Ants crawling everywhere.
ooo
The idea was a smash hit. Draco had a feeling it would be.
In fact, he wished he'd had it sooner. A lot sooner. The amount thrown out by the Wizengamot, in grudging association with both Muggle governments, was going to equal out to over 150,000 galleons per tenebris seminio. A multi-million galleon settlement, and this was their lower end.
They'd clearly expected the tenebris ones to contest it. Rosier had put up a respectable show of hemming and hawing, but he and Zabini agreed to take it home for discussion.
It was a good thing for negotiations all around that no one from the Wizengamot was present to see the euphoric chaos at the Manor that night.
Draco knew you should never show such glee to your opponent. It was more than most of them had ever dreamed, dared to hope for. Even the most cynical ones looked impressed in spite of themselves.
Zabini and Rosier broke out the firewhisky, something usually rationed for cost purposes, and let everyone throw a party.
They saved the best part for last: 150,000 galleons each, and they were going to handle the three perpetrators themselves. Personally. On-site here at the Manor.
Only a moment ago in deafening mayhem, the room fell silent. Draco could have heard a pin drop.
"What?" someone whispered intently.
"When Shacklebolt's team is confident they can gain no other information from Duncan or Jackson, they'll be moved here. That might happen any day, now," Rosier commented. "I think they're basically done. They've had them for four or five months."
"They haven't found O'Leary, though," someone else said, and the room erupted in questions.
"Where will we keep them?"
"Can we interrogate them ourselves?"
"Will we have guards on the doors?"
That one was just silly, Draco thought. Of course they would - not just to keep their prisoners in, but to keep out anybody who might want to kill them before the others had a chance to have their fun. They'd have to have a few rules.
He shook his head ruefully. This could get interesting. But he didn't really care. He pressed his lips onto Granger's shoulder and felt her smile. She leaned back into him and watched the madness, the excitement.
Parvati was standing in a similar position against Rosier, tucked between his legs as he sat on a high stool. The other Patil and Zabini were whispering to each other closely, and he felt Granger frown.
Before he could ask, she twisted around. He craned his neck to get close enough to get closer to her over the din. Too many competing conversations afoot. "I think Blaise is sad that several of his vampires aren't here for this. They aren't here to celebrate with everyone."
Yes, probably so. But Draco couldn't fault the urge to move out. More power to those who had done it. He couldn't wait until they could.
Well, the vampires would hear soon enough. They'd all be welcome back here to stay for a while if they wished, see and manage some justice themselves if they liked.
Draco didn't think the 150,000 sounded like a lot but knew better than to say so. He was in a rarefied position here. He tried to realign his thoughts. 150,000 was more than enough to find a modest flat to buy with a cushion to find work. And as long as the individual tenebris ones were able to do that, and feel welcomed - or at least tolerated - in the community they chose to live in, they'd be fine.
Some would struggle, he was sure. It wouldn't be easy and every situation was going to be different. Every neighbourhood, every workplace. They'd always have opposition of some level, some more than others.
He cringed as a particularly loud burst of laughter came from their right. Gods, the over-sensitive hearing was taking a pounding tonight. But he wasn't alone in that and he knew he'd suck it up. The atmosphere around the Manor hadn't been like this… ever. The closest would probably have been the Quidditch hoops going up.
Granger felt happy. Draco leaned into it, even though he didn't need the boost of contentedness. He just loved feeling how she felt. She loved seeing her former patients heal like this, slowly recover from such horrible trauma. She flinched away from the inevitable torture of the three perpetrators on instinct, but she wouldn't say anything against it. She felt that they were thoroughly evil people. Just because she wouldn't be able to bring herself to participate didn't mean she'd judge those who could.
Actually, Draco felt a slim hope that once the torturing started, Granger might be more motivated to move out of the Manor. This could work out well.
She felt that and gave him a nudge. She wasn't going anywhere until they caught O'Leary.
She smiled again, happy. Draco followed her line of sight and saw Caleb and William in the corner, standing awfully close together. He furrowed his brow, watching, and sensed Granger's amusement.
"They're together?" he asked aloud in surprise. He really hadn't noticed.
"Yes," she laughed. "You should look around more. Padma says William wants to move out next, but he wants Caleb to go with him. But Caleb is dual-spliced, so he's trying to wait until he thinks James will feel comfortable with it too."
Draco thought they'd probably have a decent time of it. Caleb's wolf splicing was one of the most subtle in the whole Manor, and the vampire angle was only visible with the teeth on them both. He shuddered a little to think what kind of supersoldier a dual-splice could have been.
Gareth had said it hadn't been used in the military yet, because it wasn't subtle enough yet. Because the subjects couldn't control the transformations completely. But gods, they had gotten close. Draco shivered a little unconsciously.
Onto a better topic, Draco realised the blood issue would be moot for Caleb and William, if they were mates. Their sustenance would be each other. Helpful. That would be two more removed from the necessity of the Americans' blood supply. He knew it bothered Granger to be so dependent on an outside source.
Also bothering Granger: the continued protesting and unrest outside the Manor. She didn't know what else they could do to sway public opinion in their favour. It was distressing to her, a puzzle she wanted to solve.
Meanwhile, the hostile group wouldn't quit. They were small but passionate. They hated the settlement, even if they didn't know the details of it. They hated the Manor being used like this, the expense. They hated that so much was being put into a bunch of former Death Eaters and Azkaban criminals, some of whom should still be in there.
That stopped Draco for a moment. Who?
Granger knew of three. Two of the vampires and one wolf. Their sentences had been closer to fifteen years, so they'd still be incarcerated if they hadn't been pulled into the labs. They'd kept a low profile so far, literally. They'd declined to do interviews with Parvati. They'd done their best to avoid the photographer when he was on the grounds.
But if they were still anonymous, Draco wondered, how could the protestors know about them?
They didn't, not by name, Granger explained. But they made an educated guess that some of the prisoners had had longer sentences than others. Should people who hadn't served their 'full time' be allowed out? They didn't think so.
The three on the grounds who fit this description didn't want to draw any more attention to themselves than necessary.
Understandable, Draco thought. He'd had the same impulse himself, after all. He hoped it worked out better for those three than it had for him. Personally, he felt that anyone in those labs had served their time and then some. The people outside who disagreed just couldn't see or acknowledge what had been done to them.
And they'd never get more details, not really. If they hadn't grasped it by now, they never would. Not about the perpetrators, what they'd done, how evil they were. Once the tenebris ones got custody of the three, their silence would reign. No more talk about the details of what had happened, nothing that could lead back to an evil Muggle vs wizard opposition.
But that was the tradeoff they were agreeing to. All of them.
Draco realised Zabini was speaking to them. Granger hadn't noticed, either, wrapped up in their internal musings.
Granger responded to whatever it was while Draco inhaled the natural cinnamon of Granger's hair. He recalled how he'd first thought it was her soap or her shampoo. Once his senses were shared with the Veela, he could tell it was just her. It was intoxicating. He wanted to bottle the scent and carry it around with him.
The Veela felt like an extra layer now. It was hard to describe. If pressed, Draco would compare it to a base layer of clothing under other layers, but tighter. Closer. More like a layer of skin, if people had two.
He really wished Ronan wasn't such a prick. Even now, with things mostly settled down, he was just an arsehole. Draco wished he could ask the man what his Veela experience was like, but when it came down to it, Draco didn't care enough to ask. Not Ronan. His curiosity did not outweigh his dislike.
Mmmm. Cinnamon.
And no more ants in his veins, wriggling under his skin, clambering over his organs like toddlers on a playground. No more separation. His witch was right here, wrapped in his secure grasp.
Inhaling deeply, his arms tightened around Granger's waist. She was still talking to Padma. Draco nestled his chin against her shoulder where it met her neck, her glorious hair strewn across his nose. He breathed in again and she giggled a little, trying to hide that it tickled a bit.
But he felt a stab of arousal from her side and delighted in it. Mmm, cinnamon and hair, and Granger's neck. Smooth skin. Her essence, her pulse beating under his lips. Firewhisky was coursing through his veins now instead of the ants and he clutched her to him a little tighter. Granger, his little minx, made a sneaky manoeuvre that looked like she shifted her weight. Really, it let her press her side against his growing erection, leaning into it.
He felt her pleasure at the discomfort this caused him, but it wasn't one he minded. He growled low in the back of his throat and pressed another kiss to her neck after letting his tongue dart against her skin first. She shivered under him and made that tiny noise of exhale that he fucking adored.
At once, he placed his hands on her shoulders and dug in with his thumbs, rubbing into the muscles there with increasing tension. She practically melted into him and his next growl came as his own exhale.
It was time to go. Could she wrap this up? He felt her urgency for this as well and smiled. It was probably good that she was turned the wrong way. If she was facing him properly, he'd have wrapped his hands around her arse and lifted her onto his hips to make their escape. Her legs would wrap around him and she'd cling there on her own as he moved them towards their room. There was no sensation Draco liked better than her chest pressed against his, his hands wrapping up her back and into her hair.
But right now her back was to him, and that could be great, too. Certainly, it could. This gave him perfect access to her perfect breasts, and he could run his hands up and down her body and -
Granger abruptly told Patil goodnight, clearing her throat slightly. Draco felt her thighs tighten together, a quick reflex, as she stopped leaning against him and stood upright. Zabini curled an eyebrow at Draco knowingly and he brushed off the annoyance - even though Zabini was, by all accounts, very polite about things. Discreet.
Yes, he'd wanted to get Granger into bed. Maybe he'd done too good a job. Gods, he loved the sensations that came with the whole 'Veela' thing, but he could do without every other tenebris one in the room having a heightened sense of smell.
But what was most important was that Granger hadn't thought about it and wasn't embarrassed. She would be, if it had occurred to her. Draco's job was to keep her mind on him, instead.
He thought he could manage. It was a nice challenge, either way. Let the firewhisky-fuelled party here rage all night; he and Granger had other plans.
ooo
Harry got word from Kingsley that the situation had changed.
Their two detainees were to be moved to the tenebris Manor outside of London in the next couple of days, assuming Harry could think of no other interrogation priorities.
Racking his brain, Harry couldn't. They'd gotten everything they could out of the two, within Ministry sanction. Neither had any idea where O'Leary might be holed up. Both tried to hide their consternation that they hadn't been confided in, but both also admitted the separation made sense.
Veritaserum was a captivating substance. Neither Duncan nor Jackson wanted to be dosed with it, after having seen it in action before. Harry hadn't trusted their honesty without it, of course, and had still used it several times. He did this at random, so they couldn't predict when it might be brought into play. Duncan was easy to manipulate this way; Jackson, not so much.
But even Jackson, with all his training and preparations for this sort of thing, could be thrown off his game.
Harry's memories of his interrogations with Jackson and Duncan - as well as any other Aurors who had spoken with them - had been reviewed by Auror-adjacent Mind Healers. People who worked alongside the Ministry for extreme cases.
If this didn't qualify, Harry didn't know what would.
Their view of Duncan was of a solitary woman desperate for gratification, someone who would give anything for someone she admired to be pleased with her. It spoke of low personal self-esteem, yes, but more than that - they had a hard time pinning it down, precisely, but their view of Duncan was that her desire for approval from a specific person or persons (O'Leary, Harry knew) was combined with a deep-rooted fear of failure and a desire to be top at whatever she did. That had driven her. She'd had the possibility to be the first to do… something magnetic. Incredible. Unforeseen. No one else even had the imagination to conceive of the situation. Duncan's pride was heavily wrapped up in it.
Harry didn't know about all that, but was happy enough to go along with the assessment.
Jackson was of a different sort. He was a tougher nut to crack, plainly. That was largely his military background; he'd been trained to do this. To survive it, to manipulate it. To conduct similar things himself, providing a unique reverse perspective he could draw upon.
Harry found this more engaging. He enjoyed the interrogations of Jackson more than Duncan. Maybe it was just being a bloke; Harry couldn't quite say. But Jackson's clear denials of any sort of favouring of Raquel O'Leary were so blatantly false. The scientist didn't even try to lie.
With Jackson, Harry could needle him more. He used the situation to his advantage when he thought it would work - a (presumably) attractive woman like O'Leary, someone giving Jackson her attention. Someone like her needing him. His help, his protection. He'd teased around these edges and plenty of others. When Jackson responded, it was gratifying. He was more fun to play with, in Harry's opinion.
To hear the man tell it, no, he didn't want to be with Raquel O'Leary. He insisted. Fervently and often, in fact.
Harry didn't believe him. Maybe Jackson didn't want to acknowledge it himself, but he thought the man was attracted to her, a man to a woman. It was more than just protecting a damsel in distress, which was certainly how the woman liked to portray herself. The Mind Healers they worked with thought Jackson would possibly conflate sexual attraction with a need to protect, that he'd tie together both of those things into a confusing jumble of desperate need coming from O'Leary.
Harry didn't know. He just knew that poking and prodding at the man about O'Leary produced a certain temper, and that made him talk.
And clearly, Jackson was not a man used to spilling the beans. It seemed to vex him every time he did, after the fact. As if he couldn't believe he'd said this or done that, even when Veritaserum has only been threatened.
Harry was quite entertained by the whole scenario, but the new information that spilled from either prisoners' mouth had tapered off. Now they only got more of the same.
Harry had gladly volunteered for this position, but that wasn't to say that he didn't miss Ginny terribly. If Jackson and Duncan were moved back to the tenebris Manor, he could finally be close to his precious wife and children again. Harry loved being on ground zero for any major event and Ginny knew it. She knew it when she married him. But even so, he was ready to be closer to home. He wanted his wife, wanted his two young children climbing all over his lap after dinner, begging for games. Then begging for stories at bedtime, stories Harry couldn't help but spin out at length.
Yes, with the detainees at the Manor, Harry could have a foot in both worlds again. He was looking forward to it.
Privately, he also hoped the tenebris seminio could wrangle different details from Duncan and Jackson about O'Leary. Harry and the other Aurors were at a dead end here. He knew Parvati Patil had her own investigators working on locating the final mastermind of the whole ordeal, and maybe she was making progress. But Harry wouldn't mind speeding things up a bit. Maybe the tenebris ones, outside of Ministry-approved sanction, could make some better headway.
Once they arrived at the Manor, they were - for all intents and purposes - ghosts. Harry didn't mind.
ooo
She was being moved.
Jamie Duncan realised it, and simultaneously knew she should have realised it before now. She was not a dumb woman.
She simply hadn't expected it. She thought this blank cell would be where her life ended. They'd never let her go. She knew that. And their interviews had taken on a repetitive, rote colour weeks ago.
How long had she been here? She truly didn't know. No clocks, obviously. But also no daylight, no way to track the passage of time except for meals. And while those had seemed regular at first, they'd grown unpredictable and haphazard weeks ago.
She thought it was weeks ago.
Her cell was so quiet it had to be magic. Jamie had spent her time here trying to pinpoint the magic, to notice it wherever she could. Could she sense it, here and there? No. Not really. Well, not at all. But intellectually, she could figure out where it was probably being used.
The unnatural silence, for one thing. The truth serum was another, but that didn't count. Not to her brain's game. That was obvious magic and she wanted to find the subtle kinds. The kinds she wasn't supposed to notice.
In a very odd way, this was what she was most excited about. With the move, anyway, the move to somewhere else. The ability to be somewhere new and notice more new magical things.
Her lifespan had been shortened. She knew that too, in her extensive intelligence. Life was just about over. She'd bet it all on the potential to extend it magically, and now look. Another failure.
This was the type of failure she couldn't modify, though. There was no working around of this one, no other experimental test to try on a different subject in her labs.
But after she'd accepted the shorter runway of her life, her interest had piqued again. She couldn't help it. She was a curious woman, desperate to know every detail of what made things happen and why. Magic was the biggest puzzle of them all.
Jamie decided the next person they sent in to question her would become her own interviewee. She'd trade whatever she knew - why hide it now? - for what they knew. Even if she died, she wanted to know. Her mind couldn't take not knowing. She had to solve the equation.
Tit for tat. That was Jamie Duncan's brand new method, starting now.
The people who moved her weren't useful. She tried. They silenced her, and wasn't that a fascinating sort of magic? Jamie had been almost too intrigued to argue. Then when she tried, she was mute. Brilliant! She almost laughed at herself.
She'd always known her experiments had a high potential of failure. Complete failure, nothing at all to show for it. That's what ground-breaking scientific experimentation promised: loads of failure. Nothing at all for years and years, sometimes not ever. It's the risk she took, the risk all scientists at the cutting-edge of their fields took.
And all that was over now. Now, the only thing Jamie had to gain were answers for her own personal curiosity. Maybe she could trade something for it.
After all, she'd got quite far. Farther than anyone else had ever done. Alright, she didn't know if anyone else had ever tried, but even so. She had a decade of failures and subsequent progresses. Her theories were working. She'd honed them in. At the point they'd gotten to, she didn't need much more time. She had it.
She'd never get the recognition. Not from her field, which she'd tried to come to terms with long ago. (She still struggled with that, if she were honest with herself. Scientists like Jamie thrived on sharing their world-changing successes. Nobel Prizes were in order. So on and so forth.) But neither would she get it personally.
She'd never be a witch. She'd never be able to make Raquel a witch. Her sharper, keener disappointment was a personal one.
Jamie set her jaw and sat up straighter. Nothing to do about that, now. That was over. All she could do now was try and satisfy her own academic curiosity. She was a scientist at heart.