Chapter One

Draco drummed his fingers mindlessly on the arm of his chair, the sound a dull beat against the walnut as he lazily listened to the latest seminar on protections and defenses against the Fiendfyre curse. There had been an increase in magical arson over the past several months. At least ten Aurors were sent out just last week when someone decided to set fire to Gringotts. And yet none of them had been able to confidently conclude whether it was an attempted break-in, or simply someone feeling fanciful about flames. It had apparently taken them nearly two hours just to get the fire under control, and by that time, if there had been a suspect, they were long gone. Draco had read the report and had identified and committed to memory every misstep by each of the incompetent Aurors sent on the mission. They even called the mission a success–with no leads and no motives. And rather than determine who was behind it, and why they were setting fires across the country, everyone was quite satisfied with the fact that nobody was harmed and any damage to property was quite easily restored.

Draco had to stop himself from grimacing. Of course, he wasn't sent on any of these assignments. He couldn't be trusted with something as grand as someone lighting up Gringotts or the Shrieking Shack. Would he even try to put it out? Or simply bask in the destruction, cackling like a madman at the disruptive terror of an uncontrollable blaze?

It would have been easy, he thought, to simply accept his lot in life. To accept that he would never be half the Auror Harry Potter was, not because he was less competent, but because everyone was still trapped in the past.

And yet he could not.

It grated on him. He knew he could do so much more, and yet he was trapped in a box that was largely of his own making. And so, he pretended to pay attention to a lecture he didn't need and took whatever shitty case was handed to him with a smile. He had one of the best resolution rates in the office. Yes–they were stupid, simple cases, but Jenkins usually wasn't given any better, and the muppet didn't close half as many cases as Draco did (and the ones he did close took twice as long). Maybe that was why Draco couldn't let it go. His talents were being wasted, and he knew this not out of some sense of pure blood superiority, but because he knew he was clever, and was it really too much to ask that others knew it too?

The lights that had dimmed for the Auror's presentation sprang back to life as he wrapped up his counter-curse demonstration to muted applause. The smell of sulfur wafted lightly from the smoking remains of the flowerpot that had been the victim of his demonstration, blue smoke curling where a lovely flower had been several minutes before. Not that Draco had paid any attention to the flower, of course.

Tonks strode to the front of the black-walled room, her hair a stark white today that reminded Draco rather uncomfortably of his father. The wink Tonks sent his way did nothing to relieve the suspicion that this might be yet another way she tried to trick him into quitting.

"Alright, thank you Leroy for that very important and um…riveting lesson," she spoke with an authority that only slightly wavered as she tried to find something nice to say about the dull presentation. Draco smirked–at least he wasn't the only one bored out of his wits. He glanced to the desk diagonal to him, where Potter, who had obviously been dozing even worse than Draco, suddenly sat up straight and at attention.

Draco caught the quirk of Tonks' eyebrow and the grin she reigned in. She was no more convinced than Draco was.

"Well, back to work now! Those of you in need of new assignments will find case files on your desk. If anyone catches wind of further magical arson, please report it to Johnson for further investigation. Up you get!" Tonks finished with a flick of her wand, rather forcefully causing everyone's chairs to scoot back and tip them out. Draco stood gracefully, picking a piece of non-existent lint off his robes as he did so. A desk over from him, Weasley collapsed on the ground, having not quite fully woken up from their riveting lecture. With an eye roll and a scoff, Draco bent down and yanked Weasley up by his arm.

"Err, thanks," Ron mumbled. Draco couldn't tell if his tone was the result of his previously sworn enemy helping him up, or if he was still just on the verge of wakefulness. Draco responded with another roll of his eyes as Potter strode over to join them.

"Well, that was a nice waste of a couple of hours, wasn't it? Almost makes me wish we were back in Charms class!" Harry's grin and chipper tone came across as forced and Draco had to stop himself from responding with yet another eye roll.

"Whatever you say, Potter," replied Draco as he made his way out of the room, and hopefully the conversation.

"Probably a good refresher though, right?" asked Potter, who not to be dissuaded quickly caught up, dragging a rather reluctant-looking Weasley along with him. "Hopefully we catch the bugger soon, the fire at Gringotts was bold."

"I wouldn't know," spat Draco, "I was in the Cotswold's subduing a rogue contingent of garden gnomes."

"The Cotswold's are quite pleasant this time of year," piped in Weasley with his usual level of insight. Draco wasn't sure if he was simply getting used to the Weasel, or if his useless commentary had declined, but the frequency with which Draco questioned how the red-headed buffoon before him became an Auror had reduced to a couple of times a week and not the daily occurrence it had been a few years ago.

"C'mon, cheer up Malfoy!" Harry continued, "I'm sure Tonks will have you on something exciting soon. I've heard she's looking to promote someone, now that Alberts is in St Mungo's…" he trailed off, eyebrows knitted in concern for the Auror who was hit with a powerful foot-flying curse. Last Draco saw Alberts, he couldn't keep his feet on the ground for more than a few seconds at a time–not at all becoming of an Auror. The healers weren't quite sure what to do with him.

Far from concerned about the ailed Auror's prognosis (Draco wasn't even sure if Alberts was the man's first or last name), the news about his position opening up piqued Draco's interest. Not that he would admit that his old nemesis had shared something useful, especially when he strongly suspected Potter's continued attempts at delivering an olive branch were motivated by pity.

"Your time is coming; I can feel it!" Potter reassured, giving Draco a friendly clap on the back.

"Tone it down, Potter," Draco sneered, stepping away to his desk. He felt more than saw Potter and Weasley exchange a look and shrug before walking off to their own stations towards the front of the office.

Draco grumbled as he dropped into the black dragon-leather office chair, his mind turning at the prospect of a promotion. He eyed the manilla folder containing his new assignment. It must have been tossed on his desk given how his once neat piles of paperwork were now askew.

He pulled the folder towards him but hesitated to open it. He could feel a pit forming in his stomach, the aftereffects not of his conversation with Potter, but of the sliver of hope the Chosen One's words fed. Draco knew Tonks didn't trust him, he knew the chances of him getting promoted over the other Aurors sure to be vying for the position were slim, but he didn't know how to give up, didn't know how to turn off his relentless ambition, even if he suspected he'd be a lot happier for it.

With a sigh, he flipped open the folder.

He pursed his lips, the line of his mouth becoming tighter and tighter, as he read through the dozen or so reports. Utter rubbish. Every single page detailed some one-off Muggle magical exposure. He could feel the tension in his shoulders as he realized what this was–he was being sent on a wild goose chase to resolve a handful of small, mostly harmless, crimes. Tonks wanted to make damn sure that Draco was nowhere near consideration for the promotion.

Fists clenched; Draco fought the urge to punch something. Weasley's face was the first thing that came to mind. He stood from his desk and violently shoved the case files into his satchel. The longer he just sat there the more likely he was to hex someone or give into his punching Weasley fantasy. Knowing that neither would help much, he strode purposefully to the lift, ignoring the questioning looks from his colleagues as they reviewed their undoubtedly superior cases.

As he entered the lift, he could nearly feel the relief that would come from leaving this place. Perhaps he'd owl Zabini to play a spot of Quidditch. Maybe he'd go to the Leaky Cauldron and drink himself into oblivion. Anything that would help him forget what a useless fool he made of himself by trying so hard to impress the lesser wizards he now found himself surrounded by.

Draco was on his third glass of Firewhiskey. It was far from his usual choice, though he thought the incredible burning sensation it sent through his body was rather fitting for the day.

The edges of his vision had taken on an almost dreamlike quality. The barkeep stationed to his left was moving a dirty old rag across the bartop surface, seemingly moving in slow motion and high speed simultaneously. Draco felt himself grimace at the thought of that same rag having cleaned the decrepit table he was seated at, off in a corner where he could drown his feelings in peace.

He slung back the last dregs in his glass, feeling sufficiently pissed to review his assignment without suffering the urge to curse everyone in sight.

He pulled out the folder from his bag, frowning as he tried to smooth the bent corners. He produced his wand, tapping it to the pages which then straightened of their own accord. Quite pleased with himself, he began clumsily flipping through the case files.

A pod of pink dolphins sighted in the Thames.

Rubbish chasing Muggles down the streets of London.

Muggle cash machines across the city simultaneously shooting out hundreds of pounds of bills.

A building that kept sprouting new rooms.

Swarms of stray cats and dogs showing up to local community events.

A community garden that had taken over an entire street (accompanied by a photo of what Draco was positive to be the largest zucchini he had ever seen).

Magical sirens going off at all hours in various parts of the city.

The cases were rather absurd, he thought. Several were better suited for the Department of Magical Creatures or Muggle Affairs. Involving an Auror in such ridiculously mundane crimes was not only quite beneath him, but the Department in its entirety.

Draco was drunk enough at this point to not feel insulted, but rather like this was a puzzle for him to solve. No two cases seemed to happen on the same day, but many were recurring events. As he read the details of each report, it appeared as though other departments had sent representatives to deal with the issues, but they couldn't quite figure out how to stop them from continuing.

Why would that be the case?

A waiter dropped off another glass of Firewhiskey at Draco's table. This time he took only a small sip, nursing it, considering the question before him.

Simple and mundane as these cases might be, they were clearly starting to put a strain on the individual departments. In addition, each case had records of memory charms used on Muggles to remove their recollection of mysterious and magical events. The list was becoming long, which was not a good look for the ministry. The more he looked at all the reports combined, the more a single word presented itself as the answer.

Chaos.

What if these acts were not mundane at all? What if someone, a dark wizard, was attempting (and so far, succeeding), at sowing chaos? Draco couldn't help but admire the strategy of it–most dark wizards went big, they exploded things and maimed and cursed in their quest for power. But if someone really wanted to destabilize the Ministry, to expose the magical world, what better way than death by a thousand cuts? It would take a great mind to even consider that these events were connected, and not individual accidents, the results of incompetence. Luckily, Draco had a great mind. A slow smile started taking over his once sour features. Perhaps this case wouldn't be such a dud after all.