Elemental (H/D, NC-17)

[sesheta66]

Title: Elemental
Author: sesheta_66
Betas/Brit-pickers: marguerite_26, winnett, vaysh11, blamebrampton, and nursedarry. Also thanks to alaana_fair and rickey_a for their reviews and encouragement early on. ♥
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When a group of witches and wizards fall ill, their magical power mysteriously drained while on tour in the Shetlands, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter must get beyond their past and work together to solve the case and prevent further tragedy.
Word Count: ~16.5K
Author's Notes: Originally written for the 2010 round of hd_holidays.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.



Elemental

Potter was naked, sprawled deliciously over the bed, arm stretched out where Draco had been moments before. He'd stirred when Draco got up to use the loo, but fell back asleep straight away.

Fighting the urge to return to the bed, Draco quietly Summoned his clothes that had been wildly scattered about the hotel room the night before. Staying wasn't an option. It would only lead to the inevitable morning after awkwardness, attempt at conversation they'd never been good at, and the realisation that it could never be more than just sex between them. As much as he told himself that's all he wanted - a simple heat of the moment shag - in the clear light of the morning the truth slapped Draco in the face, and he desperately needed to escape.

Marshalling all the Slytherin self-preservation he could, Draco left without a word, the taste of Potter still lingering on his lips.

~ * ~ * ~

Nearly a year later, Potter looked as tempting as ever, dressed in his Auror uniform, steely gaze driving straight through Draco.

"Mr Malfoy," Minister Shacklebolt said, offering his hand. "So glad you could join us."

"Minister." Draco took the seat beside Potter in front of the Minister's desk. He glanced to his side. "Potter."

"Malfoy." Sometime over the past year, it seemed Potter had learned to mask his emotions. He turned to the Minister. "Is this really necessary? We've got Hermione --"

The Minister sighed heavily. "We've discussed this, Harry. At length. Malfoy here is the expert."

"He's a tour guide!"

Draco seethed. He was more than a tour guide, and Potter knew it. Before he could pounce, however, the Minister spoke up. "Yes, Mr Malfoy is a tour guide, but as you well know from the tour you attended last year, his business covers much more than that. He is the undisputed expert in ancient magic and its role throughout British history. Coupled with his experience, he's the man for the job." Draco's fingers twitched, tempted to pull out his CV and shove it in Potter's face. "Besides, we can't expect Hermione to go with you in her condition."

"Ron could --"

"Enough."

Draco hated when people spoke about him as though he weren't present. Something Potter knew all too well. "Minister, if there's a problem ..."

"No, no, Mr Malfoy. No problem at all." He shot Potter a pointed look. "Auror Potter's objections will not change our plans."

Draco nodded. Potter crossed his arms over his chest. It was all Draco could do not to laugh as he envisioned a pout on the Auror's face. When Draco chanced a glance Potter's way, however, the man was not pouting. The glare he levelled at Draco caused a shiver to run straight down Draco's spine. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Three weeks ago, Draco had received an owl from the Minister's office, requesting his assistance on a matter of the utmost importance.

Pansy had been there, and had persuaded him to accept the job, even though it wasn't for a tour or training assignment. She'd reminded him of his goal to see his tour find a permanent place in the Ministry training programme.

He'd been disappointed, to say the least, that the Ministry hadn't taken him up on that suggestion back then. Especially after he'd received such excellent feedback at the time. But he'd fucked up royally by sleeping with Potter, so what had he expected?

In the end, Pansy had appealed to his Slytherin cunning. After all, what better way to ingratiate himself than to help out the Minister?

So here he sat. And there sat Potter, looking like he wanted Draco to simply disappear. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

"I've looked over your notes," Minister Shacklebolt said. It had, in fact, been Draco's knowledge of ancient magic that led the Ministry to him. He'd been asked to provide some background on several types of magic, but hadn't been given much to go on. "And I've provided copies to Potter and Weasley."

"Weasley?"

"My partner," Potter said. "Surely you remember Ron?"

Draco breathed patiently. He would not let Potter get to him. "Naturally." He cleared his throat. "But you mentioned Granger earlier. I merely sought clarification."

"Hermione has also reviewed your notes," Potter said, unfazed. His new-found ability to maintain his calm - or at least suppress any notable reaction - was somewhat disconcerting. It made Draco want to rattle him.

"And," the Minister interjected, "as I mentioned to Potter earlier, she praised your thoroughness and readily admitted your expertise in the area."

Draco schooled his features so his jaw wouldn't drop open. Granger had complimented him? Hell surely had frozen over. Then again, she always had been the most rational of the three. His hand reached for his cheek, unbidden. Except for that time in third year. All in the past, it would seem. And the Minister was on his side. Against Potter. Oh, the day was improving already. He turned and raised his brows at Potter.

Potter shrugged. "Doesn't mean you should work in the field."

"Harry."

"It's all right, Minister," Draco offered, ever the voice of reason. "You may not realise this, but Auror Potter and I have a history, and I can understand why he might not trust me." Potter frowned, but otherwise didn't give away any surprise. "Certainly not like he would trust a partner."

"Yes, well, Auror Potter doesn't play well with others," the Minister said, a hint of affection mixed with frustration in his tone.

Draco laughed. "I see some things never change."

Potter got to his feet. "If that's all, Minister," he said, "I've got another case that needs my attention."

"One that will be wrapped up tomorrow?"

"As promised." He turned to Draco as he headed out the door. "I have a file at my desk. You can come get it and we'll meet first thing, day after tomorrow."

"I'll send Malfoy along in a few minutes," Shacklebolt said as Draco made to follow Potter. "I have some details to discuss with him first." Potter nodded and left.

Draco sat down again. "Minister?"

"Relax," he said. "I rather hope you'll like what I have to say."

"You do?"

He smiled. "I trust you know that we were very pleased with your work last year." Draco's eyes widened. "Ah, I see that you did not know. I'm sorry for that."

"You are?"

He hadn't heard the Minister laugh before; it caught Draco off-guard. "Indeed I am. You see, we've spoken a lot about you over the past few months."

"We?"

"Ah, yes. Let me backtrack a little. Last year when we received your proposal, we were - understandably, I believe - sceptical. After all, a pureblood professing to offer training on Muggle culture? And if you'll excuse me for saying so, someone with your ... ah ... chequered background. Well. I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you that some people vocalised their objections rather vehemently."

Draco pursed his lips but otherwise tried to remain calm. "No doubt." He instinctively looked at the chair so recently vacated by Potter.

"No, Mr Malfoy. Auror Potter was not one of the nay-sayers. In fact, he reminded a few people that you'd been no less a victim of Voldemort than others he'd threatened."

Draco couldn't mask his surprise quickly enough, and the Minister chuckled. "I don't know all the history between the two of you, though I have heard tales about Hogwarts. Frankly, schoolboy rivalry doesn't interest me. Despite his display today - and I'm not sure where that's coming from, to be honest - Harry is not your enemy. He may not want you on his case, for whatever reason, but he hasn't tried to prevent you making inroads at the Ministry."

Draco frowned. He'd been sure that his unfortunate and hasty departure from the hotel room a year ago had been the reason he hadn't heard more about his training plan.

"Which brings me to the reason I wanted to speak with you. We undertook the one-week training you offered under much pressure. Arthur Weasley thought your Muggle training - you're a ... blue patch? blue something?"

"Blue badge, Sir. It's a Muggle certification for tour guides in Great Britain. I have both the London and overall UK training."

"Ah, yes. Quite. Arthur had been so pleased - he was your biggest supporter, by the way - that he wanted everyone in the Ministry trained." Draco had no words. "As you can imagine, that did not go over very well. As such, we were only able to secure the training for the twenty or so participants that attended."

"Twenty-three, I believe."

"Yes, well ... you see, we couldn't very well incorporate the programme into our standard without first evaluating the material. Which we did, and your field trip was a resounding success." The Minister riffled through papers in a file folder. "I see Arthur sent you a letter of thanks."

"Yes, he did."

Shacklebolt grinned. "That's not common practice, I'll have you know, but he'd been so delighted ..."

Draco allowed himself to smile. He'd thought it unusual at the time, and had been pleased to get the letter. But then so much time passed ...

"Unfortunately, our budget process was well underway by that stage, so we were not able to incorporate it into our funding request for last year. This year, however ..."

Surely he hadn't heard that right. The Minister wasn't suggesting, after no word for this long ...

"We only just received approval for the revamped training programme - a collaborative effort between the Muggle Liaison Office and our Corporate Training Group. Arthur Weasley has investigated and found that your company is the only one that offers a marrying of wizarding and Muggle culture, past and present, together with details on the roles of ancient and elemental magic in society. In short, you're it."

Draco sat up straight and smiled. "Yes, Minister. I saw a void and have worked diligently to fill it."

"And from the feedback Arthur gave, and references from past clients, it is clear to me that you have succeeded."

"Thank you."

"And so, once you have finished consulting on this current project, I wonder if you might consider a one-year contract with the Ministry?"

Draco barely contained a whoop. "My clients ..."

"We don't expect to get moving on this until the new year, so that'll give you over two months to set things in motion."

"What sort of time commitment do you expect?"

"I think you'll be kept busy, if that's your concern. But I'm sure you and the senior Weasley can work out something agreeable to all parties. What say you?"

Draco reached across the desk to take the Minister's hand. As he shook it, he remembered the rush of pride he'd felt watching his father doing the same with Fudge. Draco, however hadn't bought this handshake. He'd earned it. "I'd say we have a deal."

"Excellent. I'll give Arthur Weasley the news. He'll be thrilled."

Draco still couldn't believe Weasley's father was his biggest supporter. And that Potter hadn't been the cause ...

"I daresay Auror Potter will be chomping at the bit by now. You'd best get that file from him before he implodes."

Draco stood to leave. "Thank you again, Minister."

"You're welcome."

Draco nearly reached the door when the Minister's voice reached him. "And don't let Potter get to you."

Easier said than done. "I'll do my best, Sir."

Draco fairly flew to the Auror office. He could hardly believe what was happening. He couldn't wait to tell Pansy and Blaise!

By the time Draco reached him, Potter was indeed agitated. "You have a file for me?" Draco asked, keeping his tone neutral. No point letting on what he'd discussed with the Minister.

"What, did you get lost?" Potter snapped.

Draco wouldn't let the git get to him. No he wouldn't. Absolutely not. "I just now finished with the Minister."

Potter mumbled something under his breath. Draco thought he heard 'politics' but couldn't be sure. "I won't be in the office most of the day tomorrow," Potter said.

"No problem," Draco replied, curious but not willing to ask about the other case. "I'm sure Mother would enjoy a visit. It's been a while since I've been this close to the Manor for more than a day. Travelling. You know." He tried not to babble, but Potter always managed to get under his skin.

"You'll need to read the reports here," Potter said casually. "You obviously can't be taking confidential files to the home of a known Death Eater." Bastard. Potter smirked, barely-contained hatred shining in his eyes. "Present company excluded, of course."

Draco's hands clenched at his sides, fists desperately wanting to connect with Potter's face. How was it that the man could crush his elation so completely, so quickly? And damn it, what was it that Draco still found so appealing about him?

Images of that night flashed before his eyes. Potter, angry about who knew what, slamming Draco against the door of his hotel room. Potter's eyes, so green, staring at Draco so intently he was sure they'd caused his heart to skip a beat. Potter, growling I hate you just before he kissed Draco for the first time. Potter, head thrown back, hair wilder than ever, his back arching as he rode Draco with abandon. Potter, the sexiest man Draco had ever laid eyes on, as he came, shuddering, with Draco's name on his lips. Potter, leaning down to kiss him, smiling, then taking Draco in his arms and wrapping his leg around him possessively. Potter, lying in the bed, still reaching out as Draco walked out of his life for good.

Or so he'd thought. Draco's hands relaxed at his sides and he choked on his words as he tried to speak. He coughed, then tried again. "I wasn't planning to take anything to the Manor," he explained. "I only meant once I was done, while I waited for you to finish your case, it might be nice to see my mother."

Potter stopped, turned to face Draco, then grinned maliciously. "Oh, I don't think there'll be much time for that." He marched over to a desk, picked up a storage box, and shoved it into Draco's arms. "The file I was telling you about." He waved towards an empty desk in the back corner. "You can work there."

Draco swallowed his anger. "Do you have a synopsis of the case?"

Potter laughed. "Surely you wouldn't trust someone like me to summarise things for you, the expert. Oh, no, I'm sure you'll want to peruse these files yourself. I wouldn't want you going into the field unprepared." He lifted his brows in challenge. When Draco didn't rise to it, Potter turned away and called to Weasley. "You ready, Ron?"

"As ever."

Potter turned back around. "You know, you can always leave if it's too much for you," he said. "I hear you're good at that." And he left, a confused looking Weasley at his heels.

Draco sighed. He supposed he deserved that. He opened the box, removed the first of many files, and settled himself in for a long night.

An hour later, he gave it up as a lost cause. Potter's words echoed in the now-empty office, and he couldn't get them out of his mind. Caught between anger and attraction, Draco knew he wasn't absorbing half of what he was reading. He'd have the whole of tomorrow to get through the box. Closing it up, he picked up his cloak and left.

Too raw to face his mother, instead Draco found himself in Pansy's parlour late that evening. "I can't stand it, Pansy! He's impossible. I simply can't work with Potter."

"You can and you will, darling." She poured two glasses of sherry and handed one to Draco. "After all, you managed that week of touring and training last year."

"Yes, but that was a group." Draco sipped his sherry and savoured the feel of it sliding down his throat, coaxing him to relax. He sat on the settee he favoured and took in the new trinkets on her mantel, trying to calm himself. It didn't work. "This is just the two of us."

"You've managed to show the world that you're not your father. You've risen above everything that happened in the war, and you've proven yourself worthy." She cupped his cheek in her hand. "Not that I ever doubted it, of course."

He grinned. "Of course not." She really was good for his ego. He thought about telling her of the Minister's offer, but he didn't want his now sour mood to interfere with a proper celebration. Besides, he wanted to tell Blaise at the same time.

She nodded and smiled, content with his response. "You've made a life, a business for yourself - a thriving one, I might add - and the Ministry have come calling for your expertise. And you're going to let one man stop you?"

Draco considered her words. A flash of conversation came back to him. When he'd first sent his proposal to the Ministry a year ago, he'd been a wreck. He'd stumbled into touring by chance, discovered a passion for history and culture that went beyond the magical world, something he'd never have considered before the war, and he'd poured heart and soul into it. He'd worked out his plan and taken a chance, submitting a proposal to the Ministry to supplement staff training with a customised tour.

Pansy and Blaise had been there when the owl arrived, and as Draco had stared at it, immobilised with fear, Blaise's words had broken through.

"You're giving them more power than they ought to have, mate. Even if they say no, it doesn't mean they're rejecting you," he'd said. At Pansy's snort, he'd added, "Well, I suppose it could mean that, but remember, you approached them. They weren't asking for submissions. A rejection could mean they don't have the funds, they don't want to rock the boat, or - Merlin forbid - they simply don't like the idea. And if they don't, it's their loss."

Draco smiled at the memory, the sincerity of Blaise's voice echoing in his mind even now. He'd been right, too. Money had been the issue, at least this past year. And here Draco was, giving Potter that same power. It was true, he was successful. Well off in his own right. Still ... "This is Potter we're talking about." He suspected Potter might have had power over him even before they'd met. Might always have that power.

Pansy took a seat on the sofa across from Draco and crossed her legs, black stiletto heels accentuating their length. "Still just one man."

"One very powerful wizard," Draco corrected her.

"You know what I think?" she asked.

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Quite." She took a lengthy sip and stretched out the moment as she was wont to do. Which, she knew, drove Draco to distraction. He waited, resisting the urge to tell her to spit it out. "I think you and Potter should just shag and get it over with. You know, get it out of your systems."

Draco groaned. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and rested his head on the back of the settee. If only that had worked.

"Come on," Pansy said. "Don't tell me you haven't figured that out yet. Merlin, the two of you have been pulling each other's pigtails for years." Draco lifted his head and cast her his classic pull the other one look. "You've taken obsession to the next level, you two have."

Draco glared. "What are you on about?"

"Nearly everything you did for the first five years of school revolved around Potter and how to get a rise out of him. Then when you stopped trying to get his attention, he stalked you our entire sixth year. You've pitted yourselves against each other since you met, and at this rate it seems you'll carry this nonsense to your graves." She took another sip, watching Draco for a reaction. "Fuck him, let him fuck you, whatever it is you have to do. Have a great romp, work out all that tension, and then you can carry on with your lives. Mark my words." With a smug salute, she toasted him and not-so-daintily knocked back the rest of her drink. "It's just what the Healer ordered."

"Shows what you know," Draco grumbled, instantly wishing he could take the words back as soon as they'd escaped his mouth.

Pansy gaped at him. "You didn't!"

"I did. We did," he corrected. "Last year. On the last day of the tour, after everyone else had left. I don't even know how it happened, really. One minute we were fighting, the next minute we were ripping off each other's clothes."

"And why have you never told me this before?" She looked ready to burst as she took Draco's glass, still half full, along with her own, to refill them. "I demand to know details."

"Don't be crass," he said, though not entirely sure why. Something about Potter demanded to be kept private. No, something in Draco wanted to keep it private. Though whether to treasure the memory or torment himself with it, he couldn't be sure.

She sniggered. "It's not like you haven't kissed and told before, darling. Now - how was it? Was he dreadful? Is that why working with him is so excruciating? The memories are just so horrendous you wanted to wash them from your mind for good? I can understand that. It's Potter we're talking about after all."

Draco ran his hands through his hair and shook his head.

"Surely you don't mean ...?" When she caught Draco's eye, he nodded. "Well, I suppose all those years of pent-up frustration would have to result in explosive sex. It's only natural," she reasoned. "Angry sex can often be the most passionate, after all. Perhaps you just need to have another go." She handed over his now full glass, then took a healthy sip of hers, probably to get over the shock. "As long as you keep your perspective. It's just sex. Nothing more."

Why did everything to do with Potter have to be so complicated? Why couldn't they have just had sex and been done with the whole matter? Why had Potter made him feel more?

Draco nodded. "Of course," he said. "Just sex."

"Oh, tell me he doesn't think of it as more than that," she said.

"Oh, no." Draco still felt Potter's cold glare from earlier, like poison coursing through his veins. "I'm pretty sure that's all it was to him."

"Well then." She raised her glass once more. "I say you work this out of your system before you go on your little trip. After all, you want to be at your best. Never know what you might run across."

The problem with that, Draco realised, was that Potter had already got Draco out of his system. For good. He raised his glass and plastered on a smile. "You never know."

~ * ~ * ~

Draco arrived at the Ministry at seven o'clock sharp the next morning. By the time Potter sauntered in at half eight, Draco had made a solid dent in the box of files. It turned out each file did have a summary report, which helped a great deal. Draco had made notes with questions to ask Potter - and Weasley, if necessary - since they'd both worked most of the cases.

Over the past year, an increasing number of incidents involving the draining of magical power had been reported. Then three weeks ago, a group on a tour of the Shetlands returned, each of them very sick. A few of the weaker travellers had started feeling nauseous and dizzy early on, but as they travelled farther north, more fell ill, and those others became so sick they couldn't carry on. By the time they'd reached the Loch of Cliff in northern Unst, all those that remained had been unable to Apparate, and they'd had to walk to the nearest Muggle road to arrange for transport home. According to the reports from St Mungo's, every one in the group had suffered a severe drain on their magical energy. The injured described feeling a strange pull of energy each time they'd cast a spell, even minor spells like Lumos.

Draco shook his head, astounded at the stupidity of some people. A group of thirty, and once they'd made the connection, not one thought that, perhaps, he should refrain from using magic. Sometimes he mourned the loss of intelligence. Then again, perhaps it was for the best. Survival of the fittest and all that. In this case, the fittest of mind.

Draco knew the minute Potter arrived, could feel Potter's cold stare on the back of his neck. Potter's heavy footsteps were instantly recognisable. And his scent. The breeze Potter stirred up drifted a mixture of his soap and shampoo Draco's way. Draco breathed it in and was instantly transported back to the hotel room.

They couldn't get their clothes off fast enough. They'd staggered across the room and collapsed in a tangle of limbs on the bed. They didn't even bother to pull back the duvet before they began ravishing each other's bodies, fighting for dominance like they always did. Draco had managed to press Potter to the mattress and he'd made his way down Potter's chest, tasting as much of his skin as he could along the way. As he'd taken a nipple into his mouth, Potter had let out the most delicious noise.

The scent grew stronger.

"Late night?"

Draco jumped. His eyes flew open to see Potter leaning against the wall in front of Draco's desk, arms crossed over his chest - closed off to Draco - and a smirk on his face.

"Excuse me?"

"Did you have a late night?" Potter asked. "You looked like you were asleep." Then he rested his hands on Draco's desk and slowly ran his eyes over Draco. He drew in a breath through his nose, eyes half-lidded, then stared straight into Draco's eyes. "You're not wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and I caught a hint of the shaving cream and hair products you favour, which means you've showered. So. Late night?"

Draco sat silent. He couldn't believe ... "You remembered?"

Potter grinned wickedly and his eyes flashed. "I remember everything." He leaned forward and for a brief moment of insanity Draco thought Potter might kiss him. Instead, he leaned to one side, his breath tickling Draco's ear as he spoke. "But don't flatter yourself," he said, voice cold as ice. "I'm an Auror; I'm trained to observe." He pulled back just enough to stare Draco straight in the face. "I know you think I got this job because of my name, special favours, politics, or dumb luck, but I assure you, Malfoy, I am very good at my job."

Glad to be sitting, Draco fought to maintain his equilibrium as Potter retreated to his position leaning against the wall. Maybe Pansy was right. Perhaps one night simply hadn't been enough for the years of built-up tension and frustration. "No late night," he managed, barely. "Just thinking."

"Thinking, hmm? Maybe wishing you were back at your cosy job, showing people the sights?"

Draco sighed wearily. "Something like that."

"Don't let me stop you," Potter said, the slightest hint of condescension seeping through his words. "Leave any time. Isn't that one of your areas of expertise too?"

Blood boiling, Draco banged his fist on the desk. "What do you want from me?"

"Oh, I don't want a thing from you." Harry's face hardened as he spit out the last word. "But I would like to know what you're doing here."

"You know why I'm here."

"I know why the Ministry asked you here, but why did you bother accepting their invitation?"

His heart racing, adrenaline coursing through his body, Draco placed his hands on his desk and stood, leaning over his desk. "You're not the only one here who's good at his job. Do you even know why the Ministry hired me a year ago?"

"The tours. Yeah, I know. I was there, remember?"

"With your head so far up your arse you probably didn't hear anything I said."

"I heard enough."

Draco stepped around his desk and stood in front of Potter, mirroring his stance. "I have spent years studying Muggle culture, folklore, and mythology, British and other European wizarding history, as well as ancient cultures and elemental magic. I have trained in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds, and like you, I am very good at what I do."

Potter grinned maliciously. "No doubt."

"Really, Potter? Is that the best you can do? If you're so uncomfortable working with me, why not team me up with another Auror?"

Papers rustled behind him, and Draco turned to see a stack of them float from his desk and form a line that flew between the two of them, swirling into a whirlwind of paper. He looked around for any sign of someone casting a spell, but saw no one. Potter's arms were still stubbornly in place and his wand rested in its holster. Then the whirlwind morphed into a snake - a cobra - and snapped at Draco. He stumbled backwards, vaguely registering Potter's laughter as the snake became a line of papers once more that flew back and settled themselves on his desk.

"That's why," Potter said.

"Wandless magic?" Draco asked. How was that fair? Potter wasn't already powerful enough, but now this? And fuck if that wasn't hot as hell. Draco's blood surged towards his groin. Fuck.

Potter nodded. "I don't know how far through those files you've managed to get, but it seems that those with more powerful magic make it out with less damage."

Draco tried not to sound too petulant. "And you, of course, are the most powerful wizard alive." The world truly hated him.

"I don't know about that," Potter said, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "But I'm the most powerful one on the force right now."

"How is it that I didn't know this about you?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You mean last year?" Potter narrowed his eyes, and Draco felt Potter's anger pulsing between them. "We didn't exactly do much talking, as I recall. And you didn't stick around long enough to find out, did you?"

Fair point. But Draco had no desire to revisit that conversation again. Not now. Possibly, hopefully, not ever. "So we're stuck with each other," he said, stating the obvious. Potter opened his mouth, and somehow Draco knew exactly what he was going to say. He raised a hand. "I'm not leaving."

A look one might describe as wistful flitted across Potter's face briefly, and then it was gone. "Then yes, it seems we're stuck with each other."

"Do you think you could back off, then?"

Potter waved his hand towards the rest of the office - a silencing spell, perhaps? Draco noticed for the first time that a number of people had arrived while he'd been talking to Potter. How had he not noticed? Potter stepped closer. Too close. "I'm not sure I know how to do that," he said. Then he leaned in to whisper in Draco's ear. "After all, you have to admit that the only time we haven't been at each other's throats, we were fucking." He pulled back, still in Draco's personal space but now looking him in the eye. "And I don't imagine that's going to happen any time soon, now is it?"

Draco resisted the urge to close the distance between them, and he stared Potter down, not sure if his words were meant as a challenge, a painful reminder of how badly Draco had fucked up, or a legitimate question. Unwilling to risk it, he responded the only way he could. "No. Of course not."

Potter dropped the silencing charm. "That's what I thought." And then he was gone.

~ * ~ * ~

"Malfoy." Draco nearly jumped out of his seat. Weasley glared down at him. "Don't fuck with Harry," he said, just loud enough for Draco to make out the words.

"Excuse me?"

"The Death Eaters in your house during the war? A slice of heaven compared to what your life will be like if you mess with Harry's head again. I'll make sure of that."

"I'm sure I have no idea --"

Weasley leaned forward, hands on the armrests of Draco's chair. "I don't know what he saw in you - still sees in you, for all I know - but I won't stand by and watch him go through that all over again, you hear me?"

Draco swallowed. He had no clue what Weasley was on about, but ... if it were true ... he ... shit. He'd really messed up.

"Well?"

"I suspect you've been hit by a few too many curses, Weasley." The growl he got in response reinforced the threat. "But if it means you'll remove your person from my presence ..."

"I mean it, Malfoy. Just get the work done, and leave Harry the hell alone."

"You have nothing to worry about."

Weasley pushed off Draco's chair and glared. "We never had this conversation."

"What conversation?"

Weasley, looking mildly satisfied at Draco's reply, walked out the door.

~ * ~ * ~

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Draco tossed the file he'd been trying to read onto the desk; papers cascaded over the surface. What the hell was Potter playing at anyway? Now Draco couldn't shake the image of them in bed together. Not that he'd been overly successful up to this point anyway, but now he could barely think of anything else. Shit. And if what that idiot Weasley said was true ...

He continued to wade through the seemingly endless files until he focused in on one report. The Ministry had cast a tracking spell to measure magical energy in and around the area of the incidents. And the strangest thing had happened. The tracking spell had simply stopped working when it reached ten metres off the coast of Unst in the Shetlands. Just ... stopped.

Draco had never heard of such a thing before. Interference, yes. A nil reading, yes. But the spell ceasing to work? Odd. It was almost like whatever had drained the energy from the victims had also drained the energy of the spell. Very odd indeed.

Draco Apparated to his office where he kept many of his reference books. He spent a few hours researching the Shetlands. They'd been part of Norway, so Draco gathered a few books he had on the ancient Norse language and their magic. They seemed to favour, as did many back then, elemental magic. So he collected a few books on the subject as well and returned to his hotel suite. He still hadn't visited Mother yet, and she'd hex him if she knew he wasn't currently on a tour, was so close, and didn't visit, but he knew he didn't have time to socialise.

He worked well into the night, and it was nearly three a.m. by the time he went to bed, pleased with himself, and hopeful that Potter would be receptive.

~ * ~ * ~

"I have a plan," Draco said to Potter the next morning. He'd already been in for an hour, verifying a few details with other departments.

Potter looked confused. A familiar sight. "Already?"

"Yes, while you were out yesterday chasing ... well, whomever or whatever it was you were chasing, I was working."

Potter scowled.

"As I'm sure you know, the source of the problem appears to be north of Unst. And since the tracking charms aren't working, I believe we should go there directly to investigate."

"Go where, exactly?" Potter asked. "If we don't know where the source is, how do we know where to go?"

"I have a theory."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Very few people have ever landed on Out Stack."

"Out Stack?"

"Northernmost point in Britain?" Draco rolled his eyes. "Do keep up, Potter." He pulled out a map and pointed to a tiny spec in the North Sea. "There."

Potter squinted. "No wonder no one's landed there. Is there even room?"

"Don't be an idiot," Draco said. "Of course there's room. But it's rocky; in fact, it's pretty much all rock, surrounded by ocean. I think that's the source."

"And you know this how?"

"According to Earth Energies: Where Powers Collide, two leylines intersect beneath its surface. But even if you don't believe in such power - there is much that remains unclear where leylines are concerned - there are many who do believe."

"Leylines?"

"A network of lines that span the earth, beneath its surface, carrying energy from place to place. Where lines intersect, it is suggested the energy is at its peak. Monuments have been erected and markers placed all over the world - particularly in Europe - indicating where supposedly known intersections exist."

Potter shook his head. "Power lines, carrying energy? Like magical electricity?"

"I don't know about that," Draco said. "But stone circles at Stonehenge and Avebury are thought to be examples of markers."

"Do you believe in the power of leylines?" Potter asked.

"I'm undecided. But that doesn't mean others wouldn't think of such places as sources of magical power."

Potter looked unconvinced. "Could these leylines, presuming they exist, be causing the drain in magic?"

"I wouldn't think so, no." Draco thought about all he'd read on the subject. "Leylines are a source of energy, drawn from and kept alive by the earth. The power running through them would far exceed that from any witch or wizard."

"But something is drawing on the magic of humans, and you think it's coming from Out Stack."

"I do. Instinct, gut feeling, educated guess. Call it what you will. Just ... something. I think there's a reason so few have landed there, despite boat tours driving out to see it. People are far too curious to simply ignore the place. It's human nature to explore."

"You think there's an enchantment or something preventing people landing, or perhaps even seeing it?"

It was common practice to hide magic from Muggles. "I may be wrong, but it's worth investigating, don't you think?"

Potter mulled the idea over for about ten seconds before answering in the affirmative. Draco smiled inwardly; one could always count on a Gryffindor to be impulsive.

"We'll need to catch a boat from Burrafirth," Draco said.

"Why don't we Apparate directly?"

Draco waved a file at Potter. "You've read these files, yes?" he asked. Potter's face reddened and he pursed his lips. Draco couldn't help thinking back to another time when Potter's face had been flushed like that. He quickly reined in his libido. "The curse or whatever it is appears to drain magic when it's being used."

"How do we know that?"

"We don't know for certain." Draco dropped the file onto his desk and ran his hands through his hair. Shit. If he didn't stop doing that, it would look like Potter's mop. He dropped his hands to his sides. "But all the evidence points in that direction, and I don't think we should risk it."

Potter nodded, as though he might actually trust Draco's judgement. Well. Be on alert, Hades: there's a snow storm on the way.

"The closest Floo connection is Muness Castle, at the southern end of Unst," Draco said, pulling out a map and pointing out the castle. "From there, we'll have to walk to Clivocast, hire a car and drive to Burrafirth. All told, that should take us half a day at most. A full day if we can't secure a car and have to walk."

"You drive?" Potter asked.

"Don't you?"

"Well, yes."

"Why then should it be inconceivable that I might have a licence?"

Potter frowned. "You're a pureblood."

Draco pondered this for a moment, recalling that several Weasleys also drove motor vehicles. He glared at Potter. "You mean I'm a Death Eater."

Potter's eyes narrowed. "That's not what I meant. But you have to admit, it is rather odd, given your past ..."

Stomach in knots, Draco gritted his teeth and folded up the map. "Will you never let that go?" He packed up his things, disappointed once more that the supposedly fair-minded Potter was forever destined to harbour resentment towards Draco and his past. "Just when I convince myself that I made a huge mistake a year ago, you remind me why I left."

Potter narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What?"

"I knew you could never get over my past, let it go. There could never be anything between us, and I was kidding myself to think otherwise." Draco looked at the man he thought ... "Never mind. I'll make the necessary arrangements," he said. "And I'll meet you here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Malfoy, wait."

"Don't bother, Potter. You've made your position perfectly clear. I'll see you in the morning, and with any luck, after this is done, we'll never work together again." And with a sour taste in his mouth, Draco left, wondering why he ever let himself fall for someone like Potter.

~ * ~ * ~

As he packed, Draco's mind wandered back to the last trip he'd been on with Potter.

"Why do you do this?" Potter had asked.

"I don't want to see our history lost, its significance downplayed and forgotten."

"But magic isn't lost. It evolves, like anything else."

"You mean like people have evolved?"

"Yeah."

He'd thought about pop culture and some of the more obvious influences of the Muggle world. "I fail to see how following groups like the Weird Sisters and using Muggle-magic hybrid technology with iPods and the internet can be considered evolving."

"Things are much faster now. Information is more readily available."

"And in the process, subtlety and patience are all but forgotten."

Potter had shrugged. "So?"

"Of course, what would a Gryffindor know about subtlety and patience?"

Rather than the explosive response Draco had expected, to his surprise Potter had grinned at him. Grinned!

"You have a point," he'd said. If Draco hadn't seen Potter's lips move, he'd never have believed it. "But you've never struck me as the patient or subtle sort either."

Draco had frowned. He'd thought back to his days at school, patiently chopping up potions ingredients or researching complex spells. He'd recalled suffering through the time of Voldemort, a time when a lack of patience could have got him killed. He'd thought of years living with his father, a man who communicated in nuances and expected his family to understand the most subtle glance. Draco had learned from the master and honed his skill over time.

Then memories of frustration, arguments, mud-slinging and brawls had flashed before his eyes. Potter had driven him to that. Had pushed his buttons and sent him over the edge of his tolerance. Had been the only person ever to get such a rise out of him. "That's only with you," he'd said at length.

"So I'm special, then, am I?" Potter had had the nerve to grin again, threatening to push Draco to the point of throttling him. "So tell me, oh patient Slytherin guide, what are you afraid of losing?"

Draco had thought about his response. He hadn't wanted to shatter the tentative truce they seemed to have established, but he'd needed to be honest. After all, that was why he'd decided to pursue this career. And he was good at what he did, and the Ministry knew it. That's why he'd been there with Potter in the first place.

"Our identity," he'd answered. When Potter had said nothing, he'd continued. "As wizards mix with Muggles - culturally as well as romantically - the lines blur and we lose a sense of self." He'd watched Potter's jaw clench and his body stiffen. "Relax, Potter. I'm not Voldemort."

Potter looked surprised that Draco used the name. Truth be told, it had taken him years to get to that point. A small victory. "You sound an awful lot like him."

Typical. Everything had always been black or white with Potter; he knew nothing of the gray area in which most of the world operated. "Have you ever stopped to wonder just how he was able to gain such a following?"

"Sure. He kidnapped, tortured, killed, and generally spread fear until people relented."

"Well, yes," Draco had agreed. "But all that came later. Before he released his plan on the masses, he had followers - dedicated and devoted witches and wizards willing to do just about anything for him. Don't you ever ask yourself how he managed that?" Potter had scowled. "Fear."

"That's what I said!"

"Yes," Draco had agreed. "But not fear of what Voldemort would do to them if they didn't follow him, but the fear of what would happen to them - to all wizards - if they didn't protect themselves from Muggles." He'd let that settle before continuing. "I like to think that if we honour our history, keep our culture alive in whatever way we can, fears like that won't be able to take hold ever again."

It had been a turning point for them. Potter had actually opened up, had considered things he might not have before. He'd accepted that Draco had changed. And, much to Draco's surprise, he'd let down his walls and let Draco in.

But those walls were back up now. A veritable fortress. And he had only himself to blame.

Draco shook off the thought. Now was not the time to get maudlin. He had a job to do. They had a job to do. A dangerous job. One that required clear and focussed minds.

Now, if their time together could work some magic of its own, maybe chip away at Potter's protective barrier, well then. All the better.

~ * ~ * ~

Draco arrived early to find Potter waiting for him, two steaming cups of tea from Draco's favourite local cafe on his desk. He handed one to Draco. "A peace offering," he said.

Draco nodded, masking his surprise, and took the proffered cup. It smelled wonderful. "I'm surprised you know of this place," he said.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he said. This time, Draco detected no malice. "Listen, Malfoy, I'm sorry."

Draco sipped his tea. "For?"

"For yesterday. I didn't mean -- I really didn't. I only meant that you'd been raised with magic, and your dad had always hated everything Muggle, so ..."

"So you figured I couldn't think for myself?"

Potter sighed. "Could we just ... not fight?"

Draco snorted. "Why stop now when we've got such a good thing going?"

Potter took a deep breath. "It was a mistake," he said through gritted teeth.

Surely he didn't mean ...

"What was?" When Potter didn't answer, Draco pressed. "You accusing me of being a Death Eater or me leaving before you had a chance to leave me first?"

"I didn't --" Potter's nostrils flared. "Both," he said. Drinking down the last of his tea, Potter stubbornly refused to meet Draco's eyes. "Is that what you think, that I would have left?"

As if Potter would have done anything else. The last couple of days had only reinforced what Draco should have known all along. "Wouldn't you have?"

Potter shook his head, then finally looked at Draco. "No."

Fuck. He'd been so sure. If he accepted what Potter said, that would mean Draco was an even bigger fool than he'd thought. "I don't believe you."

Potter considered that for a moment. "No, I don't suppose you would."

Draco raised his cup. "I suppose we could pretend to get along."

Potter tossed his empty cup in the bin. "Do you think we could?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know, Potter, could we?" Potter's jaw tensed. "I mean, you said it yourself: the only time we haven't fought ... " He left the thought hanging. Potter narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Draco collected his bag and started towards the Floo. This conversation was getting them nowhere. "We've a big day ahead of us. Best be getting along."

Potter seemed to agree. "If this drain on magic is located on Unst, how is it that wizards live there?" he asked as he caught up with Draco.

"Oh, they don't," Draco explained. "The castle is uninhabited." A few paces more and Draco realised that Potter had stopped walking. He turned round. "What?"

"We can't just Floo somewhere that Muggles are. And how do you know the Floo even works? And what if the magic it generates causes --"

"Breathe, Potter." Did he man think him an amateur? "There are no Muggles hanging about a ruin of a castle in the middle of October. And if there were, they wouldn't see the Floo - which I've verified is still connected and in operating order - as it's in a hidden room beneath the castle."

"But how do you know the enchantments have held up?"

Draco put down his bag. Obviously Potter wanted to chat, and reduction charm aside, the volumes of books he'd packed were heavy. "The room is hidden, blocked from view, by non-magical means as well as charms. The Floo gets its power from the network, not simply the connection to which we are travelling. And, if you recall, the power drain came from north of the castle. North of the island, in fact. That's the reason we're travelling there and not directly into who-knows-what. It should be perfectly safe. Any more questions?" Pretending to get along with Potter could very well prove to be as difficult as actually getting along with him.

Potter frowned, no doubt looking for the flaw in Draco's plan. After a few moments, he nodded. "All right, then."

And they were off again.

They reached the castle without incident. Despite being filthy from disuse, the Floo worked perfectly well. Draco forced himself not to cast a Cleaning Spell. The air felt a little heavy, and he felt slightly unsteady, but he often felt that way when he travelled by Floo. Potter, after recovering his footing, looked unbothered.

As expected, no Muggles were at the castle. In fact, they saw no one else until they'd almost reached the town. Potter waved at a plump woman in a flowing skirt and puffy blouse working in her garden, and the woman waved back and shouted a greeting. Honestly. "I swear, Potter, you should have been a Hufflepuff."

Potter chuckled. "Why? Because I'm friendly?" Draco rolled his eyes. "Haven't you ever heard that old saying, 'You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar'?"

"As a matter of fact I have." Draco smirked. "But I happen to have no interest in catching flies." Potter chuckled. It sounded good. Draco shook off the wayward thought.

They walked for a few minutes before Potter spoke again. "So what made you take the assignment?" Draco sighed, wondering what Potter was getting at. "I mean you seemed to love your job," Potter explained. "At least that's how it appeared. I'm not the only one who thought so."

"I do love my job, but there's nothing wrong with a change of pace every once in a while. Besides, I'm still travelling."

"So you are."

A prolonged silence followed and became increasingly uncomfortable. "He offered me a job," Draco blurted out, not sure why he was telling Potter when he hadn't even told Pansy or Blaise.

"Kingsley?"

"Yeah." He felt a grin sneaking through his carefully schooled features. "A year-long contract to provide training to Ministry staff."

"That's excellent," Potter said. Draco scrutinised him, not sure if he'd heard correctly. Potter's lip twitched as he asked, "What?"

"I wouldn't think you'd be happy about that," Draco said. "You haven't exactly been thrilled at the idea of me working with you."

Potter frowned and began to gnaw at his bottom lip. "Can you blame me?"

Potter conveyed more in what he didn't say, and Draco found himself strangely compelled to confess all. Instead, he shook his head. "No, I suppose not."

The silence that followed became unbearable after a few minutes. "You really wouldn't mind if I were working at the Ministry?" Draco asked.

"No. Why should I?" When Draco raised a brow in challenge, he added, "It's not like this. You wouldn't be working with me on my cases. Besides, who am I to deny the staff the best training they can get?"

And that, plus the merest hint of a smile, was all it took. Fuck if Draco didn't just fall for Potter all over again. The feeling he'd had that morning when he'd looked at Potter, his arm reaching for Draco in his sleep? Hit him full on the chest once more. Merlin, Draco nearly confessed his feelings right then and there. Doing his best to restrain himself, he smiled instead. "Thank you."

"Just telling it like it is," Potter said matter-of-factly.

When they arrived in town, the car Draco hired was ready - really, they might have been the only business the place had seen in weeks - and they were on their way in no time. From one end to the other, the island stretched only twelve miles, but the road was treacherous. Draco lost count the number of times he'd had to pull to the side to give way to another vehicle.

By the time they reached the cottage, he couldn't wait to get out of the Muggle death trap. Naturally, he told Potter nothing. Must keep up appearances, after all. Thank Merlin he'd packed some whisky. He'd intended it to dull the ache he was sure to feel, sharing close quarters with Potter, but now he looked forward to having it calm his nerves.

Silence weighed upon them as, once they entered the cottage, they stood by the door, facing the one bedroom. Potter stood rigid and all that had gone before - their sometimes stilted, but nonetheless genuine camaraderie - vanished in an instant.

Draco sighed. Tempted as he was to go with his instinctual urge to taunt Potter, he rather thought he'd done enough damage. Even if he hadn't intended it. And they needed to work together here. "Right," he said, placing his suitcase beside the window, "I'll take the sofa."

Potter's shoulders relaxed a fraction, though he didn't turn round. "Fine." He lost no time escaping the space currently occupied by Draco, and closing the bedroom door behind him.

"Fair enough," Draco said to his suitcase. "Drinks for one it is." He removed the bottle of whisky from his bag and foraged around the kitchen for an appropriate glass. Settling for a mug - he'd drunk from worse - and taking out a second in case Potter deigned to join him, he poured himself a generous amount. He drank, swirling the liquid with his tongue to coat his taste buds, then savoured the burn as it slid down his throat. He sat on the surprisingly comfortable sofa and looked into the tiny wood-burning stove; he suspected they'd be needing that later, though how much heat it would generate was anyone's guess. Another sip and he let his head rest against the back of the sofa as he enjoyed the delicious mix of flavours mingling to form music in his mouth.

"Got some of that for me?" Potter asked. Draco sat bolt upright, and Potter managed to save the twenty-year-old whisky from decorating the threadbare carpet. He hadn't meant to nod off, but ... how long had he been sleeping?

"Sure," Draco said, voice raspy. Potter's eyes flashed for a moment before he walked to the kitchen and retrieved the bottle. "There weren't any proper glasses, so we'll have to settle for mugs," Draco called.

"Proper glasses?"

"Yes, Potter. A glass formed just so, to splash the right amount of liquid over one's tongue, to enhance the enjoyment of the drink." Potter quirked a brow. "Oh, yes. I do forget how plebeian you are."

"Piss off."

Draco sipped from his mug then held it out for Potter to refill. "If I leave, the whisky goes with me."

"Fine then." Potter topped up his mug - a bit too much, but Draco didn't bother challenging him. "You can stay."

"How gracious of you."

Potter raised his mug in a toast. "Never let it be said that I am rude to the man supplying the drink."

Draco rolled his eyes, but found himself grinning. Perhaps all wasn't lost.

Part 2

Comments

[ldydark1.livejournal.com]

I like this alot. I like the set up and the detailed background of Draco. I am glad I came upon this, this evening. Very good!

[lullabylily.livejournal.com]

I'm loving this so far! All the ups and downs, and Draco falling for Harry like that. And now whisky... oh boys!