Amnesty - Part 2, H/D [NC-17]

[sesheta66]

Title: Amnesty, Part 2 of 3
Author: sesheta_66
Beta: dysonrules
Summary: Draco Malfoy, shunned by the masses and turned away from the Aurors more times than he'd care to admit, is taking out remnants of the Dark Lord's fan club himself – by being the best assassin money can buy. When the stone-cold killer happens upon a body lying in the alley, however, he can't leave the man for dead. When the man turns out to be Harry Potter, he does what anyone in his position would do – he brings him home.



Sunday morning arrived and Draco went to the Manor for brunch. He spent the entire time making small talk with his mother and thinking about Potter, who had gone to see the Minister for Magic at his home, where no one would see him.

They still hadn't caught the fools who'd dared to attack Harry Potter. Unfortunately, Draco hadn't caught up with them either. He'd found three possible locations for them, but hadn't been able to catch up with either of them. If he could manage to get some form of DNA, he could use his trusty tracking spell, then hope that eventually they'd be stupid enough to show up in the same place at the same time. But he had to find one of them first.

At his earliest convenience, he excused himself and returned home. He went straight for his den and continued his research. Some five hours later, when he'd done all he could, he called it a wash, determined to pick up their trails the next day when the shops in Diagon Alley reopened.

Frustrated and more than a little hungry, he decided to make his favourite pasta dish for dinner.

"I'm back," Potter called, quite unnecessarily, as he toppled out of the Floo.

Draco set aside the sauce he'd been preparing for dinner. "You were gone for a while."

Potter grinned. "Aw, did you miss me?"

Draco ignored him. "What did Kingsley say?"

Potter ran his eyes over the dining table, stove, counter, then Draco. "You cook?"

"I've been known to throw a few things together occasionally, yes."

Potter's lips twitched. "I'd have thought you'd have house-elves for that."

Draco glared. "As I recall, we lost one while I was in school."

Potter grinned. The bastard. "I'm not apologising for that," he said. "Your father was horrid to Dobby. And, if it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't be here."

"And if it hadn't been for you, I might have someone to prepare my meals for me. As it is, I must fend for myself when I don't dine with my mother."

"Oh, the horror." Draco pitched a towel at Potter's head, which he ducked easily. "How is Narcissa?"

Draco frowned. "She's fine. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "I owe my life to her too."

"How many times were you supposed to have died then?"

"I lost count a long time ago." Potter laughed. "Seems I've another one to add now."

Draco retrieved a bottle of wine from the bar. "Merlot okay?"

"My favourite, actually."

"Really? You drink wine?"

"I've been known to drink a glass or two occasionally, yes."

"Good. Then you can open it and pour while I get our dinner."

Potter opened the bottle and poured two generous glasses. Draco placed the pasta and sauce into a dish, added some tongs and Levitated it to the table. On occasions such as this, when Draco had a handsome man over for dinner, he'd put on music and light some candles to set the mood. But this was Potter, and it was most certainly not a date. Pity.

Potter breathed in. "It smells great!"

"Don't sound so shocked."

"You have to admit, this is strange. First you save my life, then you nurse me back to health, and now you're cooking for me. I feel like I'm going to owe you forever."

"Oh, I'm sure I can find some way for you to pay me back." An image of Potter's naked body draped across the table, pale skin in sharp contrast with the mahogany, popped into Draco's head.

"Should I be scared?" a fully-clothed Potter asked, bringing Draco back to reality.

Draco cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"

"You zoned out there for a minute." Potter's eyes danced with amusement. Draco wondered if he'd managed to finally master Occlumancy. "Should I be afraid of what you have in mind?"

Draco reached for his glass and took a long sip, regaining his composure. No way anyone got into his head without him feeling it. He put his glass down and leaned over the table. "You should know by now, Potter, to always be wary of a Slytherin."

Potter's breath hitched but he said nothing. Instead, he scrutinised Draco and reached for his own glass.

Draco dished Potter a serving, then himself. Potter chuckled.

"What?"

"Now you're serving me." He shook his head in disbelief. "I must be dreaming."

"Interesting. You dream about me often, Potter?"

Potter looked at Draco across his plate and said, "If I did, I doubt you'd be serving me dinner." Then he smirked and took a forkful. He closed his eyes, let his head loll back and let out a soft moan.

Draco's mouth went dry. He watched Potter's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and wondered if Potter's dreams were anything like his own. He took a gulp of his wine. "I take it you like the food?"

Potter savoured it a moment more before opening his eyes. "Fuck me, Malfoy. Who knew you were so talented in the kitchen?"

Interesting choice of words. "Oh, my talents reach far beyond the kitchen, Potter."

Potter's eyes glazed over and his voice became raspy. "Do tell."

Fucking hell, the man was hot.

Draco took a mouthful of his food. It was very good, if he did say so himself. He took his time before washing it down with a less hurried sip of wine. Emboldened by the alcohol or intoxicated by Potter's apparent flirting, more likely a bit of both, he leaned closer to Potter. "Now what fun would there be in telling you?" I'd much rather show you.

Potter leaned forward too, raising his glass in a toast. "Then here's to discovering your many talents myself."

Fuck. Draco raised his glass to Potter's.

They finished dinner and the bottle of wine, mixing small talk between moments of highly-charged but comfortable silence. Who knew Potter would be a good conversationalist?

"So what have you been doing with yourself since the war?" Potter asked as they cleared the table.

"This and that," Draco hedged.

"Come on, Malfoy, you know all about me."

"It's not my fault your entire life is for public viewing."

"Yeah." He looked at once uncomfortable. Vulnerable. "You'd think they'd have got over me by now."

"Why would anyone get over you?" Draco asked, his tongue a little faster than his brain, if the shocked look on Potter's face said anything. Draco hastily retrieved a second bottle of liquid courage, opened it and refilled their glasses. "I mean, if the world forgets what happened, what might have happened if you hadn't killed the bastard, we could be just stupid enough to let it happen again."

Potter studied him curiously, then nodded and held up his glass. "To never forgetting."

"I'll second that."

After a few minutes, Potter asked, "If you read the papers, how is it you didn't know about the orphanage?"

"I stopped taking the paper a couple of years back."

"Tired of looking at my ugly mug every day?"

Hardly. "Tired of reading half-truths and drivel. It's far too exhausting to have to fish through it all for a nugget of real news."

Potter nodded. "So you never said, what have you been doing with yourself?"

Killing former Death Eaters. The ones the Ministry can't seem to catch. And doing a rather fine job of it, too.

Suspecting Potter wasn't going to let it go any time soon, he decided to go for the truth. Or some of it. He glared at his wine as though it was the force driving him to such lengths.

"I finished school." What a treat that was. Then, after applying for and being rejected by the Aurors, I went to France for a year." No matter how successful he became, it still didn't make their rejection burn any less.

"You applied to the Aurors?"

"Ridiculous, I know."

"Not at all. I think you'd make a brilliant Auror."

Draco laughed. "Nice try, Potter."

"No, I'm serious." He looked serious. Draco wanted to reach over and – "You were always great in school, and amazing at Potions."

Draco swirled the wine in his glass. "I don't think my NEWTs were the problem."

"Oh. Right." Potter scowled at the tablecloth. "But you were found innocent."

Draco snorted. "Hardly. The charges were dropped. It's not the same thing."

"They can't hold actions against you if you weren't charged."

"Of course they can." Was Potter really that naive? "And they did. They do. Most people do."

"You should reapply."

"I did. Several times."

"It's been a few years now."

"Let it go, Potter. It's in the past. I've moved on." He went into the kitchen to get the dessert.

Potter followed. Stubborn git. He watched Draco remove the tiramisu from the box and place it on a plate. He leaned back, elbows propped on the counter, revealing a small strip of skin above his waistband and looking far more delectable than the dish in front of Draco. Draco looked away and reached for plates.

"Have you?" Potter asked from so close behind him, Draco could feel Potter's breath ghost over his neck.

"Have I what?" Draco asked, so distracted by Potter's proximity that he was no longer sure what they'd been talking about.

"Moved on." Potter leaned over Draco's shoulder to look at the cake. "Seems to me this and that doesn't mean the same thing."

Draco breathed deeply, the scent of Potter's after shave filling his nostrils and sending his already racing heart into overdrive. He could feel the heat flowing from Potter's body and had to fight not to lean back into the warmth.

Draco picked up the cake and turned around, holding it as a barrier between them. "I've made my peace with it," he said. "I made my choices and now I live with the consequences."

"But they weren't your choices."

"Let it go. Please." He pushed past and set the dish down. "You can't fix everything." When Potter made to say something, Draco stopped him. "Dessert. The finest money can buy."

Potter didn't look like he'd let it go, but he shut up just the same.

Draco watched Potter eat and reined in his libido.

"You still keep in touch with anyone from school?" Potter asked when he was done.

"Pansy and Blaise. Sometimes Greg. You?"

"Ron and Hermione. Neville, Seamus and Luna occasionally. Ginny at family functions."

"Whatever happened to the two of you? Everyone figured you for the altar and a Quidditch team worth of ginger babies."

"You've read the papers." Potter laughed without humour. "I didn't fancy living a lie."

"Lots of people do it. Keep the family lines going."

"Doesn't make it right." Potter unnerved him when he stared so intently. "Seems to me you'd know better than most."

"True, but I'm not you."

"We're not so different, you and I."

"If you say so." Draco smiled. "I just think, after seeing you with those orphans, that a kid or ten might be pretty lucky to have you as a father."

"Careful, Malfoy. That sounded like a compliment."

Draco waved Potter's comment away and drained his glass. "Blame it on the wine. Does crazy things to me."

"Mm." Potter smiled and finished his own wine. "Me too." He got up and walked around the table. He leaned down, hands on the arms of Draco's chair and brought his face to within an inch of Draco's. "And so do you."

Potter brushed his lips against Draco's, a mere hint of a kiss. "Feel like showing me some of those other talents of yours now?"

Draco's body, already on alert from their earlier sparring, responded instantly. "Absolutely." He ran his hand through Potter's hair and drew him in for a real kiss.

Draco nudged his tongue between Potter's lips and pressed inside. When Potter's tongue joined his own, Draco's body thrummed. Draco poured everything he had into the kiss. He grasped Potter's hair and turned him to get a better angle. He plunged his tongue deeper, exploring every contour, feeling, tasting, savouring the experience. In the recesses of his mind, Draco questioned how this was even happening, while his body pressed on, screaming More!

Potter gave as good as he got, and soon their kiss became a battle of wills. Like everything else in their lives. Potter ran his hands over Draco's arms, back, sides, pulling Draco up and into his arms. Draco pressed forward, wanting to get closer, eventually backing Potter into a wall, lining their bodies up, shoulder to knee. Heat poured off Potter's body, and their two hearts pounded in their chests.

Draco pulled back for air, and Potter's hands grasped Draco's arse, thrusting their groins together. Draco moaned. "Fuck."

Potter licked a path along Draco's jaw, and nibbled on Draco's lobe. "Mm, yes," Potter growled, and Draco's world spun out of control.

He pulled back on Potter's hair, needing to see his face. He took in the flushed cheeks, swollen lips and dilated pupils. He watched Potter run his tongue over his lips, taking in Draco's taste, his breathing laboured. What was going through Potter's head? Was this some sense of gratitude or obligation? Before this week, Potter hadn't spared a thought for Draco, or so he believed.

This week. Potter had nearly died a week ago. And until a few days ago, he'd been unconscious, clinging to life.

Draco wanted Potter, had wanted this for so long, but ...

"Surely you're not going to back down on me now," Potter said, reading Draco's thoughts. He ran his thumb along Draco's bottom lip, teasing. "Because I've been wanting this for days."

Draco had wanted Potter forever. "Days?"

"Well, years, if I'm honest with myself."

Years? He couldn't be serious. Scenes of the two of them sparring bounced around Draco's mind.

"I've known for a long time that you were more of a man that people gave you credit for. But I'd never thought, never allowed myself to hope that you might want to ... well."

Potter had wanted him? Draco spared a moment to mourn the loss off all that wasted time. Time they could have been doing this.

Potter ran his gaze down Draco's form and back up again. He grinned, dark eyes shining with lust, then ran his tongue over his lip and Draco ached to dive back in. "Ever since I woke up here, had you taking care of me, showing actual concern, it's been ... different. You're more than even I had imagined."

Draco tried to wrap his head around what Potter was saying. "What exactly did you imagine?"

"Lots of things." Potter pulled their groins together again. "How about I show you?"

Draco moaned. There was nothing he wanted more at this moment. He'd wanted Potter for so long. Draco rested his hands either side of Potter's head and drew back enough to really look at Potter. Debauched suited him. Draco took Potter's swollen bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled. Potter whimpered, then opened his mouth, inviting Draco in. Draco accepted, drawing out the kiss this time. Slower than the last, less urgent, but just as passionate.

Potter kissed the way he flew. With purpose, energy. Unrestrained. Draco had thought about this so many times before, but none of his imaginings held a candle to the real thing. Potter's tongue and body played him until he lost complete control. His heart raced, skin burned, and cock ached. He'd kissed men before, many men. Some whose technique was far more polished than Potter's. But Draco had never had this reaction before. Never felt such need, such longing, in every fibre of his being.

"Can we take this somewhere else?" Potter rasped, looking down the hall towards the bedrooms.

Fuck, yes. Draco nodded and they stumbled down the hall, breaking stride occasionally as they continued to devour each other. Draco pushed Potter backwards through his door and onto the bed.

"That's better," Potter said, grabbing Draco by the shirt and pulling him down and kissing him soundly.

Draco agreed wholeheartedly. He lifted himself up onto his hands and drank his fill. Potter was in his bed. With him. A sight Draco knew he'd never forget.

"I didn't think I could stand any longer," Potter said as he began unbuttoning Draco's shirt, trailing his fingers over Draco's skin. "My head is spinning right now."

His head is spinning. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus. Potter had nearly died, only a week before. What am I thinking? I should never have let it get this far. "This is a mistake," Draco said, cursing his conscience even as he uttered the words. "I should never have --"

"Really?" Potter asked. He held Draco's hips and bucked upwards while running his tongue along his upper lip and pushing Draco's libido into overdrive once more.

"You're not well. You nearly died. You only woke up a few days ago." He knew he was babbling, and why any of what he said should matter he didn't know, but it did. The large part of Draco's brain – and one particular part of his body – protested, but he persisted.

"But I'm fine right now," Potter said. He lifted his head to whisper in Draco's ear. "You're a great Healer."

His breath caressed Draco's ear and Draco let out a whimper. "Stop that."

Potter chuckled. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing to Draco. "Why would I do that?"

"I already told you." Draco drew back to give himself some breathing space. It didn't help to see Potter sprawled across his bed. "You aren't thinking. This isn't you."

Potter frowned. "Did you cast a spell on me?"

"No, of course not!"

Potter lifted himself onto his elbows. "Give me a potion that would make me act this way?"

Draco took a few steps back from the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"

Potter sat up, reached for Draco's arm and drew him nearer. "Nothing," he said. "I'm fine. I want this. I want you."

"All of a sudden?"

"No, not really." Potter ran a hand through his hair. "I see you're not going to make this easy."

Draco raised a brow. "Have I ever?"

Potter laughed. "Point taken."

Draco liked Potter's laugh. It made him want to hear it again.

"Here's the thing," Potter said. "I've done a lot of ... soul searching, for lack of a better word. Since the war. I figured out a lot about who I am and who I'm not. Mistakes I've made."

"Are we about to have a moment here, Potter?"

He laughed again. "No deep, dark confessions, if that's what you mean," Potter said. "But I wanted you to know I've thought about you. A lot. I've wondered, if we'd been friends in school, how things might have been different. How we might have been different."

"And?"

"And we can't change the past."

"True."

"And I never thought we'd ... that you'd be interested in ... well, this. In me."

"So your head isn't rattled from the beating?"

"Even if it is, that has nothing to do with this." He waved an arm between them. "With us."

Draco wanted to believe him. Desperately. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely." Potter held his free arm out. Draco took it. "So," he said as he pulled Draco down on top of him. "Where were we?"

"I believe you were about to take off your clothes," Draco said. He pulled Potter's t-shirt from his jeans. Potter lifted his arms and Draco drew the shirt over his head. Fucking hell, Draco had wanted to touch that body, really touch it for days. Longer than that. Ever since he'd first wrapped his arms around Potter while fleeing the Fiendfyre back in seventh year. But Potter was no longer the malnourished adolescent he'd been back then. Draco ran his hand over Potter's chest and savoured the feel of his muscles beneath Draco's fingers. He relished the chills it sent over Potter's body. "Like that, do you?"

"Mmm." Potter reached for Draco's waistband and pulled him into a kiss. Any hesitation Draco had felt faded as he immersed himself in the taste of Potter, the feel of Potter's body responding to his own, and the knowledge that Potter wanted this too.

Draco took his time, trailing his tongue over every curve of Potter's torso, committing to memory every mark, every scar and every delicious noise he made. Potter's enthusiasm threatened Draco's resolve, but he refused to be rushed. He worshipped Potter's body, caressing, kissing and licking all the sensitive areas until Potter was reduced to a writhing pool of need.

Potter's hands roamed Draco's body too, finding all of his favourite and oh-so-responsive spots. The way he looked at Draco with such reverence threatened to send Draco over the edge before they had a chance to get to any of the really good stuff. Fuck, no one had ever looked at him that way before. It was intoxicating.

"Now," Potter begged, rubbing their erections together and sending jolts of fire up Draco's spine. "I need you now."

Draco nodded and wordlessly Summoned a jar of lube. Potter tweaked a nipple and Draco moaned. "Not that I doubt my abilities," Draco warned, "but if you don't want this over before it begins, you'll stop doing that."

Potter laughed. "But you make such delicious sounds." He took the nipple into his mouth, teased it with his teeth and sucked.

"Bastard."

Potter laughed more and bucked up. "You wouldn't want me any other way."

Draco unscrewed the jar and looked, really looked at Potter's face. The strong jaw, cocky confidence, and gleaming eyes that were completely focussed on Draco. He was sexy as all hell, but that wasn't what drew Draco in. It wasn't the hero he was attracted to, but the man. The argumentative, stubborn man that Draco had never been able to forget. The man who would never stop challenging Draco, no matter where life took them.

"You're right about that, Potter." He took a good measure of lube into his hand and slicked Harry's entrance with it. Then he coated his fingers again, teased Potter's opening for a moment and, deciding that he was done with slow, slid one digit inside. Not harshly, but Potter's breath hitched and his back arched as he was breached. Draco smirked. "But that goes both ways." Potter didn't argue.

Draco moved the finger in and out a few times before slipping a second one in alongside it. Potter groaned. Draco fucked Potter with his fingers, watching, fascinated, as Potter's hands gripped the sheets and his hips bucked to meet Draco's strokes. He inserted a third and before long, Potter was writhing beneath him.

"Now," Potter said. "I want you inside me. Now."

Well, who could refuse such a lovely request?

Draco removed his fingers and lathered his cock with a generous amount of lube. Too much, but he was so desperate now to be inside this man he'd fantasised about for years that he couldn't bring himself to care about the mess of his sheets.

He positioned himself and eased forward slightly, breaching only with the head of his cock. "Potter," he said, at once needing eye contact. "Harry."

Harry's eyes opened. He blinked, trying to focus. His chest rose and fell heavily, glistening with sweat. He smiled.

Draco grasped his hands and pressed in slowly, smoothly, all the while watching Potter watch him, until he felt the heat of Harry all around him and he was fully seated. Careful not to move too much, he leaned down and kissed Harry.

Their tongues entwined, hands clasped and bodies joined, Draco's entire world narrowed to this man in this place.

When Harry squeezed his hands Draco broke their kiss and looked into his eyes. Harry wiggled his hips and said, "Move."

Draco drew out slowly, wanting to feel everything. He filled Harry with equal patience, all the while his eyes never leaving Harry's. He kept up this torturous pace three more times before Harry released his hands, grabbed Draco's thighs and lifted his hips, drawing Draco in completely.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Harry asked. "Or are you going to fuck me?"

Draco chuckled wryly, drew back once more and pressed Potter's hips back down. "Oh, I'm going to fuck you." And he thrust forward.

"Yes," Harry cried.

Carnal need took over and Draco pounded into Harry with reckless abandon. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping on skin, the bed rocking and their collective moans of pleasure. The scent of sweat and sex permeated the air.

Harry trailed his hand up Draco's sweat-slicked back and pulled him forward. "Come here."

When their lips joined once more, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's back and his legs around Draco's and flipped them over, reversing their positions. "Mmm, that's better."

"Oh, yeah?" Draco smiled as Harry rested his palms on Draco's chest and licked his lips. Fucking hell, the man was hot. Draco bucked up and Harry moaned.

Harry sat upright, moving his arms to rest behind him on Draco's thighs and impaling himself. "Fuck, yeah."

Draco ran his hands along Harry's legs while Harry lifted and lowered himself again and again, increasing his pace as his head lolled back and he took his own length in hand.

Limited though his range of movement was – and he suspected this was part of Harry's enjoyment – Draco managed to buck upwards while Harry continued to fuck himself on Draco's cock and work his shaft. Draco's hand joined Potter's and their strokes became frenzied.

Harry's body shook and Draco felt the clenching around his cock seconds before Harry cried out. Draco wanted to watch, wanted to see Harry lose it completely, but he wasn't far behind. His own orgasm rushed over him and his world exploded in a flash of light behind clenched lids, his mind turned to mush.

When Draco opened his eyes again, Harry was watching him, still moving above him, slowly milking the last of his orgasm. Draco pulled his hand free and brought it to his mouth, licking Harry's come from his fingers.

Harry's eyes widened. "Do you know how incredibly sexy that is?"

Draco grinned.

Harry lifted himself up and Draco's cock slid out. Harry flopped down beside him, his hand resting on Draco's stomach.

"Wow," Harry said. "That was ..."

"Incredible?"

Harry lazily turned his head. "Unexpected."

Draco frowned. "How so?"

Harry shrugged. "All the times I'd thought about us together – and I'd thought about it a lot – it was always good, really good, but in a hate sex kind of way." His eyes dropped to Draco's mouth and he licked his lips. Looking back into Draco's eyes, he said, "I never expected to feel such a connection."

Draco hadn't either. He suspected that, deep down, he'd wanted it, but he wasn't a masochist. He'd never have tormented himself that way. Then he remembered the dream he'd had just after rescuing Harry. He traced Harry's bottom lip with his thumb and pressed his lips against Harry's in a chaste kiss. "The way I've always imagined it," he said, "the hate sex was pretty hot."

Harry laughed. "Bit of a shame. I don't think I hate you anymore."

"I'm pretty sure I still hate you a bit," Draco countered.

Harry smacked him. "I think we'll be able to muster up a bit of that anger when we fight. And we will fight."

"Without a doubt," Draco agreed. "And we'll have spectacular make-up sex."

Harry's shoulders shook in amusement. "Definitely."

***
The next few weeks were like none Draco had even dared to imagine. Life before the war was more like a dream, his childhood someone else's. The war was best left in the past, visited only when necessary. And life since then had been empty. He had his mother and his few remaining friends, but the rejection of virtually the rest of the world had taken its toll. He'd accepted his lot in life, and somehow had managed to compartmentalise things enough to carry on. He ignored the looks, held his head high, and lived his life on his own terms. He supposed that had been one benefit to living with Death Eaters. Always on guard. Never showing weakness. Never letting anyone in.

But Potter broke down those walls, made Draco feel. Potter knew his past, and still he wanted to be with him. They connected as only people with a shared past could. They knew each other's weaknesses yet did not exploit them. They tolerated no bullshit from each other, and thus, didn't play games. It was exhilarating, unnerving, frightening and liberating all at once.

At last, they'd become friends, something Draco had always wanted but had denied for years. He wasn't delusional enough to put a label on it – they'd been together such a short time after all, despite knowing each other forever – but whatever it was made him feel alive. He looked forward to waking, and especially looked forward to going to bed. They hadn't been apart a single night since Draco had found Harry in that alley. Twenty three days ago.

Potter's attackers had gone into hiding after news broke of Harry's "death" and neither Draco nor the Aurors had been able to find them. It was getting more difficult coming up with excuses to leave the flat when Harry was stuck inside. Any mention of work merely prompted Harry to ask, again, what exactly Draco's work was. Being a "consultant" only carried him so far, and he didn't want to lie.

On day twenty-four, the case broke. Draco came home early from visiting his mother and overheard Harry in the kitchen speaking with Kingsley. They'd had a sighting of one of the suspects at a hotel in Birmingham.

"I'm going," Harry said.

"You can't. First of all, you're supposed to be dead. Don't you think it'll cause a bit of a stir if you show up? We both know how poor your glamours are. And if he gets word that you've been spotted in town, he'll not return to the hotel."

"I'll wear a Muggle disguise. Or use my cloak."

"No, Harry. You know the rules. You cannot be involved. You'll compromise the case. Besides, we can't move in without the proper authority."

"But—"

"Let your fellow Aurors do their job. They'll get their authorisation to move in, and then they can pick him up when he returns. If we jump in too soon, he could take flight and we might never see him or his cousin again."

"He could still take flight. Or warn his cousin."

"Not if we take him into custody," Shacklebolt said. "And for us to do that, we need—"

"It's just so frustrating! It's taken this long to find him and now our hands are tied."

"Not for long."

Draco had no such restrictions. He may have been the one to find Harry and bring him back from the edge, but Harry had given him his life back too. And Draco wouldn't rest until those who tried to take Harry out were made to pay.

Harry hadn't noticed Draco enter the flat, so he quietly and quickly left.

He arrived at the hotel in disguise – a woman this time, the kind of tart that would have made his mother shudder if he'd dared to bring her to the Manor. His overdone makeup, big wad of gum and wild, black hair spiked in all directions topped off the look. He had it on good authority that Scrawny went for this sort, so what better way to get up close and personal?

In short order, Scrawny slunk into the hotel bar where Draco had positioned himself. Draco had made the Aurors when he'd stepped foot in the door. He sat within range of them, but in shadow. They would remember him – or rather, her – but would not be able to see beneath the surface.

He watched Scrawny approach the bar and watched the Aurors watch Scrawny. Honestly, the twat was thick, but unless he'd recently been whacked in the head by a Bludger, he'd figure them out soon enough. Draco preferred to take his time, but he suspected he didn't have much. He slithered up to the bar and cracked his gum to announce his presence. Scrawny glared briefly in Draco's direction, then once he noticed the long legs, high heels and short skirt, he stared. The barkeep sighed but ambled over. Draco ordered a glass of Chardonnay. When the barkeep left to fill his order, he pretended to only then notice he had an admirer.

"Haven't seen you around here," Scrawny said, leering at Draco's ample bosom.

Draco's skin crawled and his wand hand itched to end the twat immediately. He cracked his gum instead. "That's cuz I ain't never been in here 'fore, innit?" He leaned over and squeezed his arms together to show extra cleavage.

Scrawny nearly drooled all over the bar. Draco reached up and touched Scrawny's face. "You 'ave a scratch right 'ere," Draco said, running his thumb over a scrape on Bradshaw's cheek and deftly removing a few hairs in the process. "What 'appened?"

Bradshaw reached up but Draco withdrew his hand quickly. No reason for any more contact than absolutely necessary. As it was, he'd have to bathe for hours to wash off the stench of this degenerate.

"Oh, that," Scrawny said. "My cousin and me got into a scuffle today, and I'm no good with Healin' Charms." He shrugged. "It'll fix itself right up in a couple of days."

The barkeep cleared his throat and placed Draco's wine on the bar. Draco snapped his gum and grinned before leaving his payment. "Been a slice," he said to Scrawny and went back to his table.

Not to be brushed off so quickly, Scrawny waited for Draco to sit, then turned in his direction. One of the Aurors stood and Scrawny caught the movement. His eyes widened and he bolted.

Shit. Draco spared a moment to wonder how these two jokers could become Aurors when he couldn't even get past the application process. The two men panicked and ran out after Bradshaw. Draco rolled his eyes. Good thing he hadn't trusted the Aurors to take care of things. Bumbling fools. Now he'd have to move ahead himself with Plan B.

Not wanting to call attention to himself by leaving abruptly, Draco sipped his wine for about ten minutes before Vanishing the balance and taking his leave. He exchanged one glamour for another, then made his way to a location far from curious eyes. Only then did he drop the second glamour and Apparate home.

He arrived back at his flat to find an incensed Harry pacing the floor. Well, that answers the question about whether they caught up with him. Draco removed his cloak calmly and hung it up. "What's happened?"

"Those fucking idiots! I cannot believe they sent those buffoons out to watch for him! A fucking first year is more stealthy than those morons!" His face reddened and he flailed as he ranted, getting more worked up as he went.

Draco suppressed a grin, finding it difficult not to be amused by Harry's tirade, for once not directed at Draco.

"Relax, Potter. You're babbling. Sit down, take a breath, then calmly tell me what happened."

"Robards is an arse, that's what happened!" Harry flung himself down on the sofa. "He had Williamson assign the Aurors to watch Bradshaw and he spotted them and took off and they gave chase and … and … argh!"

Draco snorted. Harry glared at him. "Okay, Potter, slow down. Perhaps the word calmly escaped your notice when I asked you to explain. Now, I can't be sure, but I'm presuming we're talking about the attack on you?" Harry nodded, his jaw flexing as he gritted his teeth. "They found one of them? Bradley?"

"Bradshaw, yes. They had a lead but before they could arrest him, they had to have a warrant. While waiting for that, two Aurors were sent to keep an eye out for him. They were to lie low and do nothing but observe."

"I take it they didn't follow those orders?"

"Oh, they probably did. Only their idea of lying low is not the same as mine – or anyone else's. Those two would stand out in a room full of newbie Aurors, never mind some rough pub in the dodgy part of Birmingham."

"I'm guessing, based on the state you were in when I walked through the door, that he got away."

"Yes." The word barely made it past Harry's teeth.

"Did they at least hit him with a tracker?"

Harry stood up and flailed his arms again. "Of course not. That would require forethought. They haven't got a first year's forethought between them, those idiots."

Draco placed a calming hand on Harry's shoulder. "Just because you have a penchant for sneaking around undetected – a skill you developed at a very young age, I might add – doesn't mean everyone else could or should live up to your standard."

Harry shrugged Draco's hand away. "But I told Kingsley I'd do it. Even without stupid glamours I could pull it off."

"Your Invisibility Cloak would help with that."

"I know, right? But noooooooo, I couldn't interfere with the case. Now there is no case! And Williamson! I bet he did it on purpose too. Ron's always saying the bloke's out to get me, because people are always talking about me being in line for the Head Auror job."

"And do you believe Ron?"

"Not really. Williamson's a decent bloke, and a good Auror. He's only a passable team leader, and I know he doesn't particularly like me, but this? This goes too far. I mean those two are the joke of the force. No one takes them seriously."

Draco fumed. "So your boss wants to have you killed?"

"No, no. I don't think that. But if what Ron says is true, it is rather handy for him that I'm playing dead right now."

Draco nodded. Sounded like a typical bureaucrat. "Just give it some time. I'm sure they'll come up with another lead. Or maybe they'll find the other bloke." Or perhaps someone else will step up and get the job done properly.

Harry looked like a caged animal. "But it's been –"

"Give it time," Draco repeated. "And why don't you get out of here for a bit? You're practically climbing the walls."

"I can't go anywhere. I'm supposed to be dead!"

"Yes." Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and drew a calming breath. "I am aware. But you could Floo over to Ron's for a bit. I suspect he will happily commiserate with you at length about the shortcomings of Williamson and the unfairness of the bureaucracy."

Harry smirked. "Brilliant idea, Malfoy."

"All my ideas are brilliant, Potter. When will you realise that?"

As soon as Harry left, Draco got to work.

Once he activated the Tracking Spell, it took Draco an hour to track down Scrawny and nearly two more before he found himself sitting across the room from Harry's attackers. Convenient that they were stupid enough to meet in a public place, together, even after Scrawny had spotted his tail.

Bradshaw had been holed up alone in some abandoned building when Draco had located him. He hadn't had long to wait before Scrawny went on the move. Draco had followed him at a distance, right to a busy coffee house. Draco took care to follow another patron inside to avoid detection.

He had opted for subtle. An Obscuring Charm added to his glamours effectively caused him to blend into the background. Anyone looking his way would not remember details, only that someone occupied the space. Not as strong as Concealment Charms, they tended not to attract trained eyes. In the end it would serve only to buy him time, since Draco had no intention of leaving without being noticed. But he could not, would not allow himself to be discovered before he accomplished his mission.

Draco had directed a nearly imperceptible Listening Charm on their table when he'd first sat down. An Auror would pick it up easily enough, but Draco didn't imagine these two would catch on. He watched his quarry and waited for the patrons to thin out and an opportunity to present itself. He only had one shot at this, and he wouldn't blow it by acting too quickly and letting one get away or, worse, getting caught. The two spoke in hushed tones about nothing in particular, nervously turning their heads every time someone walked through the door.

"What was so urgent?" Murphy asked his cousin at length.

"I think the Aurors are on to us."

Murphy's eyes darted around and he looked ready to flee. "Were you followed? Why would you want to meet here? Idiot!"

"I wasn't followed. I got rid of them. I'm sure of it. I waited all day before contacting you, just to be sure."

Murphy, agitated, glared at Bradshaw. "I told you we should have stayed put another few weeks."

"But I was getting twitchy being all cooped up."

"Then you'll be real twitchy in prison."

Actually, after today neither one of you will be twitchy ever again.

Bradshaw pulled at his sleeves and looked around nervously. "Why don't we leave the country?"

"Let's start by leaving here. We'll make sure we're not followed, go back to the cottage for our things, then disappear forever."

"Forever's a long time."

Murphy stood up. "I know."

Draco counted twelve others in the coffee house. Not how he'd prefer this to happen, but needs must. He had little time to react once Bradshaw stood and they turned towards the door. Draco closed the distance in five strides.

"Hey," he said behind them.

Bradshaw turned, dumbfounded, to look at Draco. Draco smiled. "Avada Kedavra." Murphy had his wand in hand before his cousin hit the ground, but not fast enough. "Avada Kedavra."

Draco shielded himself against attack and strode out the front door. Screams from the patrons followed him down the street, but no one caught up to him. He made his escape using several glamour changes, two Apparitions and a Floo. By the time he reached Diagon Alley, he was Draco Malfoy once more. A minor memory modification on a couple of shopkeepers would ensure he was "seen" there an hour earlier, just in case, and he returned to his flat.

He'd just settled down with a cup of tea when Harry tumbled from the fireplace. "How long have you been falling out of Floos, Potter?"

"They're dead!"

Draco put down his cup and donned a look of concern. "Weasel and Granger?"

"No." Harry waved his hands about like someone flagging down the Knight Bus. "The blokes who tried to kill me!"

Draco shook his head. "What do you mean they're dead? Only hours ago you were lamenting the loss of ... whatever his name was."

"I know. But Ron just got notice that they're dead. Some bloke walked up to them at a coffee shop, calm as could be, killed them and went on his way. Just like that."

"Did they catch him?"

Harry shook his head. "By the time the shock wore off and someone went after him, he had disappeared."

"Stealthy."

"Sounds more than stealthy to me. Sounds like a hit."

"Well, I'd say whoever this bloke is did the world a favour."

"Do you know what this means?" Harry asked, smiling.

"That you're no longer dead?"

"Yes! Which means I can get back to my life and you can get back to yours."

Draco's good mood faded. "Right," he said stiffly. "That's great. I suppose you'll want to get back to it then."

Harry grabbed the sides of Draco's face and kissed him. "Thank you so much for everything. I owe you."

Draco narrowed his eyes as dread engulfed him. "You don't owe me a thing, Potter."

Harry didn't notice Draco's mood change. "Listen, I have to go to work tomorrow and take care of all this. Probably well into the night and the next day too."

Back to reality. Back to your friends. No further need of me. Not quite what Draco had hoped for. But what had he expected? To celebrate with a bottle of champagne? To live together happily ever after?

"But after that, I want to thank you properly."

"Thank me?"

"Dinner, on me. Whatever restaurant you want."

Before he could stop himself, the words spilled forth. "You mean a date?" He cringed at the hopeful sound of his own words.

Harry laughed. "Of course, a date. Now that I'm alive again, I want to show off this hot new guy I've been seeing."

Draco smiled, every muscle in his body relaxing at once. "Be forewarned, Potter. I have expensive taste."

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and laughed. "Then I guess it's a good thing I have a large vault at Gringotts."

The next two days dragged on. Draco's flat felt empty and the silence pressed in on him. But he had his upcoming date to keep him focussed. And on edge.

When Saturday arrived, Draco spent hours getting ready. He'd put on no less that six outfits, not sure what would look best for a date with Harry Potter. What was he doing? He'd never been so nervous for a date in his life. Which was ridiculous. This was Harry. They'd already been through so much in their youth, then come together in the most horrible and wonderful way possible. What was there to be nervous about?

At six o'clock precisely, Harry stepped out of the Floo. For once he didn't lose his footing.

"Been practicing, have you?" Draco teased.

Harry's cold stare struck him like a blow. Only then did he register Harry's clothes: jeans and a sweater. Definitely not fine dining attire.

"Did I miss something?" Draco asked. "I thought we were going out to dinner."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and his glare bored through Draco. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out?"

Oh, fuck. "Find out what?"

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. I'm a fucking Auror! I saw the memories of all those people at the coffee shop."

Shit, shit, shit. He matched Harry's stance and stared right back at him. "And?"

"And it was you." Harry practically spit the words.

"What was me?"

"Oh, for the love of –" Harry dropped his hands, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You may be great with glamours, and impressively adept at diverting attention from your presence, but I'd recognise your walk anywhere."

Oh. "Are you accusing me of something, based on someone's walk?"

"Yes. Your walk. The killer's walk. One in the same."

"I can't possibly be the only person –"

"Stop. Just stop lying. I thought we'd given that up."

Technically he wasn't lying. He was dodging. And he'd left out some details. Sort of. "I thought we'd agreed that the bloke had done you a favour."

"I can't say I'm sad to see them dead. But you can't go around taking the law into your own hands." In that moment, even without his uniform, Harry looked every bit the formidable Auror. "That's something your father did."

Bastard. "Don't you dare accuse me of being like him."

"You're better than this," Harry said, his voice softer. "Seems to me – in a warped and very Slytherin way – you tried to set things right."

A glimmer of hope. "Sounds reasonable."

"Don't mistake understanding with acceptance, Draco." He looked pained and Draco longed to take him in his arms and make everything right again.

But he honestly believed he had done nothing wrong. He wasn't about to deny who he was, no matter the cost. If Harry couldn't deal with that, then so be it. Draco would be no worse off than he was a couple of months ago.

He ignored the ache in his chest.

"You could be anything, Draco."

"Anything, you mean, except what I am," Draco said. Harry didn't argue. "You know what, I'm not dealing with this right now."

"I don't think I can deal with it at all," Harry countered. "You're not the man I thought I knew."

"I told you that from day one," Draco said, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. He needed air.

Harry blocked his path. "Don't bother," he said. "I was just leaving." He turned and walked out the door. And out of Draco's life.

Draco wanted to scream, but the enormity of weight on his chest did not permit words to form. He spared a moment of fear for his future, but he reasoned that Harry wasn't about to report him. He had nothing to go on but Draco's walk, and that wouldn't hold up at the Wizengamot, even if it were Harry Potter testifying. And Harry didn't know about any of the other jobs. Draco had been sure to alter everything about his appearance before. He'd just been too close to this one and had responded too quickly when they'd tried to leave. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

An emptiness such as he'd never felt before – not even when he'd watched his father dragged away to prison – consumed Draco. His stomach burned and his heart ached.

As hours became days, Draco heard nothing. Weeks stretched into months, and still Harry did not call. Draco convinced himself that it didn't matter, that stupid Potter with his stupid scar hadn't ripped out his heart, leaving a shell of a man behind. This was why he'd never allowed himself to care before. Draco's home became his enemy: there wasn't a room in his flat he could enter without remembering.

Sometimes, when his memories overpowered him and he thought he could face the world, he ventured out, only to be bombarded by couples walking hand-in-hand, or love songs blaring in the shops. Not that he subscribed to public displays of affection himself, but his surroundings conspired to remind him just how alone he was. Curse Potter for coming into his life and messing it up. Draco had been perfectly content on his own before that.

You're better than this. Potter's words reverberated in his head. What did he know anyway? Draco had done what he had to do to survive. He took evil out of the world, one scum-sucking miscreant at a time. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

At first, Draco ignored the words. Carried on with his job as he had before. His newfound emptiness, rather than leave him vulnerable and distracted, gave him a single-mindedness that served him well. Unencumbered by feelings and emotions, he gained focus. If he hadn't already been the best at what he did, thank you very much, his newly acquired coldness would have put him over the top.

The twinges of empathy and compassion he used to get – admittedly fleeting and rare – had now vanished. When on a case, he completely shut out thoughts of everything else. He'd started by not thinking of Harry in particular, but that hadn't worked so well. The bastard had somehow crept into every aspect of Draco's life.

Everywhere he'd turned there'd been reminders – a curious look on the face of a child evoked images of Harry at the orphanage. Muggle cars reminded him of the red sports car he'd never ride in. Hogwarts students. Quidditch gear. Aurors. Even a visit to the apothecary reminded him of Potions classes.

And that didn't include the photos of Harry in the Prophet, making his most recent arrest. If he didn't look as happy or at peace now, Draco didn't dwell on the reasons.

And then Harry's words would come back to haunt him. Drawing out feelings he'd so successfully suppressed. Fucking Potter.

Part 3