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sesheta_66
Title: Blank Slate (part 1 of 2)
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: When Harry’s disregard for the chain of command results in his ousting from the Aurors, he decides to open up his own private investigation firm. When Narcissa Malfoy goes missing and the Aurors do little but go through the motions, Draco finds himself at Harry’s door. While Harry takes the case, he’s not above using the circumstances to his own advantage.
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 16K
Read on AO3
Blank Slate
PROLOGUE
"Potter! In my office," Robards bellowed over the Auror cubicles as he strode with purpose through the space. "Now!"
"Somebody’s in shit," sniggered Marsterson, the smarmy little kiss-arse.
Harry gave him a two-fingered salute. "Yeah, yeah. Big deal. He’ll threaten to suspend me, I’ll promise not to do it again, I’ll take the rest of the day off and come back tomorrow, properly chastised."
"You know, one of these days, Potter, that name and that scar aren’t going to be enough."
"Yeah, yeah. Tell someone who cares."
"Fucking cocksure bastard. Always getting away with everything," Marsterson grumbled. It wasn’t a lie. Harry had the backing of Kingsley and most of the wizarding world who, for reasons only known to themselves, still swooned over Harry. Frankly, he’d rather they not.
He took his time making his way to Robards’ office. He hadn’t come up with a reasonable excuse yet for breaking the rules. Again. After being told, in no uncertain terms, that the next time would be the last time he blatantly ignored orders.
But what was he supposed to do? Let the criminal get away? He knew perfectly well they needed to build a case and follow protocol. No unsanctioned monitoring of private citizens. But they all knew he was guilty as sin. They knew he’d been in disguise and how the bloody hell else were they supposed to prove that he was who they knew he was and not who he claimed to be, if they didn’t monitor him and his residence for his magical signature? They couldn’t. And he’d get away. Again. Like he had so many times before. Fuck if Harry was going to let that happen on his watch.
Well, he hadn’t meant to, anyway. The little fucker got away anyway. Though not through any fault of Harry’s own. That smarmy little shit Marsterson had gone slinking off to Robards and told him what he’d overheard. Harry scratched the back of his neck. That hadn’t been the smartest move he’d ever made. He knew the little prick was out to get him sacked and Harry hadn’t managed to keep his own mouth shut — or cast a Muffliato or some other charm — to prevent himself being heard. And now — caught out on his blatant disregard for Robard’s (or any one else’s, save Kingsley’s) authority — Harry had to come up with some excuse worthy of a swift and meaningless reprimand so Harry could get back to work. Probably tomorrow. He thought about what Marsterson had overheard. Maybe the next day.
"Yeah, boss?" Harry said as he peeked his head into Robards’ office but didn’t quite step inside.
"Come in and close the door."
Harry did as asked. "You wanted to see me?"
"What cases are you working on?"
Taken a bit by surprise, it took Harry a few minutes to rhyme off the three active, two active but awaiting trial and six simmering with no action but not yet closed cases currently assigned to him.
"Right, then. Go home. I’ll send on your things. Don’t bother coming back."
Harry laughed. "Good one. Seriously, though. What did you —"
Robards stood up and, leaning over his desk, he looked Harry straight in the eye. "You’re fired. Even Kingsley isn’t getting you out of this one."
"What?"
"You. Are. Fired. We cannot operate our Auror Division with some wildcard going rogue and completely disrespecting the chain of command at the drop of a hat. It’s one thing to bend the rules and find loopholes in protocol, but it’s quite another to flaunt your utter contempt for anything remotely resembling authority. I’ve had it with you and so has most of this squad. You create dissent in the ranks and no one — not a single commanding officer in the place — wants to deal with you. So you’re out. Done. Finished."
"But —"
"Leave the badge and your ID and get out. Don’t let the door hit you in the arse on your way out."
Harry pulled out his wallet and dropped the documents — the Auror badge he’d worked his arse off for and the ID that granted him access to the Ministry — onto Robards’ desk. In a haze, he watched his boss — ex-boss — slip them into the drawer of his desk, a slight grin on his face. The bastard was enjoying this. Well, Harry wasn’t about to give the arseholes outside a show. Mustering all the strength he could, he held his head up high, opened the door and strutted out of Auror headquarters as he had on so many other occasions. Only this time would be his last.
THREE YEARS LATER ...
Harry slipped into his office at quarter past ten and fired up his computer. It had been three years to the day since he’d been unceremoniously dismissed from the Aurors and he’d decided to celebrate with a lie-in and a large latte with cinnamon and extra sugar this morning. A pastry turned it into breakfast and he grinned as he bit into it.
He looked around the office and couldn’t help but be proud of what he’d made of his life. He’d been handed a gift, really, and had made the most of it. Sure, it had burned, being ousted like that, after all he’d done. He’d spent a good few months wallowing in the injustice of it all, drinking himself into oblivion to dull the feeling of worthlessness he’d discovered when he no longer had a clear purpose. But then Hermione had strode out of his Floo at the crack of dawn one Sunday, thrust a vial of hangover potion into his hand and ordered him to meet her in his kitchen.
He still chuckled at the memory of it. She’d been furious with him and scared for him at the same time. She’d filled him with caffeine and carbs and then had given him The Look. The one that said, "I’m here to talk and you will sit there and listen. Really listen. And if I have to Incarcerate you or put you in a full body bind, I’ll do it." So he sat there and listened. Really listened. And did his best not to interrupt too much.
"Harry, in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to give up. You’ve always had a purpose, a focus, a drive that couldn’t be stopped by anyone. Not the Ministry, not the press, not teachers or friends or even threats from the Minister of Magic himself. Every time you got stomped on, pushed down, had rumours spread about you that you were mad, did you give up? No. You pushed back. You did what you had to do and you proved yourself worthy of respect.
"I wonder why, then, you’re allowing this to get to you. I mean, this is the Ministry we’re talking about. The Ministry with all the politics and restrictions and limitations. You’ve always hated all of that, so why would you be so upset at not having to face it day in and day out?"
"I—" He frowned. Why was he upset?
"Did you enjoy your job?"
No, actually he hadn’t enjoyed it. He’d had visions of it being like the battles, perhaps with some boredom mixed in along the way, but he’d done enough camping around the country to know he could handle that. He’d pictured himself out on the street, taking down criminals and making the world a better place. But most of the time he’d been stuck behind a desk shuffling papers around. "Not really, no," he said. "Truth be told, I was nearly numb from boredom."
"And the hierarchy?"
He ran a hand through his mop of hair. "Fuck, no. That drove me to distraction. Do you know how many people I had to get approval from before I could step foot out onto the street? Do you realise that if I hadn’t just done my own thing — screw all the stupid rules — I’d probably have had to get permission to use the bloody loo?"
Hermione laughed. "So then why, my dear friend, are you letting them win?"
"Excuse me?"
"Right now. What you’re doing. Drinking yourself into a state every night. You aren’t being you anymore. You’re letting them push you down and keep you down. How is this accomplishing anything? You can’t change things if you don’t do anything. You can’t help people if you can’t help yourself. Their goal, their biggest accomplishment, is to make you go away. And you’re letting them. Don’t hand them a win."
They sat quietly for a few minutes while Harry digested what she’d said. At length, he said, "But what am I supposed to do?" He’d never even considered another career path beyond being an Auror. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, never mind what he could do now. It was all so depressing.
"Whatever you want to do," she said, as if that answered everything. Clearly his face showed his scepticism as she smiled. "Oh, Harry. You have money enough to not have to do anything you don’t want to do. You just need to figure out what would make you happy, give you a sense of purpose." He lifted a brow and she grinned. "And come up with something that’ll really stick it to them. Show them that you’re much better off without them, and that this is their loss, not yours."
He laughed at that. "The best revenge is success, right?"
She smiled and her eyes crinkled in amusement. "Exactly."
When she was done, he’d had a lot to think about.
*~*~*
The door opened and Harry, now engrossed in a current case, looked up from his files. And nearly choked.
"Well, as I live and breathe. Malfoy. What brings your posh arse into my fine — but decidedly unposh — establishment?"
Rather than the expected response — acknowledgement that his place of business was, indeed, not posh, Malfoy just stood at the entrance looking like he was about to throw up.
"For fuck’s sake." He let out an exasperated sigh. The place wasn’t that bad, was it? "It may not be the high-class type of establishment you're used to, but nothing's going to jump out and bite you." At Malfoy's comically wide eyes, Harry snorted. Then he decided to have some fun with him. He let his eyes travel the length of Malfoy's body, ending with a grin. "Unless that's something you're into?"
Malfoy blinked several times before he glared.
Harry gave a triumphant grin. "Now there's the look of disdain I've grown accustomed to over the years!"
Malfoy pursed his lips. "I knew this was a mistake."
"Well you have me at a bit of a disadvantage there," Harry pointed out, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk. Malfoy frowned. "Since you haven't told me why you're here, how can I respond to the idea that it was a mistake?" When Malfoy continued to frown, Harry added, "You see, it's customary for most people, when they first visit my humble establishment, to greet me. A Good morning, Good day, Hello or — on occasion — a Cheers, mate. Not that I'd expect that last one from you, but—" He shrugged his shoulders. "—stranger things."
"Merlin, Potter, do you always talk this much?" Harry shrugged again in reply. "I don't recall you being this verbose in school."
Harry grinned. "I suppose I've come into my own in the last few years."
"So I've heard."
"Is that why you're here? To comment on my charming personality?"
"As a matter of fact, no. That’s not why I’m here. Truth be told, I’m wondering why I thought ... even for a moment ..."
Harry considered the man before him. They hadn’t argued in years. Not that they’d seen each other much since the trials, besides a passing nod to acknowledge the other man’s existence. Now Harry thought about it, he couldn’t remember when the last time was he’d seen Malfoy.
He removed his feet from the desk and sat upright again, motioning to one of the guest chairs. "Just have a seat and tell me why you’re here."
Malfoy reluctantly walked the rest of the way into the room and pulled up a chair in front of Harry’s cluttered desk. Once he got a close look, Harry thought he looked lost or dazed.
When once again, he wasn’t forthcoming, Harry nudged him. "Why are you here, Malfoy?"
He took a long breath before straightening his shoulders and turning pained eyes to Harry. "I need your help."
Harry resisted the urge to tease him more. "With what exactly?"
"It’s my mother." He wrung his hands together. "She’s missing."
Harry took a moment to absorb that. His first thought was, Good on her, finally leaving that pathetic excuse for a human being she’s married to, but he didn’t think Malfoy would appreciate that. Besides, there’s no way she’d leave Draco behind without letting him know she was alright.
"Have you gone to the Aurors?" After all, they’d have more resources at their disposal than Harry.
Malfoy scoffed. "Yes, and they’ve done the bare minimum to avoid being accused of not doing their jobs. But I know they don’t care, and I doubt they’ve lifted more than a finger."
"So you came to me?" Harry’d had his share of witches and wizards seek out his help since he opened his business, but ... this was Malfoy.
"Yes, Potter." He twisted his hands together again. "I heard that you’ve helped people." He barked out a derisive laugh. "That’s what you do, isn’t it? Always the Saviour?"
Harry felt the familiar burn of annoyance he’d always had around Malfoy and he narrowed his eyes at the prat. "I’m not sure what you expect from me."
"I expect that you’ll help find my mother." He hesitated for a moment, his reddening face belying his calm demeanour. "You owe her that much." And there it was.
Well, Harry thought, at least they were on familiar ground. "So my testimony at her trial and yours wasn’t enough? You still think I owe you?" Harry didn’t disagree, per se — she had saved his life, rather a big deal, even if it hadn’t been her end goal — but it didn’t mean he needed to make it easy on Malfoy. They had history. Loads of history. And he didn’t think they were even yet. Not that he’d been counting or anything.
"Not me. You don’t owe me a thing. But my mother. She lied to Voldemort to save you."
"She lied to Voldemort to save you. I just happened to be there." He stopped what was sure to be a tirade with a raised hand. "Be that as it may, I’ll hear you out and we’ll see if I can help you."
"Really?"
"Sure." Harry leaned forward, crowding into Malfoy’s space. "What’s it worth to you?"
"I —" Harry watched the war behind Malfoy’s eyes play out in front of him, but he didn’t retreat. His Slytherin mind was probably running through scenarios, each potentially worse than the one before. At length, he sagged in his seat and mumbled, "It’s my mother, Potter. I’ll pay anything."
Harry let a grin form slowly and wickedly over his face, ideas for payment flashing past his eyes. "What if I said I want payment in kind?"
Malfoy frowned as he weighed Harry’s words. "Exactly what are you proposing?" His cheeks flushed but, as fun as it might be, Harry resisted the urge to torment him more.
"I need help around here."
Malfoy scanned the office and wrinkled his nose. "I’m not cleaning your premises."
Harry chuckled. "Really? You’d pay anything but you wouldn’t do that?"
"Fine. I’ll pay someone to do that."
Harry laughed outright now. "Relax, Malfoy, I don’t need cleaning help." Malfoy’s raised brow begged to differ on that opinion. "Whatever. What I need is someone to assist me when I’m working."
Once more, Malfoy looked around the sparse space. "What do you usually do?"
"Usually," Harry said, "Ron can pitch in. Or Luna. Occasionally Ginny."
"And they can’t now, why?"
"Let’s see ... Hermione’s about to pop a kid any day and Ron is spending every hour with her when he’s not at work. She’s had a rough go the last couple of weeks and he needs to be there. Gin is out of town with the team and Luna is currently in South America on a trip with Rolf."
"Rolf? You mean Scamander, the magical creatures expert?"
Harry nodded. "I was trying to work out what to do when you walked in."
"How convenient," Malfoy drawled, sounding like he thought it was anything but.
Harry smiled. "Indeed. I prefer not to work with Muggles, in case I need to use magic — far too complicated. And I can’t trust just anyone from the magical world. But, thanks to your fortuitous timing, now I don’t need to find an assistant."
"You do realise that I’m your client, not your assistant, right? I pay you and you do work for me."
"You’re neither yet. But yes, I understand the relationship. What I’m saying is that part of your payment to me is helping me out on occasion. It’s not a full-time job, but I have a couple of clients with cases that may require I have someone accompany me on a stake-out or two."
Malfoy opened his mouth, closed it again, fidgeted, then went through the cycle twice more while Harry watched him weigh the pros and cons in his mind. "Take your time." Harry reached for the file he’d set aside when Malfoy arrived. "I’ll just carry on with what I was doing before you walked in."
Malfoy put his hand over the file. "Fine. I’ll do it."
"You will?" Harry was surprised he’d agreed so readily.
"Sure. Whatever. You’ll find my mother?"
"I’ll do my best." Malfoy looked ready to argue, then thought better of it. "I mean it, Malfoy. I take my job seriously and, though I’d hesitate to say I owe you anything, I haven’t forgotten what Narcissa did for me."
Malfoy nodded. "Your fee?"
"Twenty galleons an hour plus expenses."
Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise. "That’s it?" Harry nodded. "I expected ..."
"That I would take advantage of the situation? If you’d like to pay more, you’re welcome to, but I’m not about to charge you more than I would anyone else. And, for the record, that’s not cheap."
"I ..." Malfoy scrutinised Harry for some time. Harry held his gaze, engaging his Occlumency — which he’d finally mastered during Auror training — just in case. Malfoy visibly relaxed for the first time since he walked in. "Thank you."
Harry blinked, taken aback. "I haven’t done anything yet," he felt the need to point out. "But ... you’re welcome."
Malfoy frowned. "You said you have other cases, and—" He looked around the office again. "—you don’t have any employees. Can you manage this as well?"
Harry shrugged. "I can balance multiple cases at once, yes. Full-time surveillance isn’t required for the current cases, and I’m waiting on responses to some information requests I’ve placed. I’ve got time." Malfoy looked sceptical. "If I need more resources, I’ll let you know. I could hire others to help out if it comes to that, but I sense you’d prefer discretion. I still don’t know why you came to me specifically, but rest assured, I am good at what I do. And I won’t hesitate to admit if I need help."
Malfoy hesitated before responding, then seemed resigned to explaining himself. "I came to you because I knew the Aurors weren’t doing all they could. You have Auror training and you work in the Muggle world. I don’t know anyone else that has those qualifications, and — loathe though I am to admit it — your integrity speaks for itself. Your reputation precedes you and, besides your disregard for authority, I’ve heard nothing but good things." Shockingly, he hadn’t choked on his words.
Harry grinned. "I bet that hurt."
Malfoy smirked. "Quite a lot, yes."
Harry laughed and held out his hand for Malfoy to shake. After a beat, he took it. "I’ll do everything in my power to find Narcissa. Muggle and magical means. No stone left unturned."
Malfoy nodded. "I also heard that you wouldn’t hesitate to ..."
"Bend the rules a bit?" Harry offered. Malfoy’s hopeful looked tugged unnervingly at Harry’s chest. The man’s mother was missing. Harry didn’t doubt he was right, too, that the Aurors weren’t exactly tripping over themselves to find her. And he’d swallowed his pride and come to Harry, of all people, for help. Well, fuck it. Harry winked. "Everything in my power, Malfoy."
Malfoy’s lips twitched. "I never thought I’d be thankful for your rule-breaking ways."
"First time for everything." He drew his wand and cast a recording spell. "Now, tell me what happened."
For the next half hour, Malfoy filled Harry in on the details of Narcissa’s disappearance. She’d gone shopping — where exactly, Malfoy wasn’t sure, but thought London was most likely — and hadn’t returned. That had been nearly two weeks ago. All communication was left unanswered, including owls that returned with unopened letters. The Aurors had only managed to confirm that she may or may not have been spotted in a clothing shop on Diagon Alley, but the witness couldn’t swear to it being her. They’d found no magical signature matching hers on the premises and that was it.
"That’s it?" Harry asked, incredulity getting the better of him. "That’s all they found?"
Malfoy nodded. "Not that they looked very hard." He started twisting his hands again.
Harry seethed and only just resisted reaching out to rest his hands over Malfoy’s to stop the motion. This was his mother. Didn’t they have any compassion? "I’ll do everything I can to find her," he repeated. "Everything."
"I can bring in some of her things, so you can match her magical signature."
"That would be good. Some photographs, too, so I can put the word out in Muggle and magical circles. And while you go get all that, I’ll start looking for reports of Jane Does."
"Jane whats?"
"Jane Does. Unidentified women that have shown up at hospitals and such. I’ll narrow down the search that way first, and then send pictures out when you get back."
"Okay. I’ll go right now."
Harry nodded. "Oh, and Malfoy?"
"Yes?"
"I’ll be as discreet as possible — the Muggle contacts won’t matter, obviously — but once I start asking around, it’ll only be a matter of time before word gets out. Are you prepared for that?"
"I don’t care." His hand-wringing told another story. Harry recalled how brutal both the press and the public had been after Draco and Narcissa had received no prison time, and Lucius had received a laughably light sentence; he had no reason to suspect it would be any better once this news broke. "I obviously don’t want her disappearance splashed all over the papers, but I’m willing to deal with anything if it means finding her and bringing her home."
"Okay, then. I just wanted to be sure you were prepared."
"Father won’t like it," he said with a bitter tone Harry’d never heard him use when talking of Lucius.
"I don’t really give a fuck about Lucius."
Malfoy snorted. "Neither do I."
He left and Harry began his search. Thanks to modern technology — and a handy bit of spell work to access certain restricted databases — he launched queries into Jane Does (dead, injured, homeless and hospitalised) logged by morgues, hospitals and the police. He then put a call in to a contact in the Auror department, leaving a message to get back to him as soon as possible.
When Malfoy returned, Harry was working on a search of local news reports. If they turned up nothing, he would expand his geographical parameters, widening his search until he found her.
Malfoy handed over half a dozen pictures and some personal items of Narcissa’s. "I might need to drop by the manor sometime, but we’ll start with these things," Harry said. He didn’t cherish the idea of returning to the place where Hermione had been tortured, but he’d do it if he had to. "Preferably objects she felt a connection to. The traces will be more meaningful on those items."
Malfoy scowled. "The Aurors didn’t say anything about that."
"They may have been able to identify enough with what you gave them."
"They said anything would do, anything she’d touched recently."
Harry ran a hand through his hair and tried not to let his frustration show. "That’s technically true, but if I attempt a tracking spell, I like to have something that’s stronger as a source."
"A tracking spell? Isn’t that illegal?"
Harry gave him an are you seriously asking me that look before rolling his eyes. "Did you want to find your mother?"
"Yes, of course."
"Do you care if the spell is legal or not, if it helps to find her?"
"I ... well, no."
"Exactly."
Malfoy stared at Harry before asking, "Couldn’t you get in trouble for that?"
Harry sighed. "Did we not agree earlier that I’m all about bending the rules?"
"Bending them, yes, but breaking the law? Potter, you can’t. I can’t be responsible for you breaking the law."
"See, here’s the way I see it. It’s not illegal to track someone if they give you permission. And in her absence, I am going to presume she would be okay with you giving permission on her behalf."
"Really?"
Harry shrugged. "No, not really. The law was designed without that loophole, to prevent, for instance, an abusive spouse from hunting them down. But I can make a compelling case for it, particularly in the case of a son who was always very close to his mother, and the media will eat it up. No one would dare come after me."
"Are you sure?"
Harry shrugged. "I’m willing to chance it. And just for the record, no, I wouldn’t do it for Lucius."
Malfoy’s eyes widened. "But you’ll do it for me? I thought you said you don’t owe me anything."
Harry thought about his answer. He didn’t want to alarm Malfoy by pointing out the obvious — that Narcissa wouldn’t simply up and leave without any word to Draco. "Because it’s the right thing to do."
*~*~*
Harry spent the balance of the day chasing down leads on his other cases and sending out inquiries and pictures of Narcissa to Muggle establishments. He’d wait to hear back from his contact at the Ministry before broadcasting too widely in the wizarding community.
When Malfoy returned, he’d just begun to make notes on his case. "I’ve sent the first round of inquiries out. I’ll work on expanding the search tomorrow."
"How long before you hear back?"
Harry put down his pen and motioned for Malfoy to sit. He continued to fidget, but at least he no longer loomed over Harry at the same time. "Depends on how busy they are. Hospitals tend to respond within the day — they’re anxious to identify patients. But police are busy with so many cases, so many incoming calls, and come across so many transients, that they generally take longer. On average, about a week. Sometimes longer."
"A week?"
Harry nodded. "I may have put a charm on my requests — to encourage them to be placed atop the pile — but that still won’t guarantee a quick reply." Malfoy looked relieved and impressed in equal measure, but said nothing. "So that’s it for today. I’ll get back at it in the morning." He closed Malfoy’s file and opened another. "Meanwhile, are you free for surveillance tonight?"
"Tonight?"
"I told you I was looking for help when you arrived. I wasn't making that up."
"It’s just I didn’t expect ... What will it entail?"
Harry shrugged. "Won't know until I'm there but I was hired to find out if a husband is cheating on his wife. So we'll follow him wherever he goes and see if we catch him meeting up with someone."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "And you need company for this?"
"It helps. Following isn't a big deal, but if he goes inside somewhere, I'm less conspicuous if I have someone with me. And if there's more than one entrance, it's easier to follow with two people."
Malfoy leaned back in his seat. "Do you think the wife is right?"
"They usually are." Sadly, Harry had learned this early on. "And if they don't go straight to a hotel, they usually have dinner somewhere, so you'll get a meal out of it. Or if he's just out looking, he might go to a bar."
"He's a Muggle?"
"He is. Probably best to dress casually so we won't stand out wherever we end up."
Malfoy looked down at his clothes, definitely not what Harry would call casual. "Glamour?"
Harry considered the question. "Maybe on your hair so you blend in more, but otherwise, no. He's not seen me yet, so I think we're good. Next time, maybe."
"Next time?"
"Unless we catch him in the act," Harry said, "I’ll need to come up with more than one dinner or dance with someone, which could be explained away as a chance meeting."
"Even if he makes an obvious pass?"
Harry sighed. "You’d be surprised at how many people believe even the most blatant lies and pathetic excuses."
"Love is blind?"
"I don’t know about blind, or even love for that matter." Harry shrugged. "I just think when people put their trust in someone, they want to believe the best in them."
Malfoy snorted. "Sounds like a bunch of Hufflepuffs."
"Perhaps." Harry hoped never to be in such a situation. "Of course, if they’re caught in the act, there’s really no getting out of that one."
Malfoy snorted. "No, I can’t imagine any excuse worthy of forgiving that."
"Not the forgiving sort, Malfoy?"
Malfoy raised a brow. "I don’t share well, no."
Harry chuckled. "I bet you don’t."
"Only child. Never had to share," he said. "I don’t imagine you would be good at sharing either."
"True," Harry conceded. "But that’s more because when I’m in a relationship I’m all in. I don’t much care for casual."
"Interesting." Malfoy’s smirked and Harry wondered if he’d said too much. "Alright, then, Potter. It’s a date."
*~*~*
They spent over an hour trailing the subject of Harry’s investigation, Theodore Mackey — Malfoy whining about how bored he was most of the time — before he finally entered a pub. They followed a minute later and found him sat at the bar, a glass of amber liquid already in front of him. Harry sized up the place before leading the way to a table near the back, with sightlines to the front door, the bar, the washrooms and the back door.
Harry went to the bar and got himself a pint of Guinness — Seamus’ influence had left its mark — and Malfoy a pint of cider. Mackey had his phone in hand but Harry was unable to see with whom or about what he was texting. When he returned to the table, Malfoy asked, "So now what?"
"Now we watch."
Though Mackey’s back was to them, Harry grabbed a menu to make his staring less obvious, and Malfoy copied. "Ugh," Malfoy grunted. "Pub food."
Harry leaned in and motioned with a finger for Malfoy to come closer. Once he’d done so, Harry whispered, "That’s because this is a pub."
Malfoy pulled back and glared. "Yes, thanks for pointing out the obvious."
Harry chuckled. "Glad to be of service." He picked up his menu once more and scanned it briefly. "Mmm. Shepard’s pie for me."
"Ugh." Malfoy scrunched his nose at the choices before sighing loudly. "I suppose a steak and ale pie will suffice."
Harry, who’d been watching Mackey, motioned towards the front and Malfoy turned his gaze towards the bar where a man had just taken the stool next to Mackey and was grasping his hand and leaning in. After a time, he reluctantly released Mackey’s hand, but with a swipe of his finger across the back of his wrist. "They seem cosy," Malfoy said.
"Don’t they just?" Harry replied. He stood and looked at Malfoy. "So, pie and another cider?" Malfoy nodded and Harry made his way back to the bar, hoping to catch some of the men’s conversation.
"Let’s get out of here," the younger man said. "I feel like dancing."
Mackey sighed. "But I’ve only just got this drink."
"Fair enough," the other man agreed. "I’ll order one for myself and when we’re done, we’ll head down the road." He leaned in and whispered something into Mackey’s ear that Harry couldn’t hear. Mackey laughed and ran his hand down the other man’s arm.
Harry collected their drinks and went back to the table. "Change of plans. No food. They’re leaving after this round."
Malfoy pursed his lips. "I need some food."
Harry grinned. "I thought you didn’t like pub food?"
"It’s better than no food."
"Aw," Harry teased. "I promise to buy you some food at the next stop." He didn’t mention they’d be going somewhere with dancing.
"You’d better," Malfoy grumbled. Harry’s shoulders shook as he suppressed his laughter. "What?" Picturing Malfoy’s face if they ended up where Harry imagined they would, Harry sipped his beer to cover his amusement.
When Mackey and his friend left, Harry and Malfoy followed at a distance, under a concealment charm to avoid being noticed. But before they reached their destination, Mackey’s phone rang. He answered, said a few words into the phone, then hung up.
"Can’t tonight. Something’s come up at home."
The other man stepped closer, pulling Mackey towards him by his shirt and kissing him gently on the lips. "Oh, come on. Just an hour."
Mackey groaned and looked around briefly before pressing the other man up against a wall. They indulged in a less gentle kiss for a few moments before pulling apart. "I can’t. Rain check?"
The other man pouted and Malfoy snorted. Thankfully, they were far enough away and too engrossed in each other that they didn’t hear him. "I can’t tomorrow, but I’m free the next night," the pouty blond suggested. Harry took note of the time and location they’d agreed to and they left them to say their goodbyes.
"You still owe me dinner," Malfoy said.
"Yeah, yeah. Let’s go."
*~*~*
Oh, this was going to be fun. Harry chuckled as he hung the gown on the coat rack the next day. Malfoy was going to lose his shit when he saw this getup. Sure enough, when he arrived, Malfoy did not look impressed.
"There’s a formal event tonight that my client has provided me tickets for," he explained. "And he stated, in no uncertain terms, that I need to attend with a plus one."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "And why, pray tell, must we go as a couple? Surely people attend such affairs as singles."
"True, but then someone is always trying to set the singles up, and I can’t risk the distraction. The event will have a rather mature crowd, which will guarantee a matchmaker or three in the throng. Or so I’ve been told."
"Well then, why not go as a couple without the disguise? Two men together is acceptable, is it not?"
Harry pretended to consider the matter for a while before answering. Truth was, he had no idea. It could go either way, given the clientele, but he wasn’t about to admit that. No, he wanted a bit of fun at Malfoy’s expense. And, really, what could be better than this? He shook his head. "I can’t be sure, particularly given the age of the crowd. I just wouldn’t want to draw unnecessary attention." Malfoy’s cheeks reddened as he once more looked at the sequin gown. "Ordinarily, I’d ask Luna or Ginny, but ..."
"Yes, Potter, you’ve said. They’re both unavailable." And to Harry’s utter amazement, he snatched the gown off the coat rack and stormed off into the back room. Truth be told, he’d expected a bit more of a fight. In fact, he was nearly sure Malfoy was going to tell him to shove the dress and the case up his arse and storm out. Harry knew it was because of Narcissa. And, yes, he was being an arse, taking advantage of the situation like this. But he’d had years of putting up with Malfoy being the arse, and he was due for some payback. Of course, he’d have done the job anyway, no matter if Malfoy had agreed to work with him or not. He just didn’t have to tell the git that.
He heard grumbling from the back. "Need a hand?" he called, not even trying to conceal his amusement.
"No, I don’t need a hand, you fucking tosser!" Harry grinned. This was going to be a fun night.
With amusement, Harry mentally checked off the necessary surveillance equipment he’d need to bring along — small, hidden audio and video recording devices they’d both have on their persons, as well as heavier equipment to distribute around the venue, to record the larger space. He packed everything into his briefcase and was just about to retrieve his tuxedo when a loud crash sounded from the back room.
"Are you sure you don’t need help?" he called out as he snapped the briefcase shut and locked it.
"I do not need your help to get dressed, thanks ever so, Potter."
"Try not to destroy my office, yeah?"
More grumbling sounded. "I just needed to steady myself in these heels."
Heels? Harry hadn’t given him heels. He hadn’t given him shoes at all. Hadn’t thought about it. He chuckled as the picture of Malfoy wobbling around in high heeled shoes danced before his eyes. "Don’t make them too high," he said. "Wouldn’t want you too much taller than me," Harry said.
"Well, you should have thought of that before deciding that I should be the one in the dress."
Harry snorted. "Right. Like I could pull off a look like that."
"Oh, and I can?" Incredulity laced his words.
"I think so." Harry realised that he’d just assumed Malfoy could, in fact, disguise himself as a woman. "In Auror training, the slimmer ones were always the girls, and you have a slim frame and delicate bone structure." It was true. His pointy features as a child had softened considerably over the years.
"I am not delicate!"
Harry barked out a laugh. "No, I would never call you delicate."
"You just did, you tosser."
"I just said you have delicate bone structure. It’s not the same thing. You’d have a much easier time pulling off the look with a few well-placed concealment spells. I, on the other hand, would need an entire makeover and I’d still come out looking hideous."
"You’re not exactly heavy," Malfoy’s voice called. Harry heard soft muttering as well, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Probably the very charms Harry’d just mentioned. "But, loathe though I am to admit it, you’re probably right about the bone structure. That square jaw of yours would need some serious work to soften up."
"Ha! Glad you agree that you’ll make a better girl."
"Don’t push your luck, Potter." Harry heard a few more low utterances and then the back door opened. He willed himself to stand his ground and not laugh, lest Malfoy storm back out before Harry could really get the most out of the evening.
With the clicking of heels and a fair bit of grumbling, Malfoy emerged. And Harry’s heart leapt into his throat. Malfoy’s hair, now reaching halfway down his back and flowing with soft waves, bounced lightly with every step he took and draped gently over his shoulders. It framed a stunning — and Harry had to admit, pretty — face with big, bright eyes and soft, pouty lips. The makeup he’d applied — including long but not unnatural looking eyelashes — softened his features in subtle ways that outdid any Harry’d seen in stealth and concealment training.
The dress — a blue sequined number Harry’d hoped to get a few good laughs out of, for its form-fitting shape — hugged suggestively to Malfoy’s slim but now curvy frame. But Harry wasn’t laughing. He could barely breathe. "Well, fuck me!"
"Yes, well as tempting as that might be under other circumstances — no, scratch that, it wouldn’t be — I don’t think I can move much less fuck anyone in this gown." He fidgeted and squirmed and adjusted the slender, floor-length dress which, Harry had to admit, clung to him from breasts to hips. He shook his head. Had he just thought about Malfoy’s breasts? Merlin help him.
"Stop staring! I know you did this to piss me off or embarrass me, Potter, but you can stop with the hormonal gawping already. It won’t make me feel any more awkward than I already do."
Harry closed his mouth, having just realised it had been hanging open. "Holy shit, Malfoy, you’re hot! Bloody hell. Who’d have thought you were hiding this under that personality of yours?"
Something in Malfoy’s eyes flared in that moment, and Harry immediately regretted his outburst. But holy, hell, Malfoy was fucking hot.
Harry realised the depth of his mistake about half an hour into the party. Malfoy had draped himself over Harry, clinging to him and whispering in his ear. Laughing at anything remotely amusing or witty he might say and touching him at every opportunity. Tucking stray hairs behind his ears, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket, adjusting his tie. But Harry took it all in stride, as best he could — he knew this was Malfoy’s way of getting him back for making him wear the dress — but even he had limits. When Malfoy’s hand drifted slowly downwards, ending with a light squeeze of his arse, he forced a smile onto his face that he suspected looked more like a grimace. Through gritted teeth, he leaned in and said, "What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" in Malfoy’s ear.
Malfoy giggled — a horrifically giddy and girly giggle — and slapped him playfully on the arm. "Oh, you dog!" he said. Then he turned to the couple in front of them and stage whispered, "He just can’t keep his hands off of me. I mean, really!" He giggled some more and turned to Harry. "Can’t you wait until we get home?" His sheer audacity left Harry speechless.
An hour or so later, Harry had managed to peel Malfoy from his side, and they’d decided to separate, to ensure maximum coverage. Malfoy was astonishingly good at working a room and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to get some gossip on the subject of their surveillance, upon which they could begin to build a case.
"You lucky sod, you." The man stood next to Harry was speaking to him but stared at Malfoy who was now chatting with the man’s wife.
"Excuse me?"
The man was looking at Malfoy as though mentally undressing him. "That’s one gorgeous woman you’ve got there." His eyes darkened as Malfoy waved at him playfully from across the room.
Harry realised belatedly that the distant rumbling he heard was coming from him. He was growling at the man. Evidently, he’d heard it too, because he quickly dropped the hungry look for one a bit more fearful. Good. "No offence meant, of course," he stammered. "Just admiring."
"Yeah," Harry said, forgetting himself entirely. "See that you do that from a distance."
By the end of the evening, Malfoy had returned to Harry’s side and was once more draped over him. Harry was torn between relief — the gentleman who’d spoken with Harry earlier hadn’t been the only one staring at Malfoy all night — and irritation — Harry found it difficult to concentrate with Malfoy in such close proximity.
When the party ended, Harry Apparated them back to his office and at once grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders and pushed him back against the wall, his frustration finally able to show itself. "What the fuck are you playing at, Malfoy?"
He batted his fake eyelashes and pouted. Running his hands over Harry’s chest, he said, "What’s the matter, honey? Didn’t I play the besotted girlfriend well enough for you?"
Harry grabbed his wrists and pushed them over his head, leaning in. They were mere inches apart and Harry could practically taste the wine on Malfoy’s breath. "A little too well, honey."
Malfoy smirked, completely unfazed by their proximity, his eyes twinkling. In the most saccharine voice Harry’d ever heard, he said, "So you’re mad at me for being too good? Did you want me to be bad instead?"
Harry released Malfoy’s arms, let out a frustrated grunt, and stormed off to the back room to get changed, Malfoy’s laughter following after him.
Continued in part 2
sesheta_66Title: Blank Slate (part 1 of 2)
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: When Harry’s disregard for the chain of command results in his ousting from the Aurors, he decides to open up his own private investigation firm. When Narcissa Malfoy goes missing and the Aurors do little but go through the motions, Draco finds himself at Harry’s door. While Harry takes the case, he’s not above using the circumstances to his own advantage.
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 16K
Read on AO3
PROLOGUE
"Potter! In my office," Robards bellowed over the Auror cubicles as he strode with purpose through the space. "Now!"
"Somebody’s in shit," sniggered Marsterson, the smarmy little kiss-arse.
Harry gave him a two-fingered salute. "Yeah, yeah. Big deal. He’ll threaten to suspend me, I’ll promise not to do it again, I’ll take the rest of the day off and come back tomorrow, properly chastised."
"You know, one of these days, Potter, that name and that scar aren’t going to be enough."
"Yeah, yeah. Tell someone who cares."
"Fucking cocksure bastard. Always getting away with everything," Marsterson grumbled. It wasn’t a lie. Harry had the backing of Kingsley and most of the wizarding world who, for reasons only known to themselves, still swooned over Harry. Frankly, he’d rather they not.
He took his time making his way to Robards’ office. He hadn’t come up with a reasonable excuse yet for breaking the rules. Again. After being told, in no uncertain terms, that the next time would be the last time he blatantly ignored orders.
But what was he supposed to do? Let the criminal get away? He knew perfectly well they needed to build a case and follow protocol. No unsanctioned monitoring of private citizens. But they all knew he was guilty as sin. They knew he’d been in disguise and how the bloody hell else were they supposed to prove that he was who they knew he was and not who he claimed to be, if they didn’t monitor him and his residence for his magical signature? They couldn’t. And he’d get away. Again. Like he had so many times before. Fuck if Harry was going to let that happen on his watch.
Well, he hadn’t meant to, anyway. The little fucker got away anyway. Though not through any fault of Harry’s own. That smarmy little shit Marsterson had gone slinking off to Robards and told him what he’d overheard. Harry scratched the back of his neck. That hadn’t been the smartest move he’d ever made. He knew the little prick was out to get him sacked and Harry hadn’t managed to keep his own mouth shut — or cast a Muffliato or some other charm — to prevent himself being heard. And now — caught out on his blatant disregard for Robard’s (or any one else’s, save Kingsley’s) authority — Harry had to come up with some excuse worthy of a swift and meaningless reprimand so Harry could get back to work. Probably tomorrow. He thought about what Marsterson had overheard. Maybe the next day.
"Yeah, boss?" Harry said as he peeked his head into Robards’ office but didn’t quite step inside.
"Come in and close the door."
Harry did as asked. "You wanted to see me?"
"What cases are you working on?"
Taken a bit by surprise, it took Harry a few minutes to rhyme off the three active, two active but awaiting trial and six simmering with no action but not yet closed cases currently assigned to him.
"Right, then. Go home. I’ll send on your things. Don’t bother coming back."
Harry laughed. "Good one. Seriously, though. What did you —"
Robards stood up and, leaning over his desk, he looked Harry straight in the eye. "You’re fired. Even Kingsley isn’t getting you out of this one."
"What?"
"You. Are. Fired. We cannot operate our Auror Division with some wildcard going rogue and completely disrespecting the chain of command at the drop of a hat. It’s one thing to bend the rules and find loopholes in protocol, but it’s quite another to flaunt your utter contempt for anything remotely resembling authority. I’ve had it with you and so has most of this squad. You create dissent in the ranks and no one — not a single commanding officer in the place — wants to deal with you. So you’re out. Done. Finished."
"But —"
"Leave the badge and your ID and get out. Don’t let the door hit you in the arse on your way out."
Harry pulled out his wallet and dropped the documents — the Auror badge he’d worked his arse off for and the ID that granted him access to the Ministry — onto Robards’ desk. In a haze, he watched his boss — ex-boss — slip them into the drawer of his desk, a slight grin on his face. The bastard was enjoying this. Well, Harry wasn’t about to give the arseholes outside a show. Mustering all the strength he could, he held his head up high, opened the door and strutted out of Auror headquarters as he had on so many other occasions. Only this time would be his last.
THREE YEARS LATER ...
Harry slipped into his office at quarter past ten and fired up his computer. It had been three years to the day since he’d been unceremoniously dismissed from the Aurors and he’d decided to celebrate with a lie-in and a large latte with cinnamon and extra sugar this morning. A pastry turned it into breakfast and he grinned as he bit into it.
He looked around the office and couldn’t help but be proud of what he’d made of his life. He’d been handed a gift, really, and had made the most of it. Sure, it had burned, being ousted like that, after all he’d done. He’d spent a good few months wallowing in the injustice of it all, drinking himself into oblivion to dull the feeling of worthlessness he’d discovered when he no longer had a clear purpose. But then Hermione had strode out of his Floo at the crack of dawn one Sunday, thrust a vial of hangover potion into his hand and ordered him to meet her in his kitchen.
He still chuckled at the memory of it. She’d been furious with him and scared for him at the same time. She’d filled him with caffeine and carbs and then had given him The Look. The one that said, "I’m here to talk and you will sit there and listen. Really listen. And if I have to Incarcerate you or put you in a full body bind, I’ll do it." So he sat there and listened. Really listened. And did his best not to interrupt too much.
"Harry, in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to give up. You’ve always had a purpose, a focus, a drive that couldn’t be stopped by anyone. Not the Ministry, not the press, not teachers or friends or even threats from the Minister of Magic himself. Every time you got stomped on, pushed down, had rumours spread about you that you were mad, did you give up? No. You pushed back. You did what you had to do and you proved yourself worthy of respect.
"I wonder why, then, you’re allowing this to get to you. I mean, this is the Ministry we’re talking about. The Ministry with all the politics and restrictions and limitations. You’ve always hated all of that, so why would you be so upset at not having to face it day in and day out?"
"I—" He frowned. Why was he upset?
"Did you enjoy your job?"
No, actually he hadn’t enjoyed it. He’d had visions of it being like the battles, perhaps with some boredom mixed in along the way, but he’d done enough camping around the country to know he could handle that. He’d pictured himself out on the street, taking down criminals and making the world a better place. But most of the time he’d been stuck behind a desk shuffling papers around. "Not really, no," he said. "Truth be told, I was nearly numb from boredom."
"And the hierarchy?"
He ran a hand through his mop of hair. "Fuck, no. That drove me to distraction. Do you know how many people I had to get approval from before I could step foot out onto the street? Do you realise that if I hadn’t just done my own thing — screw all the stupid rules — I’d probably have had to get permission to use the bloody loo?"
Hermione laughed. "So then why, my dear friend, are you letting them win?"
"Excuse me?"
"Right now. What you’re doing. Drinking yourself into a state every night. You aren’t being you anymore. You’re letting them push you down and keep you down. How is this accomplishing anything? You can’t change things if you don’t do anything. You can’t help people if you can’t help yourself. Their goal, their biggest accomplishment, is to make you go away. And you’re letting them. Don’t hand them a win."
They sat quietly for a few minutes while Harry digested what she’d said. At length, he said, "But what am I supposed to do?" He’d never even considered another career path beyond being an Auror. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, never mind what he could do now. It was all so depressing.
"Whatever you want to do," she said, as if that answered everything. Clearly his face showed his scepticism as she smiled. "Oh, Harry. You have money enough to not have to do anything you don’t want to do. You just need to figure out what would make you happy, give you a sense of purpose." He lifted a brow and she grinned. "And come up with something that’ll really stick it to them. Show them that you’re much better off without them, and that this is their loss, not yours."
He laughed at that. "The best revenge is success, right?"
She smiled and her eyes crinkled in amusement. "Exactly."
When she was done, he’d had a lot to think about.
The door opened and Harry, now engrossed in a current case, looked up from his files. And nearly choked.
"Well, as I live and breathe. Malfoy. What brings your posh arse into my fine — but decidedly unposh — establishment?"
Rather than the expected response — acknowledgement that his place of business was, indeed, not posh, Malfoy just stood at the entrance looking like he was about to throw up.
"For fuck’s sake." He let out an exasperated sigh. The place wasn’t that bad, was it? "It may not be the high-class type of establishment you're used to, but nothing's going to jump out and bite you." At Malfoy's comically wide eyes, Harry snorted. Then he decided to have some fun with him. He let his eyes travel the length of Malfoy's body, ending with a grin. "Unless that's something you're into?"
Malfoy blinked several times before he glared.
Harry gave a triumphant grin. "Now there's the look of disdain I've grown accustomed to over the years!"
Malfoy pursed his lips. "I knew this was a mistake."
"Well you have me at a bit of a disadvantage there," Harry pointed out, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk. Malfoy frowned. "Since you haven't told me why you're here, how can I respond to the idea that it was a mistake?" When Malfoy continued to frown, Harry added, "You see, it's customary for most people, when they first visit my humble establishment, to greet me. A Good morning, Good day, Hello or — on occasion — a Cheers, mate. Not that I'd expect that last one from you, but—" He shrugged his shoulders. "—stranger things."
"Merlin, Potter, do you always talk this much?" Harry shrugged again in reply. "I don't recall you being this verbose in school."
Harry grinned. "I suppose I've come into my own in the last few years."
"So I've heard."
"Is that why you're here? To comment on my charming personality?"
"As a matter of fact, no. That’s not why I’m here. Truth be told, I’m wondering why I thought ... even for a moment ..."
Harry considered the man before him. They hadn’t argued in years. Not that they’d seen each other much since the trials, besides a passing nod to acknowledge the other man’s existence. Now Harry thought about it, he couldn’t remember when the last time was he’d seen Malfoy.
He removed his feet from the desk and sat upright again, motioning to one of the guest chairs. "Just have a seat and tell me why you’re here."
Malfoy reluctantly walked the rest of the way into the room and pulled up a chair in front of Harry’s cluttered desk. Once he got a close look, Harry thought he looked lost or dazed.
When once again, he wasn’t forthcoming, Harry nudged him. "Why are you here, Malfoy?"
He took a long breath before straightening his shoulders and turning pained eyes to Harry. "I need your help."
Harry resisted the urge to tease him more. "With what exactly?"
"It’s my mother." He wrung his hands together. "She’s missing."
Harry took a moment to absorb that. His first thought was, Good on her, finally leaving that pathetic excuse for a human being she’s married to, but he didn’t think Malfoy would appreciate that. Besides, there’s no way she’d leave Draco behind without letting him know she was alright.
"Have you gone to the Aurors?" After all, they’d have more resources at their disposal than Harry.
Malfoy scoffed. "Yes, and they’ve done the bare minimum to avoid being accused of not doing their jobs. But I know they don’t care, and I doubt they’ve lifted more than a finger."
"So you came to me?" Harry’d had his share of witches and wizards seek out his help since he opened his business, but ... this was Malfoy.
"Yes, Potter." He twisted his hands together again. "I heard that you’ve helped people." He barked out a derisive laugh. "That’s what you do, isn’t it? Always the Saviour?"
Harry felt the familiar burn of annoyance he’d always had around Malfoy and he narrowed his eyes at the prat. "I’m not sure what you expect from me."
"I expect that you’ll help find my mother." He hesitated for a moment, his reddening face belying his calm demeanour. "You owe her that much." And there it was.
Well, Harry thought, at least they were on familiar ground. "So my testimony at her trial and yours wasn’t enough? You still think I owe you?" Harry didn’t disagree, per se — she had saved his life, rather a big deal, even if it hadn’t been her end goal — but it didn’t mean he needed to make it easy on Malfoy. They had history. Loads of history. And he didn’t think they were even yet. Not that he’d been counting or anything.
"Not me. You don’t owe me a thing. But my mother. She lied to Voldemort to save you."
"She lied to Voldemort to save you. I just happened to be there." He stopped what was sure to be a tirade with a raised hand. "Be that as it may, I’ll hear you out and we’ll see if I can help you."
"Really?"
"Sure." Harry leaned forward, crowding into Malfoy’s space. "What’s it worth to you?"
"I —" Harry watched the war behind Malfoy’s eyes play out in front of him, but he didn’t retreat. His Slytherin mind was probably running through scenarios, each potentially worse than the one before. At length, he sagged in his seat and mumbled, "It’s my mother, Potter. I’ll pay anything."
Harry let a grin form slowly and wickedly over his face, ideas for payment flashing past his eyes. "What if I said I want payment in kind?"
Malfoy frowned as he weighed Harry’s words. "Exactly what are you proposing?" His cheeks flushed but, as fun as it might be, Harry resisted the urge to torment him more.
"I need help around here."
Malfoy scanned the office and wrinkled his nose. "I’m not cleaning your premises."
Harry chuckled. "Really? You’d pay anything but you wouldn’t do that?"
"Fine. I’ll pay someone to do that."
Harry laughed outright now. "Relax, Malfoy, I don’t need cleaning help." Malfoy’s raised brow begged to differ on that opinion. "Whatever. What I need is someone to assist me when I’m working."
Once more, Malfoy looked around the sparse space. "What do you usually do?"
"Usually," Harry said, "Ron can pitch in. Or Luna. Occasionally Ginny."
"And they can’t now, why?"
"Let’s see ... Hermione’s about to pop a kid any day and Ron is spending every hour with her when he’s not at work. She’s had a rough go the last couple of weeks and he needs to be there. Gin is out of town with the team and Luna is currently in South America on a trip with Rolf."
"Rolf? You mean Scamander, the magical creatures expert?"
Harry nodded. "I was trying to work out what to do when you walked in."
"How convenient," Malfoy drawled, sounding like he thought it was anything but.
Harry smiled. "Indeed. I prefer not to work with Muggles, in case I need to use magic — far too complicated. And I can’t trust just anyone from the magical world. But, thanks to your fortuitous timing, now I don’t need to find an assistant."
"You do realise that I’m your client, not your assistant, right? I pay you and you do work for me."
"You’re neither yet. But yes, I understand the relationship. What I’m saying is that part of your payment to me is helping me out on occasion. It’s not a full-time job, but I have a couple of clients with cases that may require I have someone accompany me on a stake-out or two."
Malfoy opened his mouth, closed it again, fidgeted, then went through the cycle twice more while Harry watched him weigh the pros and cons in his mind. "Take your time." Harry reached for the file he’d set aside when Malfoy arrived. "I’ll just carry on with what I was doing before you walked in."
Malfoy put his hand over the file. "Fine. I’ll do it."
"You will?" Harry was surprised he’d agreed so readily.
"Sure. Whatever. You’ll find my mother?"
"I’ll do my best." Malfoy looked ready to argue, then thought better of it. "I mean it, Malfoy. I take my job seriously and, though I’d hesitate to say I owe you anything, I haven’t forgotten what Narcissa did for me."
Malfoy nodded. "Your fee?"
"Twenty galleons an hour plus expenses."
Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise. "That’s it?" Harry nodded. "I expected ..."
"That I would take advantage of the situation? If you’d like to pay more, you’re welcome to, but I’m not about to charge you more than I would anyone else. And, for the record, that’s not cheap."
"I ..." Malfoy scrutinised Harry for some time. Harry held his gaze, engaging his Occlumency — which he’d finally mastered during Auror training — just in case. Malfoy visibly relaxed for the first time since he walked in. "Thank you."
Harry blinked, taken aback. "I haven’t done anything yet," he felt the need to point out. "But ... you’re welcome."
Malfoy frowned. "You said you have other cases, and—" He looked around the office again. "—you don’t have any employees. Can you manage this as well?"
Harry shrugged. "I can balance multiple cases at once, yes. Full-time surveillance isn’t required for the current cases, and I’m waiting on responses to some information requests I’ve placed. I’ve got time." Malfoy looked sceptical. "If I need more resources, I’ll let you know. I could hire others to help out if it comes to that, but I sense you’d prefer discretion. I still don’t know why you came to me specifically, but rest assured, I am good at what I do. And I won’t hesitate to admit if I need help."
Malfoy hesitated before responding, then seemed resigned to explaining himself. "I came to you because I knew the Aurors weren’t doing all they could. You have Auror training and you work in the Muggle world. I don’t know anyone else that has those qualifications, and — loathe though I am to admit it — your integrity speaks for itself. Your reputation precedes you and, besides your disregard for authority, I’ve heard nothing but good things." Shockingly, he hadn’t choked on his words.
Harry grinned. "I bet that hurt."
Malfoy smirked. "Quite a lot, yes."
Harry laughed and held out his hand for Malfoy to shake. After a beat, he took it. "I’ll do everything in my power to find Narcissa. Muggle and magical means. No stone left unturned."
Malfoy nodded. "I also heard that you wouldn’t hesitate to ..."
"Bend the rules a bit?" Harry offered. Malfoy’s hopeful looked tugged unnervingly at Harry’s chest. The man’s mother was missing. Harry didn’t doubt he was right, too, that the Aurors weren’t exactly tripping over themselves to find her. And he’d swallowed his pride and come to Harry, of all people, for help. Well, fuck it. Harry winked. "Everything in my power, Malfoy."
Malfoy’s lips twitched. "I never thought I’d be thankful for your rule-breaking ways."
"First time for everything." He drew his wand and cast a recording spell. "Now, tell me what happened."
For the next half hour, Malfoy filled Harry in on the details of Narcissa’s disappearance. She’d gone shopping — where exactly, Malfoy wasn’t sure, but thought London was most likely — and hadn’t returned. That had been nearly two weeks ago. All communication was left unanswered, including owls that returned with unopened letters. The Aurors had only managed to confirm that she may or may not have been spotted in a clothing shop on Diagon Alley, but the witness couldn’t swear to it being her. They’d found no magical signature matching hers on the premises and that was it.
"That’s it?" Harry asked, incredulity getting the better of him. "That’s all they found?"
Malfoy nodded. "Not that they looked very hard." He started twisting his hands again.
Harry seethed and only just resisted reaching out to rest his hands over Malfoy’s to stop the motion. This was his mother. Didn’t they have any compassion? "I’ll do everything I can to find her," he repeated. "Everything."
"I can bring in some of her things, so you can match her magical signature."
"That would be good. Some photographs, too, so I can put the word out in Muggle and magical circles. And while you go get all that, I’ll start looking for reports of Jane Does."
"Jane whats?"
"Jane Does. Unidentified women that have shown up at hospitals and such. I’ll narrow down the search that way first, and then send pictures out when you get back."
"Okay. I’ll go right now."
Harry nodded. "Oh, and Malfoy?"
"Yes?"
"I’ll be as discreet as possible — the Muggle contacts won’t matter, obviously — but once I start asking around, it’ll only be a matter of time before word gets out. Are you prepared for that?"
"I don’t care." His hand-wringing told another story. Harry recalled how brutal both the press and the public had been after Draco and Narcissa had received no prison time, and Lucius had received a laughably light sentence; he had no reason to suspect it would be any better once this news broke. "I obviously don’t want her disappearance splashed all over the papers, but I’m willing to deal with anything if it means finding her and bringing her home."
"Okay, then. I just wanted to be sure you were prepared."
"Father won’t like it," he said with a bitter tone Harry’d never heard him use when talking of Lucius.
"I don’t really give a fuck about Lucius."
Malfoy snorted. "Neither do I."
He left and Harry began his search. Thanks to modern technology — and a handy bit of spell work to access certain restricted databases — he launched queries into Jane Does (dead, injured, homeless and hospitalised) logged by morgues, hospitals and the police. He then put a call in to a contact in the Auror department, leaving a message to get back to him as soon as possible.
When Malfoy returned, Harry was working on a search of local news reports. If they turned up nothing, he would expand his geographical parameters, widening his search until he found her.
Malfoy handed over half a dozen pictures and some personal items of Narcissa’s. "I might need to drop by the manor sometime, but we’ll start with these things," Harry said. He didn’t cherish the idea of returning to the place where Hermione had been tortured, but he’d do it if he had to. "Preferably objects she felt a connection to. The traces will be more meaningful on those items."
Malfoy scowled. "The Aurors didn’t say anything about that."
"They may have been able to identify enough with what you gave them."
"They said anything would do, anything she’d touched recently."
Harry ran a hand through his hair and tried not to let his frustration show. "That’s technically true, but if I attempt a tracking spell, I like to have something that’s stronger as a source."
"A tracking spell? Isn’t that illegal?"
Harry gave him an are you seriously asking me that look before rolling his eyes. "Did you want to find your mother?"
"Yes, of course."
"Do you care if the spell is legal or not, if it helps to find her?"
"I ... well, no."
"Exactly."
Malfoy stared at Harry before asking, "Couldn’t you get in trouble for that?"
Harry sighed. "Did we not agree earlier that I’m all about bending the rules?"
"Bending them, yes, but breaking the law? Potter, you can’t. I can’t be responsible for you breaking the law."
"See, here’s the way I see it. It’s not illegal to track someone if they give you permission. And in her absence, I am going to presume she would be okay with you giving permission on her behalf."
"Really?"
Harry shrugged. "No, not really. The law was designed without that loophole, to prevent, for instance, an abusive spouse from hunting them down. But I can make a compelling case for it, particularly in the case of a son who was always very close to his mother, and the media will eat it up. No one would dare come after me."
"Are you sure?"
Harry shrugged. "I’m willing to chance it. And just for the record, no, I wouldn’t do it for Lucius."
Malfoy’s eyes widened. "But you’ll do it for me? I thought you said you don’t owe me anything."
Harry thought about his answer. He didn’t want to alarm Malfoy by pointing out the obvious — that Narcissa wouldn’t simply up and leave without any word to Draco. "Because it’s the right thing to do."
Harry spent the balance of the day chasing down leads on his other cases and sending out inquiries and pictures of Narcissa to Muggle establishments. He’d wait to hear back from his contact at the Ministry before broadcasting too widely in the wizarding community.
When Malfoy returned, he’d just begun to make notes on his case. "I’ve sent the first round of inquiries out. I’ll work on expanding the search tomorrow."
"How long before you hear back?"
Harry put down his pen and motioned for Malfoy to sit. He continued to fidget, but at least he no longer loomed over Harry at the same time. "Depends on how busy they are. Hospitals tend to respond within the day — they’re anxious to identify patients. But police are busy with so many cases, so many incoming calls, and come across so many transients, that they generally take longer. On average, about a week. Sometimes longer."
"A week?"
Harry nodded. "I may have put a charm on my requests — to encourage them to be placed atop the pile — but that still won’t guarantee a quick reply." Malfoy looked relieved and impressed in equal measure, but said nothing. "So that’s it for today. I’ll get back at it in the morning." He closed Malfoy’s file and opened another. "Meanwhile, are you free for surveillance tonight?"
"Tonight?"
"I told you I was looking for help when you arrived. I wasn't making that up."
"It’s just I didn’t expect ... What will it entail?"
Harry shrugged. "Won't know until I'm there but I was hired to find out if a husband is cheating on his wife. So we'll follow him wherever he goes and see if we catch him meeting up with someone."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "And you need company for this?"
"It helps. Following isn't a big deal, but if he goes inside somewhere, I'm less conspicuous if I have someone with me. And if there's more than one entrance, it's easier to follow with two people."
Malfoy leaned back in his seat. "Do you think the wife is right?"
"They usually are." Sadly, Harry had learned this early on. "And if they don't go straight to a hotel, they usually have dinner somewhere, so you'll get a meal out of it. Or if he's just out looking, he might go to a bar."
"He's a Muggle?"
"He is. Probably best to dress casually so we won't stand out wherever we end up."
Malfoy looked down at his clothes, definitely not what Harry would call casual. "Glamour?"
Harry considered the question. "Maybe on your hair so you blend in more, but otherwise, no. He's not seen me yet, so I think we're good. Next time, maybe."
"Next time?"
"Unless we catch him in the act," Harry said, "I’ll need to come up with more than one dinner or dance with someone, which could be explained away as a chance meeting."
"Even if he makes an obvious pass?"
Harry sighed. "You’d be surprised at how many people believe even the most blatant lies and pathetic excuses."
"Love is blind?"
"I don’t know about blind, or even love for that matter." Harry shrugged. "I just think when people put their trust in someone, they want to believe the best in them."
Malfoy snorted. "Sounds like a bunch of Hufflepuffs."
"Perhaps." Harry hoped never to be in such a situation. "Of course, if they’re caught in the act, there’s really no getting out of that one."
Malfoy snorted. "No, I can’t imagine any excuse worthy of forgiving that."
"Not the forgiving sort, Malfoy?"
Malfoy raised a brow. "I don’t share well, no."
Harry chuckled. "I bet you don’t."
"Only child. Never had to share," he said. "I don’t imagine you would be good at sharing either."
"True," Harry conceded. "But that’s more because when I’m in a relationship I’m all in. I don’t much care for casual."
"Interesting." Malfoy’s smirked and Harry wondered if he’d said too much. "Alright, then, Potter. It’s a date."
They spent over an hour trailing the subject of Harry’s investigation, Theodore Mackey — Malfoy whining about how bored he was most of the time — before he finally entered a pub. They followed a minute later and found him sat at the bar, a glass of amber liquid already in front of him. Harry sized up the place before leading the way to a table near the back, with sightlines to the front door, the bar, the washrooms and the back door.
Harry went to the bar and got himself a pint of Guinness — Seamus’ influence had left its mark — and Malfoy a pint of cider. Mackey had his phone in hand but Harry was unable to see with whom or about what he was texting. When he returned to the table, Malfoy asked, "So now what?"
"Now we watch."
Though Mackey’s back was to them, Harry grabbed a menu to make his staring less obvious, and Malfoy copied. "Ugh," Malfoy grunted. "Pub food."
Harry leaned in and motioned with a finger for Malfoy to come closer. Once he’d done so, Harry whispered, "That’s because this is a pub."
Malfoy pulled back and glared. "Yes, thanks for pointing out the obvious."
Harry chuckled. "Glad to be of service." He picked up his menu once more and scanned it briefly. "Mmm. Shepard’s pie for me."
"Ugh." Malfoy scrunched his nose at the choices before sighing loudly. "I suppose a steak and ale pie will suffice."
Harry, who’d been watching Mackey, motioned towards the front and Malfoy turned his gaze towards the bar where a man had just taken the stool next to Mackey and was grasping his hand and leaning in. After a time, he reluctantly released Mackey’s hand, but with a swipe of his finger across the back of his wrist. "They seem cosy," Malfoy said.
"Don’t they just?" Harry replied. He stood and looked at Malfoy. "So, pie and another cider?" Malfoy nodded and Harry made his way back to the bar, hoping to catch some of the men’s conversation.
"Let’s get out of here," the younger man said. "I feel like dancing."
Mackey sighed. "But I’ve only just got this drink."
"Fair enough," the other man agreed. "I’ll order one for myself and when we’re done, we’ll head down the road." He leaned in and whispered something into Mackey’s ear that Harry couldn’t hear. Mackey laughed and ran his hand down the other man’s arm.
Harry collected their drinks and went back to the table. "Change of plans. No food. They’re leaving after this round."
Malfoy pursed his lips. "I need some food."
Harry grinned. "I thought you didn’t like pub food?"
"It’s better than no food."
"Aw," Harry teased. "I promise to buy you some food at the next stop." He didn’t mention they’d be going somewhere with dancing.
"You’d better," Malfoy grumbled. Harry’s shoulders shook as he suppressed his laughter. "What?" Picturing Malfoy’s face if they ended up where Harry imagined they would, Harry sipped his beer to cover his amusement.
When Mackey and his friend left, Harry and Malfoy followed at a distance, under a concealment charm to avoid being noticed. But before they reached their destination, Mackey’s phone rang. He answered, said a few words into the phone, then hung up.
"Can’t tonight. Something’s come up at home."
The other man stepped closer, pulling Mackey towards him by his shirt and kissing him gently on the lips. "Oh, come on. Just an hour."
Mackey groaned and looked around briefly before pressing the other man up against a wall. They indulged in a less gentle kiss for a few moments before pulling apart. "I can’t. Rain check?"
The other man pouted and Malfoy snorted. Thankfully, they were far enough away and too engrossed in each other that they didn’t hear him. "I can’t tomorrow, but I’m free the next night," the pouty blond suggested. Harry took note of the time and location they’d agreed to and they left them to say their goodbyes.
"You still owe me dinner," Malfoy said.
"Yeah, yeah. Let’s go."
Oh, this was going to be fun. Harry chuckled as he hung the gown on the coat rack the next day. Malfoy was going to lose his shit when he saw this getup. Sure enough, when he arrived, Malfoy did not look impressed.
"There’s a formal event tonight that my client has provided me tickets for," he explained. "And he stated, in no uncertain terms, that I need to attend with a plus one."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "And why, pray tell, must we go as a couple? Surely people attend such affairs as singles."
"True, but then someone is always trying to set the singles up, and I can’t risk the distraction. The event will have a rather mature crowd, which will guarantee a matchmaker or three in the throng. Or so I’ve been told."
"Well then, why not go as a couple without the disguise? Two men together is acceptable, is it not?"
Harry pretended to consider the matter for a while before answering. Truth was, he had no idea. It could go either way, given the clientele, but he wasn’t about to admit that. No, he wanted a bit of fun at Malfoy’s expense. And, really, what could be better than this? He shook his head. "I can’t be sure, particularly given the age of the crowd. I just wouldn’t want to draw unnecessary attention." Malfoy’s cheeks reddened as he once more looked at the sequin gown. "Ordinarily, I’d ask Luna or Ginny, but ..."
"Yes, Potter, you’ve said. They’re both unavailable." And to Harry’s utter amazement, he snatched the gown off the coat rack and stormed off into the back room. Truth be told, he’d expected a bit more of a fight. In fact, he was nearly sure Malfoy was going to tell him to shove the dress and the case up his arse and storm out. Harry knew it was because of Narcissa. And, yes, he was being an arse, taking advantage of the situation like this. But he’d had years of putting up with Malfoy being the arse, and he was due for some payback. Of course, he’d have done the job anyway, no matter if Malfoy had agreed to work with him or not. He just didn’t have to tell the git that.
He heard grumbling from the back. "Need a hand?" he called, not even trying to conceal his amusement.
"No, I don’t need a hand, you fucking tosser!" Harry grinned. This was going to be a fun night.
With amusement, Harry mentally checked off the necessary surveillance equipment he’d need to bring along — small, hidden audio and video recording devices they’d both have on their persons, as well as heavier equipment to distribute around the venue, to record the larger space. He packed everything into his briefcase and was just about to retrieve his tuxedo when a loud crash sounded from the back room.
"Are you sure you don’t need help?" he called out as he snapped the briefcase shut and locked it.
"I do not need your help to get dressed, thanks ever so, Potter."
"Try not to destroy my office, yeah?"
More grumbling sounded. "I just needed to steady myself in these heels."
Heels? Harry hadn’t given him heels. He hadn’t given him shoes at all. Hadn’t thought about it. He chuckled as the picture of Malfoy wobbling around in high heeled shoes danced before his eyes. "Don’t make them too high," he said. "Wouldn’t want you too much taller than me," Harry said.
"Well, you should have thought of that before deciding that I should be the one in the dress."
Harry snorted. "Right. Like I could pull off a look like that."
"Oh, and I can?" Incredulity laced his words.
"I think so." Harry realised that he’d just assumed Malfoy could, in fact, disguise himself as a woman. "In Auror training, the slimmer ones were always the girls, and you have a slim frame and delicate bone structure." It was true. His pointy features as a child had softened considerably over the years.
"I am not delicate!"
Harry barked out a laugh. "No, I would never call you delicate."
"You just did, you tosser."
"I just said you have delicate bone structure. It’s not the same thing. You’d have a much easier time pulling off the look with a few well-placed concealment spells. I, on the other hand, would need an entire makeover and I’d still come out looking hideous."
"You’re not exactly heavy," Malfoy’s voice called. Harry heard soft muttering as well, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Probably the very charms Harry’d just mentioned. "But, loathe though I am to admit it, you’re probably right about the bone structure. That square jaw of yours would need some serious work to soften up."
"Ha! Glad you agree that you’ll make a better girl."
"Don’t push your luck, Potter." Harry heard a few more low utterances and then the back door opened. He willed himself to stand his ground and not laugh, lest Malfoy storm back out before Harry could really get the most out of the evening.
With the clicking of heels and a fair bit of grumbling, Malfoy emerged. And Harry’s heart leapt into his throat. Malfoy’s hair, now reaching halfway down his back and flowing with soft waves, bounced lightly with every step he took and draped gently over his shoulders. It framed a stunning — and Harry had to admit, pretty — face with big, bright eyes and soft, pouty lips. The makeup he’d applied — including long but not unnatural looking eyelashes — softened his features in subtle ways that outdid any Harry’d seen in stealth and concealment training.
The dress — a blue sequined number Harry’d hoped to get a few good laughs out of, for its form-fitting shape — hugged suggestively to Malfoy’s slim but now curvy frame. But Harry wasn’t laughing. He could barely breathe. "Well, fuck me!"
"Yes, well as tempting as that might be under other circumstances — no, scratch that, it wouldn’t be — I don’t think I can move much less fuck anyone in this gown." He fidgeted and squirmed and adjusted the slender, floor-length dress which, Harry had to admit, clung to him from breasts to hips. He shook his head. Had he just thought about Malfoy’s breasts? Merlin help him.
"Stop staring! I know you did this to piss me off or embarrass me, Potter, but you can stop with the hormonal gawping already. It won’t make me feel any more awkward than I already do."
Harry closed his mouth, having just realised it had been hanging open. "Holy shit, Malfoy, you’re hot! Bloody hell. Who’d have thought you were hiding this under that personality of yours?"
Something in Malfoy’s eyes flared in that moment, and Harry immediately regretted his outburst. But holy, hell, Malfoy was fucking hot.
Harry realised the depth of his mistake about half an hour into the party. Malfoy had draped himself over Harry, clinging to him and whispering in his ear. Laughing at anything remotely amusing or witty he might say and touching him at every opportunity. Tucking stray hairs behind his ears, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket, adjusting his tie. But Harry took it all in stride, as best he could — he knew this was Malfoy’s way of getting him back for making him wear the dress — but even he had limits. When Malfoy’s hand drifted slowly downwards, ending with a light squeeze of his arse, he forced a smile onto his face that he suspected looked more like a grimace. Through gritted teeth, he leaned in and said, "What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" in Malfoy’s ear.
Malfoy giggled — a horrifically giddy and girly giggle — and slapped him playfully on the arm. "Oh, you dog!" he said. Then he turned to the couple in front of them and stage whispered, "He just can’t keep his hands off of me. I mean, really!" He giggled some more and turned to Harry. "Can’t you wait until we get home?" His sheer audacity left Harry speechless.
An hour or so later, Harry had managed to peel Malfoy from his side, and they’d decided to separate, to ensure maximum coverage. Malfoy was astonishingly good at working a room and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to get some gossip on the subject of their surveillance, upon which they could begin to build a case.
"You lucky sod, you." The man stood next to Harry was speaking to him but stared at Malfoy who was now chatting with the man’s wife.
"Excuse me?"
The man was looking at Malfoy as though mentally undressing him. "That’s one gorgeous woman you’ve got there." His eyes darkened as Malfoy waved at him playfully from across the room.
Harry realised belatedly that the distant rumbling he heard was coming from him. He was growling at the man. Evidently, he’d heard it too, because he quickly dropped the hungry look for one a bit more fearful. Good. "No offence meant, of course," he stammered. "Just admiring."
"Yeah," Harry said, forgetting himself entirely. "See that you do that from a distance."
By the end of the evening, Malfoy had returned to Harry’s side and was once more draped over him. Harry was torn between relief — the gentleman who’d spoken with Harry earlier hadn’t been the only one staring at Malfoy all night — and irritation — Harry found it difficult to concentrate with Malfoy in such close proximity.
When the party ended, Harry Apparated them back to his office and at once grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders and pushed him back against the wall, his frustration finally able to show itself. "What the fuck are you playing at, Malfoy?"
He batted his fake eyelashes and pouted. Running his hands over Harry’s chest, he said, "What’s the matter, honey? Didn’t I play the besotted girlfriend well enough for you?"
Harry grabbed his wrists and pushed them over his head, leaning in. They were mere inches apart and Harry could practically taste the wine on Malfoy’s breath. "A little too well, honey."
Malfoy smirked, completely unfazed by their proximity, his eyes twinkling. In the most saccharine voice Harry’d ever heard, he said, "So you’re mad at me for being too good? Did you want me to be bad instead?"
Harry released Malfoy’s arms, let out a frustrated grunt, and stormed off to the back room to get changed, Malfoy’s laughter following after him.
Continued in part 2
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