Chapter Text
5:30pm that evening
Harry tapped his quill absently on the nearly empty table in front of him. He slouched farther back in his chair, legs splayed wide and toes tapping alternately and silently on the floor. It was the only way to entertain himself, how quietly could he tap his toes in his Auror-issue dragon leather boots with their hard, thick soles? There were just three of them in the large conference room, long tables arranged in a U with nearly forty empty chairs. It had been at least ten minutes since someone had spoken. They had passed from small talk to comfortable silence to boredom, and there was still another thirty minutes to go.
“Ms. Granger-Weasley, I appreciate that someone could come into this conference at any time, but I think it extremely unlikely.” Marjorie DeMarc stood. She was Kingsley Shacklebolt’s administrative aid on loan to take the minutes for the last several open forums Hermione had held in an effort to gain more public approval for her new Werewolf Legislation. Marjorie’s chair scrapped loudly across the tile, and she began to gather her things. “It has been three weeks after all, and not a single person has walked through that door other than us.”
“Wait!” Hermione cried, but it was too late, Marjorie slipped her arms into her coat sleeves and pushed open the door.
Harry straightened in his chair and began to put his parchment and quills away. “She’s right ‘Mione. This is the third community forum we’ve held in the last three weeks and no one has come to a single one.”
And Hermione slumped in her chair. “I know. I just know that if someone comes in we can talk, and if we can talk then we can resolve these differences. We can make better legislation, we can make lives better.” She sounded emphatically hopeless.
Harry reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know.” And he wanted it too, if only for Teddy’s sake. “They deserve better treatment, but we can’t make that happen if they don’t come in and talk to us.”
“Lycanthropy is a disease! It should be treated as a medical condition, not--not discriminated against!”
“I know, ‘Mione.” Harry pushed his own chair back. “I know. But we can’t make them show up if they don’t want to.”
Reluctantly, Hermione began to gather her own quills and parchment. “I’ve worked so hard on this. And Shacklebolt is starting to make headway with repealing the AntiWere Legislation, but none of that will make a bit of difference if we can’t get them to agree with us. Reopening the Werewolf Support Services is supposed to help them. I want to help them. Why won’t they let me help them?” she whined as she pushed everything into her briefcase
Harry slung his bag over his shoulder before tucking his arm over hers. “I know. And we’re going to. It’s just going to take some more time.”
She sighed. “You’re right. I just need a new outreach campaign, something that speaks more directly to those inflicted with Lycanthropy.”
Harry nodded sympathetically, but it had been four months of nonstop outreach and she hadn’t made much headway. And while Harry wanted to help Hermione, while Shacklebolt insisted on having an Auror presence at these meetings to show the entire ministry was behind the movement, Harry just couldn’t spend all of his time thinking about outreach. He had cases to handle, and Grimmauld Place needed work, and there was Teddy and Andromeda, and sometimes he wanted to spend time with Ginny and figure out what was going on with that part of his life.
“We’ll figure it out,” Harry said, because he had defeated Voldemort and won a war and saved the muggleborn. He could be an Auror, and a godfather, and date, and save Werewolves too, right? “Are you having dinner at the Burrow?”
“Just Ron tonight at the flat. You’re welcome to join us if you want. Ron promised to get takeaway on his way home from the shop.”
Harry shook his head. “Teddy wants to have dinner, and then I’m on the night shift.”
“You’ve had a lot of those lately.”
“Yeah.” Harry didn’t say anything about how Robards was making subtle jabs about the Werewolf Support Services or the attempts at moving them from Beasts to Beings classification. And Harry had made one too many impassioned arguments in their favor, and Robards had put him on permanent night shift to prove his own point about the ruckus caused by Weres. It was an exhausting situation.
“Give Teddy our love.” Hermione kissed Harry’s cheek before she stepped into the floo.
Harry waited a moment for his turn, took a pinch of powder, and said, “Grimmauld Place.” He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped not to emerge in a billow of black smoke.
Which of course was exactly what happened. Harry coughed loudly and waved his hand in front of his face to try and clear the smoke and dust.
“Sorry, Harry!” Andromeda shouted from the kitchen. They all long since learned not to open the door when they heard the floo or the smoke would billow out into the hallway and onto the stairs. Teddy loved it when they had, running through the house, leaving sooty footprints, and then squealing loudly as Harry hauled him into the bath.
Harry waited for several moments as the smoke and dust settled and then vanished the worst of the mess. He’d have to change his robes, unless he wanted to just vanish the whole set. He’d learned that the hard way too. Instead, Harry took them off and left the robes in a heap in the middle of the floor, his shirt and trousers had survived the worst of the mess, and he needed to change into something more casual for the night shift anyway.
“I thought someone was going to come by today and look at that?” Harry asked from the kitchen doorway.
Andromeda shrugged and pulled the shepherd's pie from the oven. “They were supposed to come by at 3pm, but claimed the Fidelius charm prevented them from coming inside.”
“But I wrote the address on their stupid form.” Harry waited for her to step away from the sink before coming in and washing the soot from his hands and face.
“That’s what I said, but the girl in the floo insisted her apprentice had shown up but couldn’t find the door.”
Harry wiped water from his face. “That’s ridiculous. He was just scared to realize it was Harry Potter’s house.”
Andromeda sighed. “I think so too, but I don’t know what to do about that. We ask for someone experienced and they don’t show up, we ask from someone new and they don’t show up. We schedule these things for when you’re out of the house, and they still don’t show.”
“I’m going to have to fix the damn thing myself.” Harry groaned. “I don’t know the first thing about the floo network.”
“Well, don’t do that!” Andromeda said with a frown. “I’ll call someone on Monday, a different company.” She set the pie in the middle of the three place settings, and then walked over to the kitchen window, which was open. “Teddy! Dinner! Harry’s here!”
Teddy must have shouted something back, but Harry couldn’t hear from his seat in the dining room. He looked over the room. He really needed to get a smaller table, ten seats was really too much for the three of them, and maybe he could set out a table and a few chairs at the other end of the room to make a place to sit in the evenings, since the living room was almost always out of commission.
“No! Not in one minute, now Mister. Harry is here and we’re both hungry. So get inside and we’ll all eat.”
Harry leaned around to look into the kitchen. Andromeda was pushing up on the counter, toes barely touching the floor with her head halfway out the window. “I’ll get him,” Harry said.
Andromeda plopped back down, feet smacking against the tile. “I don’t understand what’s gotten into him. His teacher pulled me aside when I went to get him from school to tell me he’s been fighting with some of the other boys in class, always over the blocks. Teddy wasn’t even playing with them, and he still got so upset when Justin picked one up.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Harry tried not to sigh. Andromeda hadn’t seemed so flustered the first few years of Teddy’s life, when Teddy hadn’t slept through the night, wore nappies, and spent most of his meals flinging food across the room. But around the time he turned three, things had taken a turn for the frustrating, and eventually, Harry had been over for tea and she had burst into tears when Teddy had torn through the sitting room like a tiny whirlwind, leaving biscuit crumbs, toys, and dirt in his wake. At the age of six, things were still pretty much the same, but living together in Grimmauld Place, meant that at least there were two adults, one to distract while the other one tidied up.
Harry stepped out the backdoor into the cool March air, and watched Teddy run through the grass of the back garden for a minute. He was chasing some small insect, running and leaping into the air and laughing wildly. “Hey, sprog!” Harry shouted, and Teddy turned to look at him.
He burst into a grin that split the bottom half of his face and ran, full tilt, at Harry. Even braced, Harry stumbled back a step when Teddy thumped into him. “Have you gotten bigger since yesterday?” Harry asked, only half joking.
“Yes!” Teddy shouted, squirming in Harry’s arms. “Put me down! Put me down!”
Quickly, Harry turned on one heel, and set him down in the kitchen, making sure to fill the doorway so that Teddy couldn’t run back out in the garden. He’d learned quite a few lessons about parenting Teddy in the three years they’d all lived together.
“I was chasing bugys! Chasing Bugys! Chasing Bugys!” Teddy squealed and began running from one side of the kitchen to the other in quick succession.
Andromeda didn’t bother to hide her sigh. “Dinner, Mister Lupin, table now!” Teddy immediately froze, recognizing that tone of voice.
He threw his head back and sighed loudly. “But I want to run!”
“Of course you do. But first, food. Now march!” She gave him a gentle push towards the table, and then Teddy was running again. He jumped onto his chair and reached for his milk.
“On your bottom!” Andromeda shouted, and Teddy dropped onto his bottom so fast he bounced on the chair. She turned to Harry and said quietly. “He’d been like this all day. I don’t remember any of my other children being quite this rambunctious.”
Harry gave her a smile. With Teddy as his only real experience with children, Harry couldn’t say if this behavior was typical or not. He could say, however, that he loved the enthusiasm with which Teddy tackled everything. The way he could remain so still, crouched on the patio and watching ants file by, the way he ran to the broomshed and then squealed around the yard with one broom in hand so excited and not even in the air yet, the way he would lay in Harry’s arms, pointing at all the pictures in the books, talking excitedly until all of a sudden he was asleep and the story not finished yet. “Well, I hear they grow quite fast.”
Andromeda smacked him on the arm. “That they do.” She rolled her eyes. “Come now, you must be starving. How did the community forum go?”
Teddy let them talk work for a few minutes while he munched his way through the meat and potatoes, trying to avoid the carrots and peas. But it wasn’t long before he was jumping out of his chair and trying to tell Harry all about his day, about the letters they learned in school and about the order of the numbers. He talked about his art project, something with colored ice cubes and how they tasted just like really cold water but turned his tongue and mouth black. He told Harry all about the bugys in the yard, and how Andromeda let him skip his nap. And all Harry had to do was nod and smile and make noncommittal noises, and it was so easy and relaxing to listen to his chatter.
Even Andromeda smiled.
“Mama? Can I run in the garden again?” He asked, interrupting his own story about rocks in the grass, and Andromeda nodded. Teddy was darting out the door too fast for her to say much of anything.
“I can help with the cleanup,” Harry offered.
But Andromeda shook her head at him. “Don’t be silly. You can put him to bed while I clean up the kitchen and parlor. I could use a little order in my day.”
“Alright,” Harry agreed. Bedtime was one of his favorite times of the day, just him and Teddy and a comforting routine. He loved listening to him splash in the bath and watching him run through his room to pick out a book. But most of all, Harry loved having him tucked up against him, a tiny ball of warmth that never seemed to dim. The fight to get Teddy in the bath or the screaming he did while Harry tried to wrestle him into pajamas or the way he squirmed with too much energy, sometimes kneeing Harry in the stomach or groin, all of that paled in those few moments of utter peace Harry felt when Teddy finally settled and nosed his arm pit and smiled so softly in his sleep.
Harry gave Andromeda a nod as she spelled dishes into the sink to wash and stepped outside to play a quick game of chase that traditionally ended in the bathroom. He bribed Teddy into sitting still on the toilet while Harry started the bath with a story of the Marauders, making sure to give all the best parts to Moony, the Werewolf. He used to try and give Teddy true stories about his parents, but Harry didn’t know enough about their escapades. Eventually he started embellishing and then Teddy seemed to like the most ridiculous parts best, so now, Harry’s stories always had biscuits and princesses and daring escapes from the Lochness Monster.
Those stories took them right to pajamas and books. And Teddy was apparently tired from not having a nap because he picked the first one up off the floor and curled into Harry’s side. He was asleep before the end of the third page. Harry finished the story, enjoyed his sleepy cuddle, and then kissed Teddy on the forehead.
Harry scooted out from under the blanket, turned on the nightlight, and left the door open a crack in case Andromeda wanted to check on him. He took the steps lightly to avoid any creaking and opened his door slowly for the same reason. His room might be an entire floor away, but Teddy had good hearing. The Friday night shift meant splinchings, drunken castings, and potion overdoses. It meant getting a little physical to keep the peace, and on one memorable occasion getting pissed on by a muggle. So Harry pulled on some old denims and a loose long sleeve shirt with no buttons. Because there was nothing like getting into a drunken brawl, having a bloke tear your shirt and then having to summon all the buttons while giggling girls made equally giggly passes.
Over all of that Harry put on his Auror robes. They would be warm enough to keep out the night chill.
Since the war, a lot of witches and wizards had taken to patronizing magical and muggle establishments, which meant that on a Friday night, an Auror could find himself in any part of London having to look the part of a professional or blend into a crowd.
They were exhausting shifts, and Harry was on week eight with no end in sight.
He popped into the parlor and pecked Andromeda on the cheek. “I’ll apparate until we get it sorted.”
She nodded and kept sweeping. “Be safe.”
“Always.” Harry smiled and then left.
From the front step he apparated to the Ministry. Perhaps the one and only benefit to working the night shift was that the Atrium was empty when Harry arrived. No reporters, no waiting in line for the lifts, it was almost a peaceful place. Except for the ridiculous echo of his boots. But then, nothing was perfect.
Harry found a seat near Val in the back of the conference room and assumed his usual slouch.
“Alright!” Auror Jenkins called attention at the front of the room. “You all know the drill. It’s Friday, a regular Friday, so we can assume the normal levels of drunken debauchery. When you get a call, stick with your partner! I do NOT want any fuckups like last week. Beckett, you owe me for that paperwork. I want everyone to pay extra attention to Were activity. The full moon is in three days, and they are sure to be a squirrelly tonight and tomorrow. Also, we still don’t have any solid leads on the pelt found three weeks ago and the one from the month before, so keep your ears to the ground for anything about that. Any questions?”
It was Jenkin’s standard spiel before every shift and no one did.
“Alright, find your partner and head out. I expect you all to respond to calls for backup. Help each other out tonight!”
Harry looked over at Val, “Are we still West End?”
“Yeah,” Val nodded gruffly.
West End contained the largest number of Wizarding establishments and entrances, making it one of the busiest areas and no less than three Auror pairs were assigned to patrol the area. Add to that the bustling theaters and the tourists, and the whole area was a bit of a nightmare, but the crowds tended to keep the Were incidents down. Which was a blessing and a curse for Harry. Maybe if he ran into more of them he’d be able to talk one or two into visiting the Werewolf Support Services.
Harry left his robes in his locker outside the training rooms and put on his regulation coat with it’s small but visible DMLE crest embossed on the lapel, and then followed Val to West End. It was busy, but nothing like what it would be in a few hours. Most of the shows had started already and the pubs and clubs wouldn’t get busy for a few hours yet. They started on a leisurely stroll down the pavement.
“How’s that godson of yours?” Val asked, knowing that it was a sure way to get Harry to talk, so they chatted about Teddy for a good twenty minutes. And then spent twenty minutes trying to explain to some American tourists how to find some pub neither of them had heard of.
“How was your day?” Harry asked after sending the Americans on their confused way.
“Same old, same old. Listened to my Mum gripe about me being long in the tooth for a husband. My owl had the runs, so I spent the day cleaning up shit, and I’m still on night shift, so it’s been a lot of this bullshit.”
“You’ve been on nights for six years, you know Jenkins would switch you to days if you asked,” Harry pointed out.
“Bite your tongue.” Val scowled and Harry laughed.
They helped a wizarding couple exchange their galleons for pounds at a food truck, and then helped a lost witch find her muggle boyfriend. By then it was close to eleven and the drunken encounters started. Harry disarmed a young wizard silently before he could break the statute of secrecy, and Val talked down an angry witch who’d been about to curse her husband. They broke up a fight in a bar, and completely ignored a public urination because who had time for that paperwork
And by then it was midnight and the first call was coming in, a Pack of Weres in a club called the King’s Head. Val took the call on her firewatch, talking quietly to the flame in an alley while Harry kept watch.
“So, the owner reported a Pack of Weres in his club gettin’ rowdy.”
Harry nodded. “I’ve never been. Coordinates?”
“I’ll side-along you.” Val sighed. “Last time you ended up thirty minutes late.”
Harry sighed, but took her arm, and in the blink of an eye, they were reappearing in the back alley behind the club. It was one of the more bizarre places Harry had been, and in the eight weeks he had been on nights he’d been called out to a BDSM club, the Royal Zoo, and a public toilet. This was a regular club with a bar and tables, a dance floor and pounding music that made Harry throb. It was dimly lite and smelled like sweat and spilled alcohol like most clubs, and it was packed with bodies pushed close together and writhing.
What made it odd was the taxidermy. Spaced evenly along the walls were stuffed animal heads, zebras, gazelles, lions, tigers, cheetahs, there was even an entire stuffed bear upright in the corner. And for a long moment, Harry couldn’t help but stare at the nearest wall.
And then Val elbowed him in the stomach, hard. “We’re here to work, not pick up interior decorating ideas.”
Harry shook his head, as if the physical act could shake the stuffed heads from his brain, and began to look through the crowd. After two months on nights, he and Val had fallen into a sort of pattern, where they would each head off in one direction and canvass half the location, before meeting up on the direct opposite side. Harry took the left and Val the right.
He was halfway between the bar and the dance floor when Harry saw him, Draco Malfoy. There was no mistaking the bright blond hair no matter the location or level of lighting. With his thigh thrust up between the legs of another bloke, head thrown back, and writhing. He had a plastic cup of something clear in his hand which was draped possessively over the bloke’s shoulder, but his head was thrown back and his eyes closed. And for a moment, Harry completely forgot what he was doing. Malfoy looked so free, so different from the boy he remembered. He was pale but not sullen, he was slender but fit, he had hard lines and was so tall, he wasn’t anything like the boy at school.
Why was Draco Malfoy in a Muggle club?
Why was Draco Malfoy in a Muggle club with his leg thrust between the legs of another man, shuddering and looking utterly taken? His throat was one long line, and so smooth, eyes half lidded, mouth bitten pink. Is that what he looked like in the heat of the moment? Is that what he would look like if, instead of the strange bloke, it were Harry?
And then, as Harry was trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person instead of this almost-panting, Malfoy looked at Harry. His gaze was direct, challenging, calling for judgement of some kind. But all Harry could do was stare and stare and stare, caught in this strange moment, where a boy he hadn’t thought of in four years was dancing in a muggle club, was wearing a black mesh shirt that didn’t hide his Mark and shiny black pants that had been painted on his body, and grinding and thrusting and Harry wanted him.
He leaned down and said something in the ear of the man he’d just been grinding against, who startled and turned to look at Harry. His eyes were wide, and he said something back, Draco pitching his ear close to his mouth to listen. But then Draco was shaking his head, and shouting something back, pulling his arm with the drink over his shoulder, and making eye contact with Harry.
The man quickly disappeared into the mass of writhing bodies, but Malfoy stayed at the edge of the dance floor, standing still and eyes on Harry. He took a long drink from the cup, shook his head, and then stepped away from the mass.
Unconsciously, Harry stepped towards him. “Malfoy!” he shouted over the din.
“Potter!” Malfoy shouted back with the ghost of a smile on his face. He took another drink. “And what brings you to this fine establishment?”
“Why are you here?” Harry asked.
“Why, to enjoy the ambiance, of course?” He took another drink. “You scared my date away.” He frowned.
It was surreal. “Sorry?” Harry said, mostly trying to understand. “Was he a muggle?”
“So what if he was?” Malfoy scowled. “It’s my business who I go home with at the end of the night. Not yours.”
Harry was busy trying to remember what he knew of Malfoy. Harry had spoken at the trial, Malfoy had been given a year of house arrest, they’d allowed him to do his NEWTS at the Ministry, and then...nothing. He’d done his house arrest without incident. He’d had a year of probation afterwards, Harry remembered suddenly, but after that, nothing. Malfoy hadn’t been seen at any fundraisers, ministry functions, he didn’t apply for any sensitive jobs, he’d just dropped out of everyone’s purview.
“What have you been doing?”
“Am I under investigation?” Malfoy countered.
“No.” Harry eyed his drink, and suddenly wished he could have some social lubricant to ease the tension in this conversation. “I just didn’t expect to see you here.”
Malfoy finished his drink and spread his arms as wide as he could in the crowd. “Well, here I am, defying your expectations.”
And then there was a moment of awkward silence, which Malfoy broke. “Why are you here?”
“We got a call about a disturbance, some Weres getting rowdy.” Harry answered honestly, because why would he lie?
“Ahhh,” Malfoy drew out the sound, long and low in the back of his throat. “Well, I would hate to interrupt the important Auror work you are doing, protecting innocent muggles from rowdy Werewolves.” And there was something in his tone or his words, that made Harry think Malfoy was being sarcastic, or at least insubordinate.
“You haven’t seen anything, have you?” Harry asked for lack of anything else to say.
Malfoy grinned with all his teeth. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. Going to make an official inquest?” He dumped his empty cup on the nearest table.
“No,” Harry said.
Malfoy nodded. “See you around, Potter.” He gave a wave and melted back into the crowd of the dance floor.
Harry finished the inspection of the club and met with Val on the other side of the room. “Find anything interesting?” She asked.
“Just Malfoy.” Harry admitted.
“He’s not interesting, just fucking annoying.” Val scowled at him. “Guess we better hang around a little longer, just to make sure.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Harry said, already looking through the crowd for that flash of bright white. But it wasn’t to be seen. They stayed for another forty minutes, just to be sure, and then continued on with the patrol. Val talked about her latest attempt to bake something edible and Harry talked about his problem with the floo. And somehow they both managed to make it to shift change at 8am.
And then Harry went home to pretend to sleep for several hours before getting up and doing it all over again. All in all, a rather typical Friday.
*
8:35pm that evening
Draco flopped down on Sawyer’s bed in the smallest bedroom of the flat. There were two twin beds, each shoved into a corner with shelves haphazardly hung over top, and there was a thin mattress on the floor, mostly shoved under Sawyer’s bed to keep anyone from stepping on it. The bed wasn’t really Sawyer’s any more then the mattress was Draco’s because there weren’t quite enough beds for everyone to sleep, but it was the place they both slept most often. And it was the room where they kept their clothes.
Sawyer had his head buried in the closet and was busy throwing shirts that had fallen off the hangers onto the bed. A pair of nice trousers smacked Draco in the face.
“Oi! Watch it there!” Draco called. “I’m still covered in potion here.”
Sawyer poked his head out the door. He had a wide grin that never failed to make Draco grin back, and his eyes were especially bright tonight. “Do we have enough?”
Draco fell back on the mess of blankets and pillows. “I think so. I’ll test it tomorrow.” He grinned up at the ceiling. He’d stayed up all day brewing to ensure there was enough. Alan had been quite upset that he couldn’t cook his ramen, since Draco had used all the pots and all four burners on the stove, but no one argued when he was brewing. The potion was far more important.
Draco flipped back upright when the tingling on his skin made him restless. It was always like this close to the full moon, too much energy and excitement and everyone in the flat itchy and bright. “Why are you in there?” Because usually Sawyer would be out at the movies or the restaurant, or just roaming the streets.
Sawyer threw himself back among the clothes. “We’re going out tonight!”
“I thought Ajax said no.” Ajax usually said no to the mass of them going out together. There was safety in the Pack, but also risk. And Ajax hated the Aurors more than Scotland Yard.
A black mesh shirt came flying out of the closet. “He changed his mind.”
Draco snatched it from the floor. “Who managed that?”
Sawyer came out with his dark trousers and his own tight t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. It was brown, matched his leather jacket, and never failed to impress Draco. In fact, just the idea that Sawyer was going to wear that jacket, had blood pooling in his crotch. Sawyer sniffed the air, “Seriously, Draco?”
Draco shrugged, unrepentant. “What? You can’t seriously be surprised.” Because they slept in the same room, sometimes in the same bed, and they had lived together for the last four years. Really, Sawyer had no excuse to be surprised.
“Alice talked him into it. I think mostly by whining in his face until he told her to get out and take her lousy friends with her.”
“Where are we going?” Draco quickly stripped off his shirt and pulled the mesh on. It was enough to disguise the scars on his chest and the Mark on his arm, although they were all vaguely visible. Draco might have worn something with more coverage, but he got too damn hot in the clubs.
“King’s Head.” Sawyer stripped off his trousers, and Draco stopped to watch his powerful thighs and arse and all that smooth dark skin. “Stop that or you won’t be able to fit in your trousers, and I am not sitting around while you have a wank.”
“Fine.” Draco stood and turned his back. It was true, those pleather trousers were uncomfortable enough when he got hard already in them. They were impossible to pull over an erection. So Draco stared at the white wall and thought about terribly unsexy things, like Ajax during the new moon, or the way Florence liked to flounce about the flat in the nude, or anything to do with the Ministry of Magic. Especially the Werewolf Support Services. Ugh, and wasn’t Granger in charge of that department. And with that, somewhat abhorrent thought, Sawyer tossed Draco his trousers, and Draco was able to put them on.
“I love King’s Head.” Draco said once he was fully dressed and facing Sawyer.
“You love anything related to head.”
Draco sighed, loudly, longingly. “I really do.”
Sawyer shook his head. “Let’s go.”
They walked out to the living room where Alice, Clarence, Joe, and Thomas were fooling around, each dressed in their own clubbing outfit. Alice was particularly scandalous in her thigh high fishnets and cleavage popping corset. She was also throwing herself at Joe, arms flailing, but Joe caught her easily, the way he always did and kissed her on the mouth. Draco smiled, because while he might not be getting any sweet loving action himself, he certainly wasn’t going to be upset that they were.
They took the red line to Oxford Circus and then the brown one stop to Piccadilly. If Draco had gone one stop farther, it would have been just like going to work, and he almost forgot to get off the tube. Sawyer grabbed his hand to pull him out the door before it closed.
They practically skipped down the pavement towards the club, Draco and Sawyer with tangled fingers, Joe carrying Alice on his back while Clarence and Thomas took turns body checking each other and exchanging punishing slaps on the shoulder. The laughter echoed inside the alleyways where Joe paused to snog Alice fiercely, and Sawyer pulled and pulled and pulled on Draco as they hurried ever closer to the night’s salvation.
King’s Head was full, packed tightly with tourists, the young and wealthy, and those like Draco--who knew the bouncer and received the friends and family discounted cover. For a moment, the six of them stood, grouped near the door, taking in the smells and sights. It was spilled alcohol and sweat and too much perfume. There was the heady scent of arousal from those looking for a one time lover, and the tang of citrus fruits from the bar. The music beat its rhythm harsh and loud until it drowned out everything except the most persistent of heartbeats.
Alice smiled with her tongue between her teeth while reaching behind her to grab Joe’s shirt and pulling him forward. Clarence and Thomas made for the bar, leaving Sawyer and Draco to grin like fools at each other. Draco couldn’t stop himself, his head was moving, his foot hitting the floor, and Sawyer laughed and laughed and laughed as he pulled Draco towards the dance floor.
It was always like that between them, laughter and teasing and possessive touches, because Sawyer was Draco’s and Draco was Sawyer’s in a way that was different from the rest of the Pack. It wasn’t like Alice and Joe and it wasn’t like Florence and Ajax; it was different, but just as strong, just as deep, just as much. And they could dance together, with Draco’s arms around Sawyer’s waist, and Sawyer pushing back against him and it looked like sex.
But it wasn’t, it wasn’t ever sex between them. And while Draco would have quite happily let Sawyer push him against a wall or into a mattress or down to his knees, Sawyer wasn’t interested in that. And that was okay with Draco because having Sawyer was more important than sex with Sawyer. And if Draco watched Sawyer undress, and thrust languidly up against him in the small hours of the morning while he was still mostly asleep, and laid himself across Sawyer’s lap while they watched telly, that was okay too, because Sawyer needed Draco just as much as Draco needed him and they both knew which lines not to cross.
The club was one of those places where things between Sawyer and Draco were always more because Sawyer was young and good looking and terribly, terribly worried about being hit on. So he clung to Draco, kept no space between them, and used Draco as a shield between him and the world. They went to the bar as a pair, and stood next to each other at the urinals, and Sawyer kept a firm grip on Draco’s hand as they moved for a space on the dance floor.
It was easier on the edge of the dance floor, the air moved more, and the stink of stale alcohol and sweat wasn’t as overpowering. It was closer to the bar, and Draco was on his third vodka tonic. He was relaxed, and the music pounded in a fierce beat that slammed at his ribs and through his veins and all that energy finally had an outlet. He pulled Sawyer close, thrust his thigh between his legs, and rode the high.
And then he smelled it, something like dirt and wet grass, a faint thing that floated over the sweat, something sweet and fresh, and Draco closed his eyes. It tugged at his memory, something he hadn’t smelled in a long time, but it was distinct and only took a moment to place.
Draco opened his eyes to see Potter standing between him and the bar. Why did he have to be so fucking fit with his shoulders and his muscles? His hair was still awful, thick and curly and wild, and he was dressed in denims and a t shirt, presumably to fit in at the club. But he stood tall and distant, observing without partaking. On duty then.
“Aurors are here,” Draco said in Sawyer’s ear.
Since the end of the war, and with the huge number of Werewolves suddenly in the city, the Ministry of Magic had instituted new rules and regulations for Weres. Rules like they all needed to register and then the Ministry would help them with wolfsbane potions and job placement, but the wolfsbane was administered by the Auror department, and Weres would have to report to the department every day the week before the full moon for their dose. Rules like incarceration during the full moon, which was ridiculous. But the most abhorrent was the number of Weres permitted in a certain area, a maximum of three per establishment.
It meant that Sawyer, Draco, Alice, Joe, Clarence, and Thomas were all in violation that evening at the club. It meant that they were all in violation when they were in the flat. It meant that Packs couldn’t be together.
And so Ajax had his own rules, rules about talking to Aurors or police officers, rules about scattering and meeting up later, rules about how often they could frequent establishments and in what kinds of groups.
But Potter had seen Draco, was staring at him in fact, and Draco knew if he left that Potter would follow.
“Where?” Sawyer asked.
“Behind you.” And Sawyer turned to look, locked eyes with Potter, and then turned back into Draco’s arms, pushed himself a touch closer. “You go tell the others. I’ll distract Potter.”
“But Ajax--”
Draco shook his head. “Trust me. I’ll distract Potter while you all get away.”
Sawyer sighed. “Ajax is going to be absolutely pissed.” But he stepped around Draco, into the crowd to find the others.
And Draco lingered on the edge of the dance floor, standing still and staring at Potter, daring him to say or do something. But when Potter didn’t move, Draco took a long pull from his drink and moved forward.
Potter mirrored him, shouting, “Malfoy!”
“Potter!” Draco shouted back as he got closer. At this range, the smell of dirt was much stronger, blocking out the less pleasant scents. God, but Draco had forgotten how good he smelled, forgotten the way it intoxicated him, forgotten that feeling of want. It was so different from what he felt with Sawyer, because Sawyer was comfort and home and Pack. But Potter, Potter was more like prey, something to chase down, to nip and tumble, it called to the wild part of Draco. He took another drink to smooth over those feelings. “And what brings you to this fine establishment?”
“Why are you here?” Potter asked in what Draco could only imagine was his Auror voice.
This was the dance that Draco remembered, that slow circling, the tease of information to see who would give first, who would give more. “Why, to enjoy the ambiance, of course?” He took another drink. “You scared my date away.” Because if Potter didn’t know, then Draco wouldn’t be the one to tell him.
“Sorry?” Potter quirked his head quizzically. “Was he a muggle?”
A growl started in the back of Draco’s throat, it stemmed from his need to protect Sawyer. “So what if he was? It’s my business who I go home with at the end of the night. Not yours.” He tried to keep the growl in, but it sneaked out towards the end.
Luckily Potter couldn’t hear it over the noise of the club. He asked, “What have you been doing?” as if there were two old acquaintances who just happened to run into each other and were catching up.
Draco didn’t like it. “Am I under investigation?”
“No.” Potter eyed his drink as if alcohol was what made Draco surly. “I just didn’t expect to see you here.” As if Draco were doing something wrong just by breathing, by trying to live his life. As if Draco hadn’t changed.
He tossed back the last of the vodka and spread his arms as wide as he could in the crowd. “Well, here I am, defying your expectations,” he taunted.
It was exceedingly awkward when Potter didn’t retaliate, and Draco realized he’d overreacted. “Why are you here?” he asked rather than apologize for his behavior.
“We got a call about a disturbance, some Weres getting rowdy,” Potter replied.
He had been right to send Sawyer away, to warn the others, because Potter wasn’t here for Draco personally. And clearly Potter didn’t know, not that that was a surprise, he’d never been all that quick on the uptake. But still, it was nice to know he had the upper hand in the conversation, to realize that he was about to pull one over on the Savoir. “Well, I would hate to interrupt the important Auror work you are doing, protecting innocent muggles from rowdy Werewolves.”
“You haven’t seen anything, have you?” Potter asked, as if he trusted Draco to be honest, almost as if they were friends once.
Draco grinned with all his teeth, because really, he’d thought this evening would be fun, but this was too much. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t.” He tipped his head to and fro gleefully. “Going to make an official inquest?”
“No,” Potter said.
Good, Draco thought. He breathed in deep, searching the scents for signs of the others, but that faint trace had dwindled to nothing. “See you around, Potter.” He gave a wave and melted back into the crowd of the dance floor, making his own escape.
It was still early, barely past midnight, and Sawyer was lurking in the tube station when Draco arrived breathless and giddy. “What happened?” Sawyer asked, eyes darting around in case someone had followed Draco.
“Nothing,” Draco grinned and leered. “Potter is still an idiot.”
Sawyer looked over at the rail line. “We should get back.”
Draco groaned with his entire body. “I couldn’t possibly go back, not yet. I haven’t felt this glorious in a long time.” Draco rolled his head about, stretching his neck, and luxuriating in the knowledge that he had bested Potter. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
And Sawyer grinned back at Draco, because the moon was getting full and the air in the station was humid and they were them. He grabbed Draco by both hands and pushed their foreheads together. “Okay.”