Chapter Text
February 2002 - Draco
“ POTTER. ” Draco shoved Harry out of the way as several slicing hexes and an Avada headed straight for the Chosen One’s chest. They sprinted behind a thick column, glancing around their respective sides and throwing their own blasting and binding curses back in retaliation. Bits of concrete rained down on them, and the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune wondered how they had got themselves into this mess as he choked on the rough particles in the air.
Their investigation had led them through the seediest parts of the country, eventually landing the two aurors at this decrepit warehouse in Lincolnshire. From the outside, Bendor’s Bolts and Steel Manufacturing looked like a normal muggle factory. But, when Draco and Potter had snuck through the wards and climbed through the second-story window, it was clear this was an illegal potion production plant. The obnoxiously acidic odours burned their noses, and the walls were covered in a purple, oily sheen. Draco refused to look down and find out what was making the floor sticky. No one had taken the time to cast a single bloody cleansing charm, and it showed.
Weeks of late nights and long stakeouts had them burning the candle at both ends. Tea and Pepper-Up could only do so much to stem the bone-deep exhaustion. He would do anything to be finished with this mission, even if it took ruining his dragonhide boots in mysterious muck to get the job done.
A familiar forward dance started as Draco–lightest on his feet–advanced and scoped out their next position. Turning back with a nod to Harry, he watched as his partner swiftly situated himself at Draco’s back. They swung across the floors and down the stairs in this manner as bits and pieces of conversation floated up toward them.
“...last stop?”
“...do I have to tell you, this is…”
“First thing I’m doing is grabbing a pint at…”
“...another one.”
“Pour your own, you…”
They’d almost made it down to the first floor without being spotted. It was pure luck that their targets were too confident in their wards and preoccupied with their drinks to keep watch for intruders.
That was until Potter’s tattered muggle shoe got stuck in a deceptively deep puddle of ooze. In his efforts to yank his foot free, he knocked over a glass beaker, leaving Draco once again responsible for keeping his idiot of a partner from getting himself killed.
He evaded a particularly nasty spell, recognising it as his own. The fiery hue was easy enough to identify. The first one he’d invented with his godfather. They had rarely agreed on anything, but pushing the boundaries of spell work was a topic that allowed them—for a little while—to behave as a godchild and godfather should. Though it stung to see a bastard like Augustus Rookwood cast it, Draco kept his tone light to provoke the spell-stealer into making a mistake.
He cleared his throat enough to yell, “Really, Rookwood? Infernios ? I invented that curse. Stop casting it at me.”
A deep, grating voice called out from the other side of the warehouse.
“You deserve worse than a taste of your own medicine, you worthless snivelling piece of—”
“He really hates you, doesn’t he?” Harry half whispered, half shouted the observation.
“...Make the Cruciatus look like child’s play. You’re a cock up. I won’t kill you quick, I’ll–”
A long-suffering eye roll of grey eyes was all he could muster. The bite of regret accompanied a familiar line of thinking: It was a mistake to have stunned him. Should have killed him outright. To Harry, he said, “I wish he hated me enough to come up with some new insults.”
“You think you’re safe? You think you have any idea what’s coming? All of you dirty, disgusting—”
The rant was cut off as Augustus was forced to dive out of the way of a blue stunner from Harry.
“Ah ah, Gusty. Try to concentrate, yeah? You’ve been casting my spell wrong, and I am quite tired of regrowing singed eyebrows, you absolute prick,” Draco called out.
Harry laughed as he spoke. “You might as well shave them off for good, Malfoy.” He threw a powerful stinging hex that hit the hulking loaf of a man square in the chest. It was enough to send the wizard flying into the wall, but not enough to knock him out.
“Fuck off, Potter. You might as well watch where you’re going then.” The blond swerved just in time as another curse soared inches from his face, this one a bright violet sphere. He knew that colour, knew more about that curse than he should. He saw red . Before he knew what he was doing, a Protego Horribilis burst from his wand . Now fully protected and thoroughly incensed, he stepped out from behind the column and yelled, “ Pugemino Violentus!” conjuring an arsenal of serrated silver daggers to hover in the air, each one ending in a wickedly curved point. A slow smirk spread across his face as he flicked his wand and whispered, “ Volant. ”
The blades flew away from him and hit their marks with precision. Every remaining current Death Eater was on the floor and incapacitated within seconds. The squelching from his boots didn’t help the twist in his gut, the flash of shame at the errant reminder that he used to be one of them.
Harry looked at him, his eyes wide with horror. “You said that spell wasn’t ready for the field!”
Draco shrugged. “It is now.”
Piercing green irises flashed underneath unruly hair. “ Kinglsey said that spell is too brutal and unwieldy,” Harry said.
Draco waved him off. “Messy, sure, but effective. Plus, I adjusted it to seek out any persons who wish the caster harm.”
His partner wasn’t impressed. “ She’s going to kill you when she finds out.”
Malfoy’s glib expression faltered for a second before he rolled his shoulders back and smiled wider. “Can’t wait.”
Harry pursed his lips in thought. “What if I was irritated with you and fancied punching you in the nose?”
Furrowing his brow, he rubbed at a sore spot on his shoulder from hitting the concrete floor, yanking his hand away when he realised it was soaked in goo. He looked away from Harry as he spoke. “ Lethal harm to the caster, Potter. Calm yourself, and for the love of Merlin, get some dragonhide boots.” He turned away from the scrutinising expression on his partner’s face but started taking mental notes on how to get the spell to discern lethality.
“What do you suppose they were doing here?” he mused, in an effort to change the subject and, of course, do their jobs. Harry examined the walls while Draco inspected his boots. Coated in putrid substances, he cast several cleansing charms in a desperate attempt to salvage the dragonhide. It was no use. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and a moment to mourn the loss. He was Narcissa Malfoy’s son, after all; he was taught to appreciate the best and didn’t take well to the ruination of a magnificent pair of boots.
“I’m not sure. It could just be a hideout for them.” Harry walked over to where their opponents had been sitting, casting curse detection charms before riffling through their bags.
“I don’t think so, Sparky.” His partner’s face twisted in distaste at the moniker. “Every place they’ve stopped at has had to do with illegal potion production—greenhouses, cauldron supply shops, production factories—all shut down, all reeking of dark magic.” He stepped up to a table with dead plants and several abandoned cauldrons. Running a hand along the edge of a pewter pot, he pondered on what they could be doing with all of this. Potions had always been at strength, but for the life of him he couldn’t piece together what they were trying to accomplish, especially in a place like this. It was by far the filthiest location they’d visited. He wondered how long it had been since the black market dealers abandoned this site. Picking up what had once been a leafy green, Draco held it up to the light. Decay coated the organism, but it didn’t disintegrate when touched. It looked like a forest herb, so…three to six months tops since someone left this station. He set the plant matter down where he’d found it.
“Oi, Malfoy?” Potter called out, his arm elbow-deep in a knapsack. As Draco walked over, his partner pulled out several potion bottles with a muted yellow concoction and lined them up on a stool.
“You don’t suspect any of these wizards are actually witches, do you?” he asked. Draco tilted his head, furrowing his brows as he pursed his lips.
“I didn’t think to check Potter, and I will absolutely report you if you even think about taking a peek.”
A disdainful smile crossed the Chosen One’s face.
“Hilarious, Malfoy. If they’re all men, why do they have a stock of fertility potions?” he asked as he pulled out bottle after bottle, all labelled with various uses for reproduction.
The thought of a brood of Rookwoods running around was a new nightmare for Draco, but he pushed the repulsive thought aside as he tried to focus on the facts before them. “As loath as I am to say this Potter, dark wizards have families just like everybody else. The number of potions, though, is...excessive, I will admit.”
Green eyes rolled before Potter responded. “It’s like you said, all the locations we’ve traced are key pieces of potion production. You’d think they’d have stocks of dittany and pain relief, but instead, it’s these.” The scar spanning his forehead stretched as he lowered his brows in thought. The other wizard was a persistent pixie when a mystery was afoot. He gestured to the stool. “We need to inform Tonks and Kingsley.” They looked at each other, anxious dismay corrupting the elation of their success.
“He can’t be that upset with us for disobeying the order to not engage, can he?” Potter adjusted his glasses.
“I don’t know, Potter; you’ve known him longer than I have.”
“Sure, but you were both—”
Draco scoffed before Harry could finish his sentence. “In Slytherin? And that makes us what ? The exact same wizard who will react to things the exact same way? I thought we were past this narrow, close-minded outlook, Sparks. I had to deal with your snoring and haphazard travelling etiquette for weeks; the least you could do is grant me the opportunity to be my own person.”
“That’s rich.” Harry stood from his crouched position and crossed his arms, the corners of his mouth forming a wry grin.
“Is it?”
“Wasn’t it you the other night at drinks who said, Oh, Merlin, who invited the Ravenclaws? It’s not trivia night, is it? I refuse to be fact-checked when I’ve had firewhiskey. ”
Draco pointed a finger at him and said, “I’ll have you know that Luna—”
“Ah, so because you have one Ravenclaw friend you’re immune from ‘narrow, close-minded’ outlooks? What about that time you made sure to sit on the opposite end from Susan, Justin, and Wayne because you Didn’t want Hufflepuffs snatching my Treacle Tart when I’m not looking ?” Harry’s expectant look grated on Draco’s nerves, but he had no retort, opening his mouth and promptly closing it.
The insufferable git adopted a triumphant expression, continuing when Draco chose silence. “Exactly. We’d better get our story straight before we get back to the Ministry, or Kingsley will have our arses. I don’t want a repeat of June. Tonks refuses to take down the photo and laughs at it every time she walks through the door.”
The partners shuddered, recalling the Director of the DMLE assigning them to the owlery for a month. They could never forget, seeing as how Tonks—their boss —had snapped a photo of them covered in owl droppings and put it up on her wall as a reminder of what happens when you don’t follow orders. They hastily set about running through their version of events.
By the time their reinforcements showed up, every dark wizard—save for Augustus—had been levitated, searched, and lined up, ready to be transported to Azkaban. The poison in the daggers caused an uncomfortable paralysis of the limbs. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to keep them still for a good long while.
“I can’t believe we caught Gusty’s lot. That should be the last of them.” Harry wiped his face with the end of his sleeve, both wizards covered in plaster, grime, and dust.
“I’ll miss him. Truly.” Draco nudged Rookwood with his foot, toeing at the small blade in the man’s chest.
“Ouch, you prick, that fucking hurts,” the Death Eater slurred through gritted teeth.
Draco bent over him and applied more pressure. “It hurts does it? I saw that curse you threw at me, you fucking animal. I know what it does.”
Draco knew Dolohov had taught his curse to his fellow Death Eaters and recalled his own experience learning it. Mudblood’s Blight, they called it. Stomach turning as the image of its first victim flashed in his mind. He was hit by thoughts of the pain she endured every day, caused by the mark on her abdomen. Just one of the many scars she carried.
Too many , he thought.
Rookwood smiled as the stupor made its way through his nervous system. “Tell your Mudblood we know what she’s doing.” He bared yellow, rotting teeth. “We will never forget what she did.” The man was wracked with deep, aggressive coughs. He struggled to breathe for a moment before the disgusting grin reappeared. “And we are coming for her.”
“That’s enough ,” Draco growled, with a sharp kick to Rookwood’s stomach.
A shout of pain escaped the immobilised Death Eater before he succumbed to unconsciousness—catching Harry’s attention as he gripped Draco by the elbow, pulling him back and away from his intended victim. “Calm down, Malfoy. He’s trying to get to you.”
Draco yanked his arm back, shaking it out. It was an effort to not apparate Rookwood to a secluded place and kill him slowly. “Did you hear him? Hear what he said about—”
“I heard the last bit, yes. She’s safe. She’s fine.”
Draco huffed out a laugh. “Sure, Sparks. It’s fine that Rookwood is throwing Dolohov’s curse at us and that he inferred the existence of more dark wizard groups out there we’re unaware of.” Draco’s anger got the better of him, his hands clenched into fists as he paced around the table. “Oh, and apparently those other groups are looking to start up a black market of fertility potions for Salazar knows what purpose.”
Potter readied himself to go outside and help direct the other aurors and cleanup crew, but not before clapping a hand on the frazzled blonde’s back, voice quiet. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
“Let’s get going. I’m sure Kingsley would love to hear all about your field-ready daggers.” Harry raised his eyebrow and pursed his lips, obviously still upset about the clearly working spell. They had fixed up the front of the building and recast the muggle-repelling charms, leaving the rest of the work to the junior aurors.
“Just because you used an unknown spell and almost snuffed the life out of your extremely talented and impeccably dressed partner when we were teenagers doesn’t mean the rest of us responsible wizards can’t innovate.” Draco levitated Rookwood over to the other prone bodies, aurors preparing to portkey them away. He made sure to cut off the levitation spell early and drop the prick on the concrete floor. His smile widened when he heard a crack.
Harry shook his head. “Whatever mate, I’m heading out. See you at the debrief.” His partner turned around, walking away, not looking back to see if Draco would follow.
Draco lingered for a moment, preparing himself for the trip back to London. He was anxious to return to the Ministry, where a riotous firecracker of a witch would no doubt have his hide for using Pugemino Violentus without running it by her first. In truth, he looked forward to that heat; he craved it, wanted to be so close it burned. It was the after that gave him pause. Back to a cold, empty Manor, absent of anyone to interact with besides his employees who returned to their own homes once the day was done. As unbelievably disrupting as it was, he had got used to Potter’s snoring. He had enjoyed the company in the morning and at meals. It might be time to consider Theo’s offer of becoming flatmates.
Draco shook his head. It was better to live at the Manor. It doused any temptation to invite friends over, to ask a particular friend to come home with him. Plus, he had no trust in Theo’s ability to cast silencing charms when he had overnight guests.
A shadow moved through the field next to the warehouse, rustling the tall weeds and setting off every alarm bell in Draco’s head. He whipped his wand out, cast a shield, and scanned the empty lot, eyes roaming the overgrown vegetation. He could have sworn he had seen…No, he had seen nothing of note. Draco was tired and hungry and needed to get back to London. The weeds rustled to his right, and Draco prepared himself for another fight when a rodent scurried out, its little legs working at full speed to zoom across the street and disappear down an alley. Releasing the breath he was holding, Draco lowered his wand and made his way towards the apparition point.
He took one last look at what was supposed to be the final dark wizard hideout in Britain, and a chill swept through him as he recalled Rookwood’s parting words.
Your Mudblood...we’re coming for her.
The cacophony of magic, movement, and sound assaulted Draco’s ears the moment the green flames spat him out into the Atrium of the Ministry. The first thing he’d done when he received his uniform was modify it, charming the collar to become a hood upon summoning. Reaching back, he pulled it around himself to hide not only his telltale hair, but his face as he looked around the expansive hall before him. The stretch of marble between the floo and the lifts was littered with media personnel and Draco faltered. An irritated huff sounded behind him and with a muttered apology, he stepped to the side just as a folded parchment zipped through the air and did its best to lodge itself in his eye. Unfortunately for the menacing memo, Draco tilted his head and it flew by, no doubt seeking its next victim. Confident steps carried him into the crowd, not stopping for a moment lest a vulture see him and cause the entire mob to descend. He hadn’t been given access to the apparition points within the building yet and was forced to utilise other means. It was for the best, really, as his reintroduction to society was relatively recent. Not to mention the shadows of his past, which clung to him.
Figuratively and literally .
He’d tried to rid himself of the billowing death eater smoke, enlisting help from the most skilled apparaters he could find. No amount of practice or adjustments worked, and the furor that would occur if he popped into the Atrium or the DMLE in a vortex of black vapour wasn’t worth it. Coming to terms with the possibility of a permanent shadow apparition was daunting. The frustration had almost overwhelmed him until unlikely allies had provided a different perspective.
“So you’ve got a distinctive apparition. Bully for you.”
“You’d think he’d cultivate it.”
“You’d think he’d play with it.”
“Improve it.”
“Use it for good.”
“That’s an idea. You taking notes, Pointy?”
And so he found himself trudging to a muggle phone booth, doing his best to avoid any interaction along the way. Though the increased number of bodies circled around the fountain wasn’t ideal, Draco hoped it would work in his favour. Shouted inquiries cut above the din.
“Has the Wizengamot made a decision yet?”
“Is the chief unspeakable in the courtroom today?”
“Any word on the uptick in black market potion dealings?”
Draco’s gait slowed. Now that was an interesting question. He angled his head to try and catch who had asked, but they’d blended back into the crowd. It was a shame their query was thoroughly ignored by the communications director. She smoothed the lapels of her suit before resting the tip of her wand on her throat.
“The Wizengamot is still in session. We will release a statement as soon as a verdict has been reached. Thank you.”
Interest lost, Draco made it to the lift line. Booming laughter drifted closer until it was directly behind him.
“—and she was ever so appreciative of my assistance in apprehending the thief.” Draco’s lip curled, hoping to all the gods he would be the last person who could fit in the next lift.
“That can’t be it, Adrian. What happened next?”
“Let’s just say the little minx didn’t mind if I stole her away to my flat so she could show me just how grateful she was.” The group burst into obnoxious snickers, and Draco counted the individuals ahead of him once, then again, then a third time, as if it would conjure enough people to avoid the group behind him. He was about to skip to a different queue when a hand clapped down on his shoulder. On instinct, he dropped and spun around, knocking the hand away. His wand raised, positioned to blast the assailant away if needed. His shield shimmered.
“Woah there, mate. Just wanted to say hello.” The wizard stuck out his hand. Draco held his stance, glaring at the other man’s hand before landing back on his face. The group was clad in loose robes, standard auror grey. The attire he would be wearing had Harry and Tonks not insisted that they both wear the special investigator uniform instead.
Light grey clashed horribly with his complexion, anyway. Dark charcoal, silver buttons, tailored fit, and a high collar to boot were much better suited for his aesthetic. Turning it down would have been ghastly.
It was an effort to relax as he rose back to full height, taking in the heads that had turned at their minor shuffle.
Adrian was almost as tall as Draco. Almost.
He held onto that fact as his mother’s lessons kicked in and he forced himself to speak.
“Pucey.”
“Malfoy.” He paused, addressing his audience. “Should have known better than to startle a special investigator.” The last two words carried a sarcastic lilt, and Draco bristled. Percy turned back with a brittle smile, more a baring of teeth than anything else.
The lift opened, but the gods ignored his plea, and Draco manoeuvred to the back corner, as far away from his coworkers and their tittering as he could manage.
There were more important things to focus on.
The lift car cleared out, and it took a minute for the other aurors to get a suitable distance away.
Now to find someone he could tolerate.
Where was his bloody partner?
As irritating as Potter was, Draco knew he was quite perceptive. He had this keen look about him when he knew more about a situation than he should, and he wore that look often. Potter had grown into his instincts as they left Hogwarts, and, though Draco would never admit it, his partner also had an exceptional talent for thinking on his feet. What Draco would admit—often and loudly—was that Potter still behaved like a hippogriff in a tea shop and was as subtle as a Weasley fireworks show.
They worked well together, neither prying too deeply into the personal lives of the other, but of course they didn’t need to. Draco knew Potter overcompensated and bristled at the idea of sharing the weight of his burdens. In return, Potter knew Draco spent most of his nights at the manor alone and was desperate to prove he wasn’t the same boy who had made devastating mistake after devastating mistake.
Draco knew Potter wanted to know everything about a certain curly-haired, endlessly snarky and loud-mouthed friend of his. Just as Harry knew Draco was ravenous for information about a certain curly-haired, endlessly opinionated and sagacious friend of his.
Neither would take the next step.
Neither would risk the ties they had created. The small but deep circle of friends who crossed house lines and worked through their war experiences, bonded through their recovery.
It had only been three and a half years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Two years had passed since they’d completed their—delayed—final year and left the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for good. Draco was content to be a part of weekly drinks, content to observe and, in truth, yearn from afar. He knew that Harry felt the same way. They were both still damaged, both still traumatised by the things they had to do to survive. It would be blasphemous to taint the bright lights of their inner circles by giving in to their deeper desires.
Luna Lovegood was to blame for the current state of his affairs. The wispy spirit had owled Draco, asking if she could come over for tea and chat. Draco had found he couldn’t say no to the witch after her previous extended visit to the manor, and they’d spent the afternoon in the garden.
“I’m going to open up a shoppe.” Luna sighed.
Draco’s eyebrows raised. “That’s...lovely.” He tried to recall his mother’s lessons on decorum; he hadn’t had anyone at the Manor and was a bit rusty.
“There is always use for a place to gather away from prying eyes.”
Draco continued observing her, not sure how to navigate this strange conversation—or friendship, for that matter.
“Right,” he tried. “The Prophet loses its mind every time one of us sneezes.”
“I’ve bought the entire building. There are two flats above it, plenty of room for unexpected guests.”
Draco frowned. “Aren’t you living at Zabini manor?”
She nodded.
Draco was again confused, scratching his chin as he tried to understand where Lovegood was going with this. “So, it will just be empty?”
“Not for long, I’m sure.” She didn’t say anything further for a long while.
It was nice, Draco supposed, to have a friend you could just sit with. No expectations, no need to force words out for no good reason. No need to explain himself. The wind changed direction, and Luna spoke again. “You’re not doing anything Friday.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.
“No, I believe I’m free.” As if he had any plans to speak of these days. He had already decided it was time to come out of his self-imposed banishment. He could no longer avoid the pull to the people he cared about. The thought of re-entering the wizarding world both terrified and excited him. He would often find himself pacing the halls as he worried over the potential fallout. Would they accept him? Would they understand? What would he do? What could he do to give back to a community his family and his choices had taken so much from?
Luna stood up and brought the tea tray with her. As they walked back to the manor, Luna again spoke as if he had no choice in the matter.
“You’ll come to the Leaky Cauldron around 6:15. We’re supposed to meet at 6:30, but Hermione always shows up early, so 6:15 will give you both some time to adjust to the other’s presence.”
Draco tripped over his feet and knocked the floating tray out of the air. The tea set shattered into several hundred shiny fragments.
Luna put her hand out to stop him from falling face-first. He cleared his throat and could feel his face redden in embarrassment. “Thank you, Lovegood.”
“It’s important to catch one another when we fall.”
Draco stood staring at the fire a long while after Luna had left.
“You did what ?” Kingsley sat up in his chair.
“We apprehended the last death eater terrorists left in the UK?” Draco offered.
At that response, the director of the DMLE shuffled his papers in his hands, looking down at the parchment as if it would grant him the patience to get through this conversation without throwing a hex at his subordinate. “Very amusing, Auror Malfoy. You—”
“Saved Potter from getting hit with a curse?”
Potter shot him an exasperated look. His cousin—hair a deep magenta for the moment—leaned against the wall in the corner behind Kingsley, who continued as if Draco had never spoken. “—used an untested curse in the field—”
“I’ve tested it plenty, sir.” The look in Kingsley’s eyes sharpened, and Draco knew he had hit the limit. He dipped his head and leaned back in his chair, indicating he wouldn’t push his superior any further.
“Fine. You cast an unsanctioned curse in the field, one which could have backfired and had you and your partner incapacitated, not to mention at the mercy of dangerous criminals. None of this would have even happened if you two hadn’t gone off script.”
It was as if a fairy was in Draco’s chest, pushing buttons and compelling him to risk his own life for the sake of a quip. “I would hardly label Rookwood a dangerous criminal. I would liken him more to a thorn in my side.”
Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “Your humour is not appreciated, nor is your blatant disregard for safety precautions. It’s as if Godric himself possessed you to behave like a bloody Gryffindor.”
Draco gave a theatrical gasp and shook his head in horror. Tonks laughed. “Too far Kingsley, too far,” Draco said. The wizard in question didn’t join in the laughter, but his mouth did soften into a wry smile.
“Now, I am most concerned with this business about Hermione,” Kingsley continued, ignoring Draco’s offended tone.
Draco tensed, her name being the only thing these days strong enough to break through the blase mask he had perfected over the years.
Harry saved him from answering. “I heard it, sir. He said that they knew about Hermione, used Dolohov’s curse on purpose as a direct reference to her, and insinuated that she was a target of other dark wizards we are not aware of.”
Draco felt an intense desire to see her, to lay his eyes on her and confirm for himself that she was unhurt.
Kingsley fell silent, a long minute passing before he spoke.
“Alright.” He steepled his long fingers. “Let’s initiate protective details. Even down in the DoM. We’ve amped up the defences since the war, but I don’t want to leave anything to chance.” He looked back towards Tonks. “How many Aurors do we have at our disposal?”
“Plenty. Though you might want to talk to ’Mione first, Kings.” Kingsley raised a brow but said nothing in reply. Tonks pushed off the wall to pace, her hair darkening to navy. “For the core protective detail, I’d give her Pucey—”
Fucking hell. Draco grit his teeth and did everything he could to keep the indifferent mask in place.. “—and Mustaq.”
“Mustaq? I thought he was still working at the Ministry in Bahrain?” Harry chimed in.
Tonks nodded. “He was. Just transferred back. Started this Monday while you two were chasing Rookie and Co.”
Last Draco had heard, Mustaq was working as an assassin and had come a long way since the duelling club at Hogwarts. Stealthy and deadly and the kind of person Draco would select for a protective detail. Pucey, however...was a problem.
Mustaq was professional. Pucey was...personable. For all intents and purposes, Draco should like Adrian. He was popular for a reason, the kind of man anyone—but particularly a woman—would enjoy spending time with. Possibly the sort Granger would skip out on drinks for.
Draco didn’t think he could clench his jaw any harder.
Kingsley peered at him, reading the room but not saying a thing.
“You’ve brought the potions you found to the lab, correct?” He directed the question at Harry.
“Yes, sir, and our reports will include every location we tracked Rookwood to in the last few weeks. We believe they are all connected in some way.”
“Anything else?”
Both Aurors shook their heads.
“Alright, send me your full reports before you leave. See you Monday.” Kingsley dropped his eyes back to the parchment, picking up a quill and annotating the missive.
Effectively dismissed, Harry and Draco stepped into the hallway, Tonks taking a seat across from Kingsley to discuss other DMLE matters.
“What kind of hex do you think she’ll use?” Draco mused. He was glad Hermione was getting a protective detail. That witch had angered enough traditionalist wizards in her time at the DoM. He knew her well enough that while she would agree, she would not appreciate Kingsley deciding on it without speaking to her first.
“On you? Or on Kingsley?” Harry shrugged. He laughed
“Either, I suppose. Whichever one of us she sees first is going to—”
They rounded the corner, right into the furious face of Hermione Granger.