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He’s been on their watch-list for some time but only ever as a precaution. The baby Death Eater, everyone calls him. Except for Harry. He can only ever be Malfoy in Harry’s head. 

Today, however, it’s clear that something has changed. There are whispers around the Auror office, louder and more frequent than usual; whispers that stop when Harry walks into the room. They all know how Harry spoke for Draco Malfoy at his trial and they’re all familiar with the hard look Harry gets on his face when unfounded rumours about Malfoy are spoken within his earshot. 

It’s not that he and Malfoy are on good terms. Far from it. But they don’t know Malfoy like Harry does. They haven’t been his rival for over ten years. They haven’t earnt the right to speak about him in that way. 

Harry’s in Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office in seconds. He doesn’t bother to knock. “What have you found out about him? Who have you assigned to investigate?”

Kingsley looks up at Harry with tired eyes. Outside the office, they’re good friends. But here, Harry’s always testing him, and often Kingsley has to remind him who is Head Auror. 

“Harry,” he says with a sigh. “Please afford me some respect in my own office.” 

Harry nods. He does respect his boss, undoubtedly, but he’s fond of breaking the rules to suit his own purpose, and he’s used to getting away with it. Kingsley always lets him get away with it. 

“Take a seat,” Kingsley says. When Harry no longer stands over him and they are at eye level, he continues.  “We don’t know anything yet. We’ve received a tip-off that Mr. Malfoy is conspiring with werewolves to launch a coordinated attack on the Ministry of Magic. I’ve–” 

“How many people would gladly provide information against Malfoy?” Harry interrupts. It’s not the first time a civilian has made false claims. And it won’t be the last. “An anonymous tip-off is hardly–” 

“It was not anonymous, Harry. It’s from a reliable source.”

“A biased source,” Harry corrects, leaning forward. “People have been treating–” 

“You’re right, Harry. The source is incredibly biased but not in the way you would expect.” Kingsley delivers the final blow with a heavy voice. “It’s Narcissa Malfoy.” 

Harry falls back in his seat. Narcissa would never betray her son. If she’s tipping off Magical Law Enforcement, it can only be because she’s worried for his safety.

“So, what’s our next move?” Harry jumps up and begins pacing Kingsley’s office. “Stakeout at Malfoy Manor? Trailing duty?”

Kingsley straightens up in his chair. “I’ve already assigned Rupards and Slater. I’m not putting–”

“Rupards hates the Malfoys!” 

Kingsley wordlessly casts a silencing charm on the office door.

“He won’t be fair,” Harry continues. “He’ll let his personal prejudices get–”

“And if I assign the case to you, you’re saying you won’t do that?”

Harry’s pauses in front of Kingsley’s desk. He puts on his sincere, noble face. The one that makes Kingsley give in to him every time. “If he’s really guilty of anything, I’ll have no hesitation bringing him in,” he says honestly. "But to put someone in the field who already believes he’s guilty before any proof? That’s dangerous. Hermione and I are the only Auror team here who will give him a fair chance.”

Kingsley closes his eyes. Harry already knows what he’s going to say next.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Hermione eyes the case file slammed on her desk. “You didn’t,” she says, looking up at Harry with arched eyebrows.  

Harry shrugs and drops into the desk beside her. “He deserves more than Rupards.”

Hermione opens the file. Harry’s already added untidy notes in the margins. She hates when he does that. She keeps reminding him to use sticky notes instead. 

“And what if he’s guilty?” she asks. 

“Then we do our job and arrest him,” Harry says in his responsible matter-of-fact voice. It always impresses the new recruits but never Hermione. 

“And I suppose you’ll also speak at his trial?”

Hermione’s voice isn’t cruel, but it is challenging. 

“I’ll do my job, Hermione.”

Their first task is a simple stakeout outside Malfoy Manor. Narcissa Malfoy had reported that a number of known werewolves, and many who had been involved with Voldemort before fleeing, were often visiting the house at odd hours of the night. 

Of course, a wizarding stakeout is a little more difficult than the similar muggle operation. For one, there are magical barriers surrounding Malfoy Manor alerting the occupants to intruders. Secondly, it’s not enough to simply man the gate, as there are many ways for a witch, wizard or werewolf to arrive. 

So, Harry devises an airtight plan: Hermione will visit the house to question Malfoy with Harry in tow under the invisibility cloak. This will get them past the magical barriers and inside the Manor. Then, after questioning Malfoy, Hermione will leave to a safe location just outside the barriers of the Manor for back up. And Harry will remain in the Manor following Malfoy all night. 

Hermione doesn’t like the plan of course. She looks over Harry’s scribbled notes with a frown.

“This is a serious investigation, Harry. You’re not back in sixth year stalking Draco Malfoy again.”

“I know this is serious. But the only way we’re going–”

“This–” Hermione gestures towards Harry’s scribbled plan– “is completely unethical. You wanted to take this case so Malfoy would be treated fairly and yet you’re the one more than happy to invade his privacy.”

“It’s the only way–”

“We’ll monitor his Floo network with a spell,” Hermione suggests, adding her own neat sticky notes to the case file. “We’ll monitor his magical barriers with a spell. We’ll monitor the skies around the Manor with a spell. We’ll monitor the number of people in the Manor at any one time with a spell.” She looks up at Harry. “And then we’ll come back to our warm comfortable office and wait for anything to change. We’re wizards, Harry. It’s really that simple.”

“How will we hear–”

“Once we have confirmation werewolves are visiting him, then we’ll investigate further. But not before he’s given us reason to.”

Hermione’s the perfect Auror partner for Harry. She can’t keep him from breaking rules – sometimes she actually helps – but she can usually get him to behave by the book when it matters. While Harry excelled in duelling training, Hermione proved herself with her knowledge of every spell in the Auror handbook – a book she had memorised in their first week.

Originally Harry had planned to become Auror partners with Ron Weasley, but Ron hadn’t made it through the training. He’d dropped out and started helping George with the joke shop. They’d both been much happier since. 

As much as they argue, Harry is glad to work with Hermione. He trusts her completely, and though he won’t admit it, he relies on her to pull him back sometimes. Like now.

So, he agrees to Hermione’s reworked plan: Harry will visit the house to question Malfoy with Hermione in tow under the invisibility cloak. While Harry questions Malfoy, Hermione will cast all the monitoring spells within the Manor walls. Then, they will both leave together and go back to the office. No excessive stalking necessary.

Of course, Harry still likes his original plan better. 

 “Potter.” Malfoy’s initial expression of surprise twists into a diplomatic smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure of the great saviour himself at my door?”

Harry hesitates for a moment. He wasn’t expecting Malfoy to greet him at the door. He was expecting a house-elf. Hermione, invisible beneath the invisibility cloak nudges him pointedly. 

“I’m here on official Auror business.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “Of course. Verity–” a woman appears at Malfoy’s side immediately “–please take Mr. Potter’s coat and show him to the sitting room.”  

Malfoy turns immediately and disappears into the Manor, leaving Harry (and Hermione) alone with Verity. He wonders what the purpose of Malfoy’s greeting was at all.

With his coat carefully hung in the entrance foyer – large enough in itself to be a studio apartment – Harry is lead through the halls of Malfoy Manor. A double tap on his shoulder lets him know Hermione is taking her leave to cast spells around the house. She’ll give the same signal when she’s finished. 

If the entrance foyer is large enough to be a studio apartment, the sitting room could easily be carved up into a three-bedroom bungalow. The amount of open floor space seems like a ridiculous waste. At one side of the room, by a grand fireplace, sits Draco Malfoy leaning back leisurely on a tall leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other. He eyes Harry in the doorway. 

“Now tell me, Auror Potter, what have I done wrong this time? Did I breathe too loudly? Have the neighbours accused me of existing?”

Harry takes the seat opposite Malfoy. Immediately, he notices the heat from the nearby flames – despite all the room’s available space, the fireplace is far too close. He can’t see how Malfoy can stand it. He does his best to ignore the bead of sweat that already rolls down the back of his neck. 

“I have reason to believe you’re involved in a conspiracy against the Ministry of Magic,” Harry says, trying to maintain a professional tone. He’s not here to get into it with a childhood rival, however much Malfoy’s prickliness provokes him. 

Malfoy laughs, then his mouth twists into an amused smirk. “That’s a new one, at least. What reason? Because of this?” He jerks up the long black sleeve of his tunic crudely to reveal the Dark Mark. It twitches under Harry’s gaze.

“This isn’t about–”

“That’s what it’s always about, Potter,” Malfoy interrupts will a roll of his eyes. “I can’t bare an arm without offending someone. I can’t leave my house without people suspecting I’m up to something. I’m forever the villain. And now I’m conspiring against the Ministry of Magic.” He mimics Harry’s professional Auror voice.

“Look Malfoy, you know I don’t want this to be true–”

“Oh, do I?” Malfoy leans forward in his chair with an insincere smile. 

“But you’re not helping by being antagonistic about it,” Harry finishes. One hand drops down to feel his wand through his trouser pocket – just to know it’s still there. Malfoy’s eyes flicker down as he does, catching the movement. 

“My behaviour is irrelevant if people have already made their minds up about me.”

“I haven’t made my mind up yet so you could try a little politeness.” Harry’s tone is curt, the sharp edges of his temper starting to show. He reminds himself mentally that he needs to remain professional. He’s here as an Auror. Not as Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy is a suspect.

Malfoy pulls away, leaning back in his chair once more. He folds his arms. His voice is insincere when he speaks. “My deepest apologies, Auror Potter. How may I assist with your investigation?”

Harry pulls out his notebook, determined to get something out of this questioning. “Do you know Winona Crump?”

Malfoy blinks slowly. Once. Twice. Five painfully slow times before he answers. “No. Should I?”

“Phileas Metriage?”

One blink. “No.”

“Felix Sariwade?”

“As much I enjoy wasting my time with you, let’s get straight to it. You want to know if I know any werewolves.” 

Harry watches Malfoy’s face carefully. It remains impassive. He’s goading Harry, he must be. 

“How do you know I’m asking you about werewolves if you don’t know any of them?”

Two blinks and a smirk. “I don’t know any werewolves.” A pause. “Except for your godson of course.”

“He’s not–”

“Of course, Auror Potter,” Malfoy interrupts, cutting Harry short of yelling. “Forgive me, I was just trying to get a rise out of you.” He smirks. “I succeeded.”

Harry wants to interrogate the insufferable bastard further. How dare he bring Teddy into this, his own cousin? How dare he sit there smugly, not caring that Harry knows he’s lying? Harry’s ready for a duel, whether it be of words or wands, when a double tap on his shoulder from Hermione changes his course. He steels himself and wraps his questioning up.

“One last question. Draco Malfoy, are you a werewolf?”

Malfoy stares back at Harry defiantly. “If I was a registered werewolf, you’d already know about. If I was an unregistered werewolf, I’d hardly admit by illegal status to an Auror. Kindly don’t waste my time with brainless questions. So, will that be all?”

Harry stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks down at Malfoy with a tight grip on his concealed wand. “For now.”

“Then I look forward to the next accusation.” Malfoy redirects his gaze to the fireplace beside him, waving his hand lazily in Harry’s direction. “Goodbye, Potter. Verity will show you out.”

Harry isn’t fond of waiting. Back at the Ministry of Magic, he paces the office he shares with Hermione, passing his wand from one hand to the other, while Hermione calmly completes paperwork with a steady hand. 

“Are you sure you–” He starts to ask again.

“Would you like to go back alone and cast all the spells yourself?” Hermione asks through tight lips. 

Harry drops down into his desk chair. “No.” He runs a hand through his hair. “When do you think–”

“I don’t know, Harry. The spells will activate as soon as Malfoy has a visitor. That could be any time.”

“But what if you missed one of the fireplaces? What if–”

“I also cast a targeted Homenum Revelio charm so any additional human presence will be noted regardless,” Hermione reminds Harry in a clipped voice. He knows that voice – she’s getting impatient with him. “And I didn’t miss any fireplaces.”

Harry leans back in his chair, letting his feet rest on his desk. He’s dirtying paperwork but he doesn’t care. His thoughts are on Malfoy. He can’t be a werewolf. Harry would surely have known before now. Unless it’s a recent affliction? Werewolf or not, how can Harry defend a guilty man? Again. 

Hours later, Hermione has completed all their week’s paperwork. Harry has added a date to a blank piece of parchment of which he has no use for.

Hermione stacks her papers and packs away her ink and quill. “It’s getting late. He might not even have any visitors tonight. We should–”

“But what if he does?”

Hermione walks to the door of their office and stops to pull on her cloak.  “I’ll send you a Patronus as soon as I’m notified.”

Harry drops his feet from his desk and follows Hermione, holding out his wand. “Transfer the spells over to my wand. I want to know immediately.”

“You want to be the first to know you mean.” Hermione sighs, too tired to protest. “Fine.” She pulls out her own wand and completes the transfer. Harry feels the distinct weight of the spells entwining themselves with his wand.

Now he just has to wait.

Again, Harry isn’t fond of waiting. 

After a week and a half, the spells on Malfoy Manor have not activated once. Malfoy has no visitors and he never leaves the house.

If the lack of visitors could confirm Malfoy’s innocence, of course, Harry would be pleased. But it doesn’t mean anything. It could mean Malfoy is lying low for a while. It could mean the conspiracy meeting isn’t until next week. It’s frustrating.

Finally, one night, Harry feels it. It’s dark, he’s in bed, but something compels him to roll over and grab hold of his wand. Malfoy has a visitor. 

He checks the time. 4.52am. Not the time an innocent man usually hosts guests. Harry dresses fast and Apparates to Malfoy Manor in a matter of minutes. 

He hesitates at the gates. He hasn’t notified Hermione for a reason. Right now, she’d be telling him to stop. She’d be reminding him of the Manor’s alert wards. Reminding him of Malfoy’s right to privacy. But there might not be another opportunity like this. All Harry has to do is get a glimpse of the visitor and ID him. It’s simple.

He covers himself with the invisibility cloak and spells himself between the gates.

Malfoy Manor’s sparse lawn lights up immediately, detecting the intruder. Despite the safety of the cloak, Harry feels exposed. He remains still, waiting. 

The Manor’s entrance door opens, and Draco Malfoy strides out, fully dressed as if it were a reasonable hour and not 5am in the morning. There is no sign of a guest. He stops at the entry stairs, looking over the lawn with narrowed eyes, his wand raised. 

“I know you’re there,” he calls out. “Show yourself.”

Harry, of course, does no such thing. 

Malfoy tries again. “I won’t deal with invisible clients. You either reveal yourself now or you leave my property.”

Clients? What kind of clients would a werewolf be taking? Harry remains still. Perhaps he should have listened to hypothetical Hermione’s advice. 

Malfoy raises his wand, casting a silent spell across the lawn. It becomes obvious what it is when the grass at Harry’s feet, and only Harry’s feet, flutters tellingly – a tracking spell. Harry looks back up to see Malfoy making a beeline for him. Shit. He turns and runs.

He doesn’t look back until he’s outside the wards. Malfoy stands at the gates, wand still raised. “If you still want to talk, go through my contact. I won’t have strangers turning up at my house unannounced,” he says to the air, before turning and beginning the long walk back across the Manor’s lawn. 

Harry watches Malfoy retreat, a number of thoughts running through his head. The biggest and simplest; Malfoy is guilty. The accusation is true. Why else would he be meeting people in the middle of the night? Why else would he have to have a contact? Harry wants to find a justification, but it is all too shady, too suspicious. Malfoy has to be guilty. 

Of course, Hermione isn’t too happy when she finds out where Harry has been. He debates not saying anything, but he figures what he’s learned might come in handy. And Hermione really is the brains of their operation after all. The one who can connect all the puzzle pieces together. 

She’s reviewing new case files when he comes clean, remaining behind his own desk as a protective barrier.

“What were you thinking? What if Malfoy found you? Then what? Our whole investigation could have been in jeopardy. Did you think about that?” She pauses briefly, not really waiting for a response. “No, of course not. Harry Potter, think of the consequences? What a novel idea!”

Harry lifts his glasses to rub his eyes. “I had to–”

“And what did you find out? Nothing. You risked everything for nothing.” Hermione drops her head back to her paperwork, allowing her words to sink in. 

Harry stifles a yawn and tries to remember what he found out. It was certainly more than nothing. “We know he has a contact. If we can just find–”

“Mary and Mitchell Dunberg,” Hermione says drily, not looking up.

Harry sits up a little straighter. “Mary and Mitchell Dun– who are they?”

“Malfoy’s potential contacts, or at least the owners of the fireplace that was used to travel to Malfoy Manor last night.”

“How did you–”

“Instead of rushing off to Malfoy Manor and almost getting myself caught, I’ve been looking into the Floo network and tracing the magical signature that triggered Malfoy’s fireplace.”

Of course. Harry could hug her. “Have I ever told you you’re a genius, Hermione?”

“Not nearly enough,” Hermione waves a hand dismissively, but there is a telling smile on her face. “Flattery won’t distract me, by the way. I’m still mad.”

“So, what’s the address?”

A small, frail woman opens the door a crack, her eyes widening when she spots the Auror badges displayed in Harry and Hermione’s hands. Her eyes flicker between them.

“Mrs Dunberg, is it?” Hermione starts gently, “I’m Hermione Granger, and this is Harry Potter. We’re Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. May we come in? We’d like to ask you and your husband a few questions.”

Mrs Dunberg nods mutely, and opens the door wider, gesturing for them to enter. Her fingers are long and bony with nails clearly bitten down to the skin. The rest of her body is covered in long scratches. A terrible image of Malfoy, half werewolf, half man with claws as long as his fingers springs to Harry’s mind unbidden. He shakes it away. Mrs Dunberg escorts them into a small sitting room which must also double as a bedroom since there is a dirty mattress lying in the corner. She takes a seat on an old sitting chair. 

Harry and Hermione perch themselves carefully on the torn-up couch opposite. “Is Mr Dunberg home?” Hermione asks.

Mrs Dunberg shakes her head. “At work,” she mumbles.

“And where does he work?” Harry asks. 

Mrs Dunberg’s eyes dart over to Harry, pausing at the scar on his forehead. “St Eleanor’s, ‘round the corner.”

“The muggle primary school?” Hermione queries, making quick eye contact with Harry. It’s not unheard of, but quite peculiar for a wizard to work in a muggle profession.

Mrs Dunberg nods.

Although they aren’t getting many words out of Mrs Dunberg, Harry isn’t concerned. He doesn’t need them for this next question – any giveaway of the face will be enough. He leans forward. “Do you or your husband know Draco Malfoy?”

Harry watches Mrs Dunberg’s eyes widen, her lips twitch. Does she know he's a werewolf? Is she afraid of him? Not realising her tell, she gives a different answer verbally: “Not personally.”

“So, neither you nor your husband have ever been to Malfoy Manor?” Hermione asks.

Before Mrs Dunberg can answer, there is a loud bang from further in the house. Mrs Dunberg doesn’t react.

Harry stands up immediately. “What was that?”

“It’s an old house – sometimes it makes noises,” Mrs Dunberg says quietly.

Harry looks to Hermione for support. “That was particularly loud, Mrs Dunberg. Perhaps if we were to take a look in–”

“No,” snaps Mrs Dunberg, her voice clear now, “I don’t have time for this. If you’re finished with your questions, I want you both to leave.”

“Actually, Mrs Dun–” Harry starts but is interrupted by Hermione.

“Of course, ma’am. We have no more questions at this time. We’ll show ourselves out. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Hermione drags Harry out of the house, her eyes cautioning him to be silent. As soon as they’re back on the street Harry protests. “What did you stop the interview for? She’s obviously hiding something. If we–”

“Harry. Think for a moment. The full moon is only a week away.”

“Yes?” Harry says impatiently.

“Malfoy is known to be collaborating with werewolves. One of the Dunbergs was at his house last night. Mrs Dunberg is covered in scratches. Mr Dunberg isn’t available to meet us. Yet we hear a strange noise in the house? It’s obvious. He’s weakening before his transformation. And you want to go barrelling in to investigate without backup?”

“Mr Dunberg is an unregistered werewolf,” Harry realises. 

“Glad you’re finally catching up.”

“Mrs Dunberg might be in trouble. We should go back–”

“Full transformation won’t occur until the end of the week. We have time. We need to go back to the Ministry and coordinate a plan.”

Harry concedes. As always, Hermione is ten steps ahead, already planning their next move, when Harry’s still stuck in the present. He’s reluctant to leave Mrs Dunberg even for a moment but Hermione’s right. First, they need a plan.

Just as Harry is about to Apparate after Hermione back to the Ministry, a glimmer of silver stops him in his tracks. It takes the form of a dragon and speaks to Harry in Malfoy’s voice. 

Meet me at Malfoy Manor now. Come alone.

The Patronus vanishes, its job complete. Harry blinks at the empty air in front of him. Of course, he should tell Hermione first, both as his Auror partner and friend. But Malfoy has said to come alone. And Harry’s curiosity gets the better of him. Besides, it’s not the full moon yet so even if Malfoy is a werewolf, Harry can still hold his own.

He doesn’t bother to dwell on the consequences any further and Apparates directly to Malfoy Manor. The gates are already open. And when he walks up to the door, it opens immediately to reveal a grave looking Malfoy.

Malfoy turns and Harry follows him into the Manor wordlessly. They continue into the sitting room, however Malfoy doesn’t sit this time. He stares into the fireplace as he addresses Harry, hands in his pockets.

“I heard you visited the Dunbergs.”

“Word travels fast.”

“You frightened Mary.” Malfoy’s voice is smooth, but there’s a slight tremble, almost indistinguishable. “I thought you were supposed to be the beacon of goodness, Potter. The wizarding world’s hero.”

Harry steps up to the fireplace so he can see Malfoy’s face. It is composed, showing only the movement of the flames in his eyes. 

“Mr Dunberg is an unregistered werewolf as I’m sure you already know. He’s a danger to himself and his wife. I’m just doing my–”

Malfoy snorts, finally losing his cool. He turns to Harry, anger now clear in the tightness of his jaw. “If your job is to terrorise good people, then you’re doing it brilliantly. Following the letter of the law, like a good little Ministry puppet.” His tone is mocking. Challenging. 

Harry folds his arms. “What have you got against the Ministry?”

Malfoy pauses for a moment, staring at Harry, as if he can’t understand the question. He looks back into the fire. “A lot of things,” he says darkly, “but I thought you, of all people, might understand. I thought you knew that the law isn’t always right. That breaking the rules can sometimes be the right thing.”

“How can you justify a plot against the Ministry?”

Malfoy sighs, not like he needs to, not like he can’t help himself, but likes he wants Harry to feel his irritation. “I’m not plotting against the Ministry,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m not part of this conspiracy you’re investigating. I’m only doing the work the Ministry refuses to dirty its hands with.”

Harry studies the profile of Malfoy’s face. “What does that mean?” He asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” Malfoy says quickly, turning to Harry. “What does matter is that you cease all plans to raid the Dunbergs' house.”

Harry frowns at the directness of the request. A request that Malfoy must already know Harry cannot meet. “How can I leave Mrs Dunberg alone in that house with–”

“This happens every month, Potter,” interrupts Malfoy, his voice tired, like it might not be the first time he’s had this argument. “It’s under control. Why should this time be any different? Besides, you don’t know the full story. If you raid their house, you’re going to find secrets better left hidden.”

“Better for who? The Dunbergs? For you?” Harry questions, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. He doesn’t have the patience for Malfoy’s riddles and half-truths. 

“For your own conscience,” Malfoy replies, just as cryptically. “And for the Ministry. I know how they do hate complicated moralities.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Harry half shouts. “If you’d just explain–”

“I shouldn’t have to. The Dunbergs have done nothing wrong. Just leave them alone. It’s me you’re investigating anyway. Arrest me if you need to prove something to your superiors. Take me down to the station and question me. Throw your authority around a little.” Malfoy eyes Harry challengingly. “I know you want to.”

Harry holds Malfoy’s eye. “I don’t need to prove anything. And I don’t want to…do that. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“I believe that, Potter. I’ll always believe that of your intentions. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re naïve and you’re wrong.”

Harry bristles at Malfoy’s bluntness, raising his chin in response. “And I’m supposed to just listen to you even though you won’t explain anything?”

Malfoy sighs and his expression softens. “I know it’s impossible, but I’m begging you, trust me, just this once.”

Malfoy’s face is so sincere, Harry wants to believe it. He wants to trust Malfoy. Before he can make up his mind, a familiar feeling in his pocket interrupts his thoughts. The Homenum Revelio charm must still be working.

“Expecting visitors?” Harry asks.

“How do you– that can’t be legal, Potter. I’ll have you–” The charm activates in Harry’s pocket a second time and then a third before the pings are so fast, he loses count. Malfoy’s face changes. “Get your wand out,” he says.

“What?”

“Get your fucking wand out now, Potter,” Malfoy yells. “And for Merlin’s sake, please tell me they taught you something other than Expelliarmus in your Auror training.”

“Why would I–”

Harry’s question is answered when the tall windows of the sitting room shatter inwards with a bright red light. He just has time to pull his wand from his robes before bodies begin barrelling through the now open windows, all with the same grey masks covering their faces. He counts five before he has to dodge a stunning spell (or at least what he hopes is only a stunning spell). Another spell comes his way and he pulls up a hasty Protego. He sends an Expelliarmus straight back at his attacker, relieved when the wand comes soaring into his hand immediately. 

He looks around for his next dueller and is surprised to see Malfoy duelling two masked figures at once. There is no sign of the other intruders. He’s just about to assist Malfoy when something – someone – hits him full force in the chest, taking him barrelling to the ground. It’s the attacker he disarmed.

Both Harry’s wand and his attacker’s roll from Harry’s hand as he hits the floor. The attacker goes for the wands, but Harry twists the both of them in the opposite direction, holding the attacker down. Now, if he can just free one of his hands to pull off the mask–

Harry underestimates the strength of his opponent. He is thrown back to the ground, his head hitting the floor with a violent clunk. He tries to lift himself back up, but strong hands curl up around his neck, pinning him down.

He clutches at them desperately, but it only makes his attacker hold on tighter, their long nails digging into Harry’s neck painfully. His eyesight is already beginning to blur. He wants to scream but he doesn’t have the breath for it. He mouths Malfoy’s name anyway. Malfoy. Malfoy. Malfoy.

Just when Harry’s eyes begin to flutter shut, the pressure on his neck ceases, and he jerks up, gasping for air. His attacker is on the far end of the room, pushed up against the back wall as if he’s been blasted there. 

Harry looks back to Malfoy who has lost the advantage with his two opponents. One holds his arms behind his back while the other holds onto his hair, jerking his head to the side and– shit. He’s going to bite him. Harry lunges for his wand and throws a hasty stunning charm that misses, but he’s already sending a second, a third and a fourth in quick succession. One of them finds their mark and the brute who looked about to bite Malfoy falls to the floor. The remaining attacker keeps hold of Malfoy, holding him between Harry and himself like a barrier. That’s when Harry notices the large tear in Malfoy’s shirt and the blood covering his chest.

Harry points his wand past Malfoy’s head at the attacker, but he isn’t sure of his next move. He’s confident he can cast a strong enough stunning spell to knock them both out with one hit, but not before the intruder snaps Malfoy’s neck, or as the imminent threat of tonight seems to be: bites it.  He is saved from a decision by the spell that hits him from behind, knocking him unconscious.

When Harry awakens, the danger seems to have passed. Unless the attackers were the ones who transported him to a couch, covered him with a blanket and left an ice-pack on his head. He looks around as he comes to properly and finds Malfoy staring at him from the chaise lounge opposite. He looks as if he’s about to say something so Harry waits. Although, his words aren’t what Harry expects.

“That was fun.”

“Fun?” Harry repeats, his voice coming out weak and scratchy. “How can nearly choking be fun?"

Malfoy shrugs as if they both hadn’t just almost died. “It’s an acquired kink.”

“An acquired–” Harry starts to repeat, out of shock more than anything. 

“But it’s dangerous,” Malfoy interrupts with a smirk. “I wouldn’t recommend it to an innocent like you.”

Harry blinks back at Malfoy. He cannot believe after a fucking home invasion of all things, Malfoy is flirting with him. And somehow Harry finds himself taking the bait. “I’m not innocent.”

Malfoy scoffs. “Please, Potter. You’re a saint. Don’t fight it. It’s endearing.”

Harry isn’t sure if Malfoy is complimenting or patronising him. He narrows his eyes trying to work out what Malfoy is playing at when he notices what Malfoy is wearing. A fresh white shirt. The image before he was knocked out springs to his head: Malfoy, hands held behind his back, shirt torn, and chest bloodied. 

“How did you get away?” Harry asks.

Malfoy’s face sours at the change of tone. “They left of their own accord once they found what they were looking for,” he says slowly.

“And what were they looking for?”

Malfoy doesn’t answer, just stares back at Harry impassively, his mouth firmly shut.

Harry huffs irritably. It’s not professional, it’s not even mature, but he’s still recovering from being knocked out and almost choked so he gives himself a pass. He studies Malfoy’s shirt closely, looking for any hint of blood. “Were you hurt?”

“It’s just a scratch,” Malfoy says quickly.

Harry frowns. A scratch doesn’t usually rip your shirt in two. “It didn’t look like just a–”

“It’s fine,” Malfoy interrupts. “You should worry about your–”

“Come on,” Harry says, standing up – a little too fast, his legs wobble precariously but he keeps his balance. He’s used to the feeling. “I’ll take you to St Mungo’s.”

Malfoy stands up too, but much slower. Harry can see a wince flash across Malfoy’s face before he quickly hides it. “Are you that thick, Potter? If I turn up at St Mungo’s with a wound like this, it’s only going to add fuel to these rumours about me. To this investigation you’re running, or did you forget?”

“Someone has to investigate,” Harry points out. “Better me than someone who hates you.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrow. “That’s funny, I thought you did.”

Harry ignores the jab. He took this case to help Malfoy for Merlin’s sake. He won’t be made to feel guilty for that. “Take off your shirt, Malfoy.”

“What?” Malfoy takes a step backwards. “Where did–”

“So, I can see how bad it is,” Harry explains, rolling up his sleeves. Malfoy’s eyes follow the action. “Or, I can forcibly take you to the hospital.”

Malfoy’s eyes widen at the threat. He goes to say something and then closes his mouth. He begins to unbutton his shirt, starting at the high collar around his neck. 

Harry’s eyes are drawn to the action and he watches Malfoy’s hands for another six buttons before he realises what he’s doing and looks away.

“Maybe you’re not as innocent as I thought,” Malfoy says quietly.

Harry wills his face not to blush at the comment. He watches in his peripheral vision as Malfoy undoes the last button and slides the shirt from his shoulders with an unmissable flinch.

Harry turns back to Malfoy and takes in the wound: four deep scratches in the middle of Malfoy’s chest that disappear over his right shoulder. The surrounding skin has been cleaned meticulously and none of the slashes are bleeding, but they’re still too wide. Whatever anti-bleeding charm Malfoy has cast cannot be anything but a temporary fix.

There’s something else too. Behind the fresh wounds there are long scars, starting at Malfoy’s neck and criss-crossing all the way down to his navel like someone had cut… A weight sinks in Harry’s gut when he realises what they are. 

“Oi! Eyes up here will you!”

Harry looks up at Malfoy quickly, realising he’s been caught staring at his stomach. “Sorry. Malfoy, look, when I cursed–”

“Don’t you dare apologise to me, Potter,” Malfoy warns.

“But–”

“Are you going to do anything, or can I put my fucking shirt back on?” Malfoy interrupts.

“Sorry– I mean, never mind.” Harry keeps his eyes well above Malfoy’s neck. “Do you have any dittany?”

Malfoy scowls at the request but pulls his wand from his pocket regardless and raises it to the door. “Accio dittany.”

After a moment, a small bottle flies into the room and Harry catches it before Malfoy has a chance to. The bottle is almost empty.

Harry looks back up to Malfoy whose eyes are flicking between the bottle and Harry warily. When Harry takes a step forward, Malfoy flinches. He pauses for a moment and moves slowly now, approaching Malfoy as if he were a hippogriff. He walks around to Malfoy’s back (all the while Malfoy’s eyes follow him) and takes in the worst of the damage. The scratches trail all the way down to the small of Malfoy’s back, red and angry and clearly more painful than Malfoy has been letting on. 

Harry swallows. “Okay,” he says pulling the stopper from the bottle. “I think this is going to hurt.”

Malfoy snorts. “No, shit, Potter. Why don’t you–” Harry applies the first drop to the lower most part of the cut. “Oh FUCK.” Malfoy’s head whips around to Potter as the cut begins to close. “What are you–”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologises, surprised to see Malfoy’s eyes watering. “You really should go to St Mungo’s and–”

“I’m not going to St Mungo’s.”

“Then I’m going to have to do that again.”

“Again?” Malfoy’s face looks a little paler than usual. “Potter, I swear to Merlin, I feel like I might die if you do that one more time.” He eyes the dittany bottle again. “No, I almost certainly will. I will die.”

“It’s a magical wound, Malfoy. It’s not going to close up on its own.” Harry sighs. It’s not like he wants to hurt Malfoy but leaving the wound open is far too dangerous. If there was any way he could– “Look,” Harry says as an idea comes to him, “what if I– I’m just going to try something.”

Malfoy looks suspicious but turns back around all the same. Harry takes a deep breath. Maybe this is a stupid idea. He keeps the dittany bottle in his right hand (ignoring how it shakes) and brings his other hand up to Malfoy’s left shoulder. He tries not to notice how smooth Malfoy’s skin is as he gently brushes his hand over it, holding his breath as he waits for Malfoy’s reaction.

Malfoy stiffens, but doesn’t move away. “What is that? What are you doing?”

Harry breathes out. “Distracting you from the pain,” he explains as he applies more pressure, clumsily massaging Malfoy’s shoulder with his left hand. 

“The only way you can distract me from pain like that is your hand on my cock.”

Harry hears the sound he makes with a sharp intake of his breath at Malfoy’s suggestion. His hand pauses on Malfoy’s shoulder, frozen. They stand like that for the longest moment of Harry’s life until Malfoy breaks the silence.

“I’m joking, Potter,” he says with a hint of irritation. “Just– just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Harry is glad Malfoy’s eyes aren’t on him as he continues the massage. He’s not sure he could do it under such scrutiny. Malfoy’s shoulder is warm under his touch and pliant like Malfoy is relaxing into it. Too late, he remembers he is supposed to be healing Malfoy as well. He clears his throat and lifts the bottle of dittany again, carefully tapping another drop onto Malfoy’s cut. 

“FUCKING MOTHER OF MERLIN’S BABY,” Malfoy yells, swaying forward slightly – Harry holds his shoulder firmly. “Please tell me that’s it.”

“I don’t think–”

“How much more?”

“Not too–”

“How much more?” Malfoy asks again.

Harry looks over the cut. It covers most of Malfoy’s back and continues across his chest. It’s a lot of area to cover. “I think I’m going to need to add another four or maybe five–”

“FIVE!?”

“If you just went to the hospital they’d probably–” Harry’s voice falters as Malfoy takes hold of Harry’s hand, removing it from his shoulder and sliding it down to his waist. 

“There,” he says, a little breathlessly. 

Harry looks down at his hand in shock. He’s not exactly sure what Malfoy wants so he goes slow, brushing his fingertips lightly up the side of Malfoy’s torso (and back down when Malfoy shivers). 

“Okay,” Malfoy whispers after a few more light brushes. “Go.”

Harry grimaces as he applies the next drop, waiting for–

Malfoy makes a strangled sound of pain but manages to maintain his posture this time. “More,” he whispers between pants. “Distraction. Please.”

Harry complies instantly and without thinking, gliding his hand over from the relative safety of the side of Malfoy’s torso to the much more precarious zone at the front. He can feel the ridges of the old scars and he traces them up Malfoy’s chest and back down where they disappear beneath the waistband of his trousers.

Before Harry even adds the next drop of dittany, Malfoy lets out another strangled sound that Harry isn’t convinced is from any pain. Harry runs his hand over the same scar again just so he can hear that noise once more. 

Realising what he’s doing – or not doing as the case may be – Harry quickly pours the dittany bottle, adding a bit more than intended to the top of the wound at Malfoy’s back.

Malfoy screams and slumps forward. Harry catches him the only way he can one-handed, by tightening his hold and pulling Malfoy back up against him. Malfoy doesn’t seem to mind at this point, he sinks back against Harry, lolling his head back over Harry’s shoulder. 

Now that Harry can see his face, he finally notices Malfoy’s tears. “I don’t know if–”

“Potter,” Malfoy whines, arching his body to push into Harry’s touch.

Harry returns his attention to stroking Malfoy’s stomach while he assesses the remaining cut on Malfoy’s chest. It’s not as deep here so he hopes, for Malfoy’s sake, that it doesn’t hurt as much. He lifts the bottle around Malfoy and, carefully this time, lets a single drop fall onto the wound.

Malfoy grunts, flinching only slightly. 

There’s only a small section of the wound still open. Harry suspects one more drop will be enough and then– oh. Beneath the cut, Harry catches the unmistakable sight of Malfoy’s erection through his trousers. His brain short circuits while he continues to stare straight at it. 

The only way you can distract me from pain like that is your hand on my cock.

Malfoy’s earlier words repeat in Harry’s head and he can’t think of anything else. His left hand trails down to the top of Malfoy’s trousers and he lets his fingers slide just under the waistband, feeling Malfoy’s stomach clench as he does.

“Is this okay?” He asks, looking back to Malfoy’s face. The tears have stopped but his eyes are still red.

He stares back at Harry with lidded eyes. “Don’t talk. Just touch me, please.”

Surprising himself with his eagerness to comply, Harry doesn’t hesitate, immediately dropping his hand under Malfoy’s trousers and– oh sweet Merlin, Malfoy isn’t wearing any pants. No wonder his erection is so obvious. Harry recovers from his shock quickly and takes a hold of Malfoy’s bare cock, unsure if the following whimper comes from his mouth or Malfoy’s. Perhaps both. 

Malfoy eyes close and he bucks his hips forward, encouraging Harry to explore a little further, running his hand down the length of Malfoy’s cock and letting his thumb rub the head gently. 

It’s definitely Malfoy making the sounds now – staggered moans between panting breaths that Harry can feel on his neck. Harry’s own eyes close as he loses himself to the moment. His cock is pressed up against Malfoy’s thighs and hardening with each sound. He wants to touch himself the way he’s touching Malfoy but when he brings his other hand between them, he remembers it’s not empty. 

Harry loses some of his arousal when he is brought back to reality. He is supposed to be healing Malfoy but they both seem to have forgotten. He brings the bottle of dittany back up to Malfoy’s chest – still keeping Malfoy distracted with his other hand – and taps one last final drop. 

Malfoy doesn’t even seem to notice as the last of the wound closes over. He’s rutting himself up against Harry’s hand while the most inappropriate sounds continue to fall from his lips. Harry isn’t even aware he’s dropped the dittany bottle until his right hand is already on Malfoy’s hip and he hears the tell-tale crash of glass on the floor. 

He pulls Malfoy tighter against himself, unashamedly rutting his own dick against Malfoy for any friction he can get. Somewhere in a distant corner of his mind, he recognises as an Auror he’s crossing a very crucial boundary, but he easily ignores it, stuck in the pleasure of the moment. 

Malfoy’s moans slowly become higher pitched, his pants heavier; there’s precum all over Harry’s hand and he knows Malfoy’s close. He keeps a steady rhythm to his strokes to help guide Malfoy there, and watches his face so he can catch the moment.

Malfoy’s eyes jerk open and he stares back at Harry as he comes undone over Harry’s hand with a final guttural moan. Harry isn’t even sure what expression is on his own face, so consumed is he with Malfoy’s lidded eyes and open mouth. They keep staring at each other long after Malfoy finishes coming, an intensity that Harry has no idea how to break, not that he has any wish to. 

But all too soon, Malfoy pulls away, straightens himself up and takes a step forward. Harry’s come-covered hand fall outs from where it’s been resting in Malfoy’s trousers and drops limply to his side. 

Harry clears his throat. “It’s…um…healed,” he says to fill the silence, although he wishes he can take the words back when he hears them aloud.

“Thanks,” Malfoy says, his back still to Harry. “I trust you can show yourself out.”

“Malfoy–”

“Or do I need to call Verity for you?” Malfoy still isn’t looking at him.

“No, I can–”

“Excellent. Think about what I said earlier about the Dunbergs. Until the next werewolf attack then, Potter. Goodbye.” 

Malfoy leaves the room quickly, not once looking back at Harry. 

“Fuck,” Harry mutters to himself. “Fuck. Fuck. fuck.” 

He looks around the room and spots his wand on a small glass coffee table. He grabs it, cleans his hand, and repairs the dittany bottle. He goes to shove it in the pocket of his jeans and in the process brushes his trousers against his sensitive cock. He’s still hard. 

He glances back up to the exit Malfoy had taken and then to the other two entrances to the room.  “Fuck it,” he decides and pulls his trousers and pants down as one. He strokes himself all in a rush, just eager to finish. He thinks of the feel of Malfoy’s cock in his hand, of those high-pitched moans in his ear, of Malfoy’s lidded eyes staring back at him and it doesn’t take long before he’s coming on Malfoy Manor’s expensive shag carpet. 

“Where have you been?”

Harry hangs up his cloak, avoiding Hermione’s eye. “I had to change my clothes.” It’s not technically a lie. He couldn’t exactly return to the Ministry in the state the attack (and its sweaty aftermath) had left him in.

“It took you four hours to Apparate home for a change of clothes.”

Harry goes to walk to his desk but Hermione’s already standing in front of it. He looks up at her with a weak smile. “I had a shower?”

“Harry James Potter, where the fuck have you been?”

It’s not often Harry hears Hermione swear, but every time he does, it’s pretty much always directed at him.

“What’s the plan for the Dunbergs?” He asks, walking past Hermione and taking his seat. 

Hermione turns to face him. “Are you going to make me stand here all afternoon?”

“Fine.” Harry spells their office door shut. “Malfoy was attacked.”

“Attacked? How–” Hermione looks down at Harry’s change of clothes. “Were you with him when it happened?”

Harry doesn’t see any point in denying it. He holds his glasses away from his face while he rubs his eyes – anything to avoid eye contact. “Yes.”

Hermione sighs. “And you’re not going to report it,” she says. It’s not a question.

Harry replaces his glasses and looks back up at Hermione. “Since we’re the ones working the case, I don’t see why anybody else needs–”

“You weren’t even going to tell me, you idiot,” Hermione interjects with a roll of her eyes. 

“Well, now you know so–”

“Who?” Hermione asks. “And why?”

Harry shrugs – he knows far less than he’d like. “They were masked but I think they were all werewolves. They stole something from the Manor. Malfoy wouldn’t say what.”

Hermione nods, dashing back to her desk to take notes. She starts jotting things down, ignoring Harry, and Harry thinks perhaps he’s off the hook when she looks back up sharply. 

“Why were you at the Manor in the first place?”

“Malfoy invited me – he doesn’t want us to raid the Dunbergs' house.”

Hermione scoffs as she writes that down too. “Of course, he doesn’t.”

Harry watches Hermione’s notetaking with a strange distance. He had almost forgotten Malfoy was a case and not…not…He stops himself from thinking anything further. "Malfoy says it’s under control,” he says.

“And you believe him?” Hermione asks without looking up. She’s scribbling furiously now, but Harry can’t think why since he’s hardly said anything. 

Harry considers Hermione’s question. He believes Malfoy thinks he has it under control. But that’s not the same thing. He sighs. “No.”

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway,” Hermione says, putting her notes aside. She looks up. “I could have used you here, you know. The Magic Creatures Department have taken over the raid.”

“They what?” Harry stands up, unconcerned that his chair falls backwards in the process. 

“If Mr Dunberg is an unregistered werewolf, it does come under–”

“This is our case.”

Hermione raises her eyebrows. “I did say that.”

“Does Kingsley know?”

“This is over his head, Harry.”

Harry’s already heading to the door.

Kingsley doesn’t even look up from the file he’s reading. “I couldn’t stop them taking it even if I wanted to.”

Harry hovers by Kingsley’s desk. “You don’t want to?”

“It’s just for the raid. What’s the difference? At least they will have the exper–”

“I don’t think we should raid the Dunbergs' house.” It’s out of Harry’s mouth before he even realises he’s changed his mind. 

Kingsley looks up at Harry. “Why?”

“I–” Harry stops himself from implicating Malfoy. Kingsley’s not unfair but he’s not the type to ignore evidence either.  "I just have a feeling,” Harry finishes, his heart sinking as he says it. 

“Harry, while I trust your judgement, you know I can’t go to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures with a feeling.”

“I know.”

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures aren’t known for being especially cooperative. The werewolf division, in particular, keep to themselves in a small little corner of the fifth floor of the Ministry. 

They see Harry coming and bundle up their papers, shoving them out of sight. 

“When will you be doing the raid?”

Travers, the most senior of the division, stands up to meet Harry. “What raid?”

‘You know exactly what raid.”

“True,” Travers admits with an unpleasant smile. “I also know it’s none of your business.”

“It is my– just be careful. Mr Dunberg might not be a bad pers–”

“He’s a werewolf, isn’t he?”

“It looks that way, yes, but–”

“Then,” Travers leans in like he’s telling Harry a secret, “he’s not a person.” His colleagues laugh.

Harry’s fists clench. He wants to reach for his wand but he holds himself back. He already has a number of warnings for losing his temper in the office. But these guys really deserve it. 

Kingsley won’t stand for this kind of prejudice in the Ministry. He’ll be able to do far more with words than Harry can with his wand. At least that’s what Harry tells himself as he walks away, slipping a hand into his pocket just to clench a hand over his wand.

Harry stares up at the tall gates of the Manor. He really shouldn’t be here. He should just head straight to work. But it wasn’t work that kept him up all through the night. He rests a hand on the gate, still unsure if he’s going to enter, when a silver otter lands in front of him. Hermione’s Patronus.

“You need to get to the Ministry. Now,” it says in Hermione’s clear authoritative voice before vanishing. 

Harry pushes the gates in. It will take him a minute to check on Malfoy and then he’ll head straight over. 

Verity answers the door with a fake smile and takes an antsy Harry to the sitting room.

“Where is he?”

“He’ll be out in a moment,” Verity says. “Please take a seat.”

Harry drops onto the couch with a polite smile but as soon as Verity leaves, he stands up again and begins pacing the room. 

Verity returns minutes later but she won’t meet Harry’s eye. “Mr Malfoy is detained and won’t be able to entertain guests today. Can I escort–”

“Where is he?”

“He’s unavailable at the present–”

Harry stalks past Verity and begins to search the Manor. He knows Malfoy is just trying to give him the rub off. 

“You really shouldn't–” Verity calls after him but he’s already far into the house. He discovers a library and follows it through to a vast study. Malfoy sits at a desk in the centre, his back to the entrance. Harry’s about to call Malfoy out for ignoring him when he hears Malfoy singing.

“It's a beautiful morning, the birds are singing and their nest is in your hair.”

Harry doesn’t recognise the song. 

“It’s a beautiful morning, the sun is shining and you would be wise to start your prayer,” Malfoy continues. “It’s a beautiful morning, and when I turn around, you better be fucking elsewhere.”

Harry finally understands the message. Of course, he ignores it, stepping into the room and hovering in front of the study desk. “Malfoy. About last–”

“Are you surveilling me? Or just hoping for a repeat performance? Who knew Harry Potter was such a sadist?”

“I’m not– that’s not why I– I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“I see, then why didn’t you put a stop to this like I asked you?” Malfoy holds up a battered newspaper with a hole burnt through the middle, but Harry can still make out the headline.

BABY WEREWOLF UNDER MINISTRY CONTROL

It explains Hermione’s Patronus. And the hole. He can’t believe the Department of Magical Creatures went ahead with the raid so quickly. “A baby?” He finally manages to choke out. “Why didn’t they regist–”

“Because,” Malfoy says, with so much venom, Harry takes an unconscious step backwards, “once you’re on the werewolf register, you’re forever treated as a secondary citizen. It’s hard enough to get into a school without Dumbledore’s sway anymore, let alone ever have a job in the wizarding world. What parent would want that for their child?”

“But if they’re registered, the Ministry provides the monthly Wolfsbane potion so that they can–”

Malfoy snorts derisively. “At an inflated price to an already marginalised and often poor group of people. The Ministry doesn’t provide the potion to help werewolves, they provide it to control them.”

After Harry’s experience with the Ministry’s werewolf division last night, he’s not entirely convinced Malfoy’s wrong. “You should have told me about this.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “And if I’d told you, you would have stopped it, would you?”

Harry sweats a little under Malfoy’s gaze. If he’d known, maybe he would have tried harder to stop it. But ultimately, he feels like he must defend the Ministry. “We had to raid the place– Mrs Dunberg should have reported– there were scratches on her arms! “

“I had it under control.”

“It’s not your job to protect people, Malfoy.”

“It’s not yours either.”

“Actually, it is.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it then, are you?” Malfoy bundles up the newspaper and throws it with enough force to hit Harry in the chest. “You need to fix this.”

“Harry,” Hermione runs up to him as soon as he enters. “Don’t do anything–”

“Stupid? Like let an incompetent department steal our case?”

“No,” Hermione says fixing Harry with a glare, “stupid, like lose your temper and say something you’ll regret.”

Harry softens. “Sorry.”

“I’m with you on this okay, just keep a clear head, and let me do the talking if you can’t keep from raising your voice.”

“Granger, Potter,” Kingsley greets formally as they enter (read: barge into) his office. He gestures to the man standing by his desk. “You know Travers?

“Yes, and he–”

“He’s precisely the person we’d like to speak with,” interrupts Hermione smoothly with a warning side glance at Harry. “We’d like to know where the Dunberg baby is being kept.”

“The werewolf, you mean?” Travers asks. 

“I think my meaning was clear enough.”

“The werewolf is in containment for now, until–”

“Containment?” Harry repeats. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Language, Harry,” Kingsley reprimands.

“It means,” Travers says, “the full moon is in a few days and we’re not taking any chances.”

“But if you’ve provided the Wolfsbane Potion, they can’t be a danger to–”

“The Dunbergs were unwilling to pay for the required potion to–”

“Unwilling? You mean they couldn’t afford the inflated price the Ministry sells it at?” Harry hears Malfoy’s own words coming from his lips.

“Harry,” Kingsley warns, but it’s too late.

Travers glares at Harry. “Wolfbane Potion is very complicated to brew with expensive and difficult to source ingredients. Are you suggesting the Ministry turns a profit from generously making it available tor registered werewolves?”

“If by generously, you mean–”

“Of course not, Travers,” Hermione interrupts diplomatically. “However, in this particular case, given the age of the afflicted person, and the negative press attention, wouldn’t it be in everyone’s best interest if we were to provide the potion?”

“That may be true, Miss…”

“Ms Granger.”

“Miss Granger, but even so, our stores were vandalised this morning, shortly after the news broke.”

Harry shares a look with Hermione. “Can’t you make more?” He asks.

“We’re working on it, Mr Potter, but as I said, it’s a complicated potion, and requires time to make.”

“There are still six days until the full moon.” 

“Do not lecture me, Potter when you clearly know very little about werewolves. Wolfsbane Potion needs to be taken every night for a week leading up to the full moon or it isn’t effective. As I said, there isn’t enough time.”

Harry feels Hermione’s hand on his shoulder. If it is meant to calm him, it isn’t working. He shrugs it off. “Do you know who broke in?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t need to be down here asking the Auror department to actually do their job, would I?”

“Back so soon, Potter,” Malfoy drawls, “and you brought Granger. Are you expecting a threesome?”

Hermione shoots Harry a puzzled look. “No,” Harry says quickly, “of course not. There was a break-in at the Ministry–”

“Oh yes,” Malfoy interrupts, “you got me! I find life isn’t worth living unless I’ve committed at least two crimes before breakfast.”

“Are you admitting to stealing Wolfsbane Potion from the Ministry of Magic?” Hermione asks.

Malfoy’s smirk drops. “Verity will show you in,” he says and turns to head down the corridor. 

Harry waves Verity off and follows him. “I’m not waiting for your pointless formalities, Malfoy.”

Malfoy stops and turns back to Harry. “Do not tell me what to do in my own house. You will wait here until Verity takes your coat, then she will escort you into the sitting room where I will be preparing myself mentally to listen to your bureaucratic bullshit.”

Malfoy continues and this time Harry doesn’t follow. He and Hermione allow Verity to slowly hang up their coats and wait for her to lead them into Malfoy’s sitting room. 

“Now, Potter, Granger,” Malfoy says with false sweetness from his chair by the fire, “please tell me how I can assist your investigation.” 

“We–” Harry starts but Hermione interrupts him. 

“Harry thought perhaps the people who raided the Ministry were also responsible for the attack here.’

“What impressive detective skills you have, Potter,” Malfoy says, ignoring Hermione in favour of eyeing Harry as he leans back in his grand chair. “Now here’s a riddle for you, who’s responsible for the raid on the Dunbergs?”

Harry hesitates and Malfoy smirks. 

“That was for Mrs Dunberg’s safety,” Hermione fills in.

Malfoy snaps his head to Hermione. “Mrs Dunberg would have been fine, like she has been every month since I’ve supplied her with Wolfsbane Potion for her baby girl.”

Harry gulps back his surprise. Beside him, Hermione remains composed.

“I’m sure you are aware, Malfoy, that brewing Wolfsbane Potion is illegal. Only the Ministry can authorise the–”

“Then arrest me, Granger. But first, perhaps Harry should explain to Andromeda why I will no longer be able to provide her a potion for Teddy, his godson.”

The room spins. Harry focuses on Malfoy’s face, waiting for the punchline. “But Teddy’s not– he never showed signs of– you’re lying.”

“The less people that know, the better. He deserves to live a decent life just like everyone else, no matter how he was born. So, will you bind my hands, or am I to be peacefully escorted to the Ministry?” Malfoy asks conversationally.

“We’re not arresting you.”

“Harry,” Hermione whispers. 

Malfoy grins slyly. “Potter, back to breaking the rules, at last.”

“Those werewolves last night – are you their supplier?”

“I clearly did not supply potions to those particular werewolves seeing as they resorted to raiding my stores for it, Potter. Please be more observant.”

“They took your Wolfsbane Potion? But do you know who–”

“I’m not your informant. I told you about Teddy so you would have some compassion for the Dunbergs. That is all. I have nothing more to say to an officer of the law. I suggest you fix your mistake.”

“Harry–”

“I don’t want to hear it, Hermione,” Harry says, peeling off his coat and dropping down into his desk chair. It’s been a particularly long day. The mental gymnastics of Draco Malfoy not being a werewolf, but an illegal Wolfsbane supplier is giving him a headache.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it. Malfoy confessed to a crime. We have to return and arrest him.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple. 

“It’s our job.”

“Tell that to that to the baby in our cells.”

“I don’t agree with that either, obviously,” Hermione says, “but letting Malfoy get to your head is not helping.”

“He’s not getting to my head,” Harry lies, even as he rubs his temples.

“What he said about Teddy–”

Harry’s head snaps up. “Don’t you dare report that.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’m sure he’s lying anyway.” Hermione shakes her head and turns away from Harry’s desk. “But thanks for doubting me.” 

“Hermione!” Harry calls after her but she’s already left the office. 

Harry stands up, meaning to go after her but before he can, a flying memo enters their office. Harry snatches it from the air before it can land on Hermione’s desk. It struggles in his hand for a moment but gives up easily with its intended destination so close. 

Auror Granger, the note reads. 

There’s only one location in London apart from the Manor that I can trace all the magical signatures you sent over together. I’d say it’s your best bet for a hideout. 

Underneath that there’s an address. Harry tucks the memo in his pocket and pulls his coat back on.

The address is a muggle warehouse just outside of London. There’s no sign of activity outside but Harry isn’t dissuaded. Wizards are well-versed in covering their tracks. He throws on his invisibility cloak and scouts for an entrance. 

He’s just stepping back to get a better look at a window above his head when he bumps into someone.

“What the–”

Harry twists around pulling out his wand. “Expelliarmus,” he shouts automatically. He sticks a hand out of the invisibility cloak to catch the wand that flies through the air, becoming visible as it leaves its owner’s hand. 

The wand feels familiar, as if he’s felt its magic before. He pulls it under the cloak to get a better look. He recognises it instantly. “Malfoy?”

“Potter?”

Harry pulls off his cloak, just as Malfoy undoes his disillusionment charm. 

“Give me my wand back.”

Harry holds Malfoy’s wand behind his back. “Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

“You’re an Auror, aren’t you? Can’t you work it out yourself?”

“Yes, and part of the investigative process is to question suspects, so, Malfoy, what are you doing here?”

Malfoy lunges for his wand. Harry sidesteps him easily and wordlessly casts a protective barrier between them.

“Fine,” Malfoy says, rolling his eyes. “People are counting on me to supply them with their nightly batches of Wolfsbane Potion until the full moon. These arseholes stoles all my stores of it. I trust you’re intelligent enough to put the remaining dots together.”

“How many werewolves do you supply?”

Malfoy scoffs. “I’m hardly going to tell the Auror wanting to arrest them, am I?”

“You told me about Teddy.”

“So, you’re going to arrest him?” 

Harry hesitates.

“That’s what I thought. You Ministry puppets are all the same. You use the law as an excuse for your actions and yet you only follow it when it suits you.”

“I could have arrested you.”

Malfoy carefully folds back the lace sleeves of his robe. “I know.”

The sound of footsteps takes Harry’s attention from Malfoy’s nicely shaped wrists – apparently that’s a thing now. “Quick – under the cloak.”

“I am not–” Malfoy objects but Harry is already pulling him under. “At least give me my wand back,” Malfoy whispers.

Harry hands it over reluctantly. The cloak isn’t designed for two adults so they’re huddled very closely together. Harry suspects it wouldn’t take much further provocation for Malfoy to send a hex his way. 

Two women pass through what appears to be solid wall metres away from where Harry and Malfoy stand. One of them pulls out a cigarette immediately and lights it up with a wave of her wand. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Alex,” she says after a quick drag. “Where else are you going to go? Back to your folks?”

“They won’t– I mean they don’t– “

“Exactly,” the first woman says, leading Alex further away from the warehouse. “We’re all you’ve got. You need to be careful what you say around Felix, though, or you’re out.”

“I didn’t mean to– “

“Doesn’t matter, kid. He’ll keep you safe but he expects loyalty. You understand.”

Alex nods. “I think so.”

As soon as the two women disappear around the corner, Malfoy jumps out from the cloak, heading straight for the disguised wall. He taps his head with his wand and reactivates his disillusionment charm. Harry lunges for Malfoy’s shoulder and grabs it just before it disappears.

“Wait, Malfoy, shouldn’t we make a plan?”

Malfoy shakes Harry off his shoulder. “We shouldn’t do anything. You should go home.” 

“I’m not going home.”

Malfoy doesn’t reply.

“Malfoy,” Harry whispers into the empty space, “Are you there?”

Nothing.

Harry tightens his grip on his wand and moves through the wall barrier. The inside of the warehouse comes into view, as well as at least one hundred people. Even though he’s under the invisibility cloak, Harry instinctively ducks behind a nearby packing box, running straight into Malfoy. 

“Watch it, Potter.”

Harry sighs. “There you are. Don’t run off, okay. I want to help you.”

“I just don’t understand,” Malfoy whispers back. “Why would you follow me? Why would you punish yourself like that?”

“Punish? What do you mean?”

“You don’t need to help me out of any moral obligation. I know you feel bad about the Dunbergs. You don’t need to prove it by becoming my personal defender. Seems like an awful waste of the great Harry Potter’s time.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m genuinely worried about you. How can you think I don’t care at all after what happened last–”

Malfoy sucks in a loud breath. “We are not talking about that.”

Harry reaches out in search of Malfoy’s shoulder but doesn’t find it. “Not talking about it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Fine,” Malfoy snaps. “I appreciate your assistance in healing me. It was unconventional but effective. You have my gratitude. Are we done now?”

“Your gratitude?” Harry repeats a little too loudly. He looks around and lowers his voice. “Malfoy, I mean, just so you know, you weren’t the only one who enjoyed–”

“So, you’re a sadist. Charming, Potter.”

Harry’s grateful the invisibility cloak is hiding his red face. “No, not that part. Or at least, not the you being in pain part. I didn’t mean–”

“It sounds like you don’t really know what you mean, Potter, so I’d advise you to stop wasting your breath. This conversation is over.”

“You can’t just–”

Malfoy claps a hand over Potter’s mouth through the cloak and drags him away from the packing box, just as one of the women from outside returns. She stamps out her cigarette on the floor and strides off.  Behind her, Alex enters slowly, hunched over with arms cradling her stomach. For the first time, Harry gets a good look at her in the light. He’s surprised to discover she’s young, maybe 14, with bruises and scars dotted across her face and body. 

Harry pulls off his invisibility cloak and steps in front of her, ignoring Malfoy’s panicked whispers behind him. 

Alex jumps back and falls to the floor holding up her arms. “Stay away from me!”

“Shhh,” Harry says, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Alex looks through her arms at Harry. “You’re him,” she whispers.

“Yeah, I’m the Boy Who– “

“You’re wizard Jesus.”

Harry hears Malfoy’s chuckle nearby. 

“Um…”

“Sorry,” Alex says, standing up, “I’m muggleborn. My parents are Catholic.”

“What are you doing here?”

Alex’s eyes dart around the room. “I’m not– I don’t have a choice. It’s only for a week.”

“Until the full moon?”

“Well, yeah. But he won’t give us Wolfsbane unless we–”

“Unless you what?”

Alex bites her lip and her eyes start to tear up.

“Unless you what?” Harry repeats. 

She shakes her head and takes a step back. “I can’t, I can’t…”

Malfoy appears beside Alex and gently holds onto her shoulder. “It’s alright,” he says in a soft careful voice Harry’s never heard from him before. “You don’t have to do anything. We’re going to fix it, okay?”

Alex eyes him distrustfully. “Who are you?”

Malfoy shrugs. “Nobody important.”

Tears fall fast and heavy from Alex’s eyes now. "I can't live with myself anymore.” 

"Let me help,” Malfoy offers, taking her hands.

She blinks back tears and asks quietly: “How?”

Malfoy jerks his head towards Harry. “With a little help from my friend, wizard Jesus.”

A small smile creeps onto Alex’s face.

Harry approaches Traver’s desk, one hand in his pocket hovering over the base of his wand.

“What’s he doing here?” Travers asks, eyeing Malfoy by Harry’s side.

“We’re here to make you a deal,” Harry offers.

“Not interested,” Travers says, looking back down at his desk.

Malfoy flicks his wand and Travers’ papers go flying. As much as Harry enjoys the flash of irritation on Travers’ face, he doesn’t laugh. They need to get him onside.

Travers’ stands up. “Raise your wand to me again, Malfoy, I dare you.”

Malfoy looks like he’s about to do just that so Harry tugs at his arm. “I got this,” he says through gritted teeth. Turning back to Travers, he plants a diplomatic smile on his face. “I’m going to offer you the biggest werewolf raid of your career.”

Travers’ eyes light up instantly but his eyebrows drop in suspicion. “Why?”

“Because,” Malfoy interrupts gleefully, and Harry lets him. “You’re going to agree to all Potter’s conditions under an unbreakable vow.”

Travers laughs and then falters when he sees Harry’s face. “You’re serious?”

“I have an informant willing to tell you everything you need to know about a conspiracy to attack the Ministry of Magic on the full moon. You can have all the credit. The Minister herself is bound to take notice.”

“Hmm,” Travers says, but Harry can tell they’ve already got him. “Tell me your conditions.”

It’s not such a flash set-up, using a Ministry holding cell as a temporary distribution centre but Malfoy looks right at home, bottling several vials of Wolfsbane at a time, even with his wand tucked behind his ear.

He looks up, catching Harry’s watching eyes. “I would have kept doing it for free, you know,” he says.

“Yes, but the look on Travers’ face when I suggested employing you was worth it.”

Malfoy smiles sweet and simple, and Harry can’t remember ever seeing someone so beautiful. He shakes the thought from his head. Despite whatever happened with the dittany the other night, their relationship is still professional.

“Some of my regulars might not trust me anymore now that I’m a Ministry puppet.”

“Like anyone could pull your strings for you.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow and stares into the cauldron of Wolfsbane potion they’d retrieved from the raid. “I can think of one.”

Harry swallows. “Did you want to–” he starts.

“The vials for your prisoners,” Malfoy interrupts, hovering a tray of six vials by Harry’s hand. “They’ll need to take it by midnight to be effective so you best be on your way.”

It’s barely past 8pm, but Harry obeys, heading down to the lower levels of cells. Travers is already there, smiling much too widely as he surveils the masterminds behind the conspiracy. They’d intended to use the Wolfsbane to maintain their mental state while in wolf form so they could intentionally attack the Ministry. The other hundred or so werewolves, recruited only in their desperation for Wolfsbane, were offered amnesty – a condition Malfoy carefully devised the wording for to ensure there were no loopholes Travers could exploit.  

The Ministry aren’t keeping tabs on those offered amnesty – Malfoy was insistent on this – but Harry knows a great number of them are being hosted at Malfoy Manor as he hasn’t yet removed the Homenum Revelio charm from his wand.

Travers looks up when Harry enters. “The Minister For Magic called.”

“Good for you,” Harry says tonelessly, handing over the vials to Travers, and turning to leave. They may have reached an agreement but Harry still can’t stand the bloke.

“I suggested the Ministry council commence an inquiry into werewolf registration requirements.”

Harry stops at the base of the stairs.

“I know your Malfoy is still intending on supplying Wolfsbane to unregistered werewolves,” Travis continues, “I figured he might as well have the backing of the Ministry.”

Harry turns around. He didn’t expect this from Travers of all people. “But why do you care?”

Travers ignores the question. “Lily is cleared for release, by the way. I’ve left the paperwork on your desk. I thought it best if you called the parents.”

“Lily?” Harry asks.

“The Dunberg baby.”

Malfoy’s still pottering around in his makeshift Potions lab well past midnight. Harry keeps himself busy for as long as possible, but finally when there’s no more paperwork to complete, he grabs his coat and heads back down.

“You have to sleep eventually, Malfoy.”

Malfoy doesn’t look up. “Do you know how many batches of Wolfsbane I have to make before the next full moon? Now that it’s free, I’m anticipating a 170% increase in Ministry supply interest. If I get an early enough start, I can make sure I have enough for 200% just in case. However, that relies on the Ministry’s supplies of moonstone which are–”

“Malfoy,” Harry interrupts. “Go home, that’s an order.”

Malfoy stops in his tracks and finally looks up at Harry. “I don’t report to you,” he says but he grabs his coat anyway.

As they walk to the Ministry fireplaces together in silence, Harry desperately thinks of something to say. Of course, the only thing that ends up coming out of his mouth, just before Malfoy hops into a grate is: “Do you want come back to mine?”

Malfoy pauses, Floo powder held aloft in his hand, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I mean,” Harry continues, fumbling for words to justify the request, “because your place is probably a bit, um, overcrowded.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrow and he holds out the hand without Floo powder. “Give me your wand.”

Harry pulls his wand from his pocket, grasping it tightly. “Why?”

“You know why. I’m cancelling that spell.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not the point. It’s a matter of privacy and, as far as I’m aware, I’m not under investigation anymore.”

Harry knows he doesn’t have any real argument to still have the charm. If he’s being honest, his interest in keeping it is far from professional. “Finite Incantatem” he whispers.

Malfoy nods. “So, your address, Potter?”

“My address?” Harry repeats. “Oh! My address!”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Don’t get weird on me. I'm only accepting because my mother has returned to the Manor.”

Harry blanches at the mention of Narcissa. “You know she’s the one who–”

“Yes, of course I’m aware, Potter. Her prejudices are ingrained but she’s doing the best to make up for it now. Please refrain from judging her.”

 “Okay, right, yeah. Totally.” Harry clamps his own mouth shut. He’s nervous and babbling. Perhaps inviting Malfoy back to his house wasn’t the best idea.

“Your address, Potter?”

Somehow, when they arrive at Harry’s house, Malfoy doesn’t have a spec on him while Harry is covered from head to toe in soot.

“Fireplaces can sense weakness,” Malfoy suggests, flicking his wand lazily over Harry to clean him.

“It’s my fireplace!”

Malfoy shrugs and walks away, stepping over a stack of books Harry has been meaning to pack away for weeks. Harry quickly thrusts them under the couch with his wand. Next, he spells the clothes strewn across his house to fly into his bedroom wardrobe. A single sock whips past Malfoy’s head.

Malfoy doesn’t flinch. “Spring cleaning?” he comments, moving further through the house.

“I can give you a tour?” suggests Harry, trying to get ahead of Malfoy, to assess the upcoming damage of other rooms.

“No need, Potter." Malfoy side-steps him and follows the sock into Harry’s bedroom. Fuck.

The bed isn’t made, the blinds are hanging diagonally because they jammed when Harry tried an opening charm two months ago, and there are owl feathers scattered all over the carpet. Harry raises his wand to collect the feathers but Malfoy turns back and puts a hand over Harry’s.

“No need, Potter,” he says again, and his hand lingers for another beat before he turns back. Now, he approaches the bed, his long fingers trailing the edge of a bed post. “Were you looking for a repeat performance?” he asks, back to Harry.

Something lodges in Harry’s throat and he is physically incapable of answering the provocative question.

Malfoy spins around the bedpost and sits down on the edge of the bed. His eyes land on Harry’s with dizzying intensity. “I don’t have any injuries but I’m sure you can come up with another excuse to touch me.”

Harry somehow finds the strength to walk over to Malfoy, but he reaches over to hold the same bedpost in support. “What are you doing?”

Malfoy leans back on his elbows and looks up at Harry through deliciously long eyelashes. “I thought that was obvious, Gryffindor.”

Harry’s hand clenches around the bed post. “I mean,” he says, his voice huskier than intended, “what is this? Are you interested in me or just…you know?”

“Is there something wrong with just” – Malfoy mimics Potter’s voice – “you know?”

Harry clears his throat. “No, but I thought you might–”

Malfoy raises his chin, staring at Harry defiantly. “Might what, Potter?”

“Want something more than that.”

There’s a second where Harry thinks Malfoy’s about to agree but then his face shuts down and he stands up, walking away from Harry to the top of the bed.

“If you’re not interested in the offer, Potter,” he says, plumping the pillows, “consider it rescinded. There’s a stained sofa in your sitting room that I’m sure you’ll find suitable.”

Harry lets go of the bedpost and finds his own footing. He yanks gently at Malfoy’s shoulder forcing Malfoy to face him. "Come on, admit it! I know you care for me."

Malfoy crosses his arms. "I've been keeping this secret for years, waiting for the right time to tell you. And you think you can goad me into admitting it?”

Harry can feel a stupid smile growing on his face but he doesn’t fight it. “I think you just did.”

“When I tell you, you’ll know it, Potter.”

“Come on, then,” Harry urges, taking another step forward. “Tell me.”

Malfoy frowns and looks Harry up and down. “I will do no such thing. Perhaps you have something to tell me.”

Harry’s confidence falters with the tables turned, but just for a second. “Well, yes, actually, I do.”

Malfoy stares at Harry, waiting. “You’re testing my patience.”

“Okay, well,” Harry says as his previously confident mind turns to mush, “I guess, I might care for you.”

Malfoy scoffs, but there’s the hint of a smile behind it. “Eloquent as always Potter.”

“Fuck off. You couldn’t even say it.”

Malfoy’s eyes widen at the challenge, and before Harry can react, Malfoy has him laid back on the bed, trapped between two very long and unyielding legs. Malfoy leans down and Harry’s breath hitches at the impending kiss, but instead Malfoy simply readjusts his glasses.  

“I admire you, Harry Potter. Your untainted and unselfish desire for what is right is a quality many claim to possess, but rarely do. Your reckless saviour complex is frustrating but endearing. Your confidence and bravery in all that you do has always brought in me great envy. Despite all this, and all the worship and attention you receive, you’ve always been humble, and you’ve never taken advantage of how others perceive you. This is why I’ve always known that one day, given the opportunity, I will fall in love with you.”

The stupid smile is back. “Oh. Well I–”

One of Malfoy’s long fingers caresses Harry’s lips. “You don’t need to say anything. You play your emotions so clearly on your face.”

Harry throws his glasses away. “Is my face telling you right now that I’d like nothing more than to kiss you because–”

Malfoy leans back down and claims Harry’s lips, soft at first, but the wanting quickly gives way to something harder, and soon Harry is a mess of desire, fighting against Malfoy’s legs for more friction. It’s Malfoy who pulls back, laughing, as he releases his legs and rolls onto his back beside Harry.  

“So,” Harry says, side-eyeing Malfoy, “that offer’s back on the table, right?”

 “Stop being clever and take off your clothes.”