Title: Harry Potter and the Unspeakable Malfoy
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, brief and very faint Percy/Justin.
Summary: It's cases like this that make Harry wish he'd stayed at home and taken up knitting instead.
Rating: NC-17, mainly because of some rather extraordinary pictures...
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): None that I can think of.
Epilogue compliant? Definitely EWE.
Word Count: ~10,300
Author's Notes: I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope, Mayfly, that you like it too. This story is based on your first prompt, but I did manage to sneak those three wonderful pictures in as well (links included in the text). Many thanks, as ever, to J for betaing.
"So, you see, Harry, this is an extremely sensitive case, and that is why I want an Unspeakable to work on it with you. Malfoy is not only one of the best we've got, he has also handled similarly sensitive cases before." Kingsley stopped and looked searchingly at Harry. "I trust you won't have any problems working with him."
His tone implied that any problems Harry might have with Malfoy would be ignored.
"No, Minister," he replied smoothly. "Malfoy and I put our differences behind us a long time ago."
It was more or less true, Harry reflected, as he walked back to the DMLE; he and Malfoy could get on tolerably well these days. Of course, since Ginny had become best friends with Pansy Parkinson (and how that had happened, Harry had no idea) he pretty well had to get on with Malfoy. The two social circles, once sworn enemies, now mixed and mingled frequently. Ron had even gone so far as to call Malfoy "a really quite decent bloke", this observation having been uttered after numerous late-night chess games with him. And if Harry did get strange and completely unidentifiable feelings whenever Malfoy happened to be in the room, well, that was Harry's problem – he always had had an unfortunate temper – and he just kept interaction with Malfoy to a minimum. There would be no problems in working with him; after all, they were both professionals and...
Not knowing quite how to finish that thought, Harry was glad when he arrived at the desk of the Aurors' secretary. The secretary, a small, plump, kind, young woman who was constantly being flustered by the demands made of her, smiled up at him warmly.
"Hello, Harry. What can I do for you?" she asked.
"Do you know where Draco Malfoy's office is, Sally?"
Sally looked perplexed.
"I'm not at all sure... Do you know which department he's in?"
"Oh." Sally flicked through a large leather-bound volume in a rather lost manner. "I'm afraid I don't know, Harry," she said at last, apologetically. "I don't think I have the Unspeakables in here."
Harry, who knew that, even if Sally had possessed the information, she would likely have been unable to find it, smiled reassuringly at her.
"Never mind," he said. "I expect they keep everything about their department secret. I'll go along to the main desk and see if they know."
He looked in to his office and found Ron lounging in his chair and doodling on what looked like case notes.
"All right, mate?" Ron asked idly. "What's the new case like?"
"Oh, some hush-hush affair that means I've got to work with Malfoy. You don't happen to know where his office is, do you?"
A slow smile spread across Ron's face.
"You're working with Malfoy, are you?" he said. "That should be interesting."
Harry looked at him questioningly but Ron shook his head, still grinning.
"Afraid I can't think of his office number off the top of my head. Ask him if he's up for a game on Saturday, will you?"
"Yeah, okay," Harry replied, pushing down the spark of annoyance that always came when Ron talked about playing chess with Malfoy.
The receptionist in the Atrium was more helpful than Sally, though not as friendly, and he soon found himself on his way to Malfoy's Ministry haunt. It was near Hermione's office, he noticed, remembering that she had mentioned Malfoy in the context of work several times recently. Doubtless they came into contact on occasion; after all, the Unspeakables would need people to do research or... whatever it was that Hermione did these days.
Malfoy was sitting at his desk when Harry entered the office, poring over a folder of parchments. He looked up and gave a slow cat-like smile of welcome.
"Potter," he purred. "Always a pleasure to see you."
Harry ignored the butterflies in his stomach and sat down opposite Malfoy.
"You've been informed about the case, I take it," he said, deciding to be as businesslike as he could.
Malfoy leaned back and stretched luxuriantly.
"I was just reading the file on it," he replied.
He was silent for a moment, gazing across at Harry, a strange smile on his face. Harry felt more than a little uncomfortable, but held Malfoy's gaze unflinchingly. Malfoy's smile widened and then he sat up and became suddenly businesslike.
"Right," he said briskly. "Let me see if I've got everything straight." A twinkle crept back into his eyes. "As it were." He winked and Harry felt the temperature in the room start to go up. "The basic fact of the matter is that there is a spy somewhere in the Ministry. Someone is passing confidential information on various matters, mainly financial, and all to do with possible future projects, to the Italian Ministry of Magic. They, naturally enough, pass it on to Italian firms that might want to gain the contracts involved. It is suspected that the information is being passed through the British Magical Embassy in Rome. None of the information that has found its way out so far has led to any critical situations, and Britain is on friendly terms with Italy, but the potential is there for the leak to become damaging or at least embarrassing. Our job is to find the leak and stop it. Does that sound about right to you?"
"I haven't looked through the file yet, but from what Kingsley told me that seems to be about it."
"There isn't very much more in the notes than what I've said," he complained. "Not many details, and hardly anything to go on. And, while your presence is always a delight to me, I really can't see why you've been put on the case at all."
"Are you suggesting that I'm incompetent?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowed.
Draco smiled kindly.
"Of course not. From what I hear, you're really quite a competent Auror. But the fact is that I'm used to this sort of case and you're not. You ought to be helping elderly witches across Diagon Alley, and finding lost Kneazles, looking frightfully dashing and Gryffindor-like. Isn't that part of the expected hero-pattern? Marrying the Weaslette... well, I suppose that's out, considering your preferences. Pity, though; it would have fitted very well. A son called James and a daughter called Lily, of course, and I think some other unfortunate child as well, called Albus Dobby, or something equally ridiculous."
"And weren't you supposed to marry someone like that awful Greengrass girl?" Harry retorted. "And create another nasty, pointy, little Malfoy. Ursus Major, perhaps."
"The constellation is called Ursa Major, Potter," Malfoy said, quite unruffled. "It would have to be a girl."
"Either way, it would probably turn out to be an Arsus Major, just like its father," Harry muttered.
Malfoy rose to his feet smiling, scooping all the parchment back into the file and secreting it away in a cabinet. "Very witty, Potter. Keep practising; you'll get there eventually. But getting back to the point, I dare say you'll make a mess of things here, and I shall have to pull numerous strings to get it all hushed up."
Harry's jaw clenched, but he was, on the whole, relieved to be back on familiar ground.
"Talk about unspeakable," he muttered.
Malfoy's face broke into a smile.
"Why, Potter, was that actually another half-decent joke?" he asked. "There's hope for you yet."
He perched on the edge of his desk near Harry.
"I suggest we contact the Embassy in Rome," he said, flipping back to his businesslike tone. "I understand it was one of the junior diplomats there who contacted the Ministry with his suspicions that the information was being passed through the Embassy."
Harry nodded slowly.
"All right," he replied. "That sounds like a good first step. But what –"
The door opened just then and a tall fair woman came in. She had an ice-cool and efficient air about her. Harry thought he recognised her as the Unspeakables' secretary, whom he had glimpsed on his way to Malfoy's office. She handed Malfoy a large folder.
"Details of the British Magical Embassy in Rome," she said crisply, and walked out.
"Thank you, Hilda," Malfoy called after her.
Harry frowned, wondering how she had known to bring in the Embassy file. He supposed Malfoy had thought of it earlier and asked her to find it. Malfoy was leafing through the file.
"Here we are," he said, pulling out a scrap of parchment. "Adolphus Henderson; Junior Under-secretary to the British Magical Ambassador in Rome." He handed the parchment to Harry. "Do you think his friends call him Dolly?"
Harry rolled his eyes and handed the parchment back.
"Well, let's get on with it, shall we? No point wasting time, is there?"
"I do love a man who takes charge of a situation," Malfoy murmured. "And Aurors are always so masterful and decisive. Just like Gryffindors." He gestured to the fireplace. "After you, sir."
Harry frowned at the fireplace and then looked at Malfoy.
"Can we –"
"I'm joined up to the International Floo Connection," Malfoy said. "We can go anywhere from here."
"How did you manage to swing that?" Harry asked.
Malfoy licked his lips lasciviously and grinned.
"Blow jobs will get you a long way in life, Potter. You just have to know who to target."
Harry swallowed and stepped forward, taking a pinch of Floo powder from the ornate bowl.
Just ignore him, he told himself sternly. Think about something else.
He cast the powder into the fireplace and called out, "British Magical Embassy in Rome."
Just like Malfoy to have his own private Floo, he thought, as he stepped into the green flames and was whisked away.
International Floo Connections were notoriously unreliable, since only one connection existed between Britain and each other country on the network, making the journeys long and uncomfortable, especially during busy periods. This one seemed to take ages; either there was someone else using the connection, or it had broken down again.
Harry arrived, with a relatively small stumble, considering the journey, in a tastefully decorated reception area, manned by a young wizard in traditionally-cut robes. He breathed deeply, trying to dispel the lingering dizziness and nausea. Very soon after his own arrival, the Floo sounded behind him, and he moved out of the way to allow Malfoy to exit.
The young wizard greeted them with a discreet smile when they approached the desk.
"Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter. What may I do for you?"
"We would be grateful for a few minutes of Mr Henderson's time, if he is free," Malfoy responded smoothly.
"Certainly, sir," the receptionist said, rising. "I believe he will be able to see you. If you would care to wait a few moments, I will find him for you."
He glided away, and Harry turned to Malfoy.
"How did he know our names?" he asked. "Did you tell the Embassy we were coming?"
Malfoy looked amused.
"No, but you're not exactly unknown, Potter. Had you forgotten?"
"But this is Rome," Harry protested. "Surely I'm not that famous."
"Regardless of how famous you may be in other countries, this is the British Embassy, staffed by British witches and wizards."
"Oh." Harry was silent for a moment. "By the way, how come you have your own Floo? Most people in the Ministry have to share them, you know."
Malfoy turned a pitying look on him.
"All the Unspeakables have private Floos," he said simply. "Wouldn't do to have all our secrets escaping, would it?"
Harry felt like a fool twice over, and decided he was better off keeping his mouth shut.
"By the way, Potter," Malfoy murmured. "I didn't really go around handing out blow jobs to get an International Floo." He glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "It's just another Unspeakable privilege."
Harry was just wondering why that information made him feel so relieved when the receptionist returned with Adolphus Henderson, a dashingly handsome young man with a dazzling smile and what Harry was certain were the latest fashion in robes. Harry took an instant dislike to him, and returned his greeting stiffly, wishing Henderson would stop looking at Malfoy like that.
Once introductions were complete, they were ushered into a small comfortable room, and Henderson quickly cast anti-eavesdropping wards. It was obviously something he did on a regular basis.
"Now, gentlemen," he said, seating himself opposite them. "What can I do for you?"
He smiled at Malfoy for just a fraction too long, and Harry clenched his jaw. Malfoy returned the smile.
"We are here about the mole in the Ministry," he replied. "And the one here, for that matter. I believe you were the one who contacted the Ministry about it."
"The Ambassador suspected something was going on, but he left it to me to make what enquiries I could and do what was necessary. Having done a little investigating, I deemed it best to call for reinforcements, as it were. I'm sure you'll be able to handle the situation much more capably that I can."
He smiled at Malfoy again, who looked down coyly and gave a deprecating chuckle. Harry told himself that it was bad manners to hex someone you had only just met.
"Do you have suspicions of any particular person here?" he asked, putting on his best official Auror-voice.
Henderson turned to him, his smile becoming bland.
"Oh, I know who's receiving the information in the Embassy," he said calmly. "I have no doubt about it."
Harry stared at him.
"Then why –"
"I not only have no proof," Henderson cut in, "but I was also unable to discover the source of the leak. I think you'll agree that finding that is important. I judged it advisable to do nothing except tell you. You may do what you think fit."
Harry was unable to argue with that.
"Very sound judgement," Malfoy purred.
"Thank you," Henderson replied. His bright Lockhart-like smile flashed out again, and Harry itched to use the Deluminator on it.
"What a charming young man," Malfoy said, when they arrived back in his office.
Harry sighed loudly, and flung himself down in a chair.
"We are supposed to be working on an important case," he said waspishly, "not wasting valuable time flirting with..."
"Handsome young men called Dolly?" Malfoy suggested.
"With strangers who may also be suspects," Harry replied firmly.
"Jealous, Potter?" Malfoy asked sweetly. "You'll notice that the card on which he wrote the name of his suspect also has his private Floo address on it. A rather blatant invitation, but one which I am tempted to take him up on."
Harry swallowed down the urge to Floo back to Rome and hex Adolphus Henderson.
"I believe in being professional about my work," he said stiffly.
"That's where we differ," Malfoy said, lounging in his chair. "I believe strongly in combining business with pleasure, lots of pleasure."
He looked Harry in the eye.
"If you're so against my taking up with young Henderson, perhaps you'd like to sample my particular brand of pleasure yourself?"
Harry couldn't answer for a moment.
"Very funny, Malfoy."
To his relief, Hilda came in just then.
"I contacted Miss Parkinson, as you requested," she said. "She will be at the Ginger Kneazle Café until eleven, if you wish to speak to her. She asked me to remind you that you will be paying."
Malfoy grinned fondly.
"Just like Pans," he said. "Well, it can go on expenses. Thank you Hilda. We'll go and meet her now."
"Hang on a minute," Harry expostulated, as Hilda glided out of the room. "What's all this about meeting Parkinson? We're supposed to be working."
Malfoy sighed as he rose from his chair.
"I realise my methods are far too esoteric for you to ever understand," he said in a long-suffering tone, "but do keep quiet and come along like a good little Auror."
He swept Harry from the room and Harry resigned himself reluctantly to Pansy Parkinson and the Ginger Kneazle.
Not much difference between them, he thought acidly.
Parkinson was impossibly elegant and fashionably bored, as usual, when they found her at the Ginger Kneazle Café. She was sitting at one of the outside tables, wearing enormous sunglasses and talking into one of the new and very exclusive Wiziphones, which had just come on to the market. She ended the call when Harry and Malfoy arrived, leaving the Wiziphone ostentatiously on the table where everyone passing could see it. Harry resisted the urge to scoff; he had been sent a free Wiziphone by the manufacturers but had never used it.
Malfoy kissed her cheek and sat down. Harry, feeling Parkinson's sunglasses on him, sat down as well, hoping no one he knew came past and saw him there during working hours.
Indeed, Harry was so caught up in scanning the passers-by for familiar faces that it was some minutes before he paid attention to Malfoy and Parkinson.
"...how all this confidential information is getting out," he was horrified to hear Malfoy saying blithely. "So, if you happen to hear anything, do let me know, Pans."
Parkinson didn't appear to be in the least interested; she was gazing across the street and fanning herself with the menu card. Harry tried to catch Malfoy's eye to give him a meaningful glare, but Malfoy ignored him. Fortunately, the talk then descended to idle gossip and slanderous scandal, in which Parkinson took a little more interest. Finally, when he couldn't take any more, Harry said,
"Malfoy, don't you think we should be getting back to the office? After all, we've got a lot to do, and I'm sure Par – er, Pansy has a busy day as well."
Parkinson turned her sunglasses on him again, and Malfoy looked at him in surprise, as if he'd forgotten Harry was there.
"No," Parkinson said with finality.
"Well," Harry replied, forcing himself to smile as pleasantly as he could, "Malfoy and I are very busy, so I'm afraid you'll have to continue catching up some other time."
"There was no need to be rude to Pansy," Malfoy said rather sniffily, as they made their way back to his office. "And you might have given us a little more time together. I see very little of her these days, you know."
Harry gave him a Look.
"Firstly, I was not rude to her; certainly not as rude as she frequently is to me. Secondly, you forget that I know a good deal about yours and Parkinson's doings; you spent all of last Sunday together, and last Friday evening. I was there on both occasions, in case you'd forgotten, so I know perfectly well how much time you've had recently in which to catch up."
They had reached Malfoy's office by this time. Malfoy leaned against the door in front of Harry and looked at him from under his eyelashes.
"You do seem to know a lot about my... 'doings', as you call them. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were spying on me again. Interested in me, Potter?"
Harry flushed and stood up a little straighter.
"Of course not," he snapped. "But I am here to do a job, and I don't like wasting time. Are we going to get down to it, or not?"
As a delighted smile spread across Malfoy's face, Harry realised what he had said, and cursed his errant mouth.
"I didn't mean that," Harry said hastily. "I meant get on and solve this case. You know, the very important case we've been given."
Malfoy waved an airy hand.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "It's all in hand. And I'd much rather be getting down to other things."
Harry focussed on his frustration and tried to ignore the small voice that wondered just what those other things might be, and what they might be like with Malfoy.
"Unlike some people," Harry said hotly, "I am a professional. I take my job seriously, and I take this case seriously. We've been given a job to do, and if you're just going to laze around, that's fine, but you'll be doing it on your own. I'm going to get on with solving the case and catching the spy."
He turned, and marched away. Behind him, he heard a low chuckle and Malfoy said quietly,
"Be still, my heart. How masterful he is!"
Harry was very glad Malfoy couldn't see his blush.
"He's just so bloody awful," Harry moaned that evening to Ron. "He makes snide comments all the time, and... and things like that."
Harry didn't want to talk to Ron about the other sort of remark Malfoy was given to making; the less said about all that, the better. He drank moodily from his Butterbeer, and slumped back into the sofa.
"Don't let him rile you up, mate," Ron advised sagely.
All very well for him to say, Harry thought. Malfoy doesn't say things to him like – He cut that thought off quickly.
"Where's Hermione?" he asked, more to take his mind off Malfoy than because he particularly wanted to know. These days, Hermione was always very reasonable where Malfoy was concerned.
"Oh, some business at work," Ron said vaguely. "An emergency came up, or something like that."
"Bloody Malfoy," Harry groused, Hermione already forgotten. "Why can't he at least make an effort to behave like normal people?"
He looked up to see Ron trying unsuccessfully to smother a grin.
"What's so funny?" Harry demanded.
"You and Malfoy," he said simply. "It really is hilarious, when you think about it."
More than this, Ron was not prepared to say, but he continued to laugh when Harry pressed him on the subject. Since Harry did not find the situation remotely funny, and, at the same time, found it difficult to think of anything else, the rest of the evening was not a particularly chatty one. They played chess; Harry, of course, lost easily every time, and Ron was obviously regretting Malfoy's absence.
Harry didn't see Malfoy for the next few days, and it might not be too much of an exaggeration to say that he was avoiding him. At least, Harry told himself, Malfoy's presence irritated him so much that it was far better if they stayed away from each other. After all, Harry had an important case to solve, since a certain person seemed to be taking such a cavalier attitude to national security. He spent his time conducting numerous boring interviews with boring individuals, and reading the fine print of contracts that he couldn't understand. Was this what Malfoy spent all his time doing? Somehow, Harry doubted it.
However, the case was not the only thing preying on Harry's mind. Two days after he had spent the evening with Ron, he sought out Hermione's office, with the idea of asking her advice, and possibly getting a bit of gossip about Malfoy. There was no answer to his knock, and when he tried the door he found it locked. He supposed she was at a meeting or off doing some research or something, but he tried again the next day with the same result. Then he started asking around casually, but no one he spoke to in the Ministry had seen her for several days. The problem occupied his mind a good deal; where had Hermione gone?
When he met Ron at the pub in the evening, he asked him outright where she was. The pub was crowded and he was leaning across their small table to talk to him. Ron glanced around with what Harry thought was a remarkably shifty look on his face and coughed.
"Erm, I don't think we'll talk about that, Harry," he said, with a significant look which Harry entirely failed to interpret. "Not here."
"But –" Harry began.
"Don't worry about it, mate," Ron cut in. "Everything's fine. But this really isn't the place."
Harry left the pub convinced that something was terribly wrong. Had Ron and Hermione had a huge row, or even split up, and was Ron trying to spare him the details? Miserably, Harry thought that, if this was in a book, Ron would have murdered her and hidden her body somewhere, and be denying all knowledge of where she was to put him off the scent.
Nonsense, he told himself sternly. This is Ron we're talking about. Ron would never do something like that, especially not to Hermione.
But, said that annoying little voice in his head, which was beginning to sound remarkably like Malfoy, it's always the least likely person who turns into a homicidal lunatic. They spend years simmering inside, brewing up hatred for everyone around them, their souls becoming twisted and deformed, before it suddenly bursts out and they go on a hideous rampage of slaughter. After all, look at Voldemort.
Having thoroughly scared him, the little voice shut up, and left him to his nightmares. Harry was very glad when morning came.
The following afternoon, Harry was sitting in his office feeling thoroughly miserable. He couldn't stop worrying about Hermione, and the only way to distract himself was to worry about the case. He flicked disconsolately through his notes and the transcripts of the numerous interviews he'd had, and sighed. It looked as though the solution would be extremely uncomfortable for him and everyone around him, but he couldn't see any way around the facts.
Just as he was wondering whether worrying about Hermione was, in fact, a pleasanter way to spend his day than trying not to solve the case, an enormous silver dragon burst through his closed door, nearly giving Harry a heart attack. He stared at it, one hand over his pounding heart and the other clutching his wand in a death-grip, and wondered where the fuck it had come from. A moment later, the dragon opened its mouth and spoke, and that question was answered.
"Potter," it said in Malfoy's unmistakable drawl. "Your presence is required in my office. Bring whatever you've got on the case. Immediately, Potter; I don't want to be kept waiting all day."
The dragon looked down its long nose at Harry, sneered at him and vanished.
Harry sheathed his wand with a muttered imprecation and rose to his feet. He was glad enough of the distraction though, and, he thought guiltily, he really ought to compare notes with Malfoy, since they were supposed to be working together. Kingsley wouldn't be pleased if he found out Harry had been allowing unprofessionalism into his work.
He gathered together his notes on the case, rather proud of the fact that he had so many, and glared at the spot where Malfoy's Patronus had been. He might have sent his message in a slightly less alarming way. Trust Malfoy to have a sneering Patronus.
"Potter," Malfoy said eventually, looking up from Harry's case notes. "I hate to have to say it, but I'm impressed. It seems you have hidden talents." His smile turned sultry. "What else can you do?"
Harry, who had spent the time Malfoy had been reading the notes in worrying about Hermione again, didn't react beyond a brief eye roll. Malfoy looked at him in some concern.
"What's wrong, Potter? You seem quite out of sorts."
"Oh, it's just... I haven't seen Hermione for several days, and I'm worried."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow.
"Do you normally expect to see her every day?"
"No, but... She's not been at work, and Ron's being cagey and won't tell me where she is, and no one seems to have seen her and..." He shrugged awkwardly. "I'm worried."
Malfoy looked at him a little strangely.
"But surely," he began, and then stopped.
"What?" Harry asked. "Have you heard something?"
Malfoy shook his head slowly. He was eyeing Harry as if he was some rare beast that he'd never seen before.
"Nothing," he said eventually. "Never mind. And I wouldn't worry; she's quite capable of taking care of herself."
Harry was certain that he knew more than he was telling, but he knew better than to attempt to drag it out of him.
"So," Malfoy continued, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers together, "you seem to have been busy." He indicated the bulging file. "What conclusions have you drawn?"
"I've certainly narrowed things down considerably," Harry said cautiously, hesitating over stating his fears directly.
"Excellent," Malfoy replied brightly. "Why don't we plant some fake stories with all the suspects, and then see which ones make it to Rome, and which ones just end up in the Prophet? Let's see... I think Arthur Weasley has a penchant for Muggle sex toys. And maybe our beloved Minister has an alter ego called Marigold."
Harry grinned reluctantly.
"I think Kingsley might have a few things to say about that," he commented dryly. "And I'd really rather not think about Arthur in that context."
The mention of Mr Weasley brought his mind back to the unpleasant side of the case.
"Malfoy," he said slowly. "Did anything... strike you about those notes? I mean, was your attention drawn to anyone in particular? Because I've been having suspicions that I don't at all like, and everything seems to be pointing in that one direction."
"Percy Weasley, you mean," Malfoy said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle.
"Has your information led you in that direction as well?" he asked, his heart sinking.
"No," Malfoy replied. "But it does rather strike one as possible when reading your file. He's in a position to know all about possible future projects that haven't yet become official or public knowledge, and that information would give any company a huge advantage if they wanted the contract. Having said that, I really don't think he would do anything like that. Not because I don't think he's got it in him, but because it simply wouldn't occur to him. He's far too puritanical to consider any sort of corruption or villainy."
Harry was relieved, but, he reminded himself, however much he might agree with Malfoy's assessment of Percy's character, the evidence looked fairly damning.
The door opened, and Hilda walked in, carrying another folder.
"Percival Weasley's file," she announced.
"Ah, thank you, Hilda," Malfoy said. "We should be able to get some clue from this."
He began flicking through it at great speed, pausing occasionally to read bits. Harry sat frowning, wondering if Malfoy had been lying when he'd said he hadn't had any prior suspicion of Percy. How else had Hilda known to bring in the file?
Malfoy hummed meditatively, and sat back in his chair. Harry looked at him suspiciously.
"That doesn't sound good," he said.
"It seems Weasley has been having rather a lot of cosy meetings lately with Finch-Fletchley. Interesting."
"Justin?" Harry said. "He works in Contracts, doesn't he? And that's where a lot of the information has been coming from."
The horrible possibility of having to face Mr and Mrs Weasley and tell them that their son was a spy rose in Harry's mind.
"It's not conclusive, Potter," Malfoy said, again in that gentle voice.
"No," Harry replied, "but it's not looking good."
The door opened again to admit Hilda and another file.
"Justin Finch-Fletchley's file," she said.
Harry couldn't contain himself any longer.
"How do you do that?" he asked. "How do you always know which file to bring in, and when? We've only just mentioned Justin."
Hilda looked down her nose at him and said, more icily than ever,
"I am secretary to the Unspeakables, not the Aurors."
She stalked out. Harry glowered after her and turned to Malfoy, who was grinning.
"She knows everything that happens in this department, Potter," he explained kindly. "And she always has all the relevant facts, files and information at her fingertips. She's an extremely efficient secretary."
"You mean she listens in to everyone's conversations?" Harry asked, his hackles starting to rise at the thought.
"I wouldn't put it quite as crudely as that," Malfoy replied. "She doesn't sit with Extendable Ears on all the time, or anything. But it is necessary for her to know what's going on, so that she can do her job properly."
"Did it ever strike you that she looks rather like a heron?" Harry asked.
Malfoy raised his eyebrows and smiled.
"If you're trying to provoke a reaction, I can tell you now, it won't work. Hilda is entirely unflappable."
"As it were," he murmured.
Malfoy smiled at him, a genuine smile, and Harry felt his breath catch as he got caught in Malfoy's eyes. For a moment, he was lost in swirling mists and dramatic stormy skies and Quidditch in the wind and the rain...
Malfoy cleared his throat and looked down at the files in front of him, and the moment passed. Harry felt winded. There was the faintest hint of pink on Malfoy's cheeks.
"Weasley and Finch-Fletchley are having dinner tonight at the Dragon Volant," Malfoy said. "I think we should follow them and find out what, exactly, they discuss. That should tell us something about Weasley, at least."
"All right," Harry replied, the thought of spending the evening with Malfoy in what he knew was an expensive and exclusive restaurant making him feel flustered.
Malfoy scribbled something on a piece of parchment and tossed it across to Harry.
"Pick me up at my flat at seven," he said. "That's the Floo address. You know what the Dragon Volant is like? It means formal robes."
"Okay, sure. And what about Glamours? They shouldn't know that we're following them."
"We can sort that out this evening before we leave."
Malfoy smiled at him again, and Harry shot out of his chair as if he'd been stung, afraid of getting stuck in those dangerous eyes. Malfoy looked rather surprised, and Harry stammered his way to the door and escaped as quickly as he could.
Only when he'd got back to his office did he realise that his case notes were still on Malfoy's desk, and he groaned. Well, they would just have to stay there; he wasn't returning to face those eyes. The worst of it was that Malfoy had been really nice. He had still been flirtatious and witty and a little bit snarky and all the things he always was, but he had understood why Harry was worried and hadn't mocked him, or said anything cutting. Harry had felt comfortable talking to him, had felt that he could trust him.
And those eyes... Harry sighed deeply. He was going to have to spend the evening with a man who he had just discovered could be really pleasant and charming (when he made the effort), and who he might possibly be a tiny bit attracted to, and he was supposed to concentrate on finding out whether his best friend's brother was a spy.
Harry dropped his head into his hands and moaned piteously.
As he had expected, Malfoy was not ready when Harry arrived at his flat promptly at seven. Malfoy's voice called out to sit down and make himself comfortable, and promised that he would 'only be a minute.' Not believing this in the slightest, Harry seated himself on the sofa, and glanced up at the picture over the fireplace. His jaw dropped, and he stared.
It showed three men, gaudily naked, each with an enormous erect cock. The smallest man was the most startling; he was about the size of a house-elf, but his cock looked like that of a giant. Harry was at once horrified and unable to take his eyes off it.
"Rather good, isn't it?" a voice asked close behind him.
Harry turned to find Malfoy standing there, dressed in elegant robes that were so impossibly well-cut they seemed to caress his body. He turned his attention back to the picture, which suddenly seemed far less frightening than a sexy Malfoy.
"Erm, well, it's not really the sort of thing I'd want to have on my wall," he said, relieved that he was able to be vaguely coherent.
"Believe me, they're not my taste at all. Pansy has a thing for certain types of Muggle art, and she gave me a set of three of them. She tends to get twitchy if one doesn't display a proper appreciation of her gifts." He walked over to one of the doors and opened it. "Have a look at the one in here."
Harry peered through the door into a small dining room, and his eyebrows rose. There was another picture on one wall. This one did not display any sort of cock, but the man, who had spread his exaggeratedly bulging thighs, was reaching back between his own buttocks to ostentatiously finger himself.
"The chair opposite is where my father always sits when he and Mother come to dinner," Malfoy remarked, with a fond glance at the picture. "It's not exactly to his taste either."
Harry considered the idea of Lucius Malfoy forced to look at that picture for a whole evening, and found it entirely to his taste. He looked at Malfoy, and found him wearing his sexy sultry look again.
"You should see the one I've got in my bedroom," he purred, and winked.
Harry felt himself grow hot under his collar, but took his Gryffindor courage in both hands and replied,
"I'd like to."
Malfoy looked pleasantly surprised.
"We'll have to arrange a viewing," he said. "It's best to spend a lot of time with the picture, to really appreciate it."
His cheeks went slightly pink, and he looked as if he almost regretted his boldness. Harry found this slightly unsure Malfoy incredibly enticing, but wondered at his loss of confidence. Malfoy was always very free with his sexual innuendoes and never normally embarrassed by any subject. Was his change because Harry had responded positively?
"We'd better be going, hadn't we?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Malfoy sighed. "I suppose so. As much as I'd love an evening of discussing art, duty must come first." He smiled at Harry. "But first – the Glamours." He cocked his head on one side. "Hold still." He raised his wand, and Harry managed not to flinch.
After a few muttered spells, and subsequent alterations, Malfoy appeared satisfied.
"That will have to do," he said. "Not quite as dashingly handsome as normal, but I'm sure you'll survive for one evening."
Harry glanced at his reflection in a small mirror which hung on the wall. It was always odd to look into a mirror and see someone else staring back, but Malfoy had done a wonderful job. His hair was now very slightly lighter, his eyes blue, and his features subtly different. His scar was invisible. It was incredibly effective; most people, when disguising themselves, tried to change appearances completely, which meant the Glamours wouldn't hold properly. The most effective disguises made use of multiple small changes. Studying himself in detail, Harry felt a little self-conscious; his reflection was far too good-looking for his own comfort.
Malfoy peered over his shoulder, and Harry stared at him. The other man's reflection was also handsome, extremely so, but Harry realised with a small flip of his stomach that Malfoy's new face was not a patch on his usual one, except for his eyes, which he had not changed. The thought made him swallow; he seemed to be in even deeper than he had thought. When had that happened?
He turned to look at Malfoy directly, silently mourning the loss of the fair hair, which was now black. He looked a little like Sirius.
"Excellent work, Malfoy," he said, and meant it. "Shall we go?"
The interior of the Dragon Volant was dimly lit and romantic, each table having its own soft light, but everywhere else left in shadow. The waiters glided noiselessly around, appearing immediately they were needed, without having to be summoned.
Harry and Malfoy were settled at a table not far from where Percy and Justin were sitting, and, as soon as the waiter had delivered their wine and departed with their orders, Malfoy gave his wand a discreet flick, so that the conversation on the other table was amplified for them. It was not immediately terribly interesting; Percy was flirting rather inexpertly, and there was no mention of work.
Harry listened for a couple of minutes, and then looked across the table at his companion, and promptly forgot all about the others. All that mattered was that grey eyes were shining at him, and an unfamiliar mouth was curved in a very familiar expression. He wanted to keep those eyes on him, and keep Malfoy smiling at him.
Malfoy raised his glass in a silent toast.
When, after an evening which Harry had enjoyed more than any other in recent memory, Malfoy, still wearing that engaging smile, murmured,
"They're going," Harry had at first no idea of what he meant.
Malfoy gestured elegantly with his chin across the room, and Harry turned, saw Percy and Justin settling up with the waiter, and felt mortified. He had never before forgotten about his work, and he turned back to face Malfoy, convinced that the other man would ridicule him for it. Malfoy merely grinned knowingly at him and gave another discreet wave of his wand. A large scroll appeared on the table beside him, neatly bound with green satin ribbon.
"Transcript of the conversation," he said briefly. "No need to listen to it all."
Harry was both relieved and abashed. At least, he thought, the evening hasn't been completely wasted. He glanced at Malfoy and revised that thought. It wouldn't have been wasted, even if Malfoy hadn't known that spell.
When the waiter brought their own bill, Harry made a few clumsy attempts to pay, feeling that he ought to make up for his earlier lack of attention, at least to what ought to be attended to. However, Malfoy waved him off, remarking as he signed his name with a flourish,
"Our budget is far larger than the Aurors', Potter. Besides, you'd probably forget to claim it on expenses."
Percy and Justin had left separately, so there was no need to trail them any further, and Harry and Malfoy walked slowly down the road together. Harry was painfully aware of what was almost certainly going to be on offer, and waited breathlessly for Malfoy to suggest it.
Then, just as Malfoy stopped walking and turned to speak, an sudden and unusual pang of work-ethic crept up on Harry and caught him in his stomach.
Thou shalt not have sex with thy work-partner was how Section 3, Paragraph 2 of the Auror Code was generally known in the office. It was rigorously enforced, too, more so than many of the other Rules Governing Auror-Behaviour That Shall Be Obeyed At All Times.
Now, Harry was not generally one to let rules get in his way, especially ones governing his personal behaviour, but, in this instance, all his doubts, fears and worries caught up with him at once. He knew he had been being unprofessional over this case, both in avoiding Malfoy for the past few days, and in his subsequent... distraction. That distraction was obviously what the Auror Code was trying to avoid, since distraction at the wrong time could be fatal, particularly for an Auror.
Harry swallowed uncomfortably, and conceded reluctantly that the Rules might have a point.
"...like to come back to my place for a drink," Malfoy was saying, his face, familiar-unfamiliar, open with invitation. "And some... art appreciation, perhaps?"
One eyebrow rose slightly, and his slight smile widened in anticipation of acceptance.
"Um," Harry said eloquently. "I'd better not, Malfoy. Um, you know, best to get an early night. Thanks, though. I'll see you at the office tomorrow, yeah? Glad you got that transcript; should make things a lot easier."
Malfoy's face froze, and then came the moment Harry had dreaded: a blank mask came down and shuttered out all emotion. It was worse than seeing the old malice and vindictiveness of their schooldays, because there was no penetrating this expression.
"Right. Goodnight, then, Potter," Malfoy said in a clipped voice. He turned quickly away from Harry and Apparated.
Harry kicked viciously at the nearest wall, realising immediately that it had been a mistake, as healing spells were not his strong point. He Apparated back home and spent the rest of the evening limping miserably around his flat. Being virtuous was really no fun at all.
Potter, the note on his desk the next morning read. I would appreciate a few minutes of your time this morning, in order to tie up this case. I will not keep you long. Malfoy.
Harry winced at the curt tone, and reminded himself that it was entirely his fault.
Once everything is sorted out and we're not working as partners any more, I'll make it up to him, he thought, as he made his way to Malfoy's office. If I can find the courage, he added, in a mental whisper.
Malfoy did not look up when Harry entered, but waved him to sit, continuing to write for several minutes. There were stacks of parchment piled all over Malfoy's desk; he had obviously been hard at it for some time. Harry sighed wistfully at his unintentional innuendo, and watched Malfoy's bowed head and elegant hands.
Eventually, Malfoy stopped writing, checked what he had written against another piece of parchment, and set both aside.
"Potter," he said coolly, addressing the space over Harry's left shoulder. "Thank you for coming over so promptly. I am just waiting for one final report, and then the case should be finished."
"Erm, you've been through the transcript from last night, then?" he asked, feeling a little over-awed at Malfoy's Hilda-like efficiency.
"Yes. I've been working on it this morning, and it entirely confirms my suspicions."
Harry's heart sank.
"I thought you didn't suspect Percy," he said quietly.
Malfoy raised his eyebrows slightly, and didn't reply.
"Miss Parkinson to see you," said Hilda's voice from the doorway.
Harry jumped; he hadn't heard the door open. Parkinson stalked past him, wearing the sky-scraper stiletto heels she favoured, and stopped by Malfoy's desk, pushing her enormous sunglasses up onto the top of her head.
"Preliminary suspicions all correct, darling," she said, extracting several large scrolls from her tiny handbag. "Finch-Fletchley, of course, the idiot. Apparently, he didn't think it counted as real spying, because it was all to do with the commercial side of things, and he thinks making money is more important than anything else." She paused to examine her nails, casting a quick and expert Reparo on the polish of one. She waved the repaired nail at the scrolls she had given Malfoy. "All the details you need are there – dates, times, places, Floo addresses and so on, to do with how he passed everything to his contact in Rome." She sniffed delicately. "I don't think you need any more from me, do you, darling?"
"No, that's perfect, Pans," Malfoy replied warmly. "You've been an angel, as always."
A very small smile crossed Parkinson's lips.
"We'll have to get together in the next couple of days, darling," she said languidly. "Who knows? Perhaps this time we won't be interrupted."
She stared coldly at Harry, who felt his face heat up, and then blew a kiss to Malfoy and turned to go.
"I didn't think you were an Unspeakable," Harry blurted, feeling the need to say something.
Parkinson stopped close by his chair and looked down at him, rather as an owl might look at a mouse.
"An Unspeakable?" she said disdainfully. "Me? Sweet Circe, you'd never catch me working. I just know one or two... useful people."
She turned with a swish of shiny hair and fashionable robes, and was gone before Harry could think of a reply. He remembered what she had come here for and looked across at Malfoy, who was examining the new scrolls closely.
"You suspected Justin?" Harry asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Malfoy looked up slowly.
"I wasn't sure," he said simply. "One has to have proof before one goes around throwing accusations at people."
"What made you suspect him?"
"A number of reasons. He's always been a pillock, and it's the sort of thing one could quite expect of him. Besides, being a Muggleborn –"
Harry's eyes narrowed, and Malfoy stopped, sighing.
"I didn't mean it like that," he explained. "But, being a Muggleborn, he is, shall we say, a little less emotionally involved with the Wizarding World, especially in national terms, than someone who has grown up here. If you look at past cases of international espionage, you'll find that very few of the culprits were Purebloods."
Harry was frowning.
"What about me?" he asked. "Do you think I'm likely to turn traitor? Or Hermione?"
"Of course not, Potter. You and Granger both dived in to the Wizarding World as fast as you could, and really integrated with it. I think some people see it more as an accessory, rather than a home." He shrugged, and the faintest of smiles touched his lips. "Besides, as I said, Finch-Fletchley is a pillock."
Harry couldn't argue with that.
"Should have let that snake bite him," he muttered.
"Now," Malfoy continued briskly. "I must finish writing up my report, add in the evidence which Pansy has very kindly provided, write a note to Kingsley, Floo Henderson –"
"Why does he need a Floo-call?" Harry cut in, his fists clenched at the thought of that ponce flirting with Malfoy again. "Can't you send him a note as well?"
"I could, but I prefer to Floo him," Malfoy replied smoothly. "There are a couple of other things I may wish to discuss with him. Then, I'll get the wheels turning for sorting everything out – official procedures for this sort of case, you understand, Potter. It'll all be hushed up, you can go back to being an Auror, and everyone can get on with their lives as if nothing had happened."
Harry considered this for a minute.
"I've been pretty useless on this case, haven't I?" he said rather sadly.
"I wouldn't say you'd been useless, no. But I would have got everything cleared up anyway. As I said at the start, I'm used to this sort of thing."
Harry sighed and rose from his chair.
"I – You don't need me any more, do you?" Malfoy shook his head. "Well, I'll just be going, then."
He paused in the doorway and looked back. Malfoy was bent over his parchments again, quill scribbling furiously. Harry opened his mouth to speak.
"See you around, Potter," Malfoy said firmly, not raising his head.
Harry shut his mouth again, and left the office.
Wandering despondently away from Malfoy's office, Harry caught sight of a flash of bright red hair. What's Ron doing in this part of the Ministry? he thought, and then caught sight of who was with him.
"Hermione!" he exclaimed, rushing to catch them up.
They stopped at the sound of his voice and turned to greet him.
"Hermione, where've you been? I've been really worried; no one knew where you were, and Ron wouldn't say, and –"
"Calm down, Harry," Hermione said with a laugh. "I've been away with work, that's all."
"I told you that, mate," Ron remarked.
"Yes, but where?" Harry persisted. "And why did you go off so suddenly, with no warning?"
They were very close to Hermione's office, and she led them over to it, unlocked the door with a complicated series of wand movements, and ushered them inside.
"Well, Harry," she said, when the door was shut behind them, "I don't know why you're so upset about it. I've been away because of work before. And you know I can't talk about what I do; Unspeakables aren't allowed to."
Harry gaped at her, unable to speak for several minutes.
"Since when were you an Unspeakable?" he managed to squeak eventually. "You work in Research."
Hermione exchanged a bemused glance with Ron.
"Harry," she said gently. "That's my cover story. I've been an Unspeakable ever since I started working at the Ministry."
"How could you not know?" Ron asked. "She told you right at the beginning, but perhaps you weren't listening at the time." He grinned as Harry blushed. "In any case, I thought it was pretty obvious, to anyone who knows her, at least. She doesn't need a label attached to her saying 'Don't tell anyone but I'm a Secret Agent.'"
Harry was unable to answer; he shook his head rather numbly. Hermione giggled.
"Oh, Harry, you are awfully slow sometimes."
"I know," Harry groaned, slumping down into a chair.
"Anyway, never mind about all that," Ron said, obviously wanting to cheer his friend up by changing the subject. "How's your case going? All finished yet? And how are you getting on with Malfoy?"
There was a perceptible grin in his voice when he mentioned Malfoy. Harry sighed.
"Oh, it's all finished now. I don't know why I was roped in; he's more than capable of handling a hundred cases like that. And... well, we were getting on all right, briefly, but then I mucked everything up, and now he doesn't want to talk to me."
"Doesn't want to talk to you? At all?" Ron asked. "Merlin, Harry, you must have put your foot in it."
"Yeah," Harry replied glumly. "I did. And I think Kingsley must have been having a laugh when he paired me up with Malfoy; there couldn't have been any other reason. I just seemed to get in the way and come to the wrong conclusions. He did all the work without expending any effort at all."
"Actually, Harry," Hermione said, sitting down behind her desk, "We were talking to Hilda just now, and she told us why you'd been paired up." Ron perched himself of the edge of the desk and they grinned at each other. "You see," she continued, "Draco's fancied you for ages, and Pansy, who, of course, knew all about it, told Ginny. She told Luna, who told Neville, who happened to be doing some work at Malfoy Manor – redoing one of the formal gardens, I think – and he told Narcissa that you fancied Draco as well. She decided that something had to be done, and cornered Kingsley at one of those charity events the Malfoys are always holding, and he felt sorry for the pair of you, and decided to set you up, and this case happened to come up at a convenient moment. It's such a pity that you've fallen out, because everyone's been thinking for ages that you two really ought to make a go of it."
"What?!" Harry cried indignantly. "How the hell does everyone know that I fancy Malfoy? I've only just worked it out myself."
"Well, it was rather obvious," Hermione admitted. "To anyone who knows you."
"And even if it wasn't," Ron put in, "you actually told me how much you fancy Malfoy." Harry stared at him. "It was a few months ago; you'd got completely pissed one night and decided to confess your feelings – to me. What made it even more hilarious was that Malfoy had done exactly the same thing a few weeks earlier. It was after a late-night chess session, and we were both a bit blotto. He was rather further gone than I'd realised – it certainly doesn't affect his chess – and out it all came."
Harry considered several possible emotions, and settled on anger.
"Bloody interfering friends," he groused. "And bloody interfering bosses."
Hermione was trying, very tactfully, but without much success, not to smile; Ron was not bothering with tact.
Harry thought about Malfoy. So, all that flirting and teasing all these years had been real. Malfoy had genuinely meant it, but had gone about his flirting in such a way that he could pass it off as a joke. And that evening in the Dragon Volant... well, Harry had known that was real, and now he wanted nothing more than to recapture those feelings. But...
"I think I've upset him quite a bit," he admitted reluctantly. "We were... getting on very well, and he, well, he asked me back to his place, and I wanted to and then... I just couldn't. The Auror Code, you know; no relationships between work colleagues."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Merlin, Harry, you do like making problems for yourself, don't you? The Auror Code is just that – it applies to Aurors, not anyone else. Interdepartmental relationships are common." Harry opened his mouth to argue. "Even when working on a project together," she added. "It's only in the field where it might be dangerous to be too involved."
"Yeah," Ron said. "Look at me and Hermione – we don't have any problems. Of course, we've never actually worked together, but there wouldn't be any problem if we had to."
"And, if it really worries you, Harry," Hermione went on, "the case is over now, so there's nothing stopping you."
Harry hesitated; Malfoy could be awfully prickly when someone had upset him, and Harry's inner lion was feeling rather small. Then a thought struck him: Malfoy was going to be Flooing that scoundrel in Rome, and he didn't want to think about what other things they might be discussing.
Harry rose to his feet and marched purposefully out of the room and straight back to Malfoy's office.
He pushed open the door without knocking and saw Henderson standing far closer to Malfoy than he ought. That decided his inner lion, which, together with his newly-revitalised chest monster, spurred him into immediate action.
He crossed the room in two strides, pushing Henderson out of the way, tugged Malfoy against his chest and kissed him. Malfoy was resistant for the first few seconds, and then gradually began to respond.
"I say, Potter," he heard Henderson splutter beside him. "What do you think you're doing?"
Harry pulled away slightly, and looked into hopeful grey eyes, which were asking the same question.
"Being decisive," he murmured, and plunged happily back into the kiss.
A little while later, Henderson having had the good sense to remove himself from the scene, things were getting rather heated.
"Wait a minute," Harry gasped, trying to stop Malfoy from stripping him of all his clothes right then and there.
"You'd better not be thinking of changing your mind now," Malfoy said fiercely, still attacking Harry's trousers.
"No," Harry replied, managing to grab Malfoy's hands. "It's just, what about Hilda?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow.
"What about her? You don't want her joining in, I hope."
"No," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I don't want her joining in. I don't want her listening in, either."
Malfoy grinned slowly.
"Bashful Gryffindor," he said teasingly. "Well, do you think you might like to view that third picture now?"
"That is an excellent idea," Harry replied, kissing slowly down Malfoy's neck, and making his hands clench on Harry's shoulders.
Malfoy dragged them both over to the fireplace, tossed in an extravagant amount of powder, and called out, "Home!" He pushed Harry into the green flames, following immediately, and pressing himself tightly to Harry's body as they whirled through the Floo Network.
They arrived on Malfoy's hearth rug in a heap, and Harry half expected them to shag right there, but Malfoy managed to restrain himself long enough to drag Harry into his bedroom. One look at the third picture, and,
"Okay, now I feel really inadequate," Harry stated. "Isn't it incredibly off-putting to have that there? I mean, who's ever going to measure up to that?"
"I'll tell Pansy to get me something my boyfriend finds less threatening," Malfoy murmured.
"Boyfriend?" Harry asked, his heart leaping with joy at the word.
"If you're just after a –" Malfoy began, a touch of sudden coolness in his voice.
"No!" Harry said hurriedly. "Definitely not. Much much more than that."
He pushed Malfoy down onto the bed and kissed him, more tenderly than he had done earlier. Malfoy was smiling when they pulled apart; his hair was uncharacteristically rumpled, his face was flushed, and Harry gazed at him ecstatically.
"Who's going to top?" Malfoy murmured, running a finger up Harry's arm to his shoulder.
Harry, who had been assuming that he would, asked quickly and chivalrously,
"Do you want to?"
Malfoy looked at him fondly for a moment, obviously aware of Harry's thoughts.
"Why don't we both top?" he suggested.
"At once?" Harry asked, chuckling. "How does that work?"
"Oh, a quick genital rearrangement spell, and it's easy."
There was a moment's silence before Malfoy burst into fits of laughter.
"Oh, Merlin," he gasped. "You should have seen your face!"
"You were just joking, weren't you?" Harry asked tentatively.
"Of course," Malfoy replied, tears streaming down his face. "I'm not completely off my trolley."
Harry sighed in relief, and mock-glared at Malfoy. Malfoy eventually managed to calm down, and ran his hands through Harry's hair, smiling up at him.
"Why don't you top this time?" he asked. "We can sort out the fine details of this relationship later. The arrangements and rearrangements, as it were."
He chuckled again. Harry reached down and slapped Malfoy's thigh.
"Brat," he said. "You deserve a good spanking."
Malfoy's breath caught.
"Being masterful again, Potter?"
"I can be extremely masterful, and decisive," Harry replied firmly. Malfoy's eyebrow twitched upwards slightly, and Harry flushed. "When I finally get around to it," he amended.
"Well, don't take too long, Potter," Malfoy said imperiously, "or I'll find someone else to give me a good fucking. I'm sure young Henderson would oblige me."
Harry was growling along with his chest monster before Malfoy had finished speaking.
"Don't you dare," he hissed, and proceeded to ensure that Malfoy forgot all about that scoundrel.
What sort of bloke was called Dolly, anyway? The ponce.