The way back

After two months of staking out the building, trailing the owner, and review of over a year’s worth of records, today they were making the bust. The waiting room was perhaps two thirds full, no more than usual, even with two undercover aurors in the midst of the sickly and the splinched. The wix too poor, or too despised, to make it to London and Saint Mungo’s more credible treatments.

Four aurors had visited that day, each presenting a different malady in order to get through the doors and to the heart of the clinic. Each with directions of exactly what to do once they were in. Each knowing the sign to look for, when they had what they needed to jump into action.

It had been a long time coming, to get this far. Missing persons reports leading down too many dead ends before they found the connection. Too many families who’d never get their loved ones back. The sort of case that niggled in the back of Harry’s mind every minute of every day because what was it all for if he couldn’t protect the innocent and stop the villains. He barely slept, forgot to eat, worked every minute Ron would let him in the office to stop even just one more heartache from befalling someone who didn’t deserve it.

It all led him here, to this dingy waiting room, hidden behind his third dose of polyjuice, with his broken arm in a makeshift sling, waiting for a healer to treat him. Honestly, muggles would have gotten to him sooner and it was a crying shame any wix came to a charlatan like this rather than have access to proper care.

The exterior door opened, another patient walking in. Some other auror was watching the door, clocking whatever wretched fool was…

A cold breeze snapped through the room. A better healer would have charmed the cold out, a basic preservation for the ill forced to spend hours waiting. They didn’t need the icy winter making their colds worse or the pain of the injuries sharper. They didn’t need the stench of smog and…

Harry wasn’t thinking as he turned to the door. He wasn’t meant to look. Nothing about his huddled, elderly persona would be drawn to inspect the change in air that Harry felt in his bones. No one else in the room could feel it, that magic pulse hammering like a frantic heart, beating so hard Harry’s teeth ached from the sensation. No other nose twitched at the faint sweetness brought in on that breeze, tantalizing Harry with a flavor he hadn’t tasted since…

The wisp of a man walked with a purpose, all bundled up in a once-fine wool coat, now nearly in tatters. The coat collar was pulled up around his ears, hiding everything but his flop of white-blonde hair and piercing grey eyes Harry would know anywhere. Harry must have been looking. Watching. Scrutinizing. Because those grey eyes locked on whatever eyes Harry adopted for the day. Whatever intensity Malfoy saw gazing back at him only made him huddle further into his coat and scurry past Harry’s chair, keeping as wide a berth as he could as he passed.

Harry needed to pull his eyes away. He needed to drop back into his chair like an injured old man drearily waiting for his turn with the healer. He needed to be patient, to be unremarkable and draw no attention to the sting. He needed to do his job.

Only there was Malfoy, marching right up to reception and hissing demands at a witch who barely bothered to offer him a rejection. Harry could taste the cloying sweetness in the back of his throat. He breathed in deep, chasing the scent of Draco. Desperate to know why when his edges turned sour with fear. Now Draco was pulling things out of his pocket. Papers, pill bottles, and, just, things. Harry could hear Draco’s shrill tone, even if he kept his words quiet and contained. The receptionist picked up one of the bottles, read it, and gave it back to Draco, blandly dismissing him again. A better office would have privacy charms, so Draco could say whatever needed saying without fear. So Harry wouldn’t be able to hear Draco’s despairing groan.

The rumble of that groan was like lightning in Harry’s chest.

Harry didn’t remember standing. He didn’t remember stepping forward. He didn’t realize his fingers were twitching, even as he imagined how much sweeter the scent would be if Harry were only able to pull Draco close and nuzzle his nose under Draco’s coat collar. Close to where his skin was flushed from fear and… fever. Harry was close enough to smell it now. The heat under Draco’s skin. Harry couldn’t hold back his own rumbled growl at the thought of Draco being sick and this despicable excuse for a hospital failing to treat him.

Electricity shot through Harry again, and he idly wondered if that was just what it felt like to look deep into Draco’s eyes. They were so wide. So frightened. It was jolting to smell on the air how much Draco’s scent soured at the sight of Harry - or rather the old man whose body Harry borrowed - suddenly too close. Like a stranger was stalking him. Mesmerized by him. Harry’s teeth ached at the realization Draco was about to give up and run, because Harry was more terrifying than whatever had brought him to this cesspool.

“Don’t-” Harry started in a graveling voice he didn’t recognize. Another jolt shot through him, and his muddled brain realized that feeling had nothing to do with his childhood nemesis. It was the sign.

Whatever spell Draco had used to ensnarl Harry cracked under his awareness of it. He could hear, now, other sounds. Other aurors bursting through the doors, casting spells to freeze everyone in their seats. The floo would be cut off, portkeys dismantled, and an anti-apparition wards up outside. The second undercover auror was casting the joint shield spell Harry was meant to help with, but he’d missed his cue. Harry glanced over his shoulder, at the mayhem being contained behind him. He would have missed the brush of air against his skin, if it didn’t carry that scent he’d smelled only once before. In sixth year potions when he’d managed to brew amortentia. It had taken months to get the remembrance of that scent out of his head. Years before he forgot it altogether.

Draco should not have been so foolish to carry a love potion with him when trying to cast a notice-me-not charm so he could slip out between the aurors. Once again, Harry forgot his job. Forgot to be part of a well-oiled team that had certainly ensured Draco’s spell would slip in time for some other auror to catch him. Draco was up to something. It made Harry’s blood pound and Harry couldn’t help but launch himself at Draco, slamming him into a nearby wall and pinning Draco, with his achingly sweet scent and too-hot skin.

The jolt of electricity came again, more insistent, breaking Harry out of his daze with the realization that it was a reminder to take his damn polyjuice again. He’d ignored the gentle reminders and now it hurt. Probably Harry should have done it, even now when the aurors had the room under control. Harry’s face tended to rile people up, which was rarely beneficial to a situation. It could be so distracting that if he didn’t pack the magical punch of four attack wizards he probably wouldn’t be allowed out for basic fieldwork.

Only Draco was wriggling, trying to pull his too-thin limbs through his too-big clothing to sneak out of Harry’s grasp and escape. Harry didn’t dare let even one hand go for fear of how Draco would craftily flee. Which probably would have been enough to contain him, except Draco was clever. So clever he heaved himself right into Harry’s fucking broken arm. Harry howled at the unexpected pain while Draco twisted hard, freeing himself from the coat Harry was clutching. Of course Draco knew how to cast sophisticated defence spells. His disillusionment was masterful. Harry could hardly track his movements across the room as Draco scrambled away.

Sharp electric pain tore through Harry again. A notice that time was up. Then the itchy sensation of his skin changing, stretching out over more muscle, a taller frame, and a rapidly healing arm. Harry ignored it all, grasping for his wand through pain and disorientation in order to strike out a full-body bind with exact accuracy. It slammed into Draco right as he reached the exit doors, somehow having passed by the rest of the auror’s defenses.

There was another jump in time. Harry didn’t remember moving. Didn’t remember his larger frame tearing at the seams of his undercover clothes. Didn’t know if any of his colleagues had called out and demanded to know why he was acting so fucking weird. It was just him, suddenly kneeling over Draco. Suddenly staring into Draco’s beautiful gaze, more terrified than ever. Harry’s chest constricted. He wanted to… let Draco go. His fingers twitched around his wand, likely about to cast…

“Bloody hell, Harry. What is Malfoy doing here?”

Harry’s fingers twitched again, eager to cast a blasting spell at the man now looming over Draco. The words were on the tip of Harry’s tongue, right up until he realized it was Ron. Still, he might have cast. Harry didn’t look at his friend’s face to calm himself. He looked at the wedding ring on his finger.

Why did that matter? Why the fuck did that matter?

“He’s up to something,” Harry growled out. His nostrils flared again at the blast of sour radiating off his captive. It twisted Harry’s gut. His pulse beat hard, this time in anger. He wanted to grab Draco. Yank him close. Shove his face into Draco’s neck and breathe as deep as it took to get the sweetness back.

It’s a potion, Harry told himself. He didn’t dare say it aloud. If Ron thought Harry was vulnerable… if anyone thought that… they would keep Harry away from…

Harry cleared his throat, making himself remember this was bigger than Draco Malfoy. He looked back at the hospital, now teaming with aurors. Harry hadn’t been at his mark, which couldn’t have fucked the entire plan. “Did we get ‘em?”

Thank Merlin Ron was grinning. “Sure did, mate.”

Harry released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Thank goodness, he didn’t say. Ron would get it, but also he never really got it. He didn’t understand what it was like to carry as much responsibility as Harry always had to. When they failed, Ron didn’t have to live with how it was mostly his fault.

“Right,” Harry said instead, firm and assuring. He allowed himself to look again at Draco. Too thin and glistening with sweat. Somehow still beautiful. “I’m going to take him in. See what he has to do with all of,” only Draco’s eyes were somehow more panicked. Pleading. Harry forced himself to wave hand to encompass everything around him and finish his sentence. “All of this.”

No one stopped Harry when he reached for Draco. He could have taken his arm, or his shoulder, but both were bound in the spell and Harry reached instead for Draco’s neck. A smooth patch of skin. It was so hot. Harry could feel Draco’s pulse through his carotid arteries and the beat of it thundered all the way to Harry’s elbow. Harry’s lips parted. His eyes dilated. He had no awareness of his fingers brushing Draco’s neck, right up until Draco whimpered.

The sound was a slap to the face. The rejection a fierce shock. Harry wanted to flee. He wanted to dive closer. He didn’t know what to do, to make this terrible man…

Harry gripped his wand tighter than one needed to cast. He whipped it through the air, cracking out apparition.

It was hellish to hand Draco off to be processed. To watch other hands grip Draco’s arms and march him down a hallway and out of sight. Harry watched too long, drawing attention. Other suspects were being brought in and sent off for questioning. Harry was just in the way. He shook himself out of it and marched himself down a different hallway to shower and change.

Harry never dawdled. He never lingered. Today he made himself do it, anyway, to prove he could. That whatever drew him to Draco had no power over him. Then he made himself wait longer. Long enough for Ron to wrap up a more pressing interrogation. Policy said two aurors had to be in the room at all times. Harry could have chosen anyone, to get in sooner, but he pushed back on the nagging that Draco was waiting for him, and clung to the thought that Ron would be better. He tried to tell himself it was because Ron was the best (which was true), but deep down he wondered if it was just because… Ron was wearing that ring. He had a… wife.

Harry shook off the oddness of how the words felt, even in his head. Ron didn’t notice.

There was no coat for Draco to hide under anymore. Just a white button up shirt, soaked through with sweat. Harry could see the lines of his scrawny form beneath it. He tried not to look. Tried not to wonder how it would feel to touch. Tried to notice helpful details, but his eyes got caught on the flush of Draco’s throat. How rosy red his cheeks were. How he was nearly panting, as if it were hard to breathe. Harry tried to stare at something other than Draco’s chapped, heaving lips. He tore his eyes away from them, looking for anything else. Draco’s hands were out in front of him. Strapped together and chained to the table. He wouldn’t be able to move. He wouldn’t be able to run. He wouldn’t be able to stop Harry…

Ron sat down across from Draco so Harry did, too.

“Please state your name.” Ron was by the book. It balanced Harry out on a good day and he was desperate for the normality now.

Draco’s throat bobbed when he swallowed. Harry’s eyes were glued to the movement in his throat. “Draco Lucius Malfoy.” His voice was hardly more than a rasp.

Harry didn’t think before he got up and grabbed a plastic cup from a pile on a side table in the room. A quick aguamenti filled it and he placed it in front of Draco. It was the sort of thing Ron did all the time when questioning suspects, but never before had Harry thought to. Draco eyed the water but didn’t touch it. Another rejection, another too-harsh sting.

“What were you doing at the hospital today?” Ron inquired.

Draco was back to shallow breathing through his mouth. Something was wrong and Harry was desperate for Draco to explain. Of course he didn’t. “Wasn’t feeling well,” was all they got.

Harry was so stubbornly not reacting to anything that it wasn’t that hard to restrain his frustration. Ron, on the other hand, wasn’t up to waiting. Draco was small time compared to Ron’s other collars. Ron reached into his crimson robes and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. “You don’t look good. If you consent to three drops of this,” he shook the vial for effect, “we can get through this quick and you can go home.”

Warring anxieties crossed Draco’s face. His fear of the truth serum battling against his desire to leave. Speed won out and, with a nod and a formal agreement of consent, Draco opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue to accept his three drops of veritaserum.

Harry tried not to stare at Draco’s tongue. Tried not to feel…

He shifted in his seat and let the moment pass. Ron administered the potion without so much as touching Draco. Thank fuck he hadn’t touched Draco. Harry had a sudden flash of all the times they’d forced veritaserum on hostile witnesses, and was fairly certain he’d have caused Ron bodily harm if he’d so much as nudged Draco’s head to a better angle to take the drops.

Something was very, very wrong with Harry right now. He should probably get up and leave. Tell someone. Get help. Only…

“Please state your name for the record.” Practically the same command as before.

Only, Draco’s eyes were slightly glassy and the words, “Draco Lucius Malfoy,” tumbled out with an eagerness Harry didn’t want to be excited by.

“Why were you at the hospital?” Ron probably had a list of questions in his head he planned to get through as quickly as possible.

“Not feeling well.” It was no different than what they’d already covered. Harry dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from pushing harder.

Ron was taking notes. He got the habit from Hermione. “Anything in particular?”

Harry’s breath caught when Draco shared another quick peek of his tongue, darting out to lick his lips. “I have a fever.”

“Has it been going on long?”

Draco shook his head even as the words were torn out of him. “Just started today. Wasn’t expecting it.”

“What were you talking to the receptionist about? What was in the pill bottle?” Harry almost regretted jumping in when Draco turned to him with wide, distressed, panicky eyes. That wasn’t how Harry wanted Draco staring. He wanted… he wanted…

“I was asking for an urgent appointment.” Draco’s voice was pained. Harry knew it was the sound of someone fighting the serum’s effects, but he didn’t push like he normally would. “Pill bottles were empty.”

“Were they for a prescription?” Ron asked, clocking Draco’s resistance and going for the 20-question route. Some folks were like Draco. They couldn’t stop from saying something, but they could narrow the response in.

“No.” One harsh syllable.

“Did they have pills when you got them?”

“Yes.” This time it sounded painful.

“What type of pills did each bottle have?”

Draco dragged in a breath for as long as he could manage. An obvious attempt to buy time before saying, “fever reducers.”

“Are you sick a lot?” Harry chimed in, sounding unbelievably concerned. If Harry was lucky, Ron would think he was trying out the “good auror” routine for a change and not clock it as sincere.

Thankfully, Draco was shaking his head no. “Hardly ever.” There was weight to that. Weight Harry wanted to unpack fully, but a twisting in his gut made him loath to force the issue.

“Did you always visit the Medicamentum when you sought out a healer?” Ron again.

Draco closed his eyes as he grit out, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“They would have me,” an answer as bitter as the one before.

“Did you ever see anything suspicious there?”

This time Draco blinked very, very slowly. “Did I see anything suspicious at the free clinic catering to degenerates and low lives?” he asked. Then, because he had to, “Yes.”

“List everything you can think of.”

A groan tore from Draco’s throat and robbed Harry of breath. He wanted to bottle that sound. He wanted to hear it caused by something other than frustration. He wanted…

“They don’t record or report the restricted medicine they give patients. I don’t think all the staff have proper medical training. It’s a free clinic, but if you pay they’ll see you first or otherwise provide special treatment. It’s not licensed for surgery but I think they do it anyway. They discriminate against muggles. They’ll dispense knock off scent blockers without disclosing they’re less effective. It’s where the Death Eaters went when they needed medical care-”

“Hold up, hold up. Did you go there in the war as a Death Eater?” Ron’s eyes had lit up like it was Christmas morning.

Draco looked like he’d swallowed something as sour as he smelled. He clipped out an uneasy, “Yes.”

“And you saw them treat other Death Eaters, too?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any proof?”

This slowed Draco down, but he appeared to be considering the question instead of trying to outsmart it. “I don’t know.” It sounded more honest than anything else he’d offered. “I suppose I could check, my father was meticulous with the finances, and someone would have had to pay them off.”

Ron was scribbling furiously, ideas abound. “How long do you figure that would take?”

There was that swallow again. The one that made Harry wonder what it’d feel like to taste his throat. “A week? Maybe ten days.”

Ron snorted. “That’s a long time.” He checked his watch, gauging how much time passed. “You up for another dose, for credibility?”

“If I must,” Draco growled unpleasantly. Then he stuck his tongue out. Harry had never considered how a stretch of slimy muscle could be so tantalizing. When the dose was consumed he smacked his lips and said. “I can pledge to review all the Malfoy records and present to you any evidence in ten days. If you let me go home now.”

“And any other records that might be in Malfoy Manor,” Ron added, because he didn’t lose cases over technicalities.

“Of course,” Draco said without vitriol.

Ron was nodding, pleased with the outcome. It would take a few weeks to sort through what they had, and it was unlikely Draco would offer much more than supporting evidence. Still, Ron was very thorough. “You ever see any signs of human trafficking?”

“Wha-what?” Draco stumbled.

“People going missing. Suspicious doses of medication. Things that looked out of place.”

Harry thought Draco’s hands might have been shaking, before he gripped them together. “You mean, like, if they over administered sleep medication?” he asked.

“Right, sure.”

“Or if an omega visited alone and didn’t receive proper treatment?”

“Definitely that. Have you seen that?”

Draco’s skin looked clammy now. Like he would go pale if he wasn’t so overheated. He started talking in quick, certain words that did not sound remotely comfortable. “I’ve seen them treat single omegas. I haven’t talked to any of the other patients. They didn’t tell me if they were uncomfortable with the treatment. I’ve never complained about my own care. Up until today, it has met my needs. They make me pay when I ask for extra medication. I ask for dreamless sleep, that’s not what they provide. Sometimes it’s just, well, a sleep aid? It makes me sleep and I don’t dream but I wake up groggy. I didn’t take it in the war, when there were other people around. I wouldn’t take it if I didn’t feel safe.”

“Dreamless sleep is regulated,” Ron said. “Is the medicine they provided regulated?”

Draco looked frayed around the edges, like he was running out of ways to hold unwanted questions off. “I don’t know,” he nearly wailed. “I don’t think… I don’t know of anything I’ve done that’s illegal. I don’t know what they give me. I didn’t think they would like it if I asked.”

Harry didn’t know what came over him, but he was moving forward all the way until he had his hands wrapped around Draco’s. Comforting him. Merlin, Draco’s hands felt nice. Dry, nobby, and far too hot, but the pulse of blood through them anchored Harry into the moment. “You’re doing very good, Draco.” Harry’s voice was never that kind. Before that moment he’d have said he didn’t know how to be reassuring. “I’m sure you can tell, this is a big case. We have evidence the Medicamentum was hurting a lot of people, and we are going to do everything we can to stop them. You’re helping us do that.”

“I-” Draco’s eyes looked everywhere but at Harry. “I’m helping?”

Merlin help him, Harry rubbed soothingly over Draco’s hands. It felt so good. He wanted to touch more of Draco’s skin. He couldn’t, though, not when Draco was so scared. Not when Draco didn’t want it, too.

“You’re definitely helping.” If Harry focused on the case he would get through this. They’d all get through this. “You’re going to go home and check your records, see if you can prove these healers supported Death Eaters in the war. And,” Harry didn’t want to ask for more, but he had to for the case, and for Ron, who was looking too intensely at Harry’s odd behavior, “you should gather up any other pill bottles or evidence you have of what they gave you in the past. It could be helpful, to the case. Will you do that, Draco?”

Harry shouldn’t be using Draco’s first name. He never used Draco’s first name. Not even during the trials when he spoke on Draco’s behalf to the entire wizarding world. It had been Malfoy, always Malfoy. Malfoy his nemesis, not Draco his…

“I’ll… I’ll try,” Draco was promising. His pulse was settling, as if the contact between him and Harry was helping soothe him as much as it soothed Harry.

Fuck, this was dangerous. Something was wrong with Harry and leaning into it was too fucking dangerous.

Harry turned to Ron. “Do we need anything else?” Perhaps it would sound more convincing if he could just bring himself to let Draco go.

Ron stared at Harry with the dead eyed stare he used on the most suspicious of perpetrators. It lifted the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck. Harry had to bite back an actual fucking growl. “I think we’ve got it,” Ron said at last. Something loosened in Harry’s chest. Ron got to his feet. Harry followed.

Harry had to let go of Draco’s hands to stand up. He did it because he had to, and to prove he could. He didn’t need that overheated touch. He didn’t miss feeling Draco’s heartbeat in his hands. He didn’t stumble when Draco actually whimpered at the loss of touch.

Gods. Oh gods. That sound. Draco needed him. He needed him.

Harry almost lost it and threw himself across the table.

Only, Ron was walking out the door. It was time to leave. Harry was an auror. He could act like an auror. He could take a step away from that beautiful, feverish man. He could send in a real doctor, who would take care of Draco. Find out what’s wrong. Trail their fingers across his sweaty brow. Feel the pulse in his neck. Touch him. Touch Draco. Touch Harry’s…

That sweet smell was everywhere. Sweet as treacle. Spicy on the tongue like mint. Sugar clogging Harry’s throat. Making his teeth ache. Making him…

The smell was stronger. Stronger. Something was different. Something…

Draco groaned. Actually groaned. Despairing, but not in pain. Harry shuddered to hear it. Shuddered to feel the sound grasp at him, beg him to come back. Harry’s body shook. His nostrils flared. The sweetness was overpowering. It was everywhere. It was…

It was…

Harry felt his skin prickle. His clothes itched against him. His chest was tight, so tight. He couldn’t get enough air. He had to breathe deep. Had to breath in the fucking taste of Draco. Had to lean forward against the doorframe, not walking through after Ron. He leaned forward, just enough to grip the door handle and pull it closed between himself and Ron. The rule said two aurors at all times, but Harry didn’t want him there. He placed his hand flat on the door and thought the strongest colloportus he could summon to keep the door locked.

Draco was behind him, groaning and moaning and spelling so enticingly sweet.

Harry could only turn back to him. Step towards him. Take in the sight of the feverish, withering man, grey eyes so sharp with longing, so bright they almost looked blue.

Harry’s own eyes stared back, shockingly wide. Startled and terrified. Pupil’s ringed in a brilliant, unmistakable, alpha red. His gaze yearning. Desperate. Hungry.