We Were Gold

The sight of Granger’s plush, pink lips forming an O when I called her by her first name kept me going for the rest of the afternoon. Whenever I looked up from my files to see the Ginger Weasel glaring at me, I remembered the exact shape and shade of her mouth, imagined the taste of her lips the first time I kissed her. Considering Weasley’s behaviour day-to-day, I assumed him to be an extraordinarily selfish lover; it would shock me if Granger had ever come from his ministrations alone. She wouldn’t leave my bed until I learned all of the noises she made, where to kiss and suck and stroke to ensure she was satisfied. I would make her forget that she’d ever let another man touch her. Malfoys are famously possessive, as are my namesake; I would hoard her pleasure for myself. I imagined my name on her lips, gripping my hair as I ate her luscious cunt. I snapped my quill and nearly bit my tongue in half.

I quickly recalled my Occlumancy shields; the explicit thoughts of Granger coming on my tongue were firmly locked away. I needed to speak to Berrycloth prior to our patrol tomorrow, and I was due to meet Pansy and Theo for dinner shortly. I didn’t have time to get side tracked. I stood, rebuttoning my jacket and warding my desk.

“Berrycloth,” I called, approaching his cubicle across the bullpen. He was half a foot shorter than me and built like a muggle rugby player. He was maybe ten years old than me, but his thick, dark moustache and prematurely greying hair made him look closer to forty. He didn’t have a particularly captivating personality, but he was an incredibly capable wizard. I was looking forward to working closely with him.

"Malfoy,” he grunted. “Robards filled me in. Good work.”

I nodded in thanks. “I’ll follow your lead tomorrow. I know it’s my case, but I trust your judgment.”

His eyes widened in surprise; he clearly wasn’t expecting the Malfoy heir to be so gracious. “I’ll meet you at the Leaky at eleven. I think plain clothes is a wise approach; he’s gone this long without aurors on his trail, let’s keep him in the dark as best we can. That means look casual, kid.”

I looked down at my chambray suit, the most casual I owned. I shuddered internally at the thought of wearing non-pressed trousers, and a non-French cuffed shirt. “Eleven, then,” I said with a nod. Granger and Weasley were waiting for the lift, and I quickened my pace to catch up to them. Watching my approach, Weasley snaked his arm around Granger’s waist, pulling her into the length of his body and dropping a hand to grab her arse.

“Ronald, what’s the matter with you?” she hissed, trying to extricate herself. “We’re at work!”

I rolled my eyes at his territorial display. “Granger, I have a question about muggle fashion, if you have a moment.”

She successfully maneuvered herself out his grasp, swatting his hand away as he tried to interlace their fingers. “Oh, Draco, I didn’t see you!” She turned a lovely shade of pink, from her cheeks to her collarbone. I desperately wanted to know how far down the blush extended. “What did you want to know?” She asked, stepping into the lift.

“Berrycloth would like us to be in plain clothes for our patrol, specifically, something casual. As the suspect is targeting “blood traitors”, I feel it would be fitting for me to be dressed in purely muggle attire.”

She nodded, biting her lip in thought. “If you get yourself some jeans and a henley with some trainers, I think that should do the trick.” At my blank expression, she giggled. “Denim pants, athletic shoes, and a cotton pullover shirt.”

I allowed her and Weasley to exit the lift before following them out. “Thanks, Granger. I’ll see you around,” I said with a wink before catching Weasley’s eye. I smirked and veered past them to the queue for the floo.

I stepped out of the grate into the Notts’ Mayfair penthouse. A house-elf in gold and black livery greeted me with a bow. “Master and Mistress are in the sitting room,” he squeaked, turning and leading me into a room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Hyde Park. Pansy and Theo were sitting together on a plush, white sofa in front of a wood burning fireplace, Pansy’s legs thrown over his lap as he rubbed his hand up and down her calf. “Mister Malfoy,” the house-elf announced, before disappearing with a pop.

“Don’t get up on my account, please,” I said drily, sitting on a matching overstuffed armchair. I stretched my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankles. “How was Paris, Pans?”

“Darling, get Draco a drink, won’t you?” she asked Theo as if I hadn’t spoken, sliding her feet back to the floor.

“Sure thing, love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “What are you drinking?” he asked me, walking to a bar cart topped with several crystal decanters.

“Firewhiskey. And the good stuff, you wanker, after you drank me out of house and home.”

He handed me lowball with two fingers of amber liquid and a single ice cube. “How’s Pollux?”

“Low maintenance,” I replied, taking a sip.

Pansy shuddered. “Thank you for taking him, Draco. Theo swears he was sweet, but the thought of his horrible claws sinking into my upholstery was too much for me. I’ve never been overly fond of animals.”

 I snorted. “Not sure you’ve ever been overly fond of anything, Pans.”

“Theo’s cock, for one,” she said demurely, taking a sip of champagne. “Now, tell me everything about your new job.”

I sighed and began to recount my first week in the auror department. They both nodded when appropriate, interjecting with questions or praise as needed. They were suitably impressed with my work on both the Diagon and Hogsmeade attacks, and neither held back in their criticism of Weasley.

“I’ll need your help for tomorrow, Pansy. I need muggle clothes. Granger said jeans, a henley and trainers. I need to be casual.”

She nodded. “Theo’s got something that should work for you. It may be a bit tight, but I can adjust it if need be.” At my incredulous look, she waved her hand carelessly. “Darling, it’s a new world. Muggles have much better taste when it comes to haute couture, and we must adapt. Theo can’t exactly go to Savile Row in his dress robes, can he?”

“I’m not asking for haute couture; I’m asking for prêt-à-porter.” I refused to look stupid on my first assignment just because Pansy was a fashion snob.

“Yes, Draco, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. Granger won’t be able to take her eyes off of your arse in denims.”

“Who said anything about Granger?” I spluttered, shooting Theo a filthy look.

“I’ve known you since we were born, Draco. Yours was the first penis I ever saw. I was on your arm when you couldn’t take your eyes off of her at the Yule Ball. Every letter you sent me when you went back to Hogwarts included the minutia of every interaction the two of you had that week. Gods, Draco, you’re an open book. The real question is, what is your plan to woo her?”

I leaned back in my chair, sulking. “You know who taught me Occlumancy and you’re calling me an open book? Snape would be rolling over in his grave.” My only response was an eye roll. “There is no plan to woo her, per se. My goal is simply to get her away from Weasley. I want to give her an opportunity to succeed, professionally and otherwise, without him dragging her down. If she decides she wants me, well, I am available.”

Another eye roll. “Being noble doesn’t suit you, Draco,” she sighed in frustration.

“After hearing him in the shower, he certainly has some ignoble thoughts about her,” Theo muttered into his drink.

“Oh, fuck off. After the amount of times I have walked in to find you two mid-shag, you’re lucky the only thing you’ve heard was me wanking. The fact that I know exactly where you like Pansy’s tongue whilst you-”

I was cut off by the pop of a house-elf appearing. “Dinner is served,” he announced, bowing before popping away again.

Both Notts looked distinctly like cats who had gotten the cream; having shared a room with Theo for several years, I was very familiar with his exhibitionism. The fact that Pansy had even less shame than him and was incredibly vocal with her demands in all walks of life, meant that I had a significant insight into the nature of their relationship. Pansy’s love of giving orders was second only to Theo’s dedication to following them.  

We chatted throughout our meal about Pansy’s most recent trip to Paris, Theo’s investment in the Wimbourne Wasps, and my mother’s half-hearted attempts at matchmaking. I advised both of them to avoid Diagon Alley until we caught the culprit; Pansy laughed uproariously at the idea of me doing something so plebeian as foot patrol.  

An overwhelming sense of ease washed over me the longer I sat with them; these were two people who knew me well, and at my ugliest moments, at my lowest points, had stayed by my side. I hadn’t scared them away during my tenure as a Death Eater, they hadn’t strayed when my social standing had crumbled, and now, as I was earning respect for the Malfoy name once again, they stayed rooted in my corner, unflinching with their support. As much as I loved Hermione, as much as I owed my new lease on life to her friendship, I owed my life to Pansy and Theo; they sat with me during my struggles with the cabinet, they held me when my father died, and I didn’t know whether to mourn or celebrate.

We finished our meal-with significantly less innuendo than my dinner with the Potters-and returned to the sitting room for coffee. Theo sat in the armchair I had vacated earlier, and Pansy curled into my side on the sofa; I wrapped my arm around her, revelling in the comforting scent of her hair products, the same she’d been using since we were children. I pressed a kiss to her hairline as she scolded Theo for putting his feet on the coffee table. We sipped our espresso, the beans delivered biweekly from Blaise, who had put the elves through an intensive three-day course before he entrusted them with The Speedster, which he had installed himself.

“Are you going to tell her, Draco?” Pansy asked, breaking our amicable silence.

I sighed heavily. “I might not have to, between you, and my mother, and the Potters.” She nudged me, seeing through my deflection. “I think I’ll have to, eventually. I want her to know, to have all of her options; to know that I’m an option. I just-what if she doesn’t want me?” I asked, getting to the heart of my insecurities.

“Then she doesn’t want you, but at least you’ve done everything you can for your own sake. And she’s away from that ginger idiot, which must be terrible for her health,” Pansy replied matter-of-factly.  

I hummed in agreement and changed the subject to the cheerful topic of Blaise and Looney Lovegood’s upcoming nuptials-traditional in all senses, as they would be having a nude ceremony underneath a full moon.

Ninety minutes later, I was tucking myself and Pollux into bed; Granger had touted the virtues of a so-called “automatic feeder”; unfortunately, in my entirely wizarding flat, muggle electronics were doomed to fail. However, I had the luxury of a battalion of house-elves who were more than happy to feed the little beast; they adored him, referring to him as ‘Master Pollux’ and, according to my mother, saving scraps from dinner preparations for him.

 I awoke the next morning to a mouthful of black fur. I shifted him off my face and onto my pillow as I sat upright, rubbing my hand along the stubble that had developed overnight. I had a few hours until I was due to meet Berrycloth, and my nerves were running rampant. I grabbed my broom and apparated to The Manor’s grounds to burn off my excess energy.

I sensed my mother’s presence before I saw her, the marrow in my bones recognising her from the air. I landed, windswept, at her feet, attempting to catch my breath. She smiled at me, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

I smiled, wiping the sweat off my face with the hem of my shirt. “Probably not. Potter’s my mentor, and you’ve seen firsthand the danger he finds himself in.”

She swatted my shoulder; she loathed any reminder of the war, even the pivotal role she played.

“Yes, Mum, I’ll be careful, I swear it.”

She hugged me, wrapping her arms around my chest, squeezing me tightly. It had been years since our last embrace; my father didn’t approve of physical affection. This time, I towered over her instead of burrowing my face into her neck as I had done as a child to be surrounded by her warmth; she clung to me like a limpet.

“I love you, Draco,” she breathed.

We had never shared such intimacies, Lucius made sure of that. I knew my mother loved me; I had never needed to hear it. But now, now that it had been said, now that I could feel the words on my skin, I rejoiced.

“I love you, Mum.”

She retreated from our hug, smoothing the shirt I had slept in over my shoulders. “Good. I expect you for dinner tonight. Mipsy will make salmon wellington for you.”

I nodded, squeezing her hand before apparating away.

* * *

Pansy had sent me home with a neatly packaged parcel of clothing the night before, which I had opened and laid across my bed. I had showered but forgone my daily shave; Berrycloth had recommended dressing casually, and I had taken it to heart. I dressed in the clothes provided; the grey henley stretched across my chest and shoulders, the waffle knit surprisingly cosy. I understood what Pansy had meant when I slid the jeans on; they were snug on my arse and upper thighs without being suffocating. Granger, as a living, breathing woman wouldn’t be able to peel her eyes away, such was my burden to bear; c'est la vie.

I apparated to the Leaky Cauldron at 10:55. Having forgone my shoulder holster in favour of tucking my wand into my back pocket like a child, I felt naked as I landed in the pub. Berrycloth waved me over to a high-top table he had commandeered, eyes darting around the venue.

“Malfoy, hardly recognized you,” he said, looking over my shoulder.

I flipped him off, sitting in the stool next to his. Both of us were facing the door, backs to the wall, two untouched pints in front of us. I crossed my arms across my chest, the fabric of my shirt pulling taut.

“Anything?” I asked, itching to draw my wand.

He shook his head, pretending to take a sip of the butterbeer in front of him. “I’m waiting for a list of people staying here tonight from Tom. Once we get that, we’ll start patrolling. I’ll take the north side; you take the south side. He hasn’t ventured into Knockturn, so there’s no reason to suspect he will today. Any pureblood you see travelling alone, redirect back to a public space.” I nodded, the adrenaline making my fingers twitch. “Any trouble, call for backup. It’s a long weekend, we have multiple aurors on call. Do not engage, Malfoy.”

I nodded again, grabbing my pint and miming a deep pull. “If I don’t make it, tell my mother I love her.”

“Get fucked, Malfoy,” he replied succinctly.

The Potters, Weasley and Granger walked in just then, silencing the pub. Potter raised his hand in acknowledgment before taking a booth in the corner. His wife caught my eye and winked before pointing at Granger. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head.

“Christ, at least we’ll have an audience today,” Berrycloth muttered under his breath, using a muggle curse Granger favoured when she was frustrated. “Weasley could have stayed home, the silly cunt.” I inhaled sharply looking up, doing my best not to laugh aloud.

Granger was stunning in a simple sundress, hair in a plait running down her back, loose strands curling around her face. Weasley hadn’t looked at her once, taking her presence at his table for granted. I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. Instead, I smiled when she caught my eye, dropping my gaze to give her an exaggerated once-over. She bit her lip as I dragged my eyes over the terrain of her body, looking away when I made it back to her pretty face, blush colouring her cheeks.

“Shall we?” I asked Berrycloth, tipping the lip of my glass against his in a mock ‘cheers’.

He jerked his head, standing up and subtly tapping his badge. “Auror 4532 reporting for duty.”

“Auror 8745 reporting for duty,” I said for the first time, tucking my wand back into my pocket and winking at Granger when she looked up, still gnawing on her lip.  She rewarded me with a blinding smile before allowing her eyes to linger on my chest. Mrs Potter said something in her ear, causing her eyes to flicker to Weasley before settling back on the fabric stretched across my pectorals.

Berrycloth nodded to Potter as we exited, garnering a tight-lipped smile in response. “I’ll meet you back here when you’ve finished your loop. Anything suspicious, you call for backup. Don’t be a hero, Malfoy, this guy couldn’t give a shit about you, whether you live or die.”

I surreptitiously rubbed the Sectumsepra scars on my chest. Potter had apologised as I recovered in the Hospital Wing during our sixth year; it wasn’t until years later that I forgave him, encouraged by Granger as she recounted the horror she’d felt when she heard of his attack. Tom waved a sheet of parchment our way, and I followed Berrycloth to the bar. We both looked through the list until I tapped my finger against the fourth name down: Dmitry Dolohov, son of Antonin. “Him.”

Berrycloth nodded. “Alright.”

We walked in silence until Gringotts, me looking left, him looking right. At the white steps we went our separate ways, Berrycloth back towards the Leaky, me towards Twillfitt and Tatting’s.

I wracked my mind for any details I could remember about Dolohov and the son he must have whisked out of Wizarding Britain at birth; family origins in Eastern Europe, presumably the boy had attended Durmstrang where his blood purity ideals would have been reinforced, especially after the death of his father during the war.

I reached the end of the alley, turning on the spot and beginning to retrace my steps. Several witches eyed me appreciatively; I really needed to thank Pansy for my attire. Gringotts was in my sight when I saw Weasley walking quickly towards the Daily Prophet. Alone. I heard Berrycloth’s voice in my head, reminding me to redirect any pureblood back towards the main thoroughfare. I imagined Granger’s face if anything we to happen to Weasley. I followed him.

I added weight to my steps, making sure they echoed on the cobblestones as I fell into step behind the Weasel. He turned, clocking me with a scoff.

“The fuck do you want, Malfoy?” he sneered.

“Purebloods are being targeted. I need you to head back towards the Leaky. Get someone to travel with you.” I drew my wand, refusing to be caught unawares by Dolohov.

“You’re here, aren’t you? I need to confirm a few things at the Prophet. You can be my escort.”

He’d clearly been drinking, the last thing I needed to deal with. “Can you just fucking listen to me Weaselbee, please?” He ignored me, continuing on his mission. “I don’t have time for this, you twat!”

He ignored me, storming through the glass doors of the newspaper office, leaving me in the street. I lingered for thirty seconds before turning back towards Gringotts and my meeting point with Berrycloth. I couldn’t banish the image of Granger sobbing over his hospital bed from my mind. I swore, turning once again towards the Prophet.

I watched him exit, and immediately turn left, away from where I needed him. I conjured my peacock patronus and sent it with a message summoning Berrycloth and Potter. In the time it had taken me, I had lost sight of Weasley, even on this relatively empty stretch of road.

“Fucking Weasley,” I swore again, running to where I had last seen him ten metres past the Daily Prophet’s offices. I saw a flash of red out of the corner of my eye, past the boundary of the street, into a mass of overgrown trees. “Fuck!”

I jumped over the low retaining wall separating Diagon Alley from the forest beyond, and, holding my wand aloft, jogged along the path Weasley had clearly taken, twigs bent back, and pebbles knocked out of place. I skidded to a stop in a clearing; Weasley, wand at his side, was facing Dolohov, clearly unaware of just how much danger he was in. Harry Potter’s pureblood best friend engaged to Harry’s muggleborn best friend-Dolohov would be looking to kill.

I slowed, attempting to make my way to the two wizards without attracting their attention. I cast an anti-apparition ward around us to prevent an escape attempt. “Auror 8745, I need backup, fifteen metres down the path past Gambol and Jape’s, marked with red sparks,” I whispered desperately, tapping my badge and sending up sparks. I watched Weasley shove Dolohov and announced my presence. “Dolohov, we’ve got you. It’s time to give it up. You’ve had your fun.”

Weasley belatedly drew his wand. “Dolohov? That Death Eater scum?”

“Weasley, all offence intended, shut the fuck up,” I hissed trying to get between the two men.

“That ‘Death Eater scum’ was my father. Sectumsempra!”

I shouldered Weasley out of the way, catching the spell on my way down. It had only grazed the top of my right shoulder, yet blood was pouring out, my entire shirt already soaked through.

“Confringo!” I cried, doing my best to wrangle a drunk and disoriented Weasley whilst keeping both eyes on Dolohov. “Impedimenta!”

Dolohov dodged my jinx, watching Weasley get to his feet and start to charge. “Crucio!” I grabbed his collar and yanked him out of the way. He staggered and collapsed backwards into me. The weight of his body dragged me down, right hand still clasping his shirt. Searing pain shot through my shoulder as I felt it separate. He rolled off of, gasping for air, startled from the sudden contact with the ground. I struggled to my feet, attempting to keep my dislocated shoulder still. Dolohov grinned gleefully, twirling his wand carelessly. I sent a stunner over his left ear, causing him to duck right, directly into the path of my Incarcerous.

Dolohov fell to the ground, bound in ropes. I cast a Full-Body-Bind to ensure his containment, tucking his wand into my back pocket. I stood to check on Weasley, only to come face-to-face with the ginger imbecile’s wand.

“Weasley, put it down. Potter is on his way,” I panted, trying to ignore the way my right arm was hanging limply.

“Fuck you, Death Eater,” he rasped. “Was this your plan all along, huh? Get me out of the way, and take my place?”

“Weasley, what the fuck are you talking about? Can you just keep it together until your keeper comes?” I gritted out.

I heard thundering footsteps behind me, a voice, almost certainly Potter’s, shouting both mine and Weasley’s names. It all faded to the background as I looked into Weasley’s hatred filled eyes, wand raised, the streak of a red spell the last thing I saw before the world went black.

* * *

I opened my eyes in a nondescript hospital room; my shirt was missing, and my shoulder was heavily bandaged, blood streaked across my abdomen. I tried to flex the fingers of my right hand to no avail; a stasis charm had been cast to ensure I didn’t disrupt the healing process of a dislocated joint. I attempted to sit upright, but a hand on my left shoulder pushed me back.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Potter greeted me.

“Who?” I rasped, desperately thirsty. “Water?”

He nodded, casting an Aguamenti and handing it to me. “Muggle reference, never mind. How do you feel?”

I took a sip and attempted a smile. “I’m alright, Potter. Dolohov?”

“In custody, thanks to you. Excellent work, Malfoy. You were our only casualty.”

“Weasley? He’s alright?” I asked, Granger’s potential distress outweighing my personal desire to sever him limb from limb.

“Don’t worry about Ron. He’s taken care of. You’re on medical leave for at least four weeks. You don’t have enough paperwork to keep you chained to your desk; I might loan you out to legal for trial prep with Hermione.”

“Go fuck yourself, Potter,” I mumbled, falling back into a potion-induced slumber.

The next time I woke up, it was to a severe-looking witch in green scrubs peering directly into my eyes. “Auror Malfoy, you’re up.”

I grunted in response.

“You’re all set for discharge. I’m going to release the stasis charm on your arm; you are not to attempt full range of motion for four weeks.” She said with a wave of her wand.

“Do you happen to have a shirt?”

She nodded, passing me a blue button-up. “Mrs Nott brought this for you; don’t wear anything you need to pull over your head.”

I nodded, feeding my sore arm through the sleeve first before doing up the rest. “I can go?”

“Yes, your discharge paperwork has been filed. Do you need assistance getting to the lobby?”

I shook my head, making my way to the fireplace, past a woman whose nostrils were smoking in the waiting room and floo-ed back to the ministry.

I took the lift to the DMLE, anticipating an empty bullpen where I could quickly file my paperwork and leave. I was instead met with Weasley and Potter having a loud argument, Robards, Granger and Ginevra off to the side. The ding of the lift door had attracted the attention of everyone in the room, Weasley immediately attempting to storm towards me.

“Auror Weasley, that is enough. You have already been suspended without pay for your behaviour, do not make it worse for yourself.” Robards said, grabbing his arm. “Not to mention how delinquent you are with your paperwork.”

Weasley shrugged him off angrily. “C’mon, Hermione, let’s go.”

Granger crossed her arms and looked up at him, rage palpable from where I was standing. “What does he mean ‘delinquent’, Ronald? You told me you were all up to date. You told me that Harry was riding you because he was stressed about the promotion.”

“Up to date? I’ve given him two official warnings regarding the state of his paperwork!” Potter interjected angrily.

Weasley reached out a hand to try and grab Granger’s; she shook him off, and took a step backwards, out of his reach. “You’ve been lying to me?”

“Hermione let’s just go home and we can talk about this there,” he muttered, taking a step towards her.

I had crossed the bullpen before I realised my feet were moving, stopping just shy of Weasley’s reach. “She clearly doesn’t want you near her, Weaselbee. Go lick your wounds alone.”

He inhaled deeply, and turned to face me, chest puffed up, hands clenched into fists. “No one wants you here, Malfoy. The world would be better off if you would just rot in Azkaban like Daddy Dearest,” he hissed.

Granger and Ginevra gasped in horror; Robards physically took a step backwards. Potter raised his hand, attempting to separate the two of us.

“Funny, Weasley, I’m not the one being escorted out of the building. Looks like it’s you no one wants,” I replied evenly.

I blame it on the lingering effects of the pain potions I had been given at St Mungo’s, but I was completely blindsided when he swung. His fist made contact with my left cheekbone; I immediately felt swelling around my eye. I felt, rather than saw, Potter and Robards pull him off me. I heard Ginevra swear, immediately followed by the sound of a slap. I smelled Granger’s conditioner as she ran to me, staggered as I was by the cheap shot, running her fingers gently over my face. I heard her whispered “Episkey” millimetres from my face. I felt a twinge on the left side of my face, and my vision cleared. I was met with her beautiful brown eyes, staring softly into my mine, hand absently stroking my uninjured cheekbone.

She blinked and, sadly, released my face. “Are you alright, Draco?” she breathed.

I nodded, unable to trust my brain to come up with any combination of words that made sense with her proximity. She smiled, before proceeding to stomp over to where Weasley was being held by Potter and Robards.

“You’re vile, Ronald Weasley. I’ve made excuses for your behaviour for years. Draco saved your life, and this is how you behave? We’re done.”