React
Harry sighed and allowed himself to press his forehead into the cool wood of his desk. It’d been weeks since the first dysprosium incident and, even with he and Hermione’s combined forces, he had yet to find a single investigator or Auror who would take the case. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Three had offered to take the case so far, but two had been Aurors that Harry didn’t trust anywhere near Draco and the third had been an investigator whose last ten cases involved gathering dirt on former Death Eaters so Harry wasn’t eager to accept him either.
He had explained the incident to Kingsley but, since no one was actually hurt and Draco wasn’t brewing for the Ministry there was nothing he could do. Or would do. Harry didn’t really blame him—regulations did exist, after all—but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that Kingsley wanted as little to do with Draco as possible.
Letting out another sigh, Harry glanced at the clock. It was almost 2pm and he’d told Kingsley he would be taking a late lunch today. Andrea had a meeting in London with one of her fences that she needed to keep a good relationship with, she said, so Harry had agreed to take over her post as Draco’s bodyguard for the duration of that meeting. He was sure that Draco would hex him the second he set foot in the office, but she’d assured him she would handle it.
Harry had spent an inordinate amount of time over the last three days trying to figure out the best way to approach Draco or make an attempt at repairing the damage he’d done. The blond would probably never trust him again—a fact which Harry had forced himself to accept after half a bottle of firewhiskey and an embarrassingly disproportionate amount of crying—but he could at least try for a neutral relationship. After all, they were still technically in a business contract together.
He’d made up his mind not to respond or rise to any challenge or biting remark the blond threw at him. It would be very difficult, but he’d had a lot of practice holding his tongue and he’d convinced himself he could manage it just this once. He knew very much what not to do. No raised voices, no displays of emotion, no falling back into old routines, and absolutely no fantasizing about the future relationship they were no longer going to have. The only problem was: Harry didn’t know what to do.
Every possible interaction he could think of always ended in Draco hating him more, somehow. Nothing seemed neutral enough for the situation because they would be in forced proximity with one another and Draco was bound to be prickly just because of that. Making an attempt at an apology or an explanation would also not go over well, Harry was sure, but what did that leave?
Finally, with less than ten minutes before he had to floo to Whirlwind, Harry landed on indifference. He didn’t want to act indifferent or apathetic because he wanted Draco to know it hadn’t all been some elaborate lie, but indifference was the safest option. It would still probably provoke the blond, but it would do so less than any other course of action. Neutrality was still possible, right?
Harry steeled himself, glanced at the clock one last time, and prepared to be indifferent.
“Darling, I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”
Draco shrugged, unsure why the Gatherer’s appointment schedule was worth mentioning to him. Andrea was lounging on her settee, per usual, and was skimming through one of his books on the ethics of raising various species of magical creatures as livestock for potions ingredients. She didn’t spare him a glance, but he knew if he let the silence hang in the air she would likely offer an explanation.
“Which means,” she added. “That someone else is coming to play babysitter for you until I come back. Given that an investigator has yet to take the case and you basically shit yourself around unfamiliar Aurors, that leaves Harry.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. He snapped the cinnamon sticks in front of him with more force than strictly necessary, but he was careful to keep his annoyance focused on the table rather than on Andrea. She sighed, leafing through pages as if he might have missed a hair or dog-eared corner.
“Not your favorite person at the moment, I know. But this is about your safety, Draco, which means I need you both to behave. It’s just for an hour or so.”
“And you’re sure that my ‘safety’ is his primary concern?”
Draco wasn’t sure how much of their history Potter had or hadn’t shared with her, but it was evidently at least some. He wondered if she knew about the sectumsempra curse. Before he could ask, though, her eyes darkened and she looked him dead in the eye, completely serious.
“Don’t. You know that he’s incredibly invested in keeping you safe. I’m not asking you to be his best friend. Just be civil.”
Sighing, Draco relented and nodded. He could be civil for an hour or so—hell, he’d done nothing but kiss ass for the last four years to work his way up in Whirlwind. It was always different with Potter for some reason... But, regardless, Andrea wasn’t making a request so he would suck it up and deal because, after all, Potter would likely be on his best behavior, right?
Draco ignored the pang in his chest when he heard the door open. Keeping his back to the man, he began studiously documenting his latest ingredient additions.
“Hey Andy, we still on for today?”
He heard Andrea stand and move towards the door. Potter was just standing there, waiting for her answer, and Draco hoped the man was as uncomfortable as he felt.
“Of course,” Andrea replied smoothly. “I’ll be back in a bit. Both of you behave yourselves.”
She left and Draco followed the fading of her footsteps for as long as he could before turning to his next potion. Potter was still just standing there. Draco wanted to tell im to fuck off, but kep this mouth shut. He was extremely aware of Potter’s breathing—steady and even, but quiet—and tried not to stiffen under the scrutiny of those green eyes. His skin flushed, though, as he realized that Poter was just staring at him. Watching him.
“Merlin, Potter, you’ve never been subtle but this is a new low, even for you.”
He heard the Auror shift, moving over towards Andrea’s settee. Apparently that was the designated lounging place for guests—though Potter was hardly a welcome guest.
“May I read one of your books?”
The tone was so careful and restrained that it seized in Draco’s gut. Apprehension settled heavily on his shoulders, but Draco strove to keep his body language utterly neutral. Potter hadn’t answered or even addressed the jab. He hadn’t reacted to the energy, or built on it the way he would have as ‘Mr. Doe’. Why not? And since when did Potter read without being required to?
“Sure, I suppose. Just don’t spill anything or damage them.”
Draco returned some of the powders he was working with to their respective jars, despite not being done with them. Later, he would get them back out again. For now, he used it as an excuse to move towards his desk and put the jars away, scanning for which book was missing. A newer edition of a book on Slavic mythology and folklore wasn’t in its place.
Figured. Draco remembered with a derisive snort that that was one of the only books he owned that had pictures and drawings scattered throughout. So Potter hadn’t magically become an avid reader.
“I don’t see anything in here about a domovoi.”
His head swivelled instinctively towards the hearth, as if Potter merely saying the word might summon the little guy. The hearth was undisturbed, though, and the offerings near it were untouched. Why was Potter trying to read about domovois? Frankly, it was suspicious. And, if he was being honest, Draco was also secretly a little impressed that Potter had remembered him saying anything about the domovois, let alone that they were Russian spirits. That fact felt warm in his chest and he decidedly didn’t like it. So, he elected to be as neutrally helpful as possible.
“No, you wouldn’t. Domovoi is the Russian name. The more general Slavic term that that book uses is susedko.”
It was in chapter nine of that particular edition, Draco knew, but he withheld that information. If Potter couldn’t manage to use a damn table of contents, then no amount of reading about domovois would be enough to help him. He heard the flutter of pages, then silence. Was Potter actually just silently reading in his office as if they were friendly acquaintances?
Be civil. As much as he felt the urge to, Draco didn’t lash out or make a comment to try to provoke the man into an argument. Andrea would kill him if he did. He wanted to remind Potter that they were by no means ‘okay’ and they were nowhere near ‘friendly’. Instead, he said nothing and returned to his potions, hoping Potter would leave him alone.
Draco hadn’t actually thought that the Gryffindor would be able to resist talking or letting his attention stray from the text for longer than a few minutes. A half hour later, though, Potter was still sitting silently absorbed in the book. The section in there about susedkos was only a few pages at best so, Draco supposed, the Auror must have gotten bored or interested enough to keep reading. Glancing over his shoulder, he confirmed that Potter was now back at the beginning of the book.
“Are you actually reading? Damn, Potter, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Rather than rise to the bait, however, the Auror just hummed in acknowledgement and continued reading. This was not the dynamic that Draco was used to—with Potter or Mr. Doe—and it was putting him on edge because Potter was supposed to react dammit! He wasn’t, though. Which left Draco’s paranoid mind to speculate about why.
Maybe Potter thought Draco really could curse him? Or maybe he thought that being a dick would push Draco to go to Kingsley behind his back for some reason? As if Draco would ever willingly put himself in the presence of the Minister. He shook his head, trying to gauge whether or not Potter’s silence meant they were being listened to or recorded somehow.
“You’re being rather taciturn, Potter.”
Again, all Draco got in response was a small hum and the sound of a page being turned. Why was this so bloody frustrating? It was Potter for Merlin’s sake and Potter was one of the only people in the entire Wizarding world that Draco knew where he stood with. Or, rather, he had known.
“Why aren’t you saying anything, Potter?”
Finally, at the direct question, Potter lifted his eyes from the book in his lap. Draco hated how impatient he was and that he could feel the emotion showing in his expression, meaning Potter could easily see it, but he wanted an answer more than he wanted to hide. He raised an eyebrow, as if to say: well, what’s your excuse?
“I don’t want to give you any more reason to be angry with me.”
Oh. That was… unexpected. Draco rushed to cover his reaction to that sentence by shuffling beakers on his desk but he was sure that Potter had seen. The man stayed silent—presumably going back to his reading—but Draco didn’t mind the silence this time because he needed as little stimulus as possible so he could fucking recover from that.
Was Potter afraid of angering him? This could all still be about the contract, of course, but it felt deeper than that. Potter could have met his sharp tongue with words of his own or at least tried to tell him to fuck off, but he’d deliberately just taken the insults. Like he was trying to mitigate Draco’s anger without making it worse.
Draco shook his head at himself. He was projecting again and he wanted Potter to think like him because he was still associating the man with ‘Mr. Doe’. It was ridiculous, though, because this was Potter. Someone who, at the very least, had seen him in some of his angriest moments and only ever responded with escalation.
“That’s rather uncharacteristic of you to not want to piss somebody off.”
He was expecting a shrug or another hum, maybe, but was pleased when he didn’t hear another page turn. Potter was paying attention to him, even if he wasn’t looking at him.
“It’s not, actually. I was never a very antagonistic person and especially now, after everything, I prefer to avoid it. You were always the exception to that rule.”
Draco cursed himself, but his brain completely short-circuited at being called Potter’s ‘exception’. He swallowed hard and tried to think of something clever or cutting to fire back but the words failed him and all that managed to slip out was:
“The exception, huh? Was I the exception to your ‘no-stalking’ rule during Sixth year too?”
Potter snorted, but Draco still didn’t hear the book being set down so he tried to breathe. If Potter was still holding the book, then he was probably not holding his wand, right? Draco had chosen quite stupidly to push the man—though, honestly, when had he ever chosen not to push Potter?—and it was his own fault that his skin was prickling under the knowledge that all Potter had to do was stand and take four steps to reach him.
The memory of warm, firm hands on his wrists made Draco drop his measuring spoon. It clattered loudly against the iron bowl he was measuring into and he felt the air go still, but there was no sound of movement. He couldn’t feel eyes on him either, strangely enough.
“Yeah,” Potter finally said, still a bit of laughter in his tone. “I suppose you were always the exception to all my rules, Draco.”
Oh. Oh no. That did unfair things to his mind which spiralled out into his body like tendrils of warmth. Draco apparently liked the idea of being Potter’s exception quite a lot. He cursed himself a bit more harshly and sank his teeth into his lower lip, trying to remember and focus on all the reasons he was angry with Potter. The man had lied to him. Purposefully concealed his identity and accused him of trying to murder an innocent child.
“Ah, of course, I should have realized. Most people, you know, have a general rule about accusing people of trying to murder their own cousin.”
A sharp intake of breath made Draco focus twice as hard on the measuring his hands were trying to accomplish. However, they shook too much and couldn’t manage to level the powder on the spoon no matter how many times he tried so he settled for pretending. Potter wouldn’t know how much ground mother of pearl a hangover potion needed, would he?
“I am sorry about that, Draco. It doesn’t mean much, I’m sure, but I do regret it. As I’m sure you’ve gathered, I have a tendency to be a bit overprotective of Teddy and I was panicking. I didn’t know you were cousins.”
“Like it would have changed anything if you had.”
Draco hadn’t meant to sound so bitter or defeated, but he caught the movement of Harry’s head out of the corner of his eye and felt those green eyes settle on him. He waited for the argument or the denial, but instead Potter just sighed.
“No, you’re probably right. I still have no right to lash out at you, though, and I am sorry. You probably saved his life and I didn’t even say thank you—so, thank you, Draco.”
Well, fuck. Leveling out what was probably his eleventh attempt at an even teaspoon, Draco tried to take a deep breath. Potter was just full of surprises today, wasn’t he? Draco realized with a bit of a jolt that the Auror had yet to question him on why he’d taken or used his wand to perform the spells. Maybe Potter just didn’t want to aggravate him, like he’d said, or maybe he actually believed that Draco wasn’t ‘up to something’?
Regardless, Draco wasn’t going to remind him of the fact. It wasn’t like he had an explanation locked and loaded or like he could manage to explain that without explaining all the other things as well, which he was not ready to do. He would let that stay a mystery for as long as Potter was content to leave it be.
“I didn’t save his life, for the record. The reaction he had was more similar to a drug-induced nightmare than to an allergic reaction and he wasn’t at risk of dying. I’m still trying to understand what happened but just… for the record. I didn’t save him.”
Draco didn’t add that he probably couldn’t have saved the boy even if he’d wanted to because he still had no idea what went wrong. He’d managed to de-escalate the situation by addressing the symptoms he was seeing, but it was sheer luck that that had been enough to stop the reaction. If it hadn’t, he would have been as clueless as the rest of them.
“Well, either way, you stopped whatever was happening and made it better. Which still deserves a ‘thank you’, in my opinion.”
Draco stiffened and tried to quell the racing of his mind. You stopped whatever was happening and made it better. Was that a reference to the trials? Potter had stepped in and testified for him, essentially saving him from that holding cell or one just like it in Azkaban, but hadn’t thought he wanted gratitude. He’d sent a brief, formal letter of thanks upon being released and had never heard back.
Was Potter trying to hint that Draco still owed him for that? The thought alone was enough to send his mind spinning and guilt churned in the pit of his stomach but he wasn’t even sure why anymore. He had said thank you! Potter was the one who had ignored him!
“Well isn’t this a surprise—you’re both still alive. I must say I’m impressed.”
Andrea’s presence was like a muscle relaxing tonic flooding through his veins. He didn’t want to think about the war or about Potter and his bloody agenda or about any of that. The Auror stood—the movement his brain had been listening so intently for all this time—and moved towards the door. Draco vaguely heard the two muttering to each other about how it went. Potter left, and Andrea seemed pleased.
“So, you survived. Was it as bad as you thought it was going to be?”
She collapsed back onto her settee which Draco thought was a bit dramatic given that that was the first piece of real ‘work’ she’d done since last Friday, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he just shrugged.
“It was okay, I guess. I was civil.”
Andrea smiled at him, easing a bit of the lingering anxiety in his chest. She had that effect on him (when she wanted to) and he was grateful for it today. Finally able to hold the spoon without shaking too badly, he measured out his first real teaspoon of ground mother of pearl and added it to the bowl.
“I’m forever in your debt, darling. Was he civil?”
Draco laughed because ‘Potter’ and ‘civil’ didn’t belong in the same book, let alone the same sentence but then he considered. Potter had been weirdly neutral towards him. Maybe even apologetic.
“He was unnervingly civil, actually, which I’m guessing has something to do with your eloquent threats?”
Andrea rolled her eyes and began examining the book that Potter had left on his desk. She skimmed the table of contents—like an intelligent person, Draco couldn’t help thinking—and clicked her tongue a few times before looking back at him.
“Actually, that was all him. I didn’t have time to make threats before running off for my meeting.”
Draco swallowed hard. If that hadn’t been Andrea’s influence, then that meant that Potter had meant what he’d said. Or, at least, they were his own, original lies. He hadn’t seemed like he was lying, though, especially when he’d called Draco the exception to all his rules like they were in the first draft of some melodramatic play. The apology had felt genuine too. Draco had no doubt that Potter was capable of feeling guilt and, given his propensity to take responsibility for other people, likely had an excess of it. So the apology was real, even if the ‘exception’ thing and the ‘thank you’ were lies.
“Have you made any progress on that recipe scrap they gave you?”
He narrowed his eyes playfully at the Gatherer but she didn’t even blink. She wasn’t supposed to know about that recipe scrap, but Draco got the feeling she knew many things she wasn’t necessarily supposed to.
“Some. I’ve narrowed down the possibilities for the first ingredient, given that it starts with X. I’m surprised they didn’t start there, to be honest, but I suppose they are the Ministry so we can’t expect too much from them.”
“No,” Andrea chuckled. “Indeed we can’t.”
Draco was supposed to report back to Kingsley, among others, about his findings or best guesses for the potion recipe’s significance that Thursday morning. He’d shown up around noon on Wednesday, hoping to avoid Potter, with Andrea in tow because she said that letting him walk unaccompanied into a den of Auror would make her a shitty bodyguard. She had a point and Draco was secretly glad not to have to go alone.
They made their way to Kingsley’s office, only to be told that he was in a meeting and that they were welcome to wait. Draco sighed, weighing his desire to spend as little time in the Ministry as possible against his desire to avoid being in the same room as Potter, and elected to take a seat. Andrea sat beside him and crossed her arms, leaning back to take a nap.
Bloody bureaucracy.
Harry had come to work that morning barely holding on to consciousness with the help of a 20oz coffee. He’d been met at the floo by a rookie Auror with the message that Kingsley wanted him ASAP—which, knowing Kingsley, could mean anything—but had been hit with the overwhelming fear that Aidan had done something.
Walking into Kingsley’s office, he was half relieved and half annoyed to find Aidan sitting in the cushioned chair that Harry typically reserved for himself. It was too early in the morning to bicker, though, so he just sat in one of the hard wooden chairs and looked to Kingsley. The man looked far too excited compared to the clock on the wall.
“We have a lead. A man was brought in last night on charges of public indecency but we’ve been able to link him circumstantially to these suspicious deaths. He knew two of them,” Kingsley pointed to two names on the list. “And was seen in public with Anne-Marie Anker the day before her death. We’ve got him for another twenty two hours before the courts take him away and, between the two of you, I expect you to get some answers. He’s in room six when you’re ready.”
Harry instantly felt the energy that he could see in Kingsley’s eyes. He stood, content to ignore Aidan because they had a potential witness they could question, but then remembered that Kingsley had specified both of them. They had to work together on this.
Leave it to Aidan to ruin the first good thing that had happened in this case since it’d been opened.
Draco glared at the wall in front of him. He and Andrea had been sitting there on a small, uncomfortable wooden bench for over two hours and Draco was getting restless. Andrea had been asleep for most of it, but Draco was too on edge in the Ministry to even think about closing his eyes so he kept shifting his focus between the wall, the ceiling, the floor, and the secretary across from him.
He was young and looked freshly graduated. His nameplate on the desk just said ‘Secretary of the Minister’ so Draco didn’t know his name but he looked like a Jackson or maybe a James. Draco had spent the first twenty minutes staunchly avoiding looking at the man in an effort not to make either of them more uncomfortable, but sheer boredom had won out after that. He’d stared openly at the secretary in five minute study segments.
James hadn’t even blinked.
Draco was starting to think the man wasn’t human. He clearly knew Draco was watching him, but he continued tap-tap-tapping away at his typewriter as if he was alone in the little hallway-turned-waiting room. It was mildly infuriating, for some reason, and Draco continued to stare just to see what would happen.
Evidently, nothing. James continued tap-tap-tapping and occasionally paused to scribble something in pen—Muggle pen, he noted, but no Muggle keyboard which was interesting—and otherwise seemed indifferent to Draco’s presence. Once, Andrea let out a soft snore and the man looked up but just as quickly was back to work.
Maybe Kingsley had managed to scare the guy into being a workaholic like one of those stereotypical bosses in the Muggle rom-coms Pansy always watched. It wouldn’t have surprised him, but that also didn’t seem to fit what he’d seen of Kingsley’s character. People were different behind closed doors, though. Anything was possible.
“Do you guys have a coffee machine or a water fountain anywhere?”
He wasn’t thirsty, but he imagined that even walking down the hall would help ease the antsy energy in his limbs. James didn’t look up, but lifted one hand to point down the hall.
“Down there, to the right. It’s a galleon for a cup, but it’s strong stuff.”
Draco swore under his breath, but followed his direction down the hall and to the right. A galleon for a cup of coffee? Merlin, the Ministry really had no shame exploiting its visitors and workers, did it? He found the small machine and grabbed a paper cup, selecting ‘mocha’ because the only other option was black coffee, which he hated. Potter probably drank black coffee—the animal.
His fingers found a galleon in his wallet (one of the four total galleons in his name) and inserted it into the slot that was decorated to look like a mouth. What a disturbing artistic choice, he thought, and waited as it began to splutter. It finally took the coin and the whole machine began to rumble, which apparently meant it was ‘getting ready to brew’ according to the little sign on the wall. Fantastic.
Harry glared as hard as he could through the one-way glass at the man sitting there. Aidan was asking him questions, still, but it’d been almost four hours of consistent nothingness so he wasn’t really listening. The man just wouldn’t react.
He was small and scrawny and Harry could understand why he’d been picked up for public indecency. The Ministry-provided robe he was wearing was probably the most skin he’d ever covered and his dissatisfaction with the clothing was apparent. Thankfully, he hadn’t tried to strip yet.
Harry shook his head and tapped the glass, signaling Aidan to come back out. They’d been at this for hours and, frankly, Harry wanted his lunch because he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast. Aside from donning the robe, the man hadn’t even blinked at them. He wasn’t talking, and Harry was hungry.
“You want to let him simmer for a bit?”
Harry nodded because that sounded better than ‘I want a lunch break and thirty minutes away from you’. Aidan shrugged, but turned to address the two low-level Aurors on guard duty and asked them to lead the suspect back to his holding cell. They waited for them to rouse the man, then followed as he was dragged upstairs by the arms.
Parading a suspect through the halls of the Ministry was not one of Harry’s favorite interrogation tactics, but he was man enough to admit that none of his preferred tactics seemed to be working. Maybe letting this guy be seen would be the key. Some criminals would do anything to keep word from getting back to their bosses that they’d been in Ministry custody—it was worth a shot, right?
So they walked, a junior Auror gripping each of the man’s arms and Aidan and Harry trailing behind. They passed other holding cells, but got no reaction. None of the people currently in custody seemed to react to the man, either, or call out in recognition so they moved further upstairs and walked him through rows and rows of Aurors at their desks. He didn’t react.
As a last resort, Harry decided that acting like they were going to hand him over to the Head of the Ministry’s Justice Department might be effective. They moved through the halls, watching their suspect closely, but nothing was enough to get a response. Not even random Ministry staff.
Finally, they rounded the last corner and Harry barely had time to take in the fact that Draco was standing beside one of those horrid coffee machines before their suspect’s head snapped up. His eyes zeroed in on the blond, and Draco turned to study the group. Before anything could be said or explained, though, the suspect wrenched his hands free and lunged.
He touched Draco just as Harry managed to get his wand out. Not even considering what he was doing, Harry shot the strongest body bind curse he knew at the man and watched him drop to the floor. Instantly, his focus turned to Draco and he realized he’d made the right choice. The man had somehow torn through the left sleeve of Draco’s robe and gouged his nails into the skin beneath it, leaving long bloody scratches across Draco’s Mark.
“Are you okay?”
It was a stupid question, of course, and Draco clearly wasn’t okay but Harry didn’t know what else to say. He approached, gently taking Draco’s uninjured arm and guiding him a couple steps away from the writhing man on the floor until a bit of the pure shock in the blond’s expression faded.
“Who the hell are you?”
Draco was asking their suspect and Harry started to squeeze his arm, to say that he wasn’t supposed to talk to suspects because he wasn’t on the case, but Aidan shot him a look. He kept his mouth shut and settled for keeping his hand on Draco’s arm. Aidan joined them and roughly turned the man over so his face was no longer pressed into the carpet. Head up, their suspect’s eyes locked on Draco once again.
“You,” he hissed, his face splitting into a horrible, bloody grin. “He’s coming for you.”
Harry physically felt Draco recoil and he shot a silencing curse at the man without thinking. Aidan gave him a dirty look—that was the most their suspect had said all day, after all—but Harry didn’t care because there was no way he was using Draco as bait. Draco, who was still bleeding and beginning to shake.
“Take him to his holding cell, and leave the curses in place.” The junior Aurors rushed to follow the order, dragged him up and casting an additional lightening charm so they could carry him easily, but Aidan merely watched. “Go with them, Aidan. Make sure you get blood samples from under his nails and fingerprints too.”
Aidan did not look pleased by that, but evidently had as little faith in the junior Aurors as Harry did because he nodded and followed them. Once all four people had disappeared through the double doors at the end of the hall, he turned to Draco.
“Hey, I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?”
Draco blinked at him, eyes moving sluggishly to his forearm, and shook his head. A rush of emotion ran through Harry at that confession, but he tamped it down for later because Draco was the priority right now. Where the hell was Andrea? He scanned the hall, trying to feel for her magical presence, but couldn’t—he was too panicky.
“Andrea!” he settled for yelling, regretting it instantly when Draco flinched. He squeezed the blond’s arm again, but was satisfied to hear running footsteps one of the nearby halls and then saw the Gatherer emerge, looking panicked. Good, she could join the club.
“What the hell happened?! Draco, I—”
“Not his fault,” Harry interrupted. “But he needs to go to the Healers. Draco, I know you don’t like St. Mungo’s,” He looked to the blond for confirmation and got a small nod. “So I’m going to take you to one of the Ministry’s on-site Healers because this isn’t life-threatening or anything. Andrea’s going to stay with you and let me know what they say about the wounds. I’m going to go find Kingsley and tell him what happened. Does that sound okay?”
Draco nodded, but wavered slightly when Harry let go of his arm. Immediately, Andrea stepped in and put her own hand over where Harry’s had been. They walked as fast as Draco could manage towards the back wing of the Ministry’s small Healer department and Harry tried not to panic, instead putting all his energy into hoping that one of the good Healers was working today.
When they walked in, an old, weathered face poked out of the little command station cubicle. Harry let out a breath of relief as he recognized Marge. He smiled and waved a little in welcome, motioning to Draco as a means of explaining his presence. Her Healer instincts took over and she was beside them in a flash, leading Draco to one of the nearest cots and introducing herself in a soft, gentle voice. Draco seemed to relax when he heard it, which Harry took as a good sign.
“Full workup please, Marge, and send a memo to me the second you’re done with him. This is Andrea Moody. She’s a Gatherer, and she’s a friend of both me and Draco so I’ve asked her to stay with him. I’m going to track down Kingsley.”
Marge nodded and shooed him away, barely listening as she began casting soft examination spells on Draco’s forearm. The blond winced, but Harry saw him grip Andrea’s hand. She had the situation under control, he told himself, and between her and Marge Draco would be fine. He had to play his part, now.
Giving Draco one final once over, he nodded to the two women and Apparated straight to Kingsley’s office. It was highly frowned upon, but he didn’t give a shit. Their only suspect with any possible link to this case who had been a brick wall through the last four and a half hours of interrogation had reacted to Draco. More than reacted, Harry reasoned, he’d clawed deep gashes into the blond’s left forearm. Over his Dark Mark.
And he’d spoken, Harry remembered, but what he’d said had blurred in the adrenaline of realizing Draco was hurt. It had been threatening, though, he was sure of that. Which meant that Draco needed to be brought in on this case because he clearly had something to do with it.
Kingsley was annoyed by the knocking on his door. James hadn’t even tried to stop Harry—he knew better, by now, whenever Harry had that frantic look in his eyes—but the door swung open and Kingsley’s face changed. He ushered Harry into his office, muttering an excuse and leaving the firecall meeting in a rush.
“What happened?”
Draco was very, very confused. Healer Marge had completely repaired his forearm, though it still ached like a large bruise. She’d wrapped thick, heavy white bandages all the way from his wrist to his elbow and said it was a precaution against inciting another ‘no-gooder’ to violence. Draco hadn’t protested. After tying off the last bandage, she had disappeared into one of the offices to ‘finish the report Auror Potter requested’ and left him alone with Andrea, just sitting on the cot.
“I don’t understand what happened.”
Andrea, who was still holding his hand bless her, squeezed it and sighed. He knew that she hadn’t been there to see it happen and that she likely had even fewer answers than he did, but he couldn’t help it. It didn’t make any sense.
“I don’t either, darling, but I’m sure Harry will know more. What matters is that you’re okay, right? This is the Ministry and they have all kinds of disturbed individuals here on a regular basis. Maybe it was just random chance?”
Draco nodded mechanically, but he knew that wasn’t it. If that man had been the type to violently lash out at people like that, he would have been better restrained. He could remember from his own trial when he’d been argued to be a flight risk; they'd put him in thick, heavy iron shackles anytime he was out of his holding cell. And Potter had looked far too shocked for it to be ‘typical’ behavior.
That sick, twisted, blood-stained grin flashed behind his eyelids and Draco shuddered despite himself, feeling the warmth of Andrea’s leg pressed against his own. They sat side by side in silence. There wasn’t much left to say and Andrea had suggested that Potter had just been surprised to see him there, but it was more than that. Draco couldn’t give a reason why he thought that, he just knew.
So Andrea had stopped questioning him. They were forced to just wait for the finished report and for Marge to send word to Harry that he could be released, but then what would happen? Would Draco be forced to sign another NDA? Bribed so he wouldn’t press charges or go to the press? As if anyone would care about a Death Eater being scratched by someone in Ministry custody.