The File
Harry awoke with a splitting hangover and, groaning, groped around for his glasses. So tired was he that it took several moments to realize that he was groping something quite other than eyewear.
“Oy,” barked Ginny in his ear, “do I look like a table to you?”
“Don’ look like anythin’,” Harry slurred, refusing to open his eyes. Suddenly he felt Ginny’s weight across his stomach, then, before he could finish groaning, there was the feeling of glasses being shoved clumsily onto his face.
“There you are, you great pillock,” said Ginny. Harry groaned again, remembering suddenly and with a stab of pain that Ginny was a morning person.
“Why did I let you in here?” he wondered, and it was only Ginny’s tinkling laugh that clued him in that he was actually thinking aloud.
“All your idea, Haz,” she assured him. "Luna went to spend the night with Rolf, and you said to come over, that it would be like old times. Ron turned absolutely green, it was hilarious.”
“Clueless,” Harry mumbled with a vague smile.
They let Ron think that their affair had been torrid and passionate, because it was funny to watch his face when they described it that way, but it wasn’t the truth. Toward the end, “old times” had mostly involved living like kids at a sleepover, complete with pranks, late-night movies watched while bingeing on crisps, and actual hair-braiding. It had been fun, but not particularly healthy. As Hermione had pointed out when she visited one night and walked in on Ginny painting Harry’s nails as they gossiped about which of Ginny’s fellow footballers had the best arse. So, they had broken up.
But if Ron thought their passion had burned so brightly that it had proved unsustainable? Well, all the more entertainment for them.
“Get up,” Ginny commanded. “I’ve made some hangover potion. If you’re lucky I’ll do a fry-up too.”
“Hmmkay,” said Harry, painfully opening his sandy eyes, “‘ll be righ’ there.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Ginny said sternly, and went downstairs. Harry smiled. All the Weasleys were so much like Molly. They had all mastered that voice. He dared not disobey.
He stumbled to the toilet, then took a painkiller and went back into his room. Finding his phone was dead, he set it to charge before pulling on a shirt and heading downstairs.
“Here,” said Ginny firmly, slamming down a mug of hangover potion in front of him. Harry grimaced, but drank, knowing that the sludge (basically a banana milkshake with too much protein powder) actually would make him feel better.
“How is Rolf?” Harry asked conversationally, his voice still an invalid’s croak.
“Still weird as hell,” said Ginny cheerfully. “He’s a nice enough bloke, I like his company, but t’be honest, I’m still not sure I really get their whole thing. I mean, they have their own sign language, Haz.”
“What would the world be coming to,” Harry wondered philosophically, “if people understood their wives’ boyfriends?”
“Good point.” There was a loud hiss as Ginny poured frozen happy face potatoes into the skillet. “Anyway, I think it’s good for her to have a place where she can let her excess weirdness out. Not that I mind it, but I can’t really contribute, you know?”
“It’s a rich and varied world. There’s room for Luna’s love of stone-cold weirdos, your obsession with jocks--”
“And your kink for insufferable snobs,” Ginny interrupted.
“I resent that.”
“Resent it all you want. It’s still true.”
“Draco’s not so bad,” Harry protested.
“Perhaps not,” said Ginny, “but does he make you lovely fry-ups in the mornings?”
“I’m not confident he knows how to light a stovetop,” said Harry dryly. “He has other talents.”
“He’d better,” said Ginny, setting their plates down and joining him at the table. “Nothing less than the best for my second-favorite ex.”
“Second!” Harry protested.
“Oh yes,” Ginny nodded, “Second favorite. Or haven’t you seen Dean Thomas’ latest project with Stuart Semple?”
“Fair point,” Harry agreed, before losing himself in the high-calorie feast before him.
“Have you heard anything from him?” Ginny asked when they were finished, “Your ferret-in-shining-armor?”
“Y’know,” said Harry, “looking back, I sort of feel like the ferret incident might have been traumatic for Malfoy? Like maybe it wasn’t as funny as we remember?”
“You are no fun,” Ginny observed.
“False,” said Harry. “I’m loads of fun.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything that man tells you.”
Harry snorted. “We’re not quite at the point where he’s openly complimenting me. And if he was, I’d except something more along the lines of--” he cleared his throat and affected a posh accent-- “Spiffing work last night, Harry. Topping, absolutely topping.”
“I thought you were bottoming,” said Ginny.
“I’m going to eat my bacon now,” Harry said with what he felt was great dignity.
In point of fact, they both ate their bacon. After a silent stretch of breakfast-induced bliss, Ginny took his plate.
“I’m putting these in the sink,” she said. “You’re cleaning them.”
“That’s true,” Harry agreed.
“I’m leaving now,” Ginny added, grabbing her wallet and keys from the little table by the door.
“Hold on.” Harry hauled himself up and went to hug Ginny. “Thanks.”
“Nothing to it, you great tosser.” She got on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead--they were the same height, so it was easy enough--and went out the door.
Leaving the dishes for the moment, Harry went to check his phone. He scrolled through the previous night’s messages with Draco, frowning in concern.
Harry
I’m free to talk now, if you like.
Ferret-face
Punctuation!
Miracles never cease
Harry
Did you just use an exclamation?
Who are you
Ferret-face
I’m a man who did not sleep last night.
Harry
Can I call you?
Ferret-face
If you insist.
Harry settled back into bed, upright this time, and called him.
“Potter,” Draco answered the phone.
“Malfoy,” Harry responded.
“Well, this takes me back.”
“Eurgh,” said Harry, “I can’t decide if it’s creeping me out or getting me hard, but either way, this isn’t the best time?”
“You do have a type,” Draco remarked.
“I can tell you’re very upset, so I will ignore that psychologically revealing cheap shot.”
“You’re too kind.”
Their banter winded, there was a pause.
“Why were you up all night?” Harry asked at last.
“I found some...disturbing information,” said Draco slowly. “At least, I think I have. It’s hard to say, as I don’t really understand it all, which is why I asked after Granger, but--”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
So Draco did. He told Harry about meeting up with Pettigrew--a name that made Harry hiss, having inherited an unexplained hatred for his godfather’s ex-friend--and about the suspicions it stirred. Then he described his journey to the Malfoy Corporation labs for research.
“Don’t tell Hermione about the rats,” said Harry. “She’ll have you in an animal rights suit faster than you can say ‘Legally Blonde 2: Red, White, and Blonde.’”
“And you won’t?” Draco asked.
“Nah. I’d just sneak in and rescue them. Effective, but not long-term.”
“That sounds like you.”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.” Draco paused, then started again. “I didn’t mean that about you. I--like you, Potter.”
“Ugh,” said Harry. “I like you, too. If our teenage selves could see us!”
“Best not think on it,” Draco agreed. “Doesn’t do to go too deep. Next we’ll be discussing how it is we both became familiar with the plot of Legally Blonde 2, and the day can only go downhill from there.”
“Right. Best not, then.”
“The archivist is terrifying.”
“Hmm?”
“The woman in charge of the records room. She reminded me of Mcgonagall.”
“Mcgonagall was nice,” said Harry, but there was a touch of uncertainty in his voice.
“Terrifying,” said Draco. “But not as terrifying as what I found.”
“What was that?” Harry inquired, suddenly all seriousness.
“Like I said...I’m not entirely sure. A lot of it went over my head. But, Harry, there’s something wrong about this collaboration. I think...well, it seems pretty likely that people are being hurt. The test subjects--the neighborhoods--well, I don’t think you’ll like the patterns. And I’m not sure what it is exactly that they’re testing. Granger would have a better chance of parsing the language and telling us exactly what it does.”
“Fuck,” said Harry.
“I don’t know what the fuck to do,” said Draco.
Harry snorted.
“What?”
"Yeah, you definitely need to see Hermione. That’s what I always do when I feel that way.”
“Explains a lot,” said Draco.
“No,” said Harry patiently, “what it explains is how I acted the times I didn’t consult Hermione first.”
“Triathlon,” said Draco.
“Exactly.”
“I’m going to arrange dinner,” said Harry. “Here, so either of you can storm off if you need to. I’ll make something good. D’you like ratatouille? Of course you do, Frenchie. But Hermione will want to know this--soon. And I want to know, too.”
“Fuck,” said Draco. “I can’t believe I’m committing corporate espionage against my own father.”
“This can’t be easy for you,” Harry agreed, but couldn’t muster much sympathy on that count.
“It’s not,” Draco sniffed. “That had better be excellent ratatouille, Potter.”
“It is.”
“And I want apertifs.”
~
After his shower, and a quick Google search to find out what the fuck 'apertifs' were supposed to be, Harry found himself able to arrange the dinner with astonishing speed. Hermione demanded to see the notes that very evening, and Draco agreed that he probably wouldn’t sleep again till they’d talked. Harry dressed himself, went shopping, and set to.
Hermione arrived first--and, to throw a spanner in the works, Ron had insisted on coming with her. Grim-faced, he presented Harry with a bottle of wine.
“Mate,” said Harry, “you shouldn’t have.”
“Only polite,” Ron grunted.
“No,” said Harry thinly, “I mean you really shouldn’t have.”
“Well, I wasn’t leaving you three alone together. Bloody powder keg.”
“Yes,” said Hermione acidly, “and your presence has always had such a calming effect on their dynamic.”
“You’re the one who punched the guy,” Ron pointed out.
“We were thirteen, and he was trying to have a school horse killed for trying to kick him. And missing. I was understandably upset and not yet in full control of my emotions, Ronald.”
The bell rang, and Harry buzzed Draco up, then leveled a stern look at his two friends.
“None of this, now. We’ve all grown. This is more important than anything that happened in school.”
Ron groaned. “Why do you have to choose a moment like this to be right for once?”
“Great timing,” Harry said, “as per usual.”
Draco knocked on the door, and Harry opened it. There was a moment of awkwardness as the two tried to decide how to greet each other, which ended with Harry going in for a hug and Draco fumbling it into a side-hug.
“Chocolates, Potter,” said Draco, indicating the box in his hand.
“Sorry,” Harry lied, and let him go. Draco stepped inside, then stopped when met with a wall of unimpressed Granger-Weasleys.
“Granger,” Draco greeted. “Decent of you to be here. Sorry I was a racist prick to you in school. I’ve recently come to the realization that personal growth isn’t only for the middle classes, and I owe you my first apology.” He turned to Ron and nodded. “Weasley.”
“Malfoy,” said Ron tensely, arms crossed.
“I don’t suppose you’ll apologize to Ron, as well?” Harry asked hopefully. Draco looked over his shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow.
“I didn’t prepare a statement.”
Hermione sighed. “Well,” she said, “I suppose, since we’re not in school any more, you ought to call me Hermione. We’ll work out the rest later.”
“Fair enough,” said Draco, adding after a pause, “Hermione.”
“Right,” said Harry nervously, “why don’t I get everybody a drink.”
Conversation over dinner was stilted, but a few glasses of wine and Harry’s excellent cooking eventually relaxed them all enough for a proper conversation. Once the plates were cleared and the kettle was on, Hermione addressed the elephant in the room.
“What is it, exactly, that has you so concerned, Mal--Draco?”
“Right.” Draco shifted in his seat, a rare show of discomfort. “It’s like this...yesterday I was accosted by Riddle’s associate, Pettigrew. He’d got wind of my, er, association with Harry and was trying to threaten me into stopping it. He made ominous hints as to the nature of a collaboration between Death Eater Pharmaceuticals and the old Malfoy Corp, which I had advanced but not particularly understood some time ago for...personal reasons. Tom reasons. Apparently, according to Pettigrew, having a social worker sniffing around the place could be bad for both companies. Well, I may be a decadent aristo parasite, but I’m not a complete monster. A hint that there were children at risk was enough to make me overcome my pride and do my job, if only for the afternoon. I managed to get into the records room at our lab, but…” he shrugged helplessly. “Can’t make head nor tail of it. Thus, my appeal to Our Savior and his associated swot.” Draco wrinkled his nose at Ron. “I did not request the presence of the muscle, but I suppose it can’t be helped.”
“I have muscle,” Harry grumbled.
“Of course you do,” said Draco, patting his bicep soothingly.
“Do you have the notes with you?” Hermione demanded.
“Of course.” Draco went to his bag--which he had deposited on a chair in the front room, Harry not possessing anything so civilized as a rack to hang it on--and retrieved the file. When he returned to the kitchen, he found Hermione already reaching for it, a grim look on her face. He handed it over, and she was immediately absorbed.
“Now we wait,” said Harry in answer to Draco’s confused look.
“Shush,” said Hermione.
They shushed. When the kettle whistled, Harry made tea. Hermione sipped hers without ever looking up. Harry put both his hands on his mug, trying to keep himself from touching Draco, which would not be helpful at the moment. Neither of them could afford to be distracted.
Finally, Hermione closed the file and looked up. Right at Harry.
“It’s bad,” she said.
Harry let out a sharp breath and nodded for her to continue.
“They’re testing out a new drug,” she said slowly. “From what I can tell, it’s supposed to be harmless enough--a new cold medicine. But the concern is that it has narcotic effects, and might create dependency in children or tempt parents to use it as a chemical restraint. Essentially, it’s risky enough that no parent was willing to volunteer their child for the testing with full informed consent. So rather than go back to the drawing board, they’ve been offering cash and luring poor parents in without giving them a full understanding of the dangers involved.”
Her frown deepened. “It’s been done before, of course. It’s certainly illegal, but there are a lot of ways a slippery group with sufficient funds can escape charges. I’m not sure of the wisest way to proceed.”
“Well,” said Harry fervently, “if kids are being hurt, we’ve got to stop it.”
“A good observation, Potter,” Draco murmured, troubled.
“Can’t we just catch them?” Ron demanded. “Doesn’t seem like it should be that hard to take them down, given we have an informant.”
“Honestly, Ronald,” Hermione sighed. “You needn’t think like a policeman all the time. It’s more complicated than just catching them red-handed. In this case, the victims are the marginalized, and the criminals have privilege on their side.”
“You need an ally with sufficient wealth and power to hold sway against D.E.P.,” Draco said. “You need the Malfoy Corp. You need my father.”
“Certainly,” Hermione responded sarcastically. “Let’s just all knock on Lucius Malfoy’s door and see if he’s suddenly developed a soft spot for the underprivileged kids whose welfare benefits he’s consistently lobbying to cut while he tries to reduce the taxation of his multi-billion-dollar corporation. I’m sure that’ll go well.”
“You’re right, Granger.”
“Hermione.”
“You’re right, Hermione.” Draco took a steadying breath. “My father won’t be any help on this. He can’t see past his own nose at the best of times. I truly am fortunate that I inherited more of his looks than his personality.”
“Not too many of his looks,” Harry protested with a shudder.
Draco calmed him by laying a hand on his thigh.
“We’re not going to get any help from my father,” he repeated. Raising his head, he looked Harry in the eye. “I need to visit my mother.”