Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

13th June, 2005 - Monday

Their footsteps rang on the pavement as they walked. Draco thought the sound was decisive, confident, and not at all hesitant or nervous. Of course, the echoing, not-quite-in-synch clomping could not really be assigned an emotion; it was simply a sound, after all, and yet it comforted him all the same, despite the fact that the echo was muted due to the pelting raindrops.

"Are you sure about this?" Blaise's features were indistinct due to the Umbrella Charm that surrounded his upper body, but even with the droplets dribbling down between them, Draco could picture the dark look sent his way. He smiled and his footsteps slowed. "When have I ever been uncertain about anything?"

Blaise eased his pace to match Draco's. "Not in a bloody long time, but this is insane."

"Well, you know insanity runs in my family."

"Not funny."

Draco punched him lightly on the arm, although Blaise didn't budge at the gesture. His slenderness was deceptive; Blaise was built like a granite statue. "Oh, do lighten up! This will be a lark!" He turned and started away, but Blaise's fingers snagged at his sleeve.

"Draco—"

Draco offered him a steady stare, meeting Blaise's dark eyes though the haze of the Charm. "Blaise. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Blaise let go of his wet sleeve with a heavy sigh. "I'll visit you in Azkaban."

Draco's grin returned and he tsked as he turned away and headed for the entrance. "Such scepticism! I could drown in it!" He gave Blaise a jaunty wave and went to meet his fate.

~*~

Draco's footsteps rang as he walked the length of the Atrium. It wasn't particularly busy, as he'd purposely chosen 1:15 in the afternoon. Most of the staff would be back in their offices, lethargic from consumption of their lunches and not quite ready to tackle their waiting workloads. A few lesser employees scurried past and their disapproving looks were more likely because of his cloak shedding water on the wooden floor than from recognition of his face. He hadn't set foot in the Ministry in years. Not since his fateful trial, actually, nearly a decade prior.

When he reached the security counter he took off his hat and dropped it onto the countertop. "Hold onto this for me, won't you, Mrs Dearborn? I'll be wanting it back, as I'm rather fond of that one."

The bushy-haired witch blinked at him and put down the scroll she'd been scanning. She frowned. "Do I know you, sir?"

"Probably not, but you will in a moment." Draco deposited his wand in the golden analysis device and watched as it began to vibrate. A slip of paper spat out and she took it.

"Ash. Twelve and one quarter inches. Centaur-hair core. Been in use… six months? Is that correct?"

"Indeed. I had an incident with my last one. Broom accident. It was spectacular. I was nearly killed. My leg mended, thankfully, but my wand was a total loss. Such a pity."

"If you would stand on the scanner, please." She indicated a square upon the floor that glowed with a faint yellow outline.

Draco nodded as he unfastened the frogs of his wet cloak and shrugged out of it. He draped it over the counter next to his hat, ignoring her frown of dismay, and walked over to stand upon the square. As he did so, he held out his arms and crossed his wrists as if waiting for the application of bonds.

Two heartbeats later, the Atrium lit up like a holiday parade. Lights flashed, alarms blared, the Welcome Witch squeaked and dove behind the security counter, and three Aurors appeared next to Draco with wands held threateningly.

"Draco Malfoy!" one yelled over the din. "You are under arrest for… well, for a huge assortment of crimes. Fraud, burglary, attempted murder, coercion, bribery—"

"Oh, stop. You are making me blush. If you don't mind silencing this racket, I would like to speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt, at once."

"You would, would you? Well, we'll see if he's of a mind to speak to you. You're coming to Auror lockup." The Auror, a man Draco vaguely recognised from his school days—a former Gryffindor, no doubt—gripped his bicep roughly.

Draco hissed. "Gently! This is an Endovanera original! It was not designed for wrestling and probably cost more than your annual salary. Hershberger is a genius with pleats, don't you think?"

The Auror gave him a disbelieving stare, but he let go and then cast a Cuffing Charm. Metal bands appeared around Draco's wrists, glowing with a silvery light that would not be easily countered. The Auror's wand snapped towards the lift in a rough gesture. "In you go. And don’t try anything or you'll be in a Full-body Bind before you can blink."

Draco gifted him with a condescending smile and entered the lift on his own. The three Aurors crowded in after him, each of them looking as though they would prefer to cut him down where he stood. He shook his head sadly. Such animosity. What had he ever done to them?

~*~

Ron Weasley's ginger eyebrows nearly concealed the piercing blue currently stabbing into Draco from just beyond the iron bars.

"What the hell are you up to, walking in here like that?"

Draco crossed one leg over the other and adjusted the pleat on his pale grey trousers. The cuffed hem was slightly damp above his black designer shoes. He probably should have used an Umbrella Charm, but he'd always thought that wearing a hat and using a charm together to be redundant. He would rather be damp than unfashionable.

"I am only speaking to Shacklebolt, Weasley. In case they forgot to send you the memo."

"I'm Head Auror here and you'll talk to me whether you like it or not."

"Head Auror, indeed." Draco smirked.

Weasley took the bait. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco gave him an enigmatic look and examined the bindings on his wrists. They weren't particularly tight, which was a bit of a surprise. The Auror— Finnigan, Draco finally remembered—apparently hadn't as much reason to hate him as some of the others.

"We've got enough on you to toss you into Azkaban and throw away the key!"

"Do shut up, Weasley." Draco leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. "And let me know when Shacklebolt gets here. It's been a long day and I'm rather tired." He waited for Weasley to retort, but he heard only a muttered oath and then angry footsteps stamping away.

What had to have been more than an hour later, Draco was dragged from his cell by two different Aurors, a hard-faced woman and her burly companion. Without a word, they ushered him to the lift where they descended to level ten. Draco did not think they would have had time to convene the Wizengamot, so he was not surprised when they bypassed the ancient courtroom for a metal door some distance down the rough-hewn corridor. Inside, a single, rectangular stone table occupied the centre of the room, with a stack of files thereon, edged with several uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs. A lone chair sat to the left side of the table and a scattering lined the opposite side. Ron Weasley was stood next to one and Quentin Quartermain—the Minister's Undersecretary—waited behind another.

The Aurors shoved Draco into the single chair, disconnected his handcuffs with a spell, and bound them to each of the chair arms. Draco smiled. "Is this really necessary? I don't plan to leap across the table and throttle Weasley, tempting though it might be."

Quartermain nodded at the Aurors, who departed. The door clanged shut behind them and Quartermain took a seat. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with cropped silver hair, steely blue eyes, and a nose like a hatchet. "Draco Malfoy. Would you like to explain why you waltzed through the front doors and turned yourself in? You have been a wanted criminal for quite some time. Rather high on DMLE's Most Wanted list, if you did not already know that."

"Your list." Draco snorted. "We'll get to that later. I'm not here to talk to underlings. Where is the Minister?"

Quartermain had a cold smile that reminded Draco unpleasantly of his own father's. "The Minister cannot be bothered with petty criminals such as yourself."

"Hardly petty if I'm 'rather high on the Most Wanted list', wouldn't you say?"

"Regardless, we will not be bothering Kingsley with your foolish demands."

Draco shrugged. "Then it will be on your head. Some unpleasantness is coming your way and you would be wise to take precautions. But if you'd rather not accept good advice when it's offered…"

"What sort of 'unpleasantness' and what sort of precautions?"

Draco gave him a condescending smirk. "Well, now, there is a snag. I'm afraid I won't be simply coming out and telling you all about it. I will only speak to Shacklebolt or Potter."

Weasley, who had sprawled in a chair next to Quartermain, made a sound of disgust. "Yeah, right. I should have known you had some deeper plot in mind."

"Auror Potter is on a personal sabbatical."

"He'll return when he hears what I have to say. Feel free to fetch him now. I will wait."

Weasley barked a laugh. "You're dreaming, Malfoy. We're not fetching anyone. You'll talk to us and you'll do it now." He pulled a vial from his Auror robes and placed it on the table.

"Veritaserum? Really? I haven't even been formally charged."

"We have enough evidence to bring you in for questioning," Quartermain countered.

"Bring me in? I walked in of my own accord. I am here to offer you idiots a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"The only beneficial arrangement you're getting, Malfoy, is life imprisonment." Weasley's tone was derisive as he got to his feet and snatched up the vial.

"Are we skipping trials these days and going straight to sentencing?" Draco frowned at Quartermain. "Undersecretary, I am disappointed."

"Open up, Malfoy," Weasley said.

Draco considered resisting, but given Weasley's tense stance, he was hoping for such an eventuality. He probably couldn't wait to pry Draco's jaws open by force. With a single roll of his eyes, Draco tipped his head back and opened his mouth. The Veritaserum tasted vile. He didn't even need to swallow it for it to be effective; within moments he could feel the potion numbing his tongue and stealing warm fingers into his brain.

Relax, he told himself, and keep your wits about you. This was expected.

Weasley sat back down. "Lie," he said. "When I ask, tell me your eyes are orange. Now, what colour are your eyes?"

"Ora—grey." The answer bubbled forth, unrestrained.

"Brilliant." Weasley reached for the stack of files and opened the first one. "Did you know Jameson Newark?"

"Personally? No, I did not."

"But you know who he was."

"I read the Daily Prophet. Of course I know who he was."

"Did you kill him?"

"Of course not. I was in Bulgaria at the time."

"Did you pay someone to kill him?"

"No, I did not." Draco felt a bit smug about that one. "Pay" suggested the transference of funds, whilst "trade" was just different enough to keep his negative response from being restrained as a lie.

"Do you know who did?"

Draco was curious how the Veritaserum would handle that one. He couldn't suppress a slight relaxation of his shoulders when he replied, "No." He had known, of course, but he'd conveniently left that memory at home in a small vial and, at the moment, he hadn't the faintest idea of the killer's identity. Veritaserum had its failings, something the Ministry tended to ignore with their obstinate reliance upon it.

Weasley frowned and shoved the file aside to grab another one. "Dartmouth. Did you know that the Chillabuck Tavern was a front for a potions smuggling ring?"

Fuck. "Yes." The drawback, of course, was that he couldn't possibly remove every memory.

"And how did you know about that?"

Draco sighed and let the words come. "Ashleigh Greene was an acquaintance. How long do you intend to ask these ridiculous questions?" Draco looked at Quartermain. "I came here in good faith to offer you vitally important information and you are only interested in old news and two-knut cases. I can give you bigger fish than Ashleigh Green and his ilk. They are minnows in the cesspool and you don't even know about the sharks."

Weasley opened his mouth and Quartermain lifted a hand to silence him. "What sort of information?"

Cursing the Veritaserum, Draco replied, "Information on crimes that haven't been committed yet." He glared, knowing that even his skill would not prevent Quartermain and Weasley from clawing at the data that was Draco's Golden Snitch. He had wagered everything on the hope that Shacklebolt would be honour-bound to meet with him. He hadn't counted on the Minister's underlings keeping Draco's presence from him completely.

"Tell us what you know about—" Quartermain's words were cut off when the door banged open.

"Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?" Kingsley Shacklebolt entered with a billowing of official red robes. He was trailed by a tall, dark figure and Draco nearly sagged in relief.

"Just… questioning a prisoner, Minister." Weasley's voice sounded strident.

"What has he been charged with?" The question barked forth from the man accompanying Shacklebolt, and Weasley looked decidedly uncomfortable. Quartermain merely looked angry.

"This is Solicitor Flint. Mr Malfoy's legal counsel."

Draco was pleased to note that Marcus Flint looked even more intimidating in expensive, professional robes than he ever had in Quidditch gear back at Hogwarts. His brown hair had been slicked back and his bushy brows nearly hid his black glare, currently spearing Weasley to his chair. "Indeed I am. And I repeat, what's he been charged with?"

Weasley indicated the stack of files, but before he could speak, Draco said, "I haven't been charged with anything. Apparently they found it necessary to force a confession out of me via Veritaserum rather than do any tiresome Auror work and dredge up some actual evidence."

"We've got enough on you to hold you for suspicion in a dozen cases!"

Shacklebolt's expression was thunderous. "You two will face disciplinary action for this breach of procedure! Auror Weasley, I believe you are allowing your emotion to cloud your professional judgment. And Quentin, I am appalled. What were you thinking?"

Quartermain still seemed unruffled. He shrugged. "Sorry, Minister. I got a bit overzealous with Malfoy, here. I'll take these up to Robards and have him file some formal charges. We called the game before the Snitch was caught, I admit." Quartermain got to his feet and Summoned the files with a flick of his wand.

Flint's snarl was venomous. "You did, indeed, you smug bastard. And you'll be getting a bloody letter from my office about it, I guarantee you that." Draco thought it sounded impressive, despite the fact that a letter demanding recompense would get buried in Ministry red tape until Draco was ninety and everyone present knew it.

Quartermain ignored Flint. He inclined his head. "Minister."

"I'll speak to you in my office when I'm finished here, Quentin."

"As you wish." Quartermain strolled out. Draco maliciously hoped the lift malfunctioned and slammed the bastard around until he resembled mincemeat. He filed the idea away for future consideration.

"You may stay, Auror Weasley. In an official capacity, although I would prefer you not speak to Mr Malfoy." Shacklebolt took the seat that Quartermain had vacated and Weasley halted in the act of escape. He glanced at Flint and then walked back to sit down.

"Thank you, Marcus. You may go." Draco gave him a fleeting smile.

Flint paused, looking uncertain, but then he shrugged and started out.

"But don't go too far. I may need your services," Draco added.

"I'll be in the Atrium." The door closed behind him, finally leaving Draco with the person he'd needed to meet with all along. The bloody Ministry and their fucking inefficiency.

"Well, this has all wasted quite a lot of time. Thank you for that, Weasley." Draco gave him an absent sneer. "I am here to warn you, Minister, that someone is planning to do severe harm to someone on your staff."

"Who?"

The Veritaserum wanted Draco to reply, but the question could have referred to either "someone"—the harmer or the harmee—and his response came out as a strangled "gah" sound. Kingsley frowned.

"I realise it is unethical to question you under Veritaserum. However, considering the circumstances, I doubt that you walked in here to simply turn yourself in out of a sense of overwhelming guilt, so I would like to know precisely what it is that you want."

"I want protection. And I want to talk to Potter." Both of those things, at least, were perfectly true.

"Protection from what?"

"Protection from whom would be more accurate. Although a specific answer has not yet revealed itself. Let us just say that I am willing to give you information—quite a lot of information, actually, but in the process of doing so my enemies will begin to crawl out of the woodwork in an effort to stop me." Before Shacklebolt could ask, Draco held up a hand. "Since I am currently under the influence of Veritaserum, you might ask me any number of questions and I might spill all sorts of valuable information right now, but it will be grudgingly given and I will do my damnedest to thwart such an attempt. I leave it to you to decide whether it will be wiser to extract what I know in dribs and drabs by drugging me and asking random questions for hours while I attempt to prevaricate as best I can—and believe me, I can—or if it will be easier to simply listen to my request and allow me to elaborate in a fashion that will be mutually beneficial to us all."

Shacklebolt sat back in his chair. His expression was unreadable. "I'm listening."

"Excellent. Now, here is what I want. First of all, as I said, I am willing to give you information that will lead to the capture of many rogue Death Eaters, murderers, thieves, and wretched villains of whom you are not even vaguely aware. You have a list of people you would love to see in Azkaban. I have my own list. In some instances the names thereon are interchangeable. In others, you do not even know that these people exist and those are the ones you need to be concerned about."

Shacklebolt said nothing. Draco glanced at Weasley, somewhat surprised that the ginger Auror had managed to hold his tongue for an extended period of time.

"With that said, I will only impart this information to Harry Potter."

"Why?"

The truth was multi-layered and several potential answers warred for release, threatening another undignified sound, but Draco selected the strongest and forced it to the forefront. "Because I trust him." Draco fixed a cold stare on Shacklebolt. "I cannot say that about anyone else in your organisation. Present company included."

Weasley sat forward, apparently spurred to comment at long last, but Shacklebolt's raised hand stopped him. "Harry is on leave and has implied that he might leave the Auror Department for good. What if he refuses to return?"

Draco let a smirk slip through. "Let me talk to Potter for five minutes. He'll be back."

~~~~*~~~~

Rain hammered on the window, drawing Harry's attention from his handful of cards. "Merlin," he muttered, "is this rain ever going to stop?"

"Wettest year in ages," Eddie said and dropped a two of hearts atop the pile.

Harry considered the card and decided against picking it up. He took one from the deck instead and made a petulant moue of disgust as he tossed it onto the discard stack. A useless six of clubs. He should have taken the two.

"Least it's warm and dry in here." Eddie smiled at him and Harry grinned. He was lucky to have found Eddie, who was patient and kind, and had allowed their relationship to progress as glacially slowly as Harry needed. Harry's coming out had been unpleasant, to put it mildly, and had left him with little more than the urge to lock himself away in Grimmauld Place and never make a stupid attempt at finding love again. Thankfully, a random encounter with Eddie Carmichael at Quality Quidditch Supplies had changed his mind—and his life.

"Indeed it is. And it could get warmer yet." Harry placed his cards face-down on the table and got to his feet. He sidled around the table and joined Eddie on the sofa, sitting close and dropping an arm over his shoulders.

"Cor, is this a ploy to get a look at my cards, sly one?" Eddie clutched them to his chest and gave Harry a sidelong grin.

"Maybe I'd rather play a different game," Harry said, trying to sound suggestive.

Eddie's brown eyes went soft and dark and he tipped his head to meet Harry's kiss. Harry's pulse jumped and he fought down a spike of nervousness. Eddie had been so bloody patient, and it was time. Harry was finally ready.

A whoosh from the fireplace startled them both. They pulled away from one another as a face appeared in the flames. "Harry, are you here?"

Harry blinked and got to his feet. "Ron?" He hurried to the fireplace and knelt. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, mostly. We've got a bit of a situation at the Ministry. Kingsley wants to see you."

"What sort of situation?" Harry frowned. He had been having second thoughts about being an Auror, and meeting Eddie had only added to those doubts. Eddie sold Quidditch supplies and he had been trying to coax Harry into joining his business rather than remaining with the Ministry. Eddie hated to worry about him, and Harry's long hours and terrible stories had added such strain to their growing relationship that Harry had finally taken leave in order to sort out his priorities. Things had become so much better between them that Harry knew he'd made the right choice.

"Top secret, I'm afraid. Shouldn't take long. You'll be home by supper, probably."

Harry glanced at Eddie, who was frowning. His cards were still clutched in his hand. Harry tried to reassure him. "I don't think they would ask if it wasn't important."

Eddie nodded. "You should go. I'm sure they need your expertise." He smiled and did not sound in the least sarcastic. Harry felt a surge of affection.

"You're the best, Eddie." He turned back to the fire. "I'll be right there, Ron." He stood and went to find his shoes. Whatever it was, he would deal with it and then come back and reward his boyfriend properly. And after that he would be done with the Aurors and he and Eddie could move on with their lives. Together.

~*~

"Draco Malfoy?" Repeating the name for the third time hadn't given Harry any clearer understanding of what Malfoy wanted.

"He asked for you specifically. Says you’re the only one he trusts. That sounds like a load of malarkey to me, but whatever. The Veritaserum's worn off by now. Pity, that. Now we won't know if half what he's saying is true, but Kingsley insists on doing this by the book, especially after my little fuck-up, although I only dosed him because it was Quartermain's idea. Did you know Marcus Flint is a barrister?" Ron shook his head. "Wouldn't even have thought that one could read."

"I still don't understand."

"Malfoy's got information that he'll only give to you. It's ridiculous, really, since you're just going to pass it straight on to us and then go home, but there you have it."

"All right."

The lift doors pinged and then opened. Harry followed Ron past the courtroom that held too many memories and into a small, cold room beyond. Draco Malfoy sat in a hard-backed chair, looking relaxed despite his wrists being manacled to the chair arms. His gaze snapped to Harry when he walked in, but he gave no sign at all that he even recognised him.

"Hullo, Malfoy," Harry said as he dragged out a chair on the other side of the table and sat down. Malfoy looked tired and… different. His hair had been cut short. It stuck up in attractive tufts that were probably considered "artful" or something. Harry decided he preferred it the way he'd last seen Malfoy, peering out fearfully from under his blond fringe. Harry remembered it had been just long enough to brush the collar of his robes in the back; he'd admired Malfoy's hair often enough in school, although not much else about him. There was no trace of animosity in Malfoy's stare now, and his formerly-pointy features had hardened into what seemed to be porcelain, or granite. If anything, the years had made him even handsomer, short hair notwithstanding.

"Potter. Nice of you to drop in."

"Try anything at all, Malfoy, and you won't leave this room in one piece."

Malfoy's stare did not waver from Harry's at Ron's words. "Thank you, Weasley. Your empty threats have been duly noted. Goodbye."

"I'll be right outside the door, Harry." Ron whirled and stomped out. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Harry alone with Draco Malfoy.

A smile curved Malfoy's lips, upping his attractiveness even more. Harry made himself remember Malfoy's many alleged crimes. According to the files, he'd been instrumental in a ridiculous number of offences, from potions smuggling to fraud to murder. Evidence, however, had been difficult to nail down. Mostly it was circumstantial.

"Don't you look like the very picture of health?" Malfoy's voice was cheerful and had a deeper timbre than Harry remembered. "Apparently the softer life agrees with you. I almost feel like a heel for dragging you away from sweet Eddie's arms."

Harry's lips thinned. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure they explained it to you, so I'll get right down to it. I have information that there will be a kidnapping sometime this week. I don't know who the victim is, so don't bother to ask. The perpetrator, however, will be Fenrir Greyback."

Harry shook his head with a tight smile. "Is that really what you've brought to bargain with? Greyback is in Azkaban, and has been since the war."

"Is he really?"

"I think we would have got word of a breakout."

Malfoy made a noncommittal sound. "Indeed. Would you have got word if someone had smuggled in an imposter and then had that imposter take Greyback's place under the guise of Polyjuice, whilst setting the werewolf free with no one the wiser?"

Harry allowed that to sink in while he weighed it for validity. "That's impossible. The imposter would have to keep taking Polyjuice to maintain the disguise!"

Malfoy tipped his head back and looked at the rough-hewn ceiling as if bored. "You might check the medical records for Fenrir at Azkaban. I'm fairly certain someone has authorised a daily medicinal potion to 'keep his werewolf side suppressed' or something to that effect. Feel free to send someone out to check. I'll wait. Again."

Harry got to his feet and hurried to the door where he had a quick, muted conversation with Ron before returning to the room. "Why would someone do that?" he demanded. Ron was confident that Malfoy was having them on just to be an arsehole and send them all running amok before he was sent to Azkaban, but Harry wasn't so sure. It would be foolish for Malfoy to turn himself in unless he had a serious motive. His explanation to Kingsley had seemed disturbingly rational.

"Any number of reasons. Fenrir is a fairly loyal employee when given the right motivation, as evidenced by that whole Dark Lord business; he's fairly talented with a wand; and he's utterly unscrupulous. Also, he has a thing for children."

Harry dropped into his chair, fearing he wouldn't like the answer to his next question. "And what do you mean by that?"

Malfoy leaned across the table as far as his bonds would allow, as though imparting a dark secret. "Because Fenrir is planning to kidnap a child. Given his particular history, I assume the victim will be between six and eleven years of age. I also suspect it will be the child of a Ministry employee, since I've spent the past few days analysing the data."

"What data? Where did you hear about this? And how do you know about Greyback, assuming what you've said is true?"

Malfoy returned to his former relaxed position. "One of my reliable contacts is a former member of Fenrir's pack of renegade werewolves. I supply him with Wolfsbane Potion and he supplies me with information. He came to me with a ridiculous tale that Fenrir had returned. Believe me, I was as sceptical as you, having kept up with news both printed and unprinted. But it checked out. And Fenrir, being Fenrir, had to brag about his upcoming plan, hence the titbit about the kidnapping. Frankly, we're lucky he has such a big mouth."

Harry watched Malfoy. "Why wait for me? Why couldn't you have told this to Kingsley and Ron?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Weasley wouldn't have believed me and Shacklebolt is on my list of suspects."

"What?"

"Honestly, Potter, your knowledge of politics is as abysmal as your ambition. People who live and breathe in the political realm are either seeking power or attempting to hold onto it. One must not only fear those scrabbling and clawing for a foothold at the bottom, but also those at the top of the mountain waiting to kick the others down before they reach the summit."

Harry glared. "Kingsley's not like that."

Malfoy only smiled. "Why did you allow Weasley to take the Head Auror position?"

"I didn't allow him. He applied for the job and got it."

"Because you did not apply."

"I didn't want it. And there is no guarantee that I would have got it over Ron even if I had applied! That sort of twisted thinking is one reason I'm leaving the Auror Department."

"Are you?" Malfoy's tone of amused disbelief rankled.

"Yes, I am."

"Because everyone expects you to act like the Chosen One or because they are beginning to expect it less and less?"

Harry scowled. "How certain are you about this child?"

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't certain."

"Fair enough." Harry rose and went to the door again, more to escape Malfoy than to impart the information. Harry thought they should take him seriously, even if Ron turned out to be right and it was an elaborate game on Malfoy's part. Ron was no longer in the hallway; he'd been replaced by Seamus Finnigan.

"Hey, Seamus. Can you tell Ron to run a check on all Ministry employees with children between the ages of six and eleven? Malfoy thinks there may be an attempted kidnapping on one of them."

"That will be a pretty big list. I can think of three offhand."

"Yeah, but I think we'll need to start somewhere. If we find out Malfoy's right about Greyback, we'll need to move quickly on this."

Seamus nodded and trotted towards the lift. Harry went back inside.

Malfoy grimaced at him. "Say, Potter, is there any chance of you taking these off?" He lifted his hands and waggled his fingers. "I've been in this chair for hours and I'm getting one devil of a cramp in my lower back."

Harry considered the ramifications. Malfoy was wandless, so even if he managed to somehow subdue Harry and escape the room, there was no way he would get out of the Ministry. The lifts had been warded against him and Apparition wasn't possible from most of the lower levels. Harry shrugged and flicked his wand to release the magical shackles.

Malfoy heaved a sigh and frowned as he raised his arms and began to massage his wrists. The white shirt he wore had loose cuffs and as they slid back, Harry could see the merest edge of Malfoy's Dark Mark before Malfoy stretched his arms apart and rotated his shoulders. "Merlin, that feels better. Now I could use a glass of wine and a visit to the loo. I don't suppose you lot plan ahead for things like that?"

"Um… I've never been in this room before. I'll see about your loo request. Pretty sure he'll deny you the wine, though."

Malfoy sniffed. "Likely it would be undrinkable swill, anyway."

Instead of making another trip to the door, Harry cast a Patronus and sent his stag galloping through the wall and off to Kingsley. When the afterimage had faded, he sat in growing silence until he thought anything might be better than staring at the table in order to keep from studying Malfoy. He attempted conversation. "So, what have you been up to since Hogwarts?"

Malfoy stared at him for so long Harry thought Malfoy had misheard. He opened his mouth to repeat the question, but Malfoy said, "I'm a criminal, Potter. Surely you know that."

Harry flushed. "I meant when you aren't doing… whatever it is you do as a criminal. The evidence in that regard is rather sketchy, as you might know. Do you plan to confess?"

"Interesting segue. From small-talk to asking for a confession in one baffling statement. Well done, Potter. And no, I do not plan to confess. If you and your Ministry masters want me in Azkaban, you can work for it." Malfoy looked away and Harry stewed in the awkward silence, unable to think of a way to open a conversation that wouldn't lead them eventually to blows. Thankfully, the door opened to disclose Kingsley.

"Well, Mr Malfoy, one part of your story checks out. The man in Fenrir Greyback's cell was not Greyback, after all. When fed the counter-agent to Polyjuice, he was revealed to be a petty criminal we've had in and out of Azkaban so often he practically has a dedicated cell. It seems he was only too happy to take Greyback's place and receive three meals a day and shelter from the elements in a familiar place. Additionally, he was offered a hefty sum when the game was up."

"Does he know who hired him?"

"A young woman, who appeared to be about nineteen with amazing thighs, according to him. Obviously, the perpetrator has a goodly supply of Polyjuice and isn't sparing in its use."

"How long has he been pretending to be Greyback?"

"Three days."

"That's a lot of Polyjuice. We could start tracking down the ingredients through various dealers."

"Don't bother," Malfoy said. "They know how to hide their tracks. Even if you find an order for a cauldron full of boomslang skin, the paper trail will lead to a foreign company whose headquarters mysteriously burned down and none of their employees can be found. Obviously, a front."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've already done that. It leads nowhere. The only way to find Greyback is by getting to his victim before he does. If you waste precious time backtracking will-o-wisps, you will fail."

Harry hated to admit that Malfoy was right. He exchanged a glance with Kingsley and a small smile at the corner of the Minister's mouth told him that Kingsley had already sent out people to follow the potion trail anyway. At this point, it was impossible to tell if Malfoy was being truthful or if he was actually the ringleader of the plot—if one even existed.

"Mr Malfoy, I prefer it if you remain in this room for the time being. There is a toilet and sink there that you may use—" Kingsley swished his wand and a door opened out of the blank stone at one end of the room. "The door will remain open until you exit, but it has some semblance of privacy. Additionally, I will have a meal brought down to you. If there is nothing else you're willing to give to us this evening?"

Malfoy shrugged. Harry thought it looked unnatural on his frame, as though his usual grace fought such a common gesture. "I have nothing more, at the moment. But if a message should come for me, it might be wise for you to deliver it."

Kingsley seemed to ponder that for a moment and then he nodded. "All right. I have little doubt that I will be talking to you soon. Do not bother attempting to leave. This room is as impenetrable as we can make it. There is a bed and a change of clothes if you wish to sleep." He cast another spell and a section of wall swung down to reveal a thin mattress, flat pillow, and several folds of material that were likely blankets and sleeping robes. Harry thought it looked more comfortable than the holding cells in the Auror Division. "Harry, come along."

Kingsley headed for the door and Harry trailed after him, glancing uncertainly from Malfoy to the Minister. He wasn't completely certain why he was involved. Malfoy's voice halted him in his tracks. "Potter."

He turned to see Malfoy still seated. His arms rested on the chair as though his bonds had never been freed. "Malfoy?"

"I won't talk to anyone but you. I will see you tomorrow. And keep a close eye on Eddie, won't you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Malfoy rose and walked towards the doorway that led to the loo. "Just keep your wits about you."

Harry scowled at his back, shook his head, and went out.

14th June, 2005 - Tuesday

Harry stared blearily into the wisps of steam that curled up from his tea in gentle spirals. It was too hot to drink, but he considered it anyway. He'd spent another hour at the Ministry the previous night, talking over Fenrir's escape and theories with Kingsley, and trying to convince him that he had no idea why Malfoy had sought him out specifically.

Eddie had been surprisingly understanding, despite Harry telling him next to nothing. "They need me to help with something, but I'm not back on active duty," Harry had insisted upon arriving home. He'd stopped for take-away curry on his way.

"It's only natural that they want your expertise," Eddie had said. "No doubt they'll continue to ask for your services for years to come. It will be your choice whether to wean them off slowly or make a clean break."

Harry had searched that comment for censure, but Eddie had seemed sincere about it being Harry's decision whether or not to quit the Aurors for good. Despite Malfoy's cryptic words, Harry saw no reason to mistrust Eddie. It was likely Malfoy was just… being Malfoy. Shaking his head to return to the present, he watched as Eddie slid a rasher of bacon onto a plate and added a spoonful of fluffy-cooked eggs. "How long do you think this will take?" Eddie asked as he set the plate before Harry and kissed the top of his head.

Harry took a drink of his too-hot tea and winced when it burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth. "Not sure. It depends whether or not there really is a case. At the moment, the evidence looks promising, but it could be that someone is screwing with us."

"Hopefully you'll be free this weekend. I've made plans for us to have lunch at Scotia and then we can tour the gardens. The roses are in bloom and it's so beautiful. You have to see it."

Harry smiled at him. "It sounds great. I won't miss it."

Eddie's smile was adorable. Harry reiterated that he was a lucky man.

~*~

Malfoy was seated in the same chair he'd occupied the day before, although it had been fitted with a white tablecloth that looked out of place amidst the stark surroundings. He was tucking into a large plate of food. A full tea service hovered on a tray just above the table. Malfoy's grey stare touched on Harry and then returned to his breakfast, although a quick jerk of his head indicated that Harry should sit.

"They prepare a decent breakfast. I am surprised, considering that last night's dinner was largely inedible. The breakfast staff is to be commended. You might want to suggest a salary increase. And dismiss the idiots on the evening shift."

"I'm not here to talk about your meals. Kingsley said you got a message last night, but they can't read it and you won't talk about it."

"Correction—I won't talk about it to them, but I will discuss it with you." Malfoy took a folded note from next to his plate and handed it to Harry.

Harry took at it and then tipped the paper to examine it from different angles. "It looks like gibberish."

"It's a rather obscure language. My were-mole overheard something that might be important. He believes the word was "unspeakable" which leads me to believe the target might be the child of someone in the Department of Mysteries. Of course, it could refer to Greyback, in general, but at this point it's the only lead I've got."

"Why didn't you just tell Kingsley? Why drag me into this?"

"Because I'm worried about you, Harry, and I'm trying to protect you."

Harry could not prevent his jaw from sagging open, not only at the words, but at the friendly, sincere-sounding tone. Malfoy's eyes sparkled, betraying the lie. Harry shot to his feet and glared at Malfoy. "Very funny. I'll go tell them to narrow the search. Also, you're an arsehole."

Rather than return to the irritating man, Harry went up to the Auror department to join Ron, Seamus, and a female Auror who smiled at him when he lifted a hand in greeting. She had long blond hair pulled into a tight knot. Harry liked her, despite her overly-gruff exterior. Her name was Kimmy Klein, but they all called her Kay-Kay. The four of them surrounded a huge conference table that had been piled high with record books and scrolls.

"Didn't think there were this many children in all of wizardom," Ron said and surveyed the growing list in the centre. Whenever they found a child of suitable age, they added it to the list. It was already daunting.

"After the war, everyone spent the peaceful years that followed shagging, remembering what they were alive for," Seamus said philosophically.

Ron snorted. "I didn't."

Harry laughed out loud. "I'll bet it wasn't for lack of trying."

Ron grinned. "I'm always trying, mate. You know that. Luckily, she's up for it quite a lot these days. They say the female sex drive is—"

"Too much information, Weasley." Kay-Kay's voice was strident and Seamus fell out laughing.

"Merlin, if I had a Galleon for every time I had to put a stopper in you idiots' sex talk, I could retire in the Bahamas. Wait a minute, look at this. I think I found something," Kay-Kay poked at an open book with an index finger. "Liam Nottingham. His son is nine."

"So? Add him to the list." Ron shrugged.

"While you lot have been mindlessly jotting down names, I've been cross-referencing their parents against Greyback's record. Says here that Nottingham gave instrumental testimony in putting Greyback in Azkaban. He was a witness to one of Greyback's bloodier crimes in '97. Think the werewolf might want some payback?"

"Merlin, that might be it. You're smart!" Seamus gave Kay-Kay a slug on the arm. She didn't flinch, but gave him a sidelong stare of warning. He grinned.

"Ron, go and fetch Nottingham. Seamus, get Kingsley. I'll go talk to Malfoy. Kay-Kay, try to dig up the original case file and we'll see if we can find a connection, someone willing to free Greyback in order to extract some revenge. There has to be more to it, but our first priority is protecting the boy."

It wasn't until Harry was halfway back to Level Ten that he realised he'd issued orders without even thinking about it.

~~~~*~~~~

Draco patted his full stomach and stretched out on the bed. It was hellishly uncomfortable, but he'd slept on worse. He hadn't lied about the breakfast, either. The crumpets had been delicious and the tea had been strong and hot. Draco wondered if the quality would have remained the same if the cook had known it had been destined for a Malfoy. He wrinkled his nose. They probably would have slipped poison into it, or at least an explosive laxative.

The door unlocked to reveal Harry Potter. He looked even more serious than he had earlier and Draco sat up. "You've found something."

Potter nodded. "Kay—Auror Klein thinks there might be a connection between Liam Nottingham and Greyback. And Nottingham has a nine-year-old son."

Draco nodded. "Good point. Of course, twenty people testified against Greyback and every member of the Wizengamot judged him into Azkaban, but it's as good a place to start as any. And Nottingham is an Unspeakable. What do you plan to do about it?"

"Inform Liam and then go and get the boy, of course."

"I suggest haste."

"Yeah. We're going now. I just thought you should know."

Draco gave Potter a genuine smile and then laid back on the stiff mattress as Potter departed. Liam Nottingham. Interesting.

~~~~*~~~~

Nottingham was a tall, slender man with prematurely greying hair and nearly-colourless blue eyes. His face was enflamed with rage and he slammed a fist down on the table. "This is unconscionable! I should be the one to go!"

"We don't know that this isn't an elaborate trap to capture you, Deputy Nottingham. Or even if the threat is real."

"He's my son! I don't care if it's real or not! I want him protected!"

"We've already sent Aurors ahead to scout your mother's house. I'll be on my way as soon as you can give us the layout."

"Do it, Liam. The sooner you help them, the sooner Niall will be safe." Cho Chang's voice was soft and Liam gave her a piercing stare that she met and held for a long time. Harry found himself holding his breath and then Nottingham nodded and dropped heavily into a chair. He pulled a piece of parchment close and snatched up a self-inking quill. As he drew, Harry glanced at Cho. She had changed somewhat since their school days, having acquired an air of confidence that she hadn't possessed at Hogwarts.

"Where did you get this information?" she asked Kingsley.

"We have a source whose veracity is currently in question. I prefer not to reveal their identity, in case it turns out to be nothing more than smoke. With that said, we still need to take the tip seriously."

"Damn straight, you do," Nottingham muttered.

Cho patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure the Aurors will do all they can." She smiled at Harry and he nodded. Cho's hair had been cut short and she wore wireframe glasses that she must have only used for reading, as she looked over the top edge frequently. She had joined the Department of Mysteries straight out of school and had risen to the top of their ranks at lightning speed. "Do you mind if I come along, Harry? Liam should remain safely here, but I am a fair hand with a wand, and I've been to his mother's house, so I can Side-Along you."

"I remember your wand-work. It's fine with me, if Kingsley approves."

Nottingham's hand shook as he handed over the rough sketch of a floor plan. "The house is warded, of course. If anyone tries to get in, they'll likely go for the back, or possibly the side entrance here, if they know about it." His long finger tapped a rectangular block that indicated a door. "Niall's room is upstairs, here."

"We'll bring him back," Harry promised. He took the makeshift map and then stepped closer to Cho.

Two short Apparition-jumps later and they stood between a tall laurel hedge and a wooden building that had once been painted red, but now displayed a faded, dusty pink that peeled away in places to show the grey wood beneath. Harry wondered if Nottingham had freed his house-elves, or if they were simply old and careless. Nottingham was a pure-blood and his property was fairly extensive. A droplet of water hit Harry on the top of his head; rain fell in an unpleasant drizzle, but at least it wasn't a downpour.

Cho had her wand out. She peered around the edge of the shed. "Everything looks quiet. Where are these Aurors you sent ahead?"

"Not sure. We sent them with invisibility cloaks, but they wouldn't want to trip the wards. We told them to hang back and watch for anything suspicious."

"All right. I'll take the lead and you cover me. We'll go in the front by the stealthy method of knocking on the door. It will be faster and less alarming if this turns out to be nothing. And Greta knows me."

Harry nodded. They left the safety of the shed and raced across the close-cropped lawn—at least that had been well-maintained—and Harry scanned everything visible on their way to the front door. A high brick wall and hedges bordered the entire property, giving ample concealment to any lurking enemies. No spells shot from cover and no warning cries rang out. Harry stood with his back to the wall as Cho banged the brass knocker. His blood pounded in his veins and the brick was rough at his back. He realised with a start that he'd missed this: the thrill of the chase and the excitement of running into danger.

The door opened with what seemed infinite slowness. Harry risked a quick glance to see a tall, steel-haired witch standing with the door ajar. "Ms Chang, dearie! What brings you here? Is everything all right with Liam?"

"Yes. Everything is fine. May I come in?" Cho smiled at her, but Harry noticed that she didn't put her wand away.

The old woman stepped back and swung the door wide. Cho stepped inside and Harry pushed in after her, causing the witch's hands to rise up to her face with a gasp. Cho shut the door behind them and cast a Locking Charm whilst Harry walked a fast circuit of the room and peered into every doorway, a spell ready on his lips.

"What is this?"

"I'm sorry, Greta, but we may have a situation. Where is Niall?"

"Up in his room. You said everything is fine!"

"Everything is fine and we are trying to make sure it stays that way. Do you mind if I go up and fetch Niall?"

"I'll go," Harry said, already heading for the hallway that led to the stairs, according to Nottingham's sketch.

"Who is that?" Greta's shrill demand carried to him as he took the steps two at a time. He was glad not to be around for the revelation of his identity. People were still weird about it, even after all this time.

The door to Niall's room was open and Harry tensed when he heard the boy talking. He pressed himself hard against the wall and edged closer, listening intently. After a moment, he realised the boy was playing with his toys. He smiled when he clearly heard, "Oliver Wood swoops past Mercury Horowitz and sends the Bludger in for a goal! And Dartmouth pulls ahead! The crowd goes wild!"

Harry peered into the door to see a sandy-haired boy sitting on his knees on the floor of a large bedroom. He held a toy Quidditch player in each hand and the Oliver Wood doll was waved at the collection of plush animals and assorted historical witches and wizards clustered round the makeshift pitch as an audience.

"Niall?" Harry asked quietly and the boy gasped and scrambled to his feet. The Oliver action figure hit the floor and tumbled before climbing to his feet and shaking his fist at Niall.

"Who are you?" The boy backed away and climbed onto his bed. His eyes were wide and fearful.

"My name is Harry. Don't be frightened. I'm an Auror. I'm here to take you to your father."

The boy shook his head and a mistrustful frown marred his features. "Why didn't he come himself?"

"The Minister for Magic asked him to stay. Do you know who that is?"

"I think so."

Harry walked carefully around the side of the bed, hoping to sit down adjacent the boy and calm him. He didn't want to scare the child by snatching him, and there did not seem to be any danger at the moment.

"Do you like Mercury Horowitz? She's my favourite, next to Oliver Wood." Niall held out the action figure.

Harry took it with a smile and admired the detail on the tiny Quidditch gear. The ginger-haired girl waved at him, holding her broom protectively to keep him from crushing the bristles.

"Gran!" Niall yelled suddenly and launched himself from the bed. He hurtled across the room and threw himself at his grandmother, who stood in the doorway, looking worried. Harry took a step towards them and wondered why Cho hadn't kept Greta downstairs.

A large shape loomed behind Greta and a clawed hand clutched at her throat. Niall's head twisted to look up at Fenrir Greyback and he gasped. Before he could move, Greyback's other hand snatched the boy by the shoulder and flung him out the door and into the waiting hands of another man. Harry had leapt off the bed and lifted his wand, but Greyback snarled, "If you as much as twitch, Potter, I'll tear her throat out."

Harry froze, knowing Greyback wouldn't hesitate. He wondered where the other Aurors had gone and how Greyback had managed to get into the house without the alarm sounding, but he couldn't spend more than an instant considering it. The second man and Niall had already gone; Harry could hear the boy's muffled screams as they retreated. Greta's eyes rolled wildly and sobbing gasps broke on the word, "Please…" Greyback's claws tightened.

"Now, I'm going to take the boy and it will be your choice whether to save this old bag of bones or come after me. Either way, one of them will die. Perhaps both." With that, Greyback cast a spell, shoved Greta hard, and bolted. Harry cast two spells in quick succession—one of them took a chunk out of the door frame, but missed the werewolf. The bastard was fucking fast.

"Cho!" Harry bellowed as he leapt forwards and caught Greta before she fell. Already, her face was beginning to turn red—Greyback had cast a Strangulation Charm and Harry's Finite Incantatum had no effect. He cast a Patronus and hoped Cho hadn't been taken—or worse—and then he set to work dismantling the Strangulation Charm. Greta thrashed wildly, hands flailing as she struggled to find oxygen. Her wrist banged into his wand, nearly knocking it from his hand. Forcing everything else out of his mind, Harry tightened his grip on his wand and focussed on finding the cracks in Greyback's spell, tearing them apart with a modified Finite. It was delicate work, usually used only in Curse-breaking when time was not of the essence.

Cho appeared in the doorway just as Harry cracked through and shredded the last of the Strangulation Charm. Greta inhaled air with a tortured sound and her fingers tightened on Harry's sleeve. The reddish-purple colour began to fade from her face.

"They took the boy!" Harry yelled at Cho. "Didn't you see them?"

"No! I heard something in the kitchen so I went to check it out, and then I came straight up the stairs—they must have exited through one of the other rooms!" Cho disappeared and Harry gave Greta a weak smile and squeezed her hand before leaping up and tearing after Cho, who slammed open the door nearest them and ran to the open window on the other side of the room.

"There!" she yelled, pointing.

Harry joined her and they cast at the same time. Greyback and the other man were fleeing through the garden. The boy had been flung over Greyback's shoulder like a sack of grain. He wasn't moving. Harry's Stunner hit a Shield Charm and rebounded. Whatever Cho had cast did the same. Harry swore roundly and cast twice more, but the distance was too great. Greyback and his companion dove through a wooden gate in the stone fence and vanished. Harry imagined he could hear the crack of Apparition.

He climbed out through the window, knowing they were already gone, but needing to be certain. His stomach was in knots. "Get Greta and I'll meet you back at the Ministry," he called as he trotted down the sloped roof and then leaped off into the wet grass, rolling to absorb the impact. He didn't bother to look back to see if Cho had argued, instead pelting into the garden and slamming through the gate. Rolling hills of thick grass stretched away and unless Greyback and the others were hiding prone in the grass—unlikely—they were long gone. Harry made an incoherent cry of rage and headed back to the house.

In his left hand, he still gripped the small Quidditch figure of Mercury Horowitz.

~~~~*~~~~

Draco was not particularly surprised when Potter returned looking ready to inflict damage on anyone in range. It was a good look on him and Draco felt a surge of something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Part of it was lust, but that was a simple emotion, easily sparked and as easily ignored. This was something deeper, desire swirling atop a dark pool of things Draco had repressed and rejected for so long that he'd nearly forgotten they existed. Foolish things, like anticipation and hope, and a tiny bit of awe; emotions Draco would prefer not to dredge to the surface, but then, he'd never been able to ignore Potter.

"Where is he?" Potter's voice was a sword blade—sharp and whisper thin.

"To whom are you referring?" Draco set aside the book he'd been reading, but he did not bother to rise from his cross-legged position on the hard bed. Terrible as it was, the comfort level was minutely greater than that of the chairs.

"Greyback. He escaped with the boy. I don't care how you find him, just do it."

"I can hardly utilise my resources from here, Potter." Draco cast out a careless hand to indicate his surroundings.

Potter shook his head. "Kingsley won't let you out. You could have engineered this entire thing."

"To what purpose?"

Potter pushed a hand through his hair in a gesture Draco hadn't seen in years. It brought an unexpected wave of nostalgia that took Draco straight back to Hogwarts. He shoved it away; now was definitely not the time.

"I don't know! But it doesn't change the facts. You said you have a contact in Greyback's old band. How do we reach him? We need leads."

"You don't reach him. He is mine, and I definitely do not need you clumsy lot Apparating all over Britain stirring up my information network. You've done enough damage already by letting Fenrir escape."

"I didn't let him escape!

Draco got to his feet and glared at Potter. "If you had taken me seriously immediately instead of debating my motives for hours on end, you would have gone straightaway to the boy and he would be safe now."

"Assigning blame isn't helping anyone." Potter's eyes were like green fire.

"Spoken like someone on whom the blame firmly rests."

Potter's fists clenched and he stepped forwards. Draco felt the unexpected surge again and it left him nearly giddy. He wanted Potter to touch him, even if it were only to shove him against the wall hard enough to crack his skull. Draco closed his eyes to shut down the vision and get a handle on his emotions.

"Never mind, Potter. You needn't get so worked up quite yet. It's obvious they want something." He walked to the table where a silver tea service waited, along with two delicate porcelain cups.

"They?"

"Think about it. Why Liam Nottingham? Someone went through a lot of trouble to procure Polyjuice, smuggle it into Azkaban via unsuspecting guards, release Fenrir with none the wiser, and for no purpose other than kidnapping a boy and turning him into a werewolf?" Draco shook his head. "No. It's too complex. They want something other than petty revenge."

Potter was staring at him as though he'd morphed into Voldemort's ghost. "Such as what?"

Draco smiled. "We will just have to wait and see. Sit down and have a cup of tea."

"I'm not going to sit and have tea while that boy's life is at stake!"

Draco lifted the silver teapot and poured a cup of the steaming brew. "There is always some boy's life at stake, Potter. You can't save them all. And in this case, either the boy has been bitten or he has not. Pacing this cell and worrying about which it is will not do one iota of good, so you might as well sit down and try to focus on the things that will help you locate him."

Potter gifted Draco with another hot glare, but he stalked to the table and sat down. Draco poured him a cuppa.

"Where did you get that?" Potter asked, indicating the tea service.

"Kingsley allowed me to send for it. We had a lovely chat whilst you were out. Such a dear man, if a bit bull-headed and single-minded, and possibly a bit stiff and humourless. I wonder what his wife is like in bed. I'll bet she's not terribly adventurous. Have you traced the Polyjuice potion?"

Potter blinked at him and dropped a spoonful of sugar into his tea. "Yes. The potion was being supplied by a small shop in Knockturn Alley. When we got there, the place had been cleaned out. The owner didn't know much about the man who'd leased it from him. Turns out he'd given a false name and always paid him Galleons in person, never a bank transfer. We're still trying to track him down, but it's looking unlikely that we'll find him. Funny that his shop is gone. It's almost like someone tipped him off."

"Oh, pish. Criminal types frequently panic and pull up stakes. Although in his case, he was probably alerted the moment the Aurors showed up at Azkaban to ask questions about Fenrir. How is the tea?" Draco smiled innocuously. Draco hadn't tipped the man off; he had paid him off and relocated him to another city. Potions smugglers often had brilliantly useful networks. And he'd extracted a large amount of useful information from the man, some of which might even assist Draco's current cause.

Potter set down the cup and licked wetness from his upper lip. "It's good. Look, are you going to have anything useful for me at all?"

"Such impatience. Very well. Let's talk about Fenrir. People are creatures of habit and they don't like change. Often the best way to locate a criminal is to try and think like them. I assume they taught you this in Auror School, but since you've taken a sabbatical to shack up with Eddie Carmichael, perhaps you've forgotten." Potter scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but Draco held up an index finger. "Now, in Fenrir's case, suppose you were released from prison and given one simple mission to accomplish before being allowed to run free and do as you liked. Obviously, time is of the essence, so what do you do?"

"I… Well, we know he went back to New Forest and rounded up some of his old pack members."

"Yes. Fenrir, while clever, is not necessarily intelligent. He returned to a familiar location and surrounded himself with familiar people. What does this tell you?"

Potter's eyes widened. "That he might have taken to boy to one of his old haunts!" Potter leapt to his feet and ran for the door.

"You see, Potter? There is always time for tea."

The slamming door was Draco's only thanks.

~~~~*~~~~

Harry had planned to go home for lunch, but instead he had to send Eddie an owl cancelling. He met with Ron and Kingsley, Cho, Liam, and Kay-Kay inside the conference room with the largest table. Files, maps, and a huge selection of legal scrolls covered the wooden surface. A larger map of the region had been affixed to the wall with Sticking Charms. Ron placed a glowing yellow dot on a small village near Exeter.

"This is where Greyback grew up, although he was never seen there after he left home. I'll mark it as low probability."

Harry added an orange dot. "This is where he bit Remus Lupin as a child. He spent quite a lot of time in this region, so he probably knows it well."

Cho stepped up and pointed at a dark green area with her wand. "There were many reports from this village, after the war, of a pack of renegade werewolves the area." Harry placed a red dot there and frowned; there were already too many dots to easily cover in a short time, and even if they sent out Aurors now they would have no idea what to look for. Greyback could be holed up in any house, shack, or cellar.

Cho placed a hand on Harry's arm. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I should never have left Greta. If I hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to use her as a weapon against you."

He gave her a wan smile. "You're not a trained Auror. You did what you thought was best."

Of the Aurors that had been sent ahead to Greta's house, two had been incapacitated by Greyback, despite the fact that they had been wearing invisibility cloaks. Ron had later explained that Greyback's superior sense of smell had probably decreased the cloaks' usefulness. Another Auror had entered through the kitchen door—drawing Cho's attention—and she had sent him back out to scout for danger just before hearing Harry's cry for help. Basically, it had all been a load of bad timing.

"Still, I feel terrible. Poor Liam. I need to do whatever it takes to get his son back." She glanced over at Nottingham, who sat at the table. He looked utterly broken and had barely spoken a word since their arrival.

Harry nodded. "We'll get him back." He didn't bother to reveal that it had been Draco Malfoy's words that had given him his only shred of hope for that prospect.

A knock sounded on the door and Kay-Kay opened it to admit Seamus. "Minister! A message! It's from Greyback!"

Everyone in the room converged as though drawn by a magnet. Kingsley cracked the seal. He read it and then handed it to Harry. "Merlin."

Harry skimmed the words. Some of them jumped out at him. 50,000 Galleons. Release of prisoners from Azkaban. 24 hours.

"He wants a ransom."

"That's great news!" Ron burst out.

Nottingham shot him a venomous look. "Great news? Why would that be great news?"

"Because he won't harm the boy if he wants a ransom. We won't trade for damaged goods."

"Damaged goods?" Nottingham looked horrified.

Ron coughed and looked at Harry with a desperate roll of his eyes. Harry heaved a mental sigh. It was entirely possible the boy had been bitten, but as long as he was alive they would do their best to get him back safely. Thankfully, Cho spoke before Harry could think of a suitably diplomatic response. "Liam, it is good news. It means that Niall is alive and as long as we comply with Greyback's demands, then you'll have him back again."

Nottingham's features were grey and pallid. "We are going to comply, are we not? I'll gladly pay everything I have. Everything. I'll do anything. I just want him back."

Cho patted his back. "Of course we are, Liam. Of course."

"I just want my boy." Nottingham's voice broke and he buried his face in his hands. Harry looked away to stare at the map. His vision blurred and he tried to focus on the bright dots they had made.

"The fifty thousand Galleons will not be that difficult to procure," Kingsley said, "but he is demanding the release of several werewolves from Azkaban. That will be tougher to arrange."

"Niall's life is in danger, Minister!" Nottingham burst out.

"I did not say it was impossible, only difficult. Harry, Ron, please come with me. Cho, if you don't mind, will you please stay with Liam for the time being? We will attempt to get this ball rolling and have Greyback's demands met as quickly as possible. Auror Klein and Auror Finnigan, please stay here and try to locate more potential sites for us to search."

"Of course, Minister."

In the hallway, Kingsley said, "I do not want this to become common knowledge and right now Liam Nottingham is a spell waiting to go rogue. We are going to collect the Galleons—Nottingham himself has offered the entirety although he doesn't have it all at the moment—but I am more concerned with finding the boy before the ransom payment becomes necessary."

"Agreed, but do we have any leads?"

"One. The owl that Greyback used was from a public mail service. I am certain he thought he would be anonymous that way, but that would be a mistake. It could be the break we need."

Harry nodded. Since the war, public owls had been marked so that they could be tracked back to their places of origin, mostly due to an increase in death-threats and hate mail sent by the pro-Voldemort contingent. The general public knew about the new regulation, but it was possible that Greyback had missed that legislation whilst incarcerated.

Greyback had included instructions regarding how and where to drop the money. He would arrange to exchange the freed prisoners for the boy after the Galleons had been received.

The owl was traced to a small village called Tallgarden. It was close to Brecon Beacons National Park, and a stretch of woods that they had marked with a high-probability red dot.

"All right. We don't want to flood the area with Aurors and draw his attention, so I'm just going to send in you, Ron, Kim, and Seamus to do some scouting." Kingsley's voice was low.

They split up. Harry took Polyjuice to morph himself into an unrecognisable, nondescript Muggle. Since Muggles were careless with their hair, it was fairly easy to acquire the needed ingredients for undercover work. Harry took the public Floo to a local pub near the owlery in Tallgarden. There, he spoke to the barkeep about vacation spots, pretending to be planning a surprise getaway for his wife.

The man was garrulous and helpful, giving Harry the general layout of the town. "Are there any abandoned buildings or old structures?" Harry asked. "My wife is something of a history buff and she likes to draw. She is a bit silly about weathered things."

The barkeep clucked sympathetically. "Artists can be a funny lot, yeah? There is an old shack up past the north road. You'll see a stone bridge over the dry riverbed there—only fills in the winter, don't you know? There's a foot track next to the river that leads up into the hills. The shack is nestled up against an outcropping of stone. Used to belong to an old goatherd, but he died some fifteen, sixteen years ago, and the place is falling down now. Picturesque area, though."

"It sounds exactly right. Thanks, mate!" Harry left him a large tip and went out. A few villagers were out and about and Harry scanned the area for Ron, Seamus, or Kay-Kay, but they had all entered town via different methods and would also be disguised. He headed for the north road and after a twenty minute hike he spotted the shack in the distance.

Unwilling to alert Greyback should he be hiding inside, Harry circled around and approached the place from the side. One window was broken out and Harry poked his head up to peer inside. The quick glance showed little but dust and broken furniture. The place had obviously been stripped and vandalised by the locals. A rapid circuit disclosed no recent tracks leading to or from the place. Harry heaved a sigh of disappointment.

He walked to the edge of the outcropping and surveyed the scenery. The view was lovely; rolling hills thick with wildflowers stretched away in the distance. He wondered what had happened to the goats with the old man's passing and then shrugged off the random question. He turned to head back to the village when he noticed an old track skirting the hillside. With a flash of inspiration, it occurred to Harry that the goats would have needed shelter, possibly a barn or other structure. Hopeful, he took the path at a fast trot, alert for unusual sounds or activity. Birds cavorted overhead, singing loudly. Nothing seemed out of place for a lazy summer afternoon, and the sun was shining, despite clouds gathering to the south that likely promised more rain. The ground was damp from an earlier deluge, which could work to Harry's benefit as any recent footprints would be clearly visible.

However, he saw none as he followed the path to a small structure that looked to be in better condition than the shack he'd left behind. He slowed as he got closer, and pressed his back against the wood as he peered round the corner—only to find that the building was nothing more than a shell. Two sides were open to the elements, covered with a sloped roof to make a covered shelter. It had never been a proper barn.

Defeated, Harry sighed and debated returning to the village. It was possible that Greyback was not even in the area, but had only Apparated in to send an owl. It would be a wiser move than Greyback had ever been known for, but perhaps whoever had freed him from Azkaban was also giving him guidance.

The track Harry had followed continued onwards, skirting the wooden fence and disappearing into the wooded hillside. Unwilling to concede the game just yet, Harry took the path at a slow jog. He assumed it would drop down to the river and in that he was right. Although the river was dry, a large pool of water appeared around a bend, resting in a still pond beneath an overhanging sycamore tree. It was picturesque and Harry took a moment to admire it. He had never spent much time in the country until their mad flight from Voldemort when he was seventeen, and he hadn't really taken the time to appreciate nature. It was difficult to slow down and take in the view when running for your life.

This, though, was enticing. The thought of owning a small house in a remote village with no madcap rush of people and constant low barrage of noise… Here there was only the whisper of wind rustling through the trees, the warbling song of birds, and the occasional chirp or buzz of insects.

And the sharp crack of a branch breaking.

Harry crouched and spun, wand held ready. He scanned the hillside and tried to still the sudden pounding of his heart. Just a branch, Harry. It's probably one of the long-lost goats. Or some villager out hunting for firewood.

Another snapping noise, and then another, gave credence to the firewood theory. Someone was either clearing a path or collecting wood. Harry pulled his invisibility cloak from the Hermione-charmed pouch he wore. It shimmered for a moment and then he tugged it on. Feeling steadier now that he was out of sight, he started carefully up the hill, avoiding brambles and branches that might snag the edge of his cloak. He placed each foot with care, stepping over dry twigs and staying away from anything that would rustle or crack to give away his position. He was thankful for the recent rains; even the dried grasses were pliable and compressed with a damp squish rather than crackling.

He followed the sound of the snapping wood and barely stopped himself from gasping aloud when he caught sight of Fenrir Greyback breaking a large branch with a spell. A collection of wood hovered in the air next to him and, as Harry watched, the branch he worked with broke into three pieces and topped the pile.

The urge to cast a hex was great, but Harry held back. Hopefully, Greyback would lead him to the boy. Harry scarcely dared to breathe and took a moment to give thanks that the wind was blowing towards him rather than away. If Greyback got the slightest whiff of him, the game would be up. Even as the thought occurred to Harry, Greyback paused and lifted his head. His slanted eyes darted right and left in a wary pattern and he stood tensely. For a moment, Harry thought he'd been scented, but then Greyback shook his head, snapped one more branch from the dead tree at his feet, and then turned and started up the hillside with the gathered branches floating behind.

Harry was about to follow him when he felt a lurch and a shift; the Polyjuice he'd taken had worn off. The flask was still in his pocket, but he might lose Greyback if he paused to drink it now. Ignoring the problem for the moment, Harry took off after the werewolf.

Greyback's pace was fast, forcing Harry to rush to keep up. He hurried from grassy hillock to grassy hillock, trying to remain silent whilst keeping Greyback in sight. They were headed away from both shack and river, and Greyback did not seem to follow any sort of path. The climb grew steeper and Harry hung back even more, afraid the wheezing of his breath would draw attention. He was in good shape, but propelling himself up a hillside at speed was far from easy. And he had been admittedly lazy in the past couple of weeks, lounging around the flat and taking Eddie out for rich meals and expensive wine.

He pushed aside the thought of Eddie with a pang of guilt. He had not expected to get drawn into the Malfoy situation, but since it couldn't be avoided he would have to make it up to Eddie somehow.

Greyback disappeared into a copse of trees and Harry sped up, sacrificing silence in order to keep from losing him. He slowed as he neared the trees before entering carefully, peering into the shadows and hoping not to meet a violent hex or the sharp stab of claws.

To his relief, he caught sight of the floating wood just before it vanished behind a stand of shrubbery covered in overgrown ivy. Harry thought he heard someone speak, so he took extra care as he moved forwards. He peeked around the brushy hedge and drew in a breath when he spied a dark slash in the hillside—the entrance to a cave. Merlin, they hadn't even considered caves in their list of probable places to search.

Harry approached and took several steps into the gloom, wary of his cloak and taking care that it didn't rustle against the stone. Greyback, however, was making no move to be silent.

"…get cold tonight. Don't give me that look. I'm your friend. Your precious daddums is not even looking for you. Probably glad you're gone, he is."

Harry nearly charged ahead, but the fiasco at the boy's grandmother's house was fresh in his mind. Instead, he turned and picked his way out of the cave as the sound of wood being stacked echoed behind him. He didn't go far, just around the corner from the entrance, before casting a Patronus to alert the others. Now was not the time to deviate from procedure and possibly get the boy killed.

The pale wisps of the Patronus had barely faded when a man stepped out from behind a tree, just at the edge of Harry's vision. Harry crouched, but another man appeared and the two began to walk towards him. They seemed relaxed and he let out a pent-up breath when he realised they hadn't seen his Patronus, or him.

"…think Fenrir has eaten the boy by now?" One of them nudged the other.

"Not yet. 'E's desperate fer them Galleons. Needs 'em to flee the country, or 'e'll be back in Azkaban the minute 'e shows 'is face."

Harry did not recognise either of them as they drew closer. One looked vaguely like an owl, with huge eyes and a curious haircut that left tufts sticking up on each side. The other resembled an underfed hound, with long strands of brown hair giving the illusion of droopy dog ears. The dog-eared one wore jeans and a short jacket-robe that was currently in fashion. The other had more traditional split robes and black trousers; the hem of his robe was tattered.

Harry debated Stunning them both, but decided that any disturbance might alert Greyback, who could teleport out with the boy. He decided stealth was the better option. Using the noise they made entering the cave as cover, Harry slipped in behind them.

Greyback had a fire going and the small space was thick with smoke, despite a ventilation hole in the ceiling. Harry's eyes went to Niall, who was bound near a darkened curve of the wall. The boy coughed, looking pitiful.

"Did you bring it?" Greyback asked. "We don't want the little brat dying of starvation quite yet."

The man in Muggle clothing slung off his satchel. "Got some crisps and tinned meat. A couple cans o' beans. And a bottle o' pumpkin juice. Kids like pumpkin juice, yeah?" He shook the bottle towards Niall, who stared back at him with no expression.

Greyback snorted and threw another branch on the fire. Clouds had begun to roll in whilst Harry had called the others and a gust of wind swept through the cave, sending a shower of sparks up towards the ceiling. Harry used the distraction as cover to move quicker, sidling around the two newcomers to get close to the boy.

Harry's plan was to Apparate out with Niall then pop back in to take on Greyback, but that idea was bolloxed when Harry saw a thick iron manacle around the boy's ankle, and a short chain wrapped around a nearby boulder. He swore inwardly; there was no spell that could cut a chain silently. He would have to do this the hard way.

"Crack open one of those bean cans," Greyback growled. "I'm hungry."

The man crouched and used his wand to spell open the can. Harry took off his cloak and slung it over the boy. In the same motion, he cast a murmured Stunner at the owl-faced man. He knew Greyback would be the most difficult to take down—one Stunner wouldn't do it. The other two watched owl-face topple for a shocked moment and then sprang into action. The can fell, spilling beans into the fire as the man leapt to his feet, but Harry's Expelliarmus snatched the wand from his hand.

Greyback was fast, as expected, spinning and casting a Piercing Hex with a snarl, but Harry had already moved, drawing fire away from the boy. Although invisible, Niall could easily be hit by a stray spell. Harry needed to get them outside.

"Potter!" Greyback spit-snarled his name.

"Fuck is the boy?" the dog-haired man yelled, scrambling to reach his wand. Harry cast a Protego to counter Greyback's spell, and then Summoned Dog-eared's wand on his way to the entrance. Another Protego countered Greyback's spell and he thought he felt claws graze his calf, spurring him to greater speed. As he burst through the entrance, he smiled with joy when he beheld Ron and Kay-Kay.

Harry instinctively dove and rolled and a bolt of red light carved a furrow into the ground where he'd been. Two spears of light passed him and he heard Greyback howl as he bounced to his feet and turned.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted again and felt a smug sense of pride when Greyback's wand wrenched from his hand and sailed through the air. Harry caught it just as Ron and Kay-Kay's spells dragged the werewolf down. Harry didn't wait for congratulations. He raced back into the cavern to find it empty, although a desperate groping caught the edge of his invisibility cloak. He sighed with relief as Niall's scared features were revealed.

"Hi, Niall. I think you're safe now."

The boy did not look reassured. "You're the man from Gran's house." His voice was a hushed whisper.

"Yes, and I came to rescue you. I'll take you to see your father now. All the bad men have been taken care of." Except one, he thought to himself and wondered where the dog-eared man had gone. "Now, let's get these chains off."

Several careful spells later, the manacle fell away and Niall threw his arms around Harry's neck. He held the boy tightly and then drew back to pull the Mercury action figure from an inner pocket.

He handed it to Niall. "Here, I kept her safe for you."

Ron trotted in and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Great work, mate. Kay-Kay took Greyback to holding. Are we done here? I got this one" He poked at Owl-Face, who glared at him from his Full-body Bind.

"Yeah. There was another, but I'd rather get Niall home than spend time looking for him. Let's go." He detached the boy and got to his feet.

Niall tugged at Harry's sleeve. "Mister Harry? You can keep Mercury. She brought you good luck to find me, didn't she?"

Harry crouched down and took the Quidditch figure with a feeling of near-reverence. He smiled and squeezed Niall gently on the shoulder. "That she did, and thank you very much. I'll keep her always. Now, let's get you home."

Ron cast a spell that doused the fire and then they all Apparated straight to Auror Headquarters.

~~~~*~~~~

Draco let no expression touch his features as Potter spun his teacup in a slow circle on the table top.

"So, it looks like we owe you a debt of gratitude," Potter finished lamely.

"That must have hurt," Draco observed. "Would you like a Healing Charm?"

Potter gifted him with a wan smile. "I'm just glad the boy is safe. And he wasn't bitten. I would like to have brought in the third man, however. I can't figure how he escaped, since I have his wand. He couldn't have Disapparated."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Draco said and gave Potter a toothy smile. In truth, Blaise had barely managed to Apparate into the cave and pull out Desmond before the Aurors had rushed back inside. Draco hated to lose valuable resources; and Desmond was his key to most things related to the werewolf community. Even better, now he owed Draco a favour.

"That's easy for you to say. We don't even know who is behind this whole thing." Potter's green stare speared Draco, but he shrugged off the silent request. Potter countered that by asking directly. "Do you?"

Draco sipped at his tea and then placed his cup on the saucer. "I have some ideas, but I need to follow up on them before I put forth any hypotheses. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah. You probably need to think about what to ask for in return."

Draco chuckled. "No, I am quite certain what it is that I want in return."

Potter flushed and got to his feet. "Anyway. Thanks again. Kingsley will be down to talk to you. I need to go home. Merlin, it's been a long time since I've seen that much action. I'm exhausted."

Before Potter could stride to the door, Draco stopped him with an upraised hand. "Harry."

A cocked eyebrow met his utterance, and Potter's eyes were wide with surprise.

"I'm serious about Eddie. Don't trust him."

Potter's stare turned into one of disbelief, and then he shook his head and went out.