Title: History
Author: 
emerald_dragon8
Team: Epilogue
Prompt: 22. I think I saw a pensieve like this once...
Wordcount: 17 000
Rating: R
Warnings: Infidelity, some swearing, a slightly porny scene, bad grammar in Harry's text messages (hopefully good grammar elsewhere!)
Summary: "Take from the altars of the past the fire, not the ashes." – Jean Jaures. When a case that has been closed for ten years is revisited, Albus and Scorpius must uncover the secrets of their fathers.
Author's Note: My never ending thanks go to my amazing betas, whimseywispcuria_regis
History
"History is a people's memory, and without memory man is demoted to the lower animals" – Malcolm X.
prologue.
History, it is said, will always repeat itself.
It was an odd partnership – two boys who came from very different backgrounds, in totally separate vocations, living totally separate lives, thrown together by a bank hold up one fine Saturday morning. They'd seen each other earlier that day, wandering Diagon Alley. They'd nodded politely, acknowledging each other's continued existence. They'd never been close. In fact, they'd barely even spoken, but they were perfectly civil. By chance, Albus had entered Gringotts at the same time as Scorpius. They'd smiled awkwardly, and gone in separate directions – Scorpius to a teller, Albus to one of the offices on the opposite side of the building. Later, Scorpius had found out that Albus had been there to meet with the Head Goblin to discuss a number of increasingly violent threats made against the bank. Scorpius had almost finished his transaction (it was a quick one – his mother had asked him to put his step–father's latest gift to her – an emerald necklace to celebrate their latest anniversary – in their vault). Scorpius hadn't even blinked when a man under a hood strode purposefully past him – it wasn't particularly unusual for people to wear hoods in the Wizarding world. After a four hour hostage situation, Albus, a skilled Auror particularly partial to Defensive charms and Scorpius, who had been working as a psychologist in St. Mungo's up until that point, but later joined the MLE as one of their top criminal profilers, managed to get everyone out of the bank alive, including the assailant.
It wasn't the first odd partnership. Albus and Scorpius had been thrown together in unusual circumstances, but it certainly wasn't by chance. They were destined to follow the steps of their fathers, to walk their own paths until they were thrown together. It was three years into their partnership when they received an assignment that began their journey.
"Man generally is entangled in insoluble problems; history is consequently a tragedy in which we are all involved, whose keynote is anxiety and frustration, not progress and fulfilment."– Arthur Schlesinger Jr.
one.
Harry hadn't really known what to expect when Draco Malfoy started working at the Ministry of Magic. Truth be told, he'd half expected Malfoy to live his life much the same way his mother had – doing a little work for charity, socialising, and living off his family's fabulous wealth. As it turned out, that was Astoria's job, and Ginny often complained that Astoria was at the same functions she attended, laughing too loudly, gossiping, and generally making a nuisance of herself. Harry didn't point out that, as far as he could tell, Ginny did much the same thing at those same functions. Draco Malfoy had surprised everyone and had attended a Wizarding university. Harry hadn't known there was such a thing until Hermione had started applying after her eighth year at Hogwarts. From what Hermione had told him. She, like most women Harry knew, seemed to know everything about every acquaintance they had – to be perfectly honest, Harry just didn't care enough to gather that sort of information, Malfoy had studied spell creation and spell analysis at Wizarding Oxford ("England's most prestigious university, you know"), and had worked for a number of Wizarding security firms before joining the Department of Mysteries. Hermione informed him that his job now was very close to his areas of study, but if she knew any more she wasn't saying.
Harry was proud of himself for managing to go three whole weeks without encountering Malfoy.
When he did, it wasn't under very pleasant circumstances.
It was a clear day when he dropped Lily, Albus and James off at Platform 9 3/4. He'd taken the morning off to take them, because it was Lily's first year of school, and he thought that was an event he ought to be there for. Unfortunately, Ginny hadn't felt the same, instead opting to leave early for the next match she was going to cover, leaving Harry to round up three messy, noisy, completely disorganised children. First, Lily had forgotten her wand, as she still wasn't used to having it with her. Then, halfway to the station, Albus had realised he'd forgotten his cat, Fluffers (Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Hagrid had had something to do with that name), and they'd had to go all the way back and run around the house trying to find the bloody thing, which had hidden under Lily's bed. By the time they went back for Lily's wand a second time (she'd dropped it while looking for Fluffers), Harry was quite ready to leave the kids and go back to the peace and quiet of the Ministry.
He had caught a glimpse of Malfoy seeing off his son, but before he could get too close a look, Lily had begun crying because James had taunted her that she wouldn't be sorted and that Hogwarts would say they'd made a mistake in admitting her, because she was obviously a squib. After he had spoken sternly to James and comforted Lily, Malfoy had disappeared. Harry farewelled his children, James squirming out of a hug, claiming he was too old, and made his way back to the car, a RAV4 that was a few years old, now– tinkered with by Arthur Weasley, of course. When he arrived at the Ministry, there was a crowd of people outside. Not altogether unusual, there were almost always nutters out the front protesting something. They didn't normally have cameras, though. Harry frowned, but due to his chat with Dennis Creevey in the lifts, he had almost forgotten about it by the time the two got up to the fourth floor, the MLE. But as soon as the elevator doors opened, he knew something was wrong. Dennis stiffened – he'd obviously sensed it too. People were crowded around a central figure, whispering to each other. The central figure, it turned out, was Kingsley Shacklebolt. Amy, his secretary, was holding a stack of papers next to him, trying to sort through them. Dennis went to her side to help out. The two often worked together, sometime even in the same office. Dennis technically worked for the Accounts division of the MLE, but that department was getting so small that it was now only Dennis and his boss, a stern woman named Martha, so Dennis often flitted around the MLE to do odds and ends for people, which was helpful, as most Aurors hated paperwork with a passion, but Dennis was quite good at it.
Malfoy had obviously arrived before him – the blond was watching Kingsley attentively, his stained lab robes already on, and his reading glasses (Harry had been quite amused to see that Malfoy now had to wear glasses after his years of teasing Harry) crooked. Kingsley was in briefing mode; his deep voice was calm, calculated, and managed to carry throughout the group without making it seem like he was shouting.
"Now, I need everyone on this immediately. I am not so worried about the outside – it is the rain inside that concerns me. This cannot be explained away as a freak of nature, and it is the second time that something like this has occurred within the building in a matter of weeks. I have the Department of Mysteries working on it already – we had them working on the Pink Incident, too" Kingsley said, referring to the day a number of weeks ago when the entire Ministry had been turned a horrid shade of pink. It had been a bad day at work – nobody had been able to see anything properly, because it was all blended in, and their papers were rendered completely useless because they had pink ink on pink parchment. In the end, most people had left early out of frustration. "Potter! Good, you're here. Come with me."
It took Albus two days working at the Ministry to come to the conclusion that offices were extraordinarily boring places. Sure, swiping his wand under the special security box was fun the first few times he did it, but after waiting in line behind an old wizard (who looked as though he could've pre–dated wands, let alone security devices) made him late to an important meeting, he wasn't so keen on them.
Owls came and went throughout the day, as did inter–office memos, but very few of them were for him. And it seemed just too sad to ask his head of department if he could accept the general owls addressed to the whole Department.
A lot of what Aurors did, it turned out, was paperwork. And by the third day, he had a routine in place. Three years later, this routine was still in place. Some of the people had changed; sometimes he'd come in at ten instead of nine, and work 'til six. But on most days, at 9, he would enter the Third Floor, make his way to his cramped desk between George Muller, a greying Muggle–born from France who had never managed to progress past a desk job, despite being twice Al's age, because he'd never had the proper instinct, and Robert, who absolutely refused to be called 'Bob', Brown. At 9.05, he would get up from his desk, squeeze past Dennis again with a muttered apology, and get himself a coffee. This would take at least ten minutes because there was always a line for coffee in the Auror division. Then he would sit and wait for 9.20, when the owls would come swooping up to their department. He would look for an Owl for himself, in vain, and then resign himself to spell–checking the previous day's paperwork. That done, he always felt he'd earned a little break, so he got up (depending on the amount of paperwork, this usually occurred at ten past ten) and went down to level two to talk to Scorpius for a bit. Or, rather, he would talk to Scorpius and follow him 'round while Scorpius muttered to himself and took notes. Sometimes he would bring Scorpius coffee, and this extended the meeting until quarter to eleven, when Albus would decide that he ought to get back to work and would go and beg his supervisor, a portly man who looked like he'd been working in the department for far too long, judging by the many scars that adorned his wizened face, for a proper assignment.
Sometimes he'd get one. Sometimes it'd be simple, like tracking down somebody who'd tried to rob a store on Diagon Alley. Sometimes it wasn't so simple.
"It was a horrific case. Two people were murdered, in the most gruesome way. The flesh was pulled from their bodies, bit by bit, until they died. But that wasn't all. There were …hoaxes. Pranks, if you will. One day the Ministry building turned entirely pink. Nobody could see each other because everything and everyone was a horrible shade of it. Another day, different Departments became invisible at different times. The first day we realised that something serious was happening, there was a vicious storm localised within Ministry boundaries. And then it started raining inside the building. It was spellcasting like we'd never seen. But we caught the guy, or so we thought. He confessed, and the attacks stopped, so we figured we were safe. Yesterday proved us wrong."
"But I thought– ," Albus said, "I thought that the threat letter was harmless?" He recalled the letter that he'd opened yesterday morning – it had been your basic threatening owl, promising death and destruction. Following protocol, he'd sent it on to Kingsley and though the department had been assured it was nothing to worry about Albus had received a memo from asking him and to meet with Kingsley the following morning, and to tell no one. Scorpius, it turned out, had received the same letter. Unsurprising, considering his skill in character profiling.
"That's what we said, but we don't want to alarm people. The reality is, the letter promised the same pattern we've seen before – and there are only four people who know these kinds of details about the attacks – two of them are trusted men, another is in prison. The fourth is myself. And if we want to prevent the deaths that occurred last time, we need to take this seriously. I'm putting you and Scorpius in charge."
Both Al and Scorpius nodded, sensing that there was a bit more to this briefing.
"There's something you should both know about this case before you proceed." More ominous words had never been spoken, in Al's opinion. Scorpius didn't look too pleased either; his teeth were grinding together and his hands clenched the arm of his chair in a grip that made the chair exclaim in annoyance.
Shacklebolt gave them what he obviously hoped was a comforting smile, which only served to tighten Scorpius' grip and harden Al's face.
"It's nothing too serious, of course. Could help you, actually. Well, not personally. Professionally, maybe."
"You're rambling, Kingsley," Scorpius said. It was a sure sign that Scorpius was tense when he called a superior by their first name.
"Ah yes, so I am. Well the thing is, gents, this case has been worked on before, as you both already know. Twenty years ago. By both your fathers," Kingsley finished with an expression on his face that suggested he was waiting for an explosion.
Albus didn't see what was so bad about that. Neither did Scorpius, by the looks of him.
"We have their records, from this time. Notes from your father, Scorpius, and a mobile phone he used at the time. And a pensieve from your father, Potter. They should help you in the case. We hope. We've looked over them, obviously, and nothing stands out. But with the addition of your own research, you may be able to finally put this case to rest."
"So how do you think we should go about this?" Al asked, sitting on his desk. He really didn't like Ministry chairs – he avoided them at every opportunity. Scorpius often said he was a wuss, but Al had the sneaking suspicion that Scorpius used some sort of special charm to make the chairs behave around him. Around Albus, they nearly always squeeved him, tried to toss him off, or something equally as annoying.
"Maybe we should look at the things separately at first – I didn't much like what Kingsley was saying in that meeting. I reckon there's going to be something we don't want to see in this stuff, and I think it's better if we each take our own father's possessions and go from there."
Al nodded. "Makes sense. Want to start now?"
Scorpius bit his lip, as he often did when he was nervous. "You can. I need to go down to my office. To get something. I'll be back."
He rushed out and Al had the feeling that he'd missed something important.
The first memory appeared to have been picked at random. According to the man down in the Department of Mysteries that had given Al the bowl, his dad's memories hadn't been so much a record of the case, but rather a jumble of random memories from that period that Harry had pulled out. Unsurprising, Albus thought, considering his dad's ineptitude with any sort of memory or mind magic. He was much better at the practical stuff (the "manly stuff", Scorpius would've said derisively). But still, the Department reckon'd they'd managed to get the memories in reasonably good chronological order (for their convenience, the Head of Department had stressed, as if expecting a tip. The whole lot of them were a bit odd. They'd have to be, cooped up in their little floor with all those secret projects).
The memory was of a day in winter. That much was blatantly obvious from the snow that blanketed a lonely street. If there was anyone other than Harry present, they weren't making themselves known. His father was standing still, gazing up at a house that looked as if it'd seen better days. He looked quite young, younger than Albus could ever remember him looking. Possibly only eighteen or nineteen. He wasn't wearing robes, but then he'd never much cared for them. He'd always worn Muggle clothes during Al's childhood. The neighbourhood didn't look very magical, either. It was a dingy little street, and none of the other houses looked much better than the one his dad was standing in front of. Harry sighed, still completely stationery, gazing at the door as if it were more daunting than Voldemort himself. They stood there in the snow, Harry watching the door, Albus watching Harry, for at least five minutes before his father made a move. As if something had clicked in his mind, Harry strode up to the front door, his hands shoved in his big black winter coat, and knocked on the door of the house he'd been staring at. A blond boy, who looked alarmingly like Scorpius, answered. It took Albus only a second to realise that this was Draco Malfoy. They stood in silence for what seemed like forever, but would've only been a minute or so in reality. Draco didn't seem surprised that Harry was there – rather, he seemed to expect it. But he still looked incredibly awkward, as if forced into a situation he'd known was inevitable, but which he'd nevertheless hoped to postpone for as long as possible.
"Hi," Harry finally said awkwardly, his foot tapping on the pavement.
"Hello," Draco responded, seeming to be more composed than Harry.
"I have your wand," Harry said, and Albus frowned at this. Why would his father have Draco Malfoy's wand?
"I thought you would've chucked it by now," Draco said, frowning.
Harry shook his head, a couple of melting snowflakes flying off his messy hair. "Nah. I lived a while without my own wand, it does you in."
Draco was still frowning. "Right. So, are you planning on giving it back, or just taunting me with it?"
Harry looked up from where his gaze had been fixed on his feet. "Oh! No, 'course I'm going to give it to you," he said, and fumbled with his pockets, finally pulling out a long, thin wand which he held out to Draco.
Draco contemplated it for a second before snatching it from Harry's outstretched hand.
"Thank you," he muttered, almost inaudibly.
Harry smiled at him, a half, awkward smile, as if he'd never done it before. Come to think of it, from the way his Uncle Ron described Draco Malfoy and their relationship at school, Al wouldn't be surprised if Harry never had smiled at the elder Malfoy before. He expected to see more, but without warning he felt a familiar tug and he was pulled into another memory.
The next memory was after the rain attack.
"Malfoy has been put on the case, Harry. I'm sorry, I know your history with him, but he's the best man for the job. You'll just have to put aside your differences," Kingsley was saying as they strode along the corridor outside the MLE offices. They appeared to be heading towards Kingsley's office, and Dennis Creevey was trailing behind them, his quill moving swiftly across the parchment that was floating along beside him. Harry shot him a friendly grin, and received a strained smile in response.
"I understand, Kingsley, it's fine. Really," Harry reassured him, lengthening his strides to keep up with Kingsley's fast pace.
"Are you ready?" Kinsgley asked him, and Harry swallowed and nodded. Albus frowned, but his confusion was soon lifted. Kingsley opened the door to the lifts and pressed the button for the third floor – the Department of Mysteries.
"This," Kingsley showed him as they made their way into a cramped office, "is what happened, from the outside."
In a large glass orb, that looked much like an oversized crystal ball, a scene of panic was unfolding. Albus watched in horror as a storm raged on above the Ministry, localised to the boundaries of the building.
A peppy looking girl with black pigtails and lab robes similar to Malfoy's joined them. "So, at 11.14am, we get the first sign of trouble. This," she said, pointing to the orb, and the scene had changed. People were no longer crowding around the building. It was an ordinary view, until the storm began. Passers–by looked in shock, but nothing appeared seriously wrong.
"Is this real?" Harry asked.
"No," said the girl sadly. "It's just a re–creation. We can't get surveillance anywhere outdoors yet, unfortunately – the spells just go haywire the second we try them. Malfoy has some ideas, though, of how we can manipulate them. He's brilliant," she sighed dreamily. Harry was looking seriously disturbed.
"At 11.16," the girl continued, "the Ministry is alerted."
One of the tiny orb people had entered the building, and the scene changed to one of the atrium, where the same tiny person had run up to a clerk and was explaining the scene. Without warning, rain started pouring inside the building itself. Several Ministry employees screamed, as the building darkened, and flashes of lightning tore across the sky. People were running for cover, but weren't having much luck finding any.
"This," she said, "is real. We have monitoring charms in the whole of the Ministry, but unfortunately all but the one in the Atrium was turned off just before and just after this incident, just like it was before the Pink Incident. We've been working to figure out how this person managed to turn off our indoor surveillance, but for now, this is all we have."
"Right," Kingsley said. "So, I'm going to need copies of this for Harry and Draco, and any research materials you have that may be useful."
"Not a problem," the girl said, "I've already sent them up to the MLE with Dennis."
Harry looked around and noticed that, sure enough, Dennis was no longer behind them.
"He tends to disappear like that. I'm surprised you haven't noticed it before," she said. "I'm Jane," she continued, holding out her hand. Harry shook it.
"Harry Potter."
"I know," Jane said, smiling. "And not, before you worry, just because you're famous. You were a few years ahead of me at Hogwarts – I was a Ravenclaw. I'm friends with Luna. Plus, I do work in the Department of Mysteries. It's my job to know this sort of thing."
Harry smiled at her. "Nice to meet, you, Jane."
The scene skipped, and suddenly Albus was in the Auror offices. Draco was setting up a desk next to Harry's. "So," Harry had begun, pulling documents out of filing cabinets, "I say we start with a basic criminal profile – you know, work out what sort of person this guy is and what he hopes to achieve through his crimes. Then we use it to predict his next move. It'll be soon, probably, from what I've picked up already. I think we should–"
"Or," Malfoy interjected swiftly, "we could implement precautions so that if your magical little profile doesn't work, we might be able to catch him the second time he attacks. Now, I know the Gryffindor "fix–it" attitude is going to reject it, Potter, but you have to trust me on this one."
Harry frowned. "Look, Malfoy, I'm not sure why Kingsley thought we needed you in this case, but–"
"You know bloody well why," Malfoy interrupted again. "In fact, you didn't put up much of a fuss."
At Harry's startled look, he added, "Creevey's transcripts, Potter. Don't say anything you don't want others to know when there's a dictating quill following you. Anyway, both you and Kingsley know that I have the right background for this case. This is unlike anything any of you have seen before. You may be the best Auror they've got, but you don't have the spell knowledge needed for this case. That spell hasn't been used before, ever. There's only one thing like it I've seen in my lifetime. And that was created by Vol – Voldemort," he said, swallowing thickly over the name.
Harry frowned and dumped the growing stack of papers in his arms onto his desk.
"Alright, then. Where do we start?"
Scorpius started riffling through his father's papers after he'd returned from his office, almost an hour later. He found a few letters he considered amusing, and passed them to Albus.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
Thank you for your Owl of 15th September 2014. This is an automated response to ensure you that Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, has received your Owl and will forward a response to you within one week.
Kind Regards,
Phillip Fry
Department of Wizarding Communications
(Owl and Fire Division)
Malfoy –
I'm not taking you off the case, so stop owling my office.
Any further threats against Potter should be sent to the MLE headquarters, I don't have time for your rubbish.
– Kingsley
Malfoy –
What did I say about owling my office? Amy needs to be able open the mail without fear of howlers from my own men.
Potter is not trying to kill you, stop being so dramatic.
– Kingsley
Most of what was in the stack appeared to be old records and scribbled notes that didn't make a lot of sense. A mobile phone contained a list of text messages, mostly from Al's father, by the looks of things.
"I've seen my dad use a phone, it's not good," Al laughed, looking at the terrible grammar in a couple of them over Scorpius' shoulder. Scorpius grinned.
"My father is pretty good with them – he started using them after the war. I think it was mostly a ploy to appear more Muggle–friendly during the trials, at least at first. But he really got used to them. He's used one my whole life – when I was a kid he was always getting phone calls and text messages. Mum never learnt to use one, though. She said they were ridiculous."
Al snorted. "Mine too. Dad attempted to teach her, once, during the Christmas holidays right after he got one. But he was so bloody hopeless, they ended up fighting. Although that was the time that they were fighting almost all the time," Scorpius looked up at him, at that.
"Sorry, Al," Scorpius sympathised. Al had previously confided in him about his parents fighting period, when he'd felt so isolated from his whole family. But his mum and dad seemed okay now, unlike Scorpius' parents.
"It's not as bad as them being divorced, or anything," he said, brushing it off.
"Eh. I was never really that upset about the divorce, to be honest. It sort of seemed like it had always been coming. My parents were never close, not like yours. They were always silent. I don't think I ever saw them actually having a conversation – they talked, but it was about "nothing" things – who should they invite to the Christmas party, what did dad want for dinner – that kind of thing," Scorpius said, not sounding too upset.
"That must've been hard," Al said.
"Not really," Scorpius shrugged, "I never knew any different. And it made me realise that that's not what I want in a marriage."
"Do you have that with Anne?" Al asked, referring to Scorpius' current girlfriend, who Al quite liked. He hadn't liked Scorpius' girlfriends (not that there had been a lot of them in the time Al had known him), but Anne was different. She didn't glare at Al all the time, and she was a bloody fantastic cook. She should be, she worked at one of the local bakeries – that was how Scorpius had met her. But Scorpius didn't answer, just smiled and changed the subject. Al went along with it, but frowned.
They didn't prevent the first attack. It happened not long after they received the first letter. It happened in almost the exact same way as it had in Harry's Pensieve. It was almost painful to watch, as the building turned pink around them. Thankfully, there were no major issues – it was reasonably harmless, as attacks went. The second attack came a few weeks later, and Scorpius and Albus watched in desperation as the storm raged above the Ministry, and after only half an hour, it reached the inside of the building. At the first sign of the outer storm, Kingsley had urged all Ministry employees, via a mass memo, to put all paperwork under a waterproof charm, or in a secure location. By the time they had received the memo, Albus and Scorpius had already done this.
"I could beat you in school, and I can beat you now, Potter."
For the third time that week, they were in the gym, and something (one minute they'd been talking about attack methods, the next it had turned into a competition) had set Draco and Harry off, and they were glaring at each other across the mat. Harry had begun to train Draco in unarmed defence after learning that they were partners – it was much better to have a partner who could fend off two different kinds of attacks, and while Malfoy was fit (he ran often, and swam, or so he had told Harry), he wasn't completely prepared for a physical assault.
Harry scoffed. "You couldn't beat me, Malfoy. The only way you could hurt me was to immobilise me and then step on my face."
Draco's chest was heaving, his cheeks were flushed from anger and his eyes were bright, brighter than Harry had ever seen them. It felt like they were back at school, like one had just insulted the other and they were preparing for a fight. It felt natural, like stepping into a routine after so many years gone. Harry felt strong, exhilarated. Alive. More alive than he'd felt in years. Every spark that had been drained out of him in the past 15 years was back, adrenaline coursing through his body, from the top of his head through his fingers, radiating out of him. Malfoy stepped forward, but Harry was quicker. He'd always been quicker. Harry grabbed Draco's arm, forcing Draco past him and to the floor, but Malfoy managed to snake a leg under behind Harry's, pulling Harry down with him. They landed in a heap, Harry sideways on top of Draco's chest, but didn't stay stationary for long – Draco pushed him off, managing to poke him in the eye while doing so, and climbed on top of Harry, punching him in the face. It stung, and Harry cried out in shock.
"Fuck you, Potter," Malfoy whispered in his ear.
"Fuck you right back, Malfoy," Harry snarled, elbowing him in the gut, and kicking his legs so that Malfoy gasped, and rolled off him. When Malfoy turned to look at him, Harry's stomach lurched and he moved to get a better position, but at that point a spark of blue light came between them and they were forced apart.
"That's enough, you two," came the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry jumped up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Malfoy was a little slower, moving smoothly from the floor, shaking himself slightly.
"Sir," Harry acknowledged, and Kingsley nodded to him.
"Just wanted to check how you're both handling the case. I've noticed a distinct lack of threatening owls – can I take that to mean that you're getting used to each other?" Kingsley asked, with a pointed look at Malfoy.
"Not necessarily, sir. Just be thankful you've hired men who know to quit while they're ahead," Malfoy said, and Harry wanted nothing more than to punch his smug little face.
"Well, keep me posted. I know you're used to the petty fighting, and I trust you both enough to know that it won't get in the way of the case, but if it does…well, let's just not let it come to that, alright?" Kingsley smiled at them, and shook his head. "Creevey!" he barked suddenly, and Dennis Creevey scrambled up to him while Kingsley rattled off a list of instructions.
"Isn't his secretary supposed to be doing that?" Draco asked, breathing heavily.
"She's got more important things to do."
"There will always be a connection between the way in which men contemplate the past and the way in which they contemplate the present." – Thomas Buckle.
two.
"I think we should use Muggle technology."
Harry looked up from his desk. "Why?"
"I feel that it's the way to go. The attacker is very focussed on Wizarding methods – they're not likely to think to deactivate any Muggle technology – they won't know what it is. And I have some modified security cameras that just might be able to detect something if he or she attacks again."
Harry nodded. "Okay."
"And I think you should have a mobile. It's much quicker to contact each other if it's an emergency. I'll show you how to use it."
Harry reluctantly agreed.
Record of Text Messages sent to the phone of Draco L. Malfoy, between 11/10/2019 and 13/10/2019
From: Scarface 11/10/2019 14:32
MALFOY HOW DO I TURN THE CAPS OFF ON THIS THING???
From: Scarface 11/10/2019 14:45
thank you
From: Scarface 13/10/2019 09:12
Running late there soon
When Harry got home, the only one in the house was their dog, an Old English Sheepdog named Millicent – Milly for short (named by Lily, who at the time had been going through Harry's old school records and had taken a liking to the name. Harry didn't care to inform her about Millicent Bulstrode's…unpleasantness. He gave her a quick scratch behind the ears and shoved his coat and bag next to the beaten up sofa.
"Is it just you and me tonight, girl?" he asked her as he walked into the kitchen. Milly followed, looking at him hopefully. Ginny had left a brief note on the bench.
H –
Gone for drinks tonight with friends. Won't be back until late. Dog's dinner in fridge.
Maybe order takeaway for yourself?
– G
Harry ignored the fact that Ginny hadn't even referred to the dog by her name (she'd never particularly liked Milly) and hadn't signed her name "love, G". Just "G". Chinese sounded good. He gave Milly her dinner and plucked the Chinese menu from the takeaway drawer. He stopped, contemplated his plans, and reached for his phone.
Record of Text Messages sent to the phone of Draco L. Malfoy, between 15/10/2019 and 16/10/2019
From Scarface 15/10/2019 12:18
Is Astoria still away? Ginny is out tonight – want some takeaway?
From Scarface 16/10/2019 07:09
Just found your scarf. It got behind the couch, somehow. Will bring it in.
Their first major breakthrough was caused by tzatziki dip.
Working late one night, Harry had gotten up from his desk, stretched twice, and grabbed a little container of the dip and an open box of crackers from the cramped bench at the back of the room. Draco had watched him, under the cover of scrawling on a piece of parchment. Harry wordlessly offered the box to Draco, who (quite obviously, Harry thought) pretended not to notice, and Harry shrugged and sat back at his desk to munch on one of the crackers, heaped with the dip.
"It's good," Harry said, as if speaking to the room at large.
"I'm thrilled for you," Draco responded, seemingly without lifting his head.
"You should try some – it's getting late and I doubt there's anything else in this office you'd eat," Harry urged, propping his feet up on the desk. Draco winced, and Harry could imagine what he was thinking – his boots were filthy, and they'd get mud all over Draco's neat, and more importantly, clean files.
"I am perfectly fine, thank you, Mother," he said, fiddling with the papers in front of him.
"Suit yourself," Harry smirked. They managed to sit in a relatively comfortable silence for a few minutes before Harry interrupted it again.
"You know, it's just yoghurt with cucumbers and spices."
"For Merlin's sake Potter, shut up about the bloody dip!" Draco exclaimed.
"Finally," Harry sighed, but didn't continue. Draco took the bait.
"What's 'finally'?"
"You finally shouted at me. Got angry with me. You've been walking around for two bloody weeks as if we're just two random people who'd never met before this case. A history like ours shouldn't just be ignored."
"You mean the history where we broke each other's bones at any available opportunity, you put my father in prison, and I tried to kill your mentor? That history? Oh, I can definitely see why you'd want that brought up. Besides, Kingsley asked us to be civil. I'm being civil."
Harry rolled his eyes. "At least you're back to being dramatic."
"I am not dramatic," Draco said, and Harry winced at his high voice.
"Sure, sure," Harry brushed him off. "Whatever. Anyway, it feels really strange being civil with you. I don't like it. I'm glad you're back to yelling, end of story."
Draco looked at him, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again.
"Listen, I've been meaning to ask you all night, what's with these numbers?" Harry asked, getting up and shoving a piece of paper onto Draco's desk.
"They're recordings, Potter, of who comes in and out of the building, based on the registration number of their wands. I was hoping that our culprit would be in there, but I can't see anyone out of the usual entering or exiting the building at any time that day."
"What's this number, the one that keeps appearing?"
Draco peered at it, and Harry could tell that he was very aware of the fact that Harry was hovering over his shoulder.
"Dennis Creevey. I thought it was a bit strange, too, but then I talked to his supervisor down in accounts and she said he often runs errands for them, which explains it."
"Shame," Harry said finally, still studying the paper. "Would've made our jobs much easier if whoever it was had been on here. Good thinking, Malfoy."
Harry slouched off back to his desk.
"Cucumber, you said?"
"Draco!" A familiar smarmy voice said from the door. Harry swung around and was greeted by the sight of Blaise Zabini. He was very different from the Blaise Zabini that Harry remembered though. The clothes were still the kind of obviously expensive ones that were made so that you knew exactly how much the wearer had spent on them. He was still slender, almost feminine, and his hair was the same well–groomed style that it had been when Harry had last seen him. But, marring his once handsome face was a giant scar. It almost made Harry feel sorry for the bloke (he didn't, because Blaise more than likely got that scar fighting for Voldemort in the war, and Harry had learnt long ago that feeling sympathy for his enemies often got him into more trouble than it was worth). The scar ran from his right eyebrow across to just below his left cheek, and stood out harshly against his dark skin.
Harry glanced over. Draco was just getting out of his seat. As Draco grabbed his coat, he flashed Blaise a bright smile. "Blaise! Good to see you. I'm just getting ready to leave now."
He leaned over towards Harry, hovered over his notes for a moment, while muttering, "Don't say anything insensitive. I'll bring you a coffee on the way back."
Harry started to respond with an indignant, "Hey!" but Draco was already walking off and asking Blaise what he felt like for lunch.
While he was gone, Harry didn't progress much in his work. He hadn't liked the way Blaise was looking at Draco – almost predatory. Draco was married, for Merlin's sake. He wasn't about to go off and boff that silly little Slytherin. Or was he? Harry frowned. Draco had been spending a lot of time on his phone, talking in hushed tones. And he met "people" for lunch almost every day. And he worked until after Harry left most nights. Maybe he was gay and having an affair. It wouldn't be completely shocking – Draco was very obsessed with his hair for a supposedly straight man. But then, Draco also flirted with Amy, Kingsley's (admittedly very attractive, and kind–hearted) assistant.
Harry knew he probably shouldn't be speculating, especially considering he and Malfoy had only just managed to make some sort of peace.
When Draco finally returned, he brought the promised coffee. He perched himself onto the edge of Harry's desk and set the coffee down. "So, go ahead. Ask your questions."
"Questions?" Harry asked innocently.
"Yes, my curious Gryffindor. Questions. I'll start for you. Blaise got off on a technicality. He came to study with me at University. We always been reasonably friendly, and when he went into spell analysis, I was thankful to know someone. I don't condone what he did. I don't condone what I did, for Merlin's sake, but he's been a pretty good friend. Especially considering the accident."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Accident?"
"When we were third years, we were paired together on project – we had to create a defensive spell. Blaise was testing it, and I was supposed to be casting attack spells for him to fend off. It worked, at first. But…the spell was weaker than we had anticipated,” Draco swallowed, and looked straight ahead, avoiding Harry's gaze. "I'm the reason he looks like that. I did that to him. Every time I see him, I – well, it's hard. But he's never blamed me."
Harry argued with himself about whether he should try and comfort Malfoy, who was obviously distressed at the memory. He settled for putting a hand on Malfoy's arm. He ignored the shock that he felt when their skin met.
"Al – I'm just going to pop downstairs. I'll be back soon, okay?"
Al looked up from his paperwork to see that Scorpius was already halfway out the door.
"Um, yeah. See you soon."
This was getting to be a habit. Almost every day now, Scorpius would go down to his old office for at least an hour, sometimes two or three. He always came back looking reasonably pleased with himself, and it had Al worried. This was the kind of thing that all daytime TV told him was a sign of cheating. And he liked Anne far too much to see Scorpius throw that away – who knew what the mystery girl was like? Knowing Scorpius, she'd be like all the ones before Anne who had hated him.
Bloody hell.
It was on the day of the third attack that Harry realised he was jealous of Draco's skill with the mobile phone. Harry still hadn't worked out how to turn the dictionary off on his, and it was giving him the absolute shits. Draco appeared very absorbed in whatever he was writing. His brow was just the tiniest bit furrowed, like it was whenever he thought something was important. Every once in a while he would stop his frantic typing , bite his lip while he examined the screen, and then either delete something or keep typing.
"Why do you have a mobile phone, Malfoy?"
"The whole Ministry has them now."
"Yes, but not many of them know how to use it."
"Not my problem. I showed them how, they don't bloody listen."
Harry blinked. "You showed them?"
"Don't sound so surprised. Muggle technology can be useful. I think it'd better to learn how to use it than to be afraid."
"Really?" Harry asked incredulously.
"Of course. No one wants another War, do they?"
At that point, Dennis had come running in to announce that the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office had disappeared. Completely vanished. There was complete pandemonium until it showed up again, its inhabitants completely unharmed (they hadn't even noticed they'd been invisible). People calmed down slightly, at least until the Department of Magical Games and Sports went missing as well. One by one, the Departments became invisible only to come back, completely unharmed, less than an hour later.
By the end of the day, it had stopped. Unfortunately, Draco's Muggle security cameras hadn't picked up anything unusual, and the surveillance charms had once again been turned off. They obviously weren't going to catch this person in the act. There was nothing to do except keep researching, keep looking for evidence, and narrowing down suspects.
Harry's memory of the third attack was almost painfully reminiscent of their own third attack. In almost the exact same way, Departments around the Ministry had disappeared, and Albus and Scorpius weren't any closer to getting any evidence than Harry and Draco had been.
"Rose, you have got to get a new car."
Rose rolled her eyes at her cousin's greeting and leant over to push the passenger side door open for him.
"I have neither the galleons nor the desire for a new car, Al. Little Robbie does me just fine," she said fondly, patting the dashboard absentmindedly. "You could always buy a car, instead of mooching lifts from me."
"Nah. Don't drive enough to make it worthwhile," Al muttered, shoving the canvas bag filled with fresh croissants, jams and juice into the back seat as he flopped into the passenger seat.
"Just every Saturday morning when you drive with me to brunch."
"You live the closest to my flat."
"I shouldn't be punished for past real estate mistakes."
"There's nothing wrong with your flat!" Al exclaimed, not mentioning how much he'd love to have Rose's comfy apartment rather than his own cramped one. "So whose place are we off to today?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject.
"Teddy's. Victoire has redecorated," Rose said, her disdain for the girl obvious (as though the many time she had ranted to Albus on the subject previously hadn't been any indication). Rose had never liked Victoire. Al wasn't sure why – Victoire had always seemed sweet, if not a tad dull. He had always supposed that it was just one of those girl things he would never understand, like the way Lily changed her hair for every month of the year, or the way his Mum'd insist on cooking decadent meals fit for a small army whenever they came over even though she knew there'd be too many left overs and they'd end up tossing half of it (Lily always went on about what a waste it was).
Rose didn't continue, and Albus took that as a sign that he could talk about his own issues now. That was another reason he'd never bothered to buy himself a car – brunches were great, but things were always so chaotic when the Potters and Weasleys (and honorary family members, like Teddy) got together that he never got a proper chance to talk to Rose, with whom he'd always felt a special connection. The car rides to and from were their chance to talk without disruptions.
"So, I think Scorpius may be cheating on his girlfriend," he blurted out.
The car jolted as Rose's eyes darted to him immediately. "Fuck," she muttered, looking back to the road, "don't just say things like that, Al."
"Sorry," Al said, but didn't really mean it. His family had always criticised him for being so…well, blunt, for lack of a better word. Albus liked to think of it more as straightforward, but no one was inclined to agree with him on that one. "It's just – he's always leaving early these days, and – oh, I don't know. I'm so bloody paranoid about this case we're working on that I'm losing my mind. So, do you think I should say something?" Albus asked, his brow furrowing.
Rose sighed. "No, Al. God. You have got to stop being so –"
"–nosy," Hermione said, shaking her head as she accelerated up the hill. "Draco's business is his own, especially when it comes to his marriage. You and he have only just managed to be civil to each other, don't ruin it now."
Harry sighed, running a finger along the bottom edge of the window. "You're right, 'Mione. You're always right. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Hermione smirked at this, but didn't say anything as she turned into Harry's street.
"I had fun today," Hermione said. "It was good being out of the house. I love Ron, but he drives me mad sometimes. And now that he's on holidays he gets bored during the week and wants to be around me all the time on the weekends. I need a break."
Harry grinned. "I know what you mean. At least you have a partner who's still frightened of cinemas. Ginny loves them. She's always asking me to go. Work is my only relief from her."
Hermione was frowning as she pulled up to the curb outside the house. She turned the engine off and shifted to face him. "Harry, Ron drives me mad. But I don't always want to be away from him."
Harry blinked. He'd never considered it abnormal to want to be away from his wife at times. He and Ginny had loved each other for years, but they'd never really spent a lot of time together (not including Quidditch, of course).
"Is everything…okay, with you and Ginny?"
Harry thought about it. "Well, we're fighting a bit more, I guess. Now that the kids are gone. It's hard. And…"
"Yes?" Hermione prompted.
"I'm…finding it hard to reconnect with her. I just…can't completely remember what it is that drew us to each other in the first place. Apart from Quidditch, we don't like any of the same things. And she's always away for work, but when she's home, I just wish she was gone again." He sighed as he said this, realising that although he'd never allowed himself to properly recognise it, it was the truth.
Hermione, for once, didn't offer any advice. Harry guessed that she knew that it wasn't something that a pep talk could solve. She just placed her hand comfortingly over his, and they sat in silence until Harry had gathered the strength to go inside.
Ministry Under Attack
By James Terry
19th October
The Ministry of Magic has been forced to address recent concerns regarding security in a press conference this morning. In front of a select media audience, Minister of Magic Graham Stewart said that the Ministry was "perfectly safe for all citizens and employees". This statement did little to allay the fears of employees of the Wizarding Government, nor did it silence nay–sayers, who predict that the Ministry will be taken down from the inside, leaving the Wizarding world in a state of social and political chaos.
The concerns have been prompted by recent attacks on the Ministry. In June of this year, the entire Ministry turned pink, causing delays and confusion. In September, a storm was localised within Ministry boundaries and inside the Ministry itself, nearly destroying a number of crucial records. A third attack occurred just days ago. Sources inside the Ministry are saying that it is "only a matter of time" until someone is hurt in one of these attacks. The Minister of Magic refused to comment on this particular speculation.
Ravenclaw Jane became a bit of a fixture in his life for a while. She often came down to have coffee or lunch with Malfoy, and would stay and chat with Harry while she waited for Malfoy to primp. She was nice, if a little mad.
Blaise, however, was a different story. While he had become a fixture in Harry's life, he was neither 'nice', nor 'a little mad'. In Harry's opinion, he was bordering on psychotic. Whenever he came to the office, he'd stare at Harry for a few moments, and then look away as soon as Harry looked at him. It was extremely disconcerting. And Harry still had the vague suspicion that Malfoy was cheating on Astoria with Blaise, which made him like the smarmy bastard even less.
His own marriage was increasingly miserable, but he didn't cheat. With all the kids off at school, and Ginny constantly going back and forth and working odd hours, Harry came home to an empty house most nights. When Ginny was there, there was always this strained silence between them. They couldn't even grocery shop together without it ending in awkwardness. Harry had begun to pick up hobbies. After finding out that Draco enjoyed running almost as much as he did (Harry guessed it was the seekers in them), they began running every morning before work.
Malfoy had a figure that most girls (and some guys unafraid of their sexuality) would envy. It wasn't overly muscular, just nice and evenly toned, his skin smooth and pale. Harry had noticed this before, of course. One didn't follow a person around for a year, nor did they train them in physical combat for over a month, without knowing a little about them, but he'd never before felt the need to comment on it. Why, on this particular Friday, he did, was anybody's guess. As he said it, he had an almost out–of–body experience, in that he wished he could float out of his body and knock himself over the head with something sharp to prevent any such thoughts from escaping his mouth in the future. Malfoy's head turned sharply to look at him, and Harry seized the opportunity to dispel some of the awkwardness by pointing out that Malfoy was about to run into a woman with a pram. Malfoy managed to stop just in time, and with a muttered (yet, Harry noticed, sincere) apology to the woman, he swerved and soon enough they were running again in silence. Malfoy didn't say anything, and Harry reminded himself that Malfoy had earphones in (as he always did while running) so there was a chance that he hadn't heard Harry. A very slim chance, mind you, but a chance.
Yes, that was it. Malfoy hadn't heard him. That sharp turn had just been coincidence – maybe Malfoy had been about to say something to him before Harry'd pointed out the lady with the pram. Of course. It all made sense now.
When they finished their run, Harry accompanied Malfoy on the route back to his house, as was normal. They walked in silence (it seemed to suit them best – fewer opportunities for sniping at each other) and Harry bid farewell to Malfoy on the path outside his building.
"Thanks," Malfoy said, and Harry could've sworn he'd seen the ghost of a smile on Malfoy's face, and a flicker in his eyes as, but as he walked the rest of the way to the tube station, he convinced himself that it was nothing.
But, by the time the bus dropped him back as his house, he'd convinced himself otherwise.
However, it had absolutely nothing to do with his sudden desire to fuck Ginny (who was home for a brief break from reporting on the autumn season) on the kitchen table when he got home.
Nothing at all.
The photo was old, he could tell that much from the fold marks and the curled edges. The main subjects were his father and Draco Malfoy, both in black dress robes, standing in front of a huge Christmas tree. To the left, Al could see his mother, hovering behind her husband, fussing over James, who looked to be about 15 in the picture, and had somehow managed to spill pumpkin juice over his white shirt. He could see himself, aged 13, standing next to James, his head occasionally poking out from the side of the photo. Lily was nowhere to be seen, but if this was the party that Albus thought it was, she was off talking to their grandfather, Arthur Weasley, who had volunteered to dress as Santa that year. Astoria and Scorpius were also in the background of the photo, Scorpius looking enviously to the right, possibly at the children crowded around Santa, all receiving presents. Astoria was glaring at Ginny. Now that he thought about it, this photo must've been taken around the time of Draco and Astoria's divorce. That had happened only a few months after Christmas. On the underside of the photo, Draco had scrawled a little note.
Christmas '19
3.
Albus frowned at the little "3" in the bottom corner. What did it mean?
He leafed through the other papers in the stack. There was a security read out, one of the early versions Al had seen in the archives area, and a few blank sheets with drops of ink and seemingly random thoughts such as "must buy pumpkin juice" and "Poland. Must visit Poland". Stuck in between them, though, was a faded label that read "Tzatziki Dip" and listed off a bunch of ingredients and a brief overview of the company that made the dip.
It seemed like a bizarre thing to keep, particularly among such pointless papers. Albus went to throw it in the wastepaper basket sitting under his desk, but a second glance stopped him. In Draco's miniscule handwriting, under the "P" in "DIP", were the numbers 02/11. A date, perhaps? Was it evidence? Did they think that the criminal had a penchant for Turkish food? Frowning, Albus slid the label back in between the papers and shoved them on top of his "already read" stack.
a fire. a fire.
you can only take what you can carry.
a pulse. your pulse.
it's the only thing i can remember
i break. you don't.
i was always set to self–destruct though.
the fire. the fire.
cracks and barks like primal music.
– if there's a rocket tie me to it (snow patrol)
three.
Harry knew that working late was dangerous. All of the Muggle movies Ginny made him take her to had been right. Working late messed with your brain, made you think you were attracted to co–workers. Maybe, if his co–worker had been anyone but Draco Malfoy, Harry would've stopped and thought differently. Might've realised he was being stupid, might've stopped to think that it could actually mean something.
He'd only come in for a minute. Just to pick up some papers that he'd left behind, to take them home and do some old paperwork he'd been neglecting in front of the telly. Perhaps get some Indian take out and have a beer. Make a night of it. Not too many beers, though. Last time he'd done paperwork while drunk he'd managed to switch the name of his victim and his perpetrator and it'd taken hours to sort that mess out. Kingsley had glared at him for over a week.
But he certainly hadn't intended to stay. Malfoy had been there, which was a surprise in and of itself. The only other person left on their floor was Dennis, who was running about muttering about deadlines and how his boss was going to kill him. And really, it was Malfoy's fault. Harry had felt guilty for going home while his partner (for this job, at least) was still at work, scribbling furiously and consulting heavy–looking books.
He'd only asked how things were going.
"Fine," Draco had muttered hurriedly in response, not even stopping to look at Harry. "Shouldn't you be home with the Weaslette?"
"Ginny," Harry said her name pointedly, "is at a family dinner."
"Thought you were part of the Weasleys. I could've sworn you were only a few days away from dyeing your hair the horrible orange."
"We haven't been as close…after Fred. Sometimes I think Ginny is my only connection to them anymore. Ron…well, I thought – after Hogwarts, after everything we went through, I thought he'd grow up. But he's still exactly the same as he ever was. It's like everyone has grown up around him and he's still the same person he was when he was sixteen. We watch Quidditch, and we complain about work. I don't think we've had a proper conversation in at least ten years. Hermione is wonderful, but she's never been as connected to the Weasleys as I once was – she's a Granger, always has been."
Harry didn't know why he'd said it. It wasn't something he even thought about to himself, if he could help it.
Draco still didn't look up, but his hand slowed across the parchment. "Good. I think you'd look dreadful as a redhead."
And it was at that point that Harry decided to stay.
They hadn't talked much. Malfoy had kept on with whatever it was he was researching (the title of the book was "Great Wizarding Hoaxes of the 18th Century", so Harry wasn't all that inclined to ask) and Harry had made a start, albeit a feeble one (he'd not done much more than signing his name on the bottom of a few records) on his paperwork. About half an hour in, Draco moved from his desk and brought back two cups of coffee, and handed one to Harry wordlessly. Harry got the second cups. When he handed Draco's to him, he paused and peeked at Draco's work.
"You can either sit down and take an interest, or bugger off. I don't like people reading over my shoulder," Draco said suddenly. Harry jumped a little, but steadied his cup before he spilt hot coffee everywhere.
Taking a sip, he wordlessly summoned his chair and sat next to Malfoy, who pushed the book over a little more in his direction, and pulled a stack of notes (detailed descriptions of all attacks so far) closer to them.
Draco had underlined something, frowning a little in concentration. Harry, to be perfectly honest, hadn't really concentrated at all. He'd noticed that while most of Malfoy's loose hair was behind his ear, a stray strand of it had fallen out and was hanging over his eyes, yet Draco hadn't done anything to push it back. It had made Harry want to push it back. Instead, he'd taken a hurried sip of his coffee and looked back at the book. It really hadn't been a good idea.
"Have you done any work tonight, Potter? Because if you weren't planning on doing anything, you needn't have stayed," Draco asked later.
"I have done work!" Harry said in an affronted tone.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Sure you have. You know, if you hate your home so much, maybe you should go ahead and divorce your wife."
"I don't hate my home," Harry snapped. "And besides, if either of us is going to be getting a divorce, shouldn't it be the one that's having the affair?"
"Affair? What the bloody hell are you on about, Potter?" Draco said, finally tearing his eyes away from the book.
"You and Blaise. I'm not as daft as you think I am."
Draco rolled his eyes again. "I'm not having an affair with Blaise, you daft prick."
"Don't call me a prick!"
"Don't accuse me of cheating on my wife!"
They were close, now. Too close. And silent. Silence wasn't good.
"Don't –" Harry began, but stopped. Don't what? Don't point out flaws in my argument? Don't be right? Don't be so damn attrac–
He wasn't sure who moved first. He would later maintain that it wasn't him. But before he knew it, he was kissing Draco Malfoy. It was hard and fast. Draco's hand grasped at his arm, and Harry's own hands scrambled to grasp at Draco's face, pulling him closer. Draco made a little noise, and his grip tightened. Draco's lips were strong, and his skin soft, and he tasted of the coffee that they'd been drinking all night. The chairs they were on were fast becoming a nuisance – they seemed determined to poke them in awkward places. Without stopping the kiss, Harry moved out of his chair, and Draco followed. Before he knew it, he was backed up against Draco's desk, with a warm body pressed against him. He hadn't felt this alive in so long – not since their fight in the gym. But this was so much better than that. Draco's hands moved down his arms, and grasped his waist, and one of Harry's hands slid down to the back of Malfoy's neck, while the other ran down his chest, flicking at the buttons that ran down his white shirt. Draco pushed him back further into the desk, kissing him with renewed force. Harry wanted to devour him. Feeling too out of control, Harry forced them around so that he now had Draco pinned, and lifted him up so that Draco was sitting on the desk, with Harry between his open thighs. Draco made a surprised noise in the back of his throat, and grasped onto Harry's hips and tried to pull him even closer. He began to grasp at the hem of Harry's old t–shirt, and they broke their kiss so that Draco could lift it over Harry's head. As he pushed the other man back, Harry knocked over Draco's coffee mug onto the book they'd been reading. He muttered an apology between kisses, but Draco didn't seem to care too much.
Harry laid a hand gently on Draco's chest.
"Um. Wait," he gasped, struggling to regain his breath. "Are we really doing this?"
"Your shirt is off, and your pants are getting there," Draco said, and Harry realised that he was right – when had that happened? "And now you're asking questions?" Draco asked.
"Um. No. Never mind," Harry mumbled, and made better use of his mouth by kissing a trail down Draco's neck, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt as he did. Draco fumbled with Harry's zip, giving a breathy gasp when Harry's lips reached the apparently sensitive spot on his collarbone. Harry pulled Draco's shirt off roughly and the pants quickly followed, leaving Harry in nothing but his boxers.
"Have you done this before?" Draco panted, his hand fumbling in his robes for his wand, which he used to mutter a protective charm.
"Um," Harry said, his brain fogging. "Yeah. Three children, remember?"
"I meant with a bloke, you idiot," Malfoy said, gasping as Harry bit down lightly on his neck.
"Oh, right. No."
Draco rolled his eyes and stuck his hand down Harry's boxers as he kissed Harry hard and fast. Harry's brain shut down altogether.
The next sheet had been ripped out of a book. It had a large coffee stain on it, as if someone had just knocked over the whole cup on top of the page. Writing at the bottom of the page told him that the page came from a book about Wizarding hoaxes of the 18th century, chapter 4, pages 132 and 133. It looked as though Draco, or whoever had had the book before him, had underlined a few passages on the first page. It was the beginning of the chapter, entitled "Security Breaches", and looked awfully promising.
Security breaches, it read, were of great concern to the Ministry of Magic in the 18th century. Following a period of Wizarding persecution, there was a great deal of anger directed towards Muggles and even, in some extreme cases, Muggle sympathizers. In order to combat these anti–Muggle sentiments, the Ministry of Magic stepped up anti – Muggle security (1) for those who didn't believe that the Statute of Secrecy was sufficient, which served to quell any growing concerns regarding Muggle interference in magical government. However, this increased security and growing tensions were only encouraging to Wizarding pranksters and even, in some cases, Darker wizards (2).
One of the most memorable Wizarding security hoaxes of the 18thcentury came about in 1716, when one Roberta Brown and her group of anti–Muggle campaigners caused the entire Ministry Headquarters to become invisible from the outside for a full 6 hours. Ministry personnel later claimed that all appeared normal from the outside, so until they received a number of alarmed OWLs and they ventured outside "there was no suspicion that anything was amiss"(3). Brown, once apprehended for her crime after a spell used in the hoax was traced back to her wand, stated to the public that she didn't regret her crime at all, and that she "did it to show everyone what is happening to the Wizarding world. Muggle interference is making everything we hold dear disappear right before our eyes".
Many hoaxes of this nature are seemingly harmless but are utilized to make a bold (often political) statement. Another case came about in 1752 when
(1) See "The Unabridged History of the Ministry of Magic" by Bathilda Bagshot
(2) See "Dark Magic Attacks of the 18th Century" by Cornelia Applebottom
(3) See "My Time in Power: the Story of a Minister" by Bernard Addison
Albus stopped reading there. He stared at the underlined passage. Maybe Draco had been on to something with it – but why had he stopped there? The pile of papers in front of him was now tiny – all that was left was a few more security printouts (these from the second and third attacks) and a couple more notes. Now that he finally felt like he had something – granted, it was a stretch, but it was the closest he'd been to a breakthrough during the whole case – and now he felt like it was slipping through his fingers.
It didn't end there. Harry had every intention of letting it end. Pretending it had never happened. Blaming the coffee. But the second he laid eyes on Malfoy the next day, all of those thoughts flew out of his mind. They ended up having sex in a cupboard. They'd almost been caught by Dennis, but the other man hadn't said anything, so they guessed that he hadn't noticed them exiting at the same time, or hadn't thought it suspicious. On that day, the most shocking of all of the Incidents occurred. Ernie Macmillan, who worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, had been murdered in an elevator. It was the most gruesome murder Harry had seen, which was saying something after his years in the War and in the Ministry. Ernie had been turned inside out – his flesh pulled from his skeleton (slowly, according to the Healers at St. Mungo's) and his organs ripped from his body. Jane, who had discovered the body, had been admitted to St. Mungo's to be treated for extreme shock.
For a while, Harry and Draco had been able to ignore whatever it was that drew them together. With a renewed desire to catch the person behind the attacks, they set about compiling lists of people that would have been able to create such a curse. Draco had been quite shaken after the attack – when Harry had pushed him, he'd told Harry that, in the War, Voldemort had been trying to develop a similar spell. As far as Draco knew, no one who knew about it could be behind the attacks, but it had affected him nevertheless.
After nearly a month of Scorpius' little trips downstairs, Al had had enough.
One afternoon, when Scorpius had left, Al followed him. It would have been better if he'd had the Invisibility Cloak that belonged to his dad, but he made do with a Disillusionment Charm. Thankfully he'd always been pretty good at them.
Surprisingly, Scorpius had actually gone down to his old office. So that meant his mistress must be meeting him there. Or she worked with him.
For twenty minutes, Albus watched through a crack in Scorpius' door as Scorpius did his paperwork. He was looking awfully happy for someone who was doing paperwork. He couldn't stop smiling and humming to himself.
An older woman (Albus thought he name was Amanda, but he wasn't sure) came past him straight into Scorpius' office. Aha! But the woman didn't do anything…untoward. In fact, Scorpius didn't even acknowledge her.
"Just getting a file," she said, grabbing one out of the filing cabinet next to Scorpius' desk.
"Right," Scorpius mumbled, not looking up from his paperwork.
"When are you going to move permanently, Malfoy?" the woman asked gruffly.
Scorpius looked up this time. "I like it down here. It's quiet."
"But you can't come in here every day just to do paperwork. It's ridiculous."
Al blinked. What? What happened to the affair?
"I can and I will. You're not getting my office, Amanda," he said, and she walked out with a roll of her eyes that only Albus noticed.
Confused, Albus left silently, and when he got back to his office he sat at his desk until Scorpius came back.
"You go down there to do paperwork?" he asked incredulously when Scorpius came back. Scorpius swallowed guiltily.
"You followed me?" he asked.
"I thought you were having an affair, and I was going to tell you what a moron you're being! And then I find you doing paperwork?"
"You thought I was having an affair?" Scorpius asked, his eyebrows raised.
"Well," Al stumbled. "Yeah. You always looked so pleased when you came back, I thought–"
"Al, what did I tell you about daytime telly? It's no good for you," Scorpius shook his head.
"I – well, yes. But why are you going down there to do paperwork when you could do it up here?" he asked.
"I like the quiet," Scorpius said simply. "It's nice. I like working with you, Al, but I'm a very quiet person and you're…well, not. I like being alone to get some paperwork done. I almost never get it done here, there are too many distractions," he explained.
"Right. Well, fair enough," Al acknowledged. "I'm glad you're not cheating on Anne. I like her," Al said.
"I know," Scorpius said, a little smile crossing his features.
Albus was in another memory, on what appeared to be the roof of a London building.
Harry and Draco were sitting cross–legged, hovering in mid–air. "If someone happened to come up here, we'd be in trouble," Draco pointed out, taking a deep breath and taking a sip of the coffee that was hovering beside him.
"It's a government office building, Draco. I think we're safe until at least 9. Which gives us…" Harry trailed off, glancing at his watch, "…three hours. See, there are benefits to pulling all–nighters."
"It's a pretty good view, I'll give you that," Draco admitted.
Harry smiled serenely. "It's my favourite place to come when work is… tough," he finished, swallowing heavily.
Draco took another sip of the coffee and they sat in silence for a while. Harry really was onto something with this place, Albus thought. It was incredibly peaceful, watching the city stirring in the early hours. Draco appeared deep in thought, and kept glancing at Harry, who pretended not to notice while sneaking glances of his own. Albus rolled his eyes. This appeared to be the usual behaviour for these two. Albus watched as they continued this for so long that he wanted to slap them both. Eventually, they both spoke. At the same time.
"I really want you to–" Harry said
"About the other–" Draco began
They both stopped, and laugh awkwardly.
"We're not great with the talking, are we?" Harry said, laughter in his voice.
"Not really, no," Draco said. At that point, they looked at each other.
And they kissed. It was slow and tentative, though Albus didn't quite think that it was the first time. The ground felt a bit wobbly underneath him, as though he was hovering in the air just as Harry and Draco were. This was his dad. Harry's hand gripped the back of Draco's neck, and Draco's hands wound themselves around Harry's back. Albus was morbidly fascinated – on one hand, this was his father cheating on his mother with Scorpius' dad. On the other hand, they fit. He'd never gotten this impression on the rare occasion that his parents had kissed in front of him – it had always seemed almost obligatory, by the time Albus'd been old enough to remember it. But this, this kiss was something else.
The memory faded. Albus was glad. He'd seen enough.
Back in his own world, Al swirled his wand thoughtlessly in the Pensieve. So far, he didn't feel that his father's memories had been all that helpful. Sure, he'd gained an insight into his father's adultery. But what use was that in the case?
It was strange, watching your parents fall in love. It was even stranger when one of them was falling in love with someone they weren't supposed to.
He wasn't daft. The daft one had always been James, the poor sod. So completely clueless about love and relationships that he'd failed to realise his own sexuality until a Slytherin boy had stuck his hands down James' pants. But Albus had always thought that he was reasonably cluey. Not as cluey as Rose, though. She would've been such a help. But this wasn't something he wanted to share with her. Or anyone, for that matter. How could he? It was a betrayal, not only to his father, but to his mother. Oh, god. Mum. What was he going to do? Would he ever be able to look her in the face again? Knowing that, even thought she didn't know it, her husband was in love with another man?
It had been pretty bloody obvious, if you thought about it. They bickered like an old married couple, looked at each other when they thought the other one wasn't watching, and seemed more alive and happy just simply being with each other – fighting, or doing research, or even just running – than when they were doing anything else.
"I didn't know who to talk to you. You're the only one I can trust."
"Then your life is even sadder than I had previously suspected, Mr. Potter."
Albus had always liked Severus Snape. He'd often visited the man's portrait during his Hogwarts years, but had never known that his father had done the same. He was smart (god was he smart) and he didn't take shit from anybody. Albus was a bit of a pushover, so he quite admired someone who could stand up for themselves. Though he'd always gotten the impression that his dad and Snape hadn't gotten along very well, so he couldn't fathom why his dad had gone to speak to Snape's portrait.
"This isn't exactly something I can talk to my wife about. 'Oh honey, by the way, I shagged Draco Malfoy at work the other day – can we talk about it? I'm a bit confused'. Oh yes, that'd go down very well. Or, alternatively. 'Hey Ron, I cheated on your sister the other day with a bloke. Mind if we have a deep and meaningful conversation about it?' That'd be just swell."
"Potter, you were never well versed in the art of sarcasm. Do not attempt it around me again."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I just thought you might understand – I mean, you fell for someone who was completely wrong for you."
"Lily," Snape agreed, a vague hint of wistfulness in his tone that Albus had never heard before. Albus blinked. Snape had been in love with Al's grandmother? Ick.
"So you understand, don't you?"
Snape stared at Harry for a while without speaking. It was amazing how he managed to appear so intimidating even as a portrait. Albus didn't like to think how scary the man had been when he was alive. "Perhaps, Mr. Potter, your infatuation with Draco is nothing more than the typical Gryffindor foolishness of wanting what you can't have. Or maybe it is linked to the distance you feel in your relationship," he began. Albus' jaw dropped a little. That was quite possibly the most human thing he'd ever heard Snape say.
"Yes! It's to do with my relationship with Ginny, it's got nothing to do with Malfoy, he was just convenient –!"
Snape interrupted him. "Or maybe you have loved that boy since you first met him and have finally realised how boody stupid you are and have matured enough to act on it." Well, at least the "bloody stupid" sounded like the Snape he knew.
Harry's mouth fell open slightly, forming a small "O" shape. "I liked your first suggestion better."
"That doesn't surprise me in the least. Gryffindors always were very good at denial."
Without warning, the scene faded around him and Albus came to a memory of his father talking to Dennis Creevey about his paperwork submissions.
Bloody hell it was frustrating being in someone else's head.
The first death was painful. Painful because they should have stopped it. Painful because everything they'd done hadn't worked, and they didn't know how to go on.
Painful because it was someone in the same department as Albus, who he didn't even know.
He swallowed heavily as the body of Adam Bloomwood was levitated past him on a stretcher.
There wouldn't be a second. He'd make sure of that.
The sunlight was warm and comforting. At that very moment, Harry thought he would've been happy to stay where he was until the end of time. The curtains fluttered lightly in the breeze – it was one of those perfect London days that only came once a year. Draco's arm was flung over his chest possessively, and Harry felt no need to repress the wide grin that spread across his face at the sight.
Ginny would be away for another two days – he had at least another morning as perfect as this one. It was their first sleepover – the kids were finally back at Hogwarts, after the Christmas holidays. The only highlight of the holidays had been the office Christmas party. Jane had insisted on a photo of her "two favourite crime solvers" and, while taking the photo, Harry and brushed against Draco unintentionally (well, mostly unintentionally) and it had ended in them shagging in one of the storage rooms they managed to find. Of course, it'd been great to see the kids, but the day after the Christmas party (Christmas Eve, in fact), the Ministry had been attacked again. Amy, Kingsley's assistant, had been brutally murdered by the same curse that had killed Ernie, while working overtime to get some spare filing out of the way. She had, at the time, been filing Draco's latest paperwork for the case. Draco had felt terrible ("if I'd only filed it myself", to which Harry had responded "she'd have been filing for someone else"). They'd had to spend almost all of Christmas Day and Boxing Day in the office, and both Astoria and Ginny were furious at them. And to top it off, they'd barely managed to see each other in that time.
Draco began to stir not too long after Harry woke up.
"Hi," Harry said.
"Hi," Malfoy responded. "I suppose I'd better leave," he said slowly, starting to lift himself from the bed.
"Nope," Harry said cheerfully, pulling him back down. "I have one more day."
Draco smiled. "Want to get some breakfast?"
"What do I want today, Potter?" Draco asked, looking up and down the menu (rather pointlessly, Harry thought).
"I have no idea, Draco."
"You always say that, and I always remind you that you're wrong. You know exactly what I want, you just need to put a bit of though into it."
Harry rolled his eyes.
They spent the day strolling around London, something Harry very rarely got to do. They weren't affectionate, they couldn't risk it, but then again they weren't particularly affectionate people anyway. It was nice, to be able to spend time with Draco. He felt like he very rarely got that chance.
That night, they had sex. Not thoroughly unusual, but this time it was planned, and it was the first time that is hadn't been rushed – normally it was hurried, often in an uncomfortable cupboard of some sort. But this time it felt…more tender, somehow. Harry blamed the bed, he really did. They didn't cuddle, but they lay close, face to face, so close that Harry could feel the gentle rise and fall of Draco's chest.
"When does Ginny get back?" Draco asked.
"I hope never," Harry said honestly.
"No you don't. Don't be stupid," Draco told him.
"I'm not."
"You must've married her for some reason. There must be something that you love about her."
Harry frowned. "I'm having a hard time remembering what it was. It's you I love." He stopped as soon as he realised what he'd said. Draco's eyes widened, and he sat up.
"What did you just say?" he asked, staring at the sheet covering them.
"I…" he tried to convince himself to lie. He couldn't do it. "I said I love you."
"Take it back," Draco said immediately. "Take it back right now."
"No," Harry replied, sitting up next to him. "It's the truth."
"You're delusional. You can't be in love with me."
"But yet I am."
Draco shook his head, and got up from the bed. He began searching for his clothes, which were scattered across the floor. "You're being stupid, Potter. Today has gone to your head. I have to go. Astoria will be wondering where I am – I told her I'd be back today."
"No you didn't–" Harry began, only to be interrupted.
"Yes, I did."
Shoving on his jumper, Draco grabbed his wand from Harry's nightstand and Apparated away without a goodbye. Harry flopped back onto the bed. That could've gone better.
Record of Text Messages sent to the mobile phone of Draco L. Malfoy, between 06/01/2020
From SCARFACE 06/01/2020 09:37am
Draco, where are you??
From SCARFACE 06/01/2020 09:56am
Very mature Malfoy
From SCARFACE 06/01/2020 10:18am
Cant we just pretend last night didn't happen?
From SHACKLEBOLT 06/01/2020 11:02am
Malfoy, I have just been informed by Potter that you are not in today. Please contact my office. If you don't you will be in SEVERE trouble for making me use one of these blasted contraptions.
From SCARFACE 06/01/2020 15:23pm
I'm leaving early, Malfoy, just so you know. You can come in now without being frightened of running into me. Coward.
SENT MESSAGES – 06/01/2020
To BLAISE 06/01/2020 12.52pm
Can you meet me tonight? 8.30. Leaky Cauldron.
"History has to be rewritten in every generation, because although the past does not change the present does; each generation asks new questions of the past, and finds new areas of sympathy as it re–lives different aspects of the experiences of its predecessors." – Christopher Hill
four.
"Why didn't you tell me you'd worked it out?" Harry whispered furiously as they walked along the corridor.
"Because I wasn't sure, and I couldn't risk you finding out until I was. You would've rushed in like the Gryffindor you are," Malfoy whispered back, shooting Harry a dark look.
"You didn't trust your own partner."
"I couldn't trust my own partner."
Draco stopped, looking around them before he spoke again. "Look, Potter, it had nothing to do with the other night, or anything. It was all very sudden, I got home, and there was a letter from Blaise on my desk, and the letter that was sent after Amy's death – and the writing was so similar, I looked up some things and I remembered that Blaise had been involved in the testing of spells for Voldemort. I wasn't sure if it was our spell, but I looked up some old interview transcripts from after the war and I realised that he had been – him and two other people were the only ones who even knew about the spell – the other two were Pettigrew, who as you know is long dead, and myself. I can't believe I didn't think of it before. I guess I wanted to believe in the best in Blaise. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But I didn't want to risk you getting hurt. This is my responsibility."
Harry groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "It is not your responsibility, Malfoy. This is our case – I'm not some child you need to take care of."
"I know you're not, Potter, but can't you understand that this is my fault? If Blaise hadn't tried to attack me, Amy and Ernie wouldn't have died. The Ministry wouldn't be under pressure from the public. It's because of me." His voice wavered on the last sentence. Harry blinked. He'd only seen this kind of vulnerability in Malfoy a handful of times before.
"It's not your fault. You didn't do anything. If Blaise hadn't focussed on you, he would've found somebody else to focus on. There's nothing you could've done."
Malfoy contemplated him for a moment, and Harry swore he saw something flicker in his eyes, but he turned and walked away.
Harry didn't see him again until Blaise's trial started.
It wasn't a good sign when your chart of suspects was getting bigger instead of smaller. Still intrigued by Draco's political statement motive, he had drawn up a second chart of suspects who had voiced political grudges against the Ministry within the past 30 years, and who could be linked to Blaise. Turned out the Ministry had a lot of enemies. He could wipe off a lot that had been involved in the War – most of those were either dead, in Azkaban, or severely monitored.
"What do both sets of attacks have in common?" Scorpius asked, and Albus jumped. He'd been staring at the board for so long that he'd forgotten Scorpius was there.
"I dunno. Same spell. Not much else, is there?"
"They both came from inside the Ministry."
"That's what we thought until we worked out that Blaise was responsible for the first attacks," Al responded.
"But now we know that he had an accomplice. It could've been someone on the inside. Wipe out everyone outside the Ministry and leave the ones that could gain access to Draco's files – the ones that were stolen."
Albus did as he was told. He was left with three people: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Jane Fern and Dennis Creevey. Suddenly, Scorpius' eyes widened, and he ran to his desk. Riffling through the stack of Draco's papers, he pulled out a small sheet with a triumphant "aha!" It was the photo of their fathers at Christmas.
"We've already looked at that one, Scorp."
Scorpius dropped the photo onto Al's desk. "Look again. In the back."
Albus looked. And, sure enough, in the background of the photo was something he'd never noticed before – he'd been too enthralled by the image of his father and Draco Malfoy that he'd never even thought to look at what was happening behind them. Standing by a large Christmas tree, Dennis Creevey was talking into a mobile phone. He looked very unhappy about something, and kept glaring in the direction of Harry and Malfoy – particularly Malfoy. When the photo Draco laughed and rolled his eyes at something Harry said, touching his arm in a familiar gesture, Dennis looked like his head was going to explode. He muttered something to the person on the line and waited for a reply. As he received one, a smile returned to his face, but it wasn't a very pleasant smile. Not the kind of smile he'd seen on Dennis' face before.
"A bit suspicious, isn't it? And think about it – Dennis has always had something to do with all of the incidents, we've just always written him off because it was nothing substantial. But put it all together and it's something. The entry record, the wand scan, the suspicious calls, the habit of being right there whenever something important happens. What man in the world is coincidentally involved in every major security breach in the Ministry? Think about it – Dennis had anger towards my dad. And then suddenly, as soon as dad leaves, the attacks stop? Doesn't that seem a bit coincidental to you?"
Albus stared at the photo some more. The look on Dennis' face was pretty alarming, to say the least. It was positively savage. He swallowed.
"I just can't believe that Dennis would –"
"It's always the one you least suspect."
"This is real life, Scorp, not an Agatha Christie novel."
Scorpius rolled his eyes. "The point is, I'm right. I know I'm right. You know I'm right."
"You might be," Albus said grudgingly.
"Of course I am. So let's go."
Malfoy and Greengrass call it quits
17th March 2020
In a shock announcement today, socialite Astoria Malfoy (maiden name Greengrass) announced her split from husband of nearly twenty years, Draco Malfoy. Astoria, who runs a number of charities under the Malfoy name, said the split was "amicable" and cited "irreconcilable differences". Close friends of the pair say they are "unsurprised" at the news, claiming that the wealthy couple "had been having difficulties for a while". Draco has recently made headlines after he and Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, arrested Blaise Zabini for the murders of Ernie MacMillan and Amy Howe, both Ministry employees. Zabini is also under arrest for the recent pranks carried out on Ministry headquarters, including one memorable day when the Ministry was turned completely pink, and another incident which involved rain inside the Ministry building.
According to solicitors, the Malfoys want a "quick and easy" divorce. "Draco is willing to give Astoria whatever she wants," sources say.
The pair met in 1999 when they were introduced by a mutual friend, and have a son, Scorpius, who attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he is currently in his third year.
Draco Malfoy was not available for comment.
"You divorced Astoria."
There was a break in court proceedings, and Harry had managed to corner Draco in the men's bathroom. He was clutching an old newspaper in his hand.
"I did," Draco admitted. "What of it?"
"So, I tell you I love you, and you break up with your wife, and I'm supposed to believe that it's a coincidence?"
"Astoria was a lovely woman, but I never really loved her the way I was supposed to. Scorpius is old enough to cope, now. There was no point in keeping her tied to me. She should find someone who will love her the way I never could. I had been planning on divorcing her for years – before I ever saw you again," Draco sighed, tossing a paper towel in a nearby bin and checking his reflection in the mirror above the sinks.
"So it had nothing to do with me – with us?"
Draco turned to face him. "I don't see you divorcing Ginny for me," he pointed out.
"I would if you asked me. If you said the word – I'd do it," Harry said desperately.
"You can't ask me to end your marriage, Harry. My own is different – it was something built on lies. We just two people living in the same house but living totally separate lives. But you and Weasley loved each other. You built a life together. You have family, friends. People would be devastated. And then where do we go from there? Do we go on a date?" Draco asked, laughing in desperation.
"I don't know," Harry admitted.
"Exactly," Draco said, proving his point. "There's…nothing we could do."
Their eyes locked, and Harry saw something flicker across Draco's face before it hut down, forming an emotionless mask.
"We were never meant to be together, Potter."
"Right. I'll see you in the court room, then," Harry snapped, and stormed out. Draco sighed again, and ran a hand through his previously perfect hair. When he left the bathroom, he noticed the same crinkled paper Harry had been clutching in his hand had been tossed into a rubbish bin. It was open to the "Human Interest" section, to the article about his divorce from Astoria that had been printed days before.
Draco lifted the article from the bin, not quite understanding why, and shoved it in his briefcase before anyone saw him.
"Why?" Albus asked simply, running a hand through his already messy hair.
"Don't tell me you don't know, Albus," Dennis said, his tone friendly, as if Albus hadn't just arrested him for conspiracy and crimes against the Ministry.
"I have no clue why you would attack the Ministry, or Draco Malfoy. Enlighten me."
Albus looked to Scorpius pleadingly, trying to get the other man's help (he'd never been a very good interrogator), but Scorpius was just staring blankly at Dennis, his expression unreadable.
Dennis sighed. "You didn't live through the war. You didn't lose anyone, at least not directly. You've heard of my brother, haven't you? He was the best big brother a boy could ask for. He died for your father, Albus. And then your father," he said, his tone turning harsh as he looked at Scorpius, "came along and acted as if nothing had happened. Acted as if his actions, and the actions of his little Death Eater friends hadn't killed my brother. I had to do something."
Albus frowned and glanced at Scorpius to see his reaction, but there was no visible change in him. "You waited. For three years. Why? And why all of these little pranks? If your grudge was against Malfoy, why did you involve the Ministry as a whole?"
"There wasn't much I could do, was there, with Malfoy in the Department of Mysteries? I had to get him out. I did a pretty good job, too. Tried to make the Ministry see that even the great Malfoy couldn't catch me – maybe they'd kick him out. Maybe the pressure would get to him. It didn't matter how, though. What mattered was that I'd gotten rid of him. He crawled back under his little rock and stayed there." Dennis' voice had taken on a supernatural quality to it, as if he were possessed. His eyes were bright, almost burning. Things were finally beginning to make sense.
"But why did you start again?"
Dennis looked directly at Scorpius. "Because he came." Scorpius' vision finally came back into focus – he was staring right back at Dennis.
"But – Scorpius isn't his father. He had nothing to do with the War, you said so yourself, neither of us lived through it!"
"You're not smart enough to do it on your own, are you, Dennis?" Scorpius said suddenly, as if the man hadn't just accused him of his father's crimes.
"Of course I am, Malfoy," Dennis said proudly.
Scorpius smiled. "So what about Blaise?"
"He was just a cover."
"No he wasn't. My father wasn't stupid. Blaise was involved. He was the one that created the spells. You just performed them, like the good little puppet you are. That's why you didn't change your little pranks the second time around – you didn't have the imagination for anything different. What I don't understand is why he didn't dob you in – would've gotten him a much lighter sentence."
Dennis shook his head. "No, that's not how it was at all, that little Slytherin didn't –" he broke off, composed himself, and started again. "Zabini didn't report me because he knew that I was the brains. He knew I could continue where he failed. He didn't–" he tried again, but he was interrupted.
Scorpius smiled, a sinister smile that hardly ever crossed his features, but when it did, it honestly frightened Al.
"Oh, but he did. Blaise was the brains of the operation. Be thankful, Creevey. It might get you a lighter sentence."
Scorpius strode out without another word.
"Um," Al fumbled. "Interview terminated at 14:32, 18th of January 2030."
They invited everyone over that Sunday. For once, Albus agreed to host brunch at his house. He invited his parents, his friends. And Scorpius and his father. He thought he owed it to the elder Malfoy, in a way. They wouldn't have been able to solve it without his notes. Or Harry's memories. And, surprisingly, both Harry and Draco had agreed to turn up. Harry and Ginny arrived early, Ginny carrying a big plate of fruit. Lily bounced in shortly after them. Scorpius and Draco arrived last, after Al's tiny flat was crowded with people. Harry didn't even appear to have noticed Draco, although Draco's eyes had gone straight to Harry as soon as he had entered.
After eating, Albus cornered his father and, as planned, Scorpius cornered Draco. Separately, they ventured upstairs, and both older men looked at each other in panic when they were led into the same room.
"There's something that belongs to you two," Scorpius began, glancing at Albus, who grabbed two boxes from his desk. He handed one to Scorpius, and kept one for himself. "We talked to Kingsley," he began, and Harry glanced nervously at Draco again, "and he agreed that these don't belong to the Ministry anymore. They're yours." They handed their fathers the boxes.
Neither man opened his box; they already knew what was inside.
"You saw these?" Draco asked, his voice cracking.
"We did. Kingsley gave them to us, to help with the case. We couldn't have solved it without them," Albus told him.
Scorpius nodded.
"Thank you. We'll leave them with you." And, as previously planned, they left the room together, leaving Harry and Draco alone.
Draco left shortly after receiving his box. Harry stayed with Ginny, though it appeared challenging for him. Albus only saw him smile a handful of times, and whenever someone tried to talk to him, they received very short answers, if at all. Albus watched him in concern, and before they left, he pulled Harry aside and asked to see him.
"Dad…is everything okay?"
Harry gave him a half–smile. "Fine, Albus. I can't complain."
Albus had a feeling he would regret saying what he was about to say, but he said it anyway. "You could have had him, you know."
Harry looked at him in forced confusion. "Albus, I don't–"
"Don't lie, Dad. You know what I'm talking about. You could have had him. He loved you."
"Albus, don't talk about things you don't fully understand."
"I do understand," Albus said. "I understand completely. If you'd just held on longer…"
"And what? Tell the world that I was in love with an ex– Death Eater? He was right – it was impractical. We were impractical."
Albus sighed in frustration. "Since when do you care what the world thinks?"
Harry looked down at his hands. "I couldn't do it, Al. I tried, but…I wasn't strong enough. I know…he waited for me. I know he did. But I couldn't bring myself to fight for him. It didn't –" his voice broke and he suddenly seemed younger and more fragile than ever. "I couldn't live without him, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised I couldn't just up and leave Ginny. He was right about that, too. He was always right. It was too hard. I tried. Draco wasn't prepared to meet me half way. He was scared, and he needed me to fight for him. But I couldn't. He's a part of my history, a part I'll never forget, but a part I cannot revisit."
And suddenly all the memories made sense. Harry hadn't put them in accidentally – they were on purpose. As were Draco's excess notes. It was an explanation. Not so much to anyone else, but to themselves. An attempt to justify something that they both knew could never be reasoned with. Something that was still inside them, something that meant more to them than either knew.
Something to be buried in their history.