Looking for Trouble

Chapter 2: Down by Law

"I, Lucius Malfoy, in full capacity of my health... Malfoy Manor...to my son Draco..."

As the lawyer droned on and on, Draco Malfoy tuned out and lost himself in fantasies about what he would do when he finally got his hands on his father's money. Not that he had ever lacked anything - his mother had seen to that - but still, it was a source of irritation to Draco, always having to ask for every trivial, little thing necessary in life. Though he had no qualms about lying to his mother or anyone else, it was a bother being forced to lie, always having to invent reasons as to why he needed another hundred galleons this month, why he'd already spent the sack of gold she sent him last time.

"...except the legacy, I leave the rest of my estate to The Sea Trade Foundation."

Draco was abruptly jolted out of his pleasant reverie. He was paralysed with the shock of what he was hearing. He didn't hear what the executor said next. Rage, shock, desperation and despair all welled up inside him. That sorry excuse of a bastard he had for a father couldn't have! He bloody well couldn't have! But as he took in what the man on the other side of the desk was saying, the truth started to sink in. It was not pleasant. Trying to deny it for as long as possible, Draco kept repeating it to himself, almost as a kind of mantra: he couldn't have, he couldn't have...

Apparently he could.

Not one to stay sitting down silently and await his doom, Draco cleared his throat and interrupted the reading.

"Excuse me. I think I misheard you. What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm very sorry. Mr Malfoy, Draco," the little wizard said and closed the leather-bound map in front of him. "I'm really very sorry."

"You mean he didn't leave me anything? And that he's within his rights to do so? Surely there must be some mistake! I'm his heir, there are no other Malfoys - I'm entitled to my inheritance!"

"As the Malfoy legatee you get the Manor, and the surrounding grounds, of course."

"The Manor? You mean what's left of it! The Manor is nothing but a pile of rubble now! Not even the guard's hut by the gate has been left standing! The Manor isn't worth anything!" Desperation and bitterness was flooding through him. His father must have left him something of value! "What about the village? Isn't that ours? Don't they pay ...uh...a fee or something to the Lord of the Manor?"

"Mr Malfoy, Draco," the little wizard smiled patiently as you would at a child, "the practice of tithing to the resident landlord hasn't been enforced since the 17^th century! The wizarding world abandoned the feudal system when the Ministry of Magic was formed. I'm afraid you can't count on the villagers supporting you. I assure you, I have read the will very carefully. The Manor is yours. As for the rest..."

Draco wanted to protest, but suddenly realised that Lucius had never actually said that they owned the village, only that the residents did anything to avoid the wrath and vengeance of the Malfoy family. It was true; they let Lucius drink and eat for free at the pubs, even with guests - a privilege Lucius had abused frequently and regularly. He was mighty generous when he wanted to impress somebody, but remarkably tight-fisted when he didn't feel the need to. Draco thought of the memorable summer so many years ago, when the barkeep at the village inn let him drink for free, something he, Greg and Vincent took advantage of as much as they possibly could. Well, they were thirteen, still new to both the joys and less pleasurable effects of alcohol. It didn't stop until he threw up on his father's boots one evening. (It might not have been that bad had Lucius still not been wearing them.) Lucius threatened to turn the marrow in the innkeeper's bones to molten lead if he ever served Draco again. What he did to Draco might as well be forgotten.

Draco seriously doubted he could inspire that kind of fear or get any privileges of the kind from anyone in the village. Not that he really wanted to. Draco had never liked being among the grovelling villagers who hid their children and closed the curtains whenever a member of the family ventured from the Manor. Besides, it was too close to charity for Draco's comfort. Whatever else he may have lost, he wanted to imagine his pride as firmly intact, and not likely to be dislodged easily.

The fact that he felt remarkably like throwing a tantrum at this particular moment was irrelevant. Malfoys always kept their cool, he reminded himself. Always.

"The apartment in London? The Kneazle farm in Kenya? My mother's villa in Provence?"

The little wizard shook his head sadly.

"How could he do this to me?"

"The Manor goes to the heir, Lucius couldn't change that even if he wanted to. The rest of the estate, however..." He didn't finish the sentence.

"Can I sell it?" The little wizard shook his head again.

"If you should pass on without a heir, that part of the estate would go to your father's second cousin Bastian."

"He lives in South Africa! He didn't even bother to come to the funeral." In all fairness, Bastian was not alone in his non-appearance. Not that many people did attend it, except those from the Ministry. Draco was fairly certain there had been more Aurors than guests present. The rest were the remaining scraps of his parents' so called acquaintances, jackals and leeches that mostly wanted to gloat. None of the cowards involved in the sordid Death Eater business had dared to show up. Well, that was hardly surprising - it would have been incredibly stupid of them.

"So you mean he left me without a sickle?"

"That's correct," a nasal voice said from the doorway. Draco turned to inspect the newcomer. The speaker was a tall, skinny wizard with large, yellow teeth. Draco had never seen him before. "Allow me to introduce myself," the balding man continued. "I'm Payne Hamilton, from the Sea Trade Foundation."

Draco had thought he belonged to the group of wizards from Wylde, Wylde & Wilde, the Wizarding Law Firm that handled all his father's legal affairs.

He had walked into the Law Firm's office earlier that day, thinking that this was a mere formality and the largest problem in his life right now would be to decide whether or not he should rebuild Malfoy Manor.

The yellow-toothed wizard spoke again.

"I believe that you still have a key to the apartment here in London. I would be very obliged if you gave it to Mr Cucumberry."

Draco's mind raced. Well, he thought, that good-for-nothing bastard left me little enough - no point in giving up any more. "I lost it," he lied easily.

"Oh, well," Mr Hamilton said, "it's not that important." He shot a nasty glance at Draco. "I would suggest you don't try to return there. The locks are changed, the Floo closed and the wards won't let you pass anymore."

Momentarily forgetting that a Malfoy would never shout in public, Draco practically jumped to his feet and voiced his outrage. "What!"he yelled, "you mean you won't even let me go there to get a small memento of my parents?" As such, the little casket of jewels his mother always kept there would do very nicely indeed. Yes, he mused, and perhaps his father's favourite drinking goblets? They had sentimental value, of course, that was why he wanted them. The fact that they were extremely ancient, crafted by Goblin Master Silversmiths during the dark ages - that didn't hurt of course.

"That is for the Foundation to decide. You can of course protest the will in due course, either with the help from a Law Firm or with Ministry assistance."

"How awfully nice of you," Draco spat and whipped out his wand. His despair seemed to have evaporated. Instead, he was consumed with rage, boiling hot and very difficult to control.

Mr Cucumberry, the small executor, who reminded Draco very much of Professor Flitwick, sighed and looked sadly at him.

"Now, now. Put down your wand, Draco. I'm afraid Mr Hamilton is quite right. Besides, you won't help matters at all by pulling out your wand. Please, calm yourself."

Practically shaking, Draco glowered at the tiny man. "I can't believe this. How could my father..." he stopped as he caught sight of the small, delicate golden key to the family vault at Gringotts among the stack of papers on the desk. A mad thought about grabbing it and running was discarded almost immediately. No, he concluded, that wouldn't do any good. Such a stunt would probably land him either in prison or at St Mungo's. Most likely in prison, and Draco had no particular wish to familiarise himself with Azkaban's cells. This is a nightmare, he said to himself. A nightmare, and a most unpleasant one at that, but it can't be real, it... A voice jarred him from his thoughts.

"Lucius himself visited me a week ago," Mr Cucumberry was saying. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he was most adamant about the changes to the will." At Draco's questioning look, he elaborated. "The will is most recent. You were the sole heir until last Thursday."

"Then," Draco answered at once, "surely the old will..."

"I am sorry, Mr Malfoy. The new will is perfectly legal. If you need anything, let me know." Well, Draco thought, I could really do with someone to pinch me hard so I wake up.

"And I apologise," the little executive added in a soft voice, "but I must ask you to leave us now, since the affairs we have to sort out don't concern you."

Draco stood up. He wasn't sure that his legs would hold him, but determined to make a dignified exit, befitting a Malfoy. They couldn't bloody well take his name away too, could they? Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy, he told himself.

"Gentlemen," he said and nodded curtly, "you will hear from me." With that he swept out the double doors and left the Law Firm. Fortunately his legs seemed to remember the way out.

Draco made a quick calculation of his financial situation. Staying at the Magic Plaza was out of the question, and he wondered if he could skip out from the suite without paying. He decided to ask them to send the bill to That Ridiculous Foundation, make of it what they would. The thought gave him a sharp surge of vindictive pleasure. Besides, he thought with a smirk on his lips, as a Malfoy, it's my duty to seek revenge in any way possible.

Draco made a quick stop at Ahab & Fludde's Poisons, Cures and Potions. In light of his recent discoveries and change in financial status, certain precautions - some in the form of potions - ought to be taken. With a few potion phials in his pockets - one empty already - Draco went to search for a room in the more modest area of town.

Who knew what tomorrow might bring. He would be up at the Ministry first thing and try to sort things out.

As he slowly made his way down Knockturn Alley, he noted with satisfaction that he wandered almost unobserved. Indeed, no one would think to cast a second glance at the blond, non-descript man. The Glamour draught was working, then. Excellent. It wouldn't do for people to recognise him, not when he was forced to rent cheap accommodations and might even have to get a job. There was only one thing to do under such dreadful circumstances as these, Draco reflected.

Get well and truly plastered.

* * *

The skeleton on the table was completely blackened. It looked like it had been carved out of ebony, like the remains of some demon or evil sprite, something borne out of the deepest pits of hell. Something that had never been human. Unfortunately it had. One of the two men beside the white marble table sighed. He pointed his wand at the skeleton, which disappeared in a blue shimmer.

"I hope I never get to see that spell used again." The other put his hand on the spell-caster's shoulder.

"So do I," he sighed, "so do I."

Both men left the room and walked in silence until they reached the top floor. When the mahogany double doors had closed behind them, they sat down in two comfortable chairs in front of the fire. A tray with tea and sandwiches appeared on the table. They filled their cups without speaking. The clinking of silver spoons against fragile china cups was the only sound in the large room. It seemed unnaturally loud in the silence, harsh little sounds that jarred the senses.

"Are you sure, Albus?" the Minister of Magic finally said.

Albus Dumbledore nodded.

"It's most uncommon. Severus confirmed it today. He is a Master when it comes to potions, you know. And he remembered Voldemort mentioning something like this a long time ago, wanting Severus to look into it. He never got the time to do that, but If Severus says there are traces of Tetraodontiae poison, then I believe him." Seeing the sceptical look on the Minister's face, he added, "It does leave traces, you know, even with the majority of the body gone."

"So what you're saying is..."

"That none of them are who we thought they were. Both of the people were already dead before the fire. The first raised no suspicions, since everyone in the building was burned in the same way. But since we had to make sure, we concentrated on the body the snake was guarding. The body we found in the ruins of Malfoy Manor was so laden with spells and wards that we didn't think of looking for something like that. When we found out that both had already been dead for several months, we were at a loss. It's strange enough that they had been preserved for so long. A corpse will start to disintegrate in a matter of weeks, even days. These had been kept for a purpose. A chilling thought... However, we had little idea of how to identify the bodies. It was Hermione Granger who came up with the idea that pointed us in the right direction. Muggle upbringing has its advantages."

"Muggle? But this is highly advanced, not to mention forbidden and banned Magic! No Muggle could..."

" No, of course they couldn't. Nevertheless, Miss Granger had the right idea - it's a fairly common theme in some Muggle stories, as I understand it. We had exhausted all options. We're still not sure, of course, but it's highly improbable that either of them would have done such a thing voluntarily. Which left us with one option, really. Severus and I had a lengthy discussion with Dr Crevette about it, and he assisted Severus in the research."

"So it's certain, absolutely certain that the body wasn't Voldemort's?"

"It wasn't," Albus confirmed. "Neither was it that of Lucius Malfoy."

"Who else knows about this?"

"At the moment, only Severus, Roux Crevette, Miss Granger, and myself are privy to this information - and you, naturally. I imagine that won't last long, though. News such as this has a habit of making itself known quickly."

"Albus, you can't be serious! I certainly cannot go out with that, now that people finally have accepted that he's gone. Imagine what that would do to the Ministry! It would cause complete panic. We cannot afford that right now. "

The Minister of Magic hid his face in his hands.

"What can I do? What on earth can I do? And you're leaving. Can't you postpone it? I need you now, Albus. We need you."

"You know I can't do that. But I do have a suggestion for you."

* * *

"I hope I'm not disturbing you this late, but it really is most urgent."

"Not at all Headmaster," Ron answered. "It's fine, Professor Dumbledore, really."

Dumbledore only smiled.

"I had hoped to meet Harry as well."

"He's not at home," Ron answered with a shrug, "but I can find him for you if it's urgent."

"No, it's probably better this way," Dumbledore answered. "After all, you are his senior at work, aren't you? And as I understand it you are responsible for the Auror training programs?"

Ron nodded.

"Well, then, Mr Weasley, I have a request to make. I want you to investigate something. The Minister himself has approved the plan, but nevertheless, I must ask you to exercise the greatest secrecy and discretion."

* * *

"Have you told Harry about this?" Ron asked when Dumbledore finished. Dumbledore shook his head.

"He has to go on leave then," Ron mused. "Well, that shouldn't come as a surprise to the Ministry."

"That's why he should be the one to actually carry out the investigation. You have a much more difficult position."

"How come?"

"You must prepare a task force - but its members cannot know what they are training for."

"Very well. Have you spoken to Malfoy?"

"No. I leave that to you."

"He would never have anything to do with me. And why do we need him?"

"I do think you're wrong there, Mr Weasley. And somehow what Lucius Malfoy did to his son is at the heart of the matter, I'm sure of it. He must have been hard pressed. I'm certain now that he faked his own death, and that probably means Voldemort is alive, too. In what form, or how, I do not know, but I'm sure he means to return."

"How do you know that Malfoy, Draco Malfoy I mean, isn't involved in all this?"

"Oh, I don't think he is. Young Malfoy had a fall-out with his father over joining the Death Eaters, according to Severus' information. He left England four years ago and hasn't returned until now. I dare say that he would leave the country again, if he had the means to do so. I don't think he would wash dishes in a bar of ill repute in Knockturn Alley if it weren't absolutely necessary. But I'm sure you can find out all about this."

"I don't know if Malfoy would ever talk to me. I wish you could help me convincing him, both him and Harry."

"I'm sorry, but there really is no time. I'm on my way to Rennes right now, and don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Rennes? In France? How come? Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me. It's none of my business."

"It's no secret. The recent events crave some changes in both Wizarding Law and International Magic relations. And that's why a Mugwump conference has been called. I'm sure you remember some things about those from your history of Magic classes." Ron didn't, but he nodded anyway, and decided to ask Hermione about it the next day.

"I'm sure Miss Granger will be able to tell you all about it," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes, as if he could read Ron's thoughts. "She knows about this, too, but for the time being I must insist that you keep this secret - only the minister, Dr Crevette from the Department of Mysteries, Miss Granger, Severus Snape, you and me know, and it must stay that way for now."

"Malfoy and Harry will know soon, too."

Dumbledore nodded, wished Ron good luck and left.

Ron went out into the kitchen and brought back a bottle and a glass. As he sat down at the table and picked up his quill he wished Harry were there and toyed for a second with the notion of bringing him back home. He shook his head. Harry deserved to have some fun, now that he finally had agreed to do so, and would probably wake up with a major headache tomorrow, as it was Seamus who lured him out of his shell.

Ron wrote a list. He would let Harry in on the plan soon enough, just not right away. All in good time. If there was one thing Ron had learned, was that people should only be told what they needed to know if an operation was to run smoothly. Ron liked smoothly ran operations, without snags. But if any should turn up, and that was probably a safer bet than the Cannons losing yet another game, there would be none better than Harry to sort them out.

* * *

"Sodding damn no good ministry arses. Damn you, damn you to hell and eternity."

Ron could hear the muttered curses long before he could se the black-robed figure stomping down the corridor. Great, he thought, he's in one of his moods. Just what I needed right now. He hid behind the door and waited patiently for the swearing person to come close enough.

He reached out a long arm and dragged the figure into the small office, pressing him up against the wall with one hand, while he pointed his wand towards the door, locking it securely.

The lithe, blond wizard struggled against his grip.

"Weasley!" he spat.

"One move towards your wand, Malfoy, and you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Which won't be long."

Malfoy stopped struggling and stared at Ron.

"What do you want, Weasley? Did you drag me in here to gloat?"

"No. I don't want to gloat. Why should I?"

"You obviously don't know what's happened then. Good. Now let me go."

"I know perfectly well what happened. And I want to help."

"Help? Help?" Malfoy started to laugh, "You want to help - me? Have you lost your marbles? Why in the world would you do such a thing?"

"Because Dumbledore asked me to."

"Well, isn't that precious."

"Now, Malfoy, no need to get in a strop. I just want to help you."

"Too bad for you. No way in hell. You can't, anyway. Just forget it. Now let me go."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't believe that's any of your business."

"Will you keep washing dishes at The Courting Kneazle?"

Malfoy stared at Ron.

"What? How did you know that?" He was obviously shaken. Ron smiled inwardly. Got you, he thought. Of course the former heir to the Malfoy fortune didn't want it to be known that he had been left without a sickle and had been forced to do menial work to survive. He did it under a false name and probably spent more than half his salary on glamour spells or potions. Pride was an expensive commodity.

"I have my means."

"It would appear so, yes," Draco said in a tone of forced calm. "Did Potter put you up to this?"

"Harry? He doesn't know anything about this. Why would he?"

Malfoy didn't answer.

"Do you want to contend the will?" Ron continued.

"How can I? It's completely legal, leaving the Malfoy fortune, my heritage, to some stupid foundation. No one will hire me or even have anything to do with me, because of my father's Death Eater connections. I can barely survive as it is, much less pay lawyers to fight a court case."

"Why would your father do such a thing? Change the will, I mean."

"I have no idea! Maybe he had a bad day and decided he'd feel a whole lot better if he took it out on me! I don't know." Malfoy looked tired, red eyed and wrung out. Obviously the way he was forced to live right now was taking its toll.

Ron didn't exactly feel sorry for him and somewhere deep inside him there was a fourteen-year-old boy in second-hand robes that rejoiced at Malfoy's misfortune.

He quickly pushed those feelings aside. It wouldn't do to antagonise Malfoy without due cause.

"I have a proposition for you, Malfoy." Malfoy nodded and waved a little impatiently for him to go on.

"If you agree to this, you won't have to work at the Kneazle anymore."

"I can't work for the Ministry, they would never allow it!"

"I didn't say you were going to work for the Ministry."

"Whom will I work for then - you?" Draco snorted - obviously, the very idea was ridiculous to him.

"Well, yes, in a way," Ron cleared his throat, "but in reality you'd be working for Dumbledore, he's the one who's behind this investigation."

"What investigation?"

"Ah. We now come to the point. Dumbledore is of the opinion that Voldemort isn't actually dead."

"Not dead! Not dead? Well, never mind that now, I'm sure you'll explain it all to me later, but - what has that to do with me?" Malfoy glared at him. "If you know so much, you must know that I was acquitted. I'm not a Death Eater and I never was."

"I know that," Ron said, "you were interrogated twice under Veritaserum. I've read the transcripts."

Malfoy looked down. Ron sighed.

"Look," he started, but wasn't given the chance to finish.

"I don't know what you think, and I don't really care. Please, stay out of my personal life!" It sounded more like a plea than a request, and Ron felt a sting of pity for Malfoy. It was one thing to interrogate Dark Wizards and criminals, who, at least in Ron's opinion, were almost always guilty - it was a totally different thing to see someone's private and personal life wrung from him, turned inside out and upside down. His interrogators hadn't been of the nicest sort. They were, in fact, right strapping bastards in Ron's opinion, and it seemed as if they had thoroughly enjoyed asking Malfoy things that had nothing whatsoever to do with the Death Eaters, Voldemort or even his family. Having to go through such a thing was bad enough, but having your enemy from your schooldays see the transcripts...

No wonder Malfoy looked like he had swallowed something singularly unpleasant.

"Well, this is the way it is. Dumbledore does not believe that your father is dead either." Malfoy's face showed nothing. Typical Malfoys, Ron thought. "Suspicions, however, are not very useful. I have to find some proof. I want to prove the connection between Voldemort and this Foundation that your father felt so compelled to donate all his money to. I'm sure they're connected, but at the moment I don't know how, and I don't have any evidence. That's where you come in."

Ron heard Malfoy mumble "all my money" under his breath. His cold grey eyes rested on Ron.

"And why would I wish to implicate my father as a Death Eater? That would only mean that the Ministry could legally seize all his assets and I would be no better off than today. I would be even worse off, in fact, since they would take the Manor, too. I wouldn't even have that - it may be only an ancient pile of rocks surrounded by the remains of a park, but it's all I have."

"Not in this case."

"What do you mean?"

"The Minister has agreed to restore your fortune to you, if it should come to light that the Foundation has anything to do with Voldemort. If you are willing to assist the Ministry in this, of course."

"And if my father is alive?"

"If he is convicted, and if the foundation is involved in something illegal," Ron continued as Malfoy rolled his eyes, "the estate will go to you. You have the Minister's word on this."

"That's not much, but I suppose it's worth it anyway. God knows I need whatever I can get. Can I have that in writing, by the way?"

"Why did I have a feeling you would say something like that?" Ron said and produced a piece of parchment from his pocket.

"Fine. I'm in. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to work very closely with another agent of Dumbledore's. You're going to look into your father's business, your father and mother's friends, acquaintances and connections, and see what you can come up with. You know, the standard investigation stuff."

Malfoy shrugged. "Okay. What else?"

"You'll have to go over the ruins, too." He looked at Malfoy. Ron wondered if he could have remained so calm and cool if someone had told him he had to look through the ruins of the Burrow. Malfoys, he thought with a mental shrug.

"I expected as much, yes," Malfoy said almost languidly.

"The house-elves will speak to you, I hope. They won't really say anything to us. If we try to force them, they just hurt themselves."

"You mean they're still there?"

"Haven't you been there?"

"Why should I?" Ron stared at him, baffled.

"It was your home... I'd thought you'd..."

"Fat lot of good that did me. But I couldn't imagine anything was still there."

"Well, um... They didn't want to leave, apparently. They're hiding in the ruins, waiting for you, Malfoy. You should have known that. Or more exactly, they can't leave while you're alive. You might want to give them clothes, when you go back there."

"I really didn't think about that," Malfoy said, "do you know if they manage all right, like being fed and such?"

"Since they have managed six months already, I do believe they are. You don't know much about house-elves, do you? I mean for someone who has been surrounded by them all his life. They take care of each other when they need to," Ron said.

"I guess I never had much reason to think about such things," Malfoy said haughtily.

"Look, Malfoy, I don't really trust you," Ron continued. Malfoy merely shrugged, supremely unconcerned.

"So you'll have to stay where I can keep an eye on you," Ron finished.

"Oh, and where's that? I don't think your mother would appreciate having me as a guest. Besides, I don't care to live in that run-down old barn you call a house."

Ron ignored the insult. Years ago, it would have been enough to make him try to curse Malfoy into oblivion. Now, he simply shrugged his shoulders. "You'll stay at my apartment. We have a guest room you can use."

"We? You and the mu... You live with Granger?"

"Hermione? No. I share an apartment with Harry. You remember him, right?" Ron watched with mild amusement as Malfoy's impassive face lost all semblance of cool aloofness. His mouth fell open as he stared at Ron.

"Harry Potter?"

* * *

The world seemed a little blurry around the edges, Harry noted as he put down the empty glass on the bar and gestured for a refill. Yes, he thought, everything was pleasantly out of focus.

And there definitely was a hand on his thigh.

The man beside him smiled and talked.

"You remind me of someone," he said. Harry shrugged. He knew perfectly well who he reminded people of, but at the moment they just wouldn't be able to remember exactly whom they were thinking of, he had made sure of that. Going out was a lot less fun when people stared at you. Celebrity is as celebrity does, that bumbling idiot Gilderoy Lockhart had once said. Harry would never admit it, but he thought that his old Professor might - just might - have hit on something. He didn't want to be famous, but he was, and his appearance meant that it wasn't easy for him to just go out and have fun.

The man beside him was witty and good looking. Sebastian, he called himself. And he actually made Harry laugh. He reminded Harry of someone too, he couldn't remember whom, but that might have been because of the alcohol.

When he kissed Harry outside the bar afterwards, it really didn't matter.

When he woke up early the next morning, he was very grateful that Sebastian was still fast asleep, face buried in the pillows. Harry smiled at the mussed, blond hair. He dressed quickly and quietly, and left the small hotel room, careful to pull up the hood of his cloak and keep to the shadows. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, it was too dangerous, really, but he must admit that waking up like this, spooned against a warm body, was well worth the risk of discovery. It had been a long time, he thought to himself.

The man in the bed was careful not to stir until he heard the door click shut. His heart was racing. He was truly thankful that the one who left never saw his face in the morning. He had intended it to be a diversion, something to take his mind off things. He had certainly not meant to end up in bed with Harry Potter. Not that it hadn't been a truly enjoyable experience, he thought to himself. Because it had. Would he have done it even if that damn sneaky Potter hadn't used a glamour draught? Probably not. And he imagined that Harry Potter would have been less than pleased if his true identity was revealed. So he hid his face in the pillows, not wanting to show the other man that he was awake, hoping he would leave without a word. Which he did.

Harry snuck back into the apartment, hoping that Ron would still be asleep. No such luck. Ron came out from the kitchen with a cup in his hand. He looked like he had been up for several hours, which was strange in itself, since Ron really wasn't a morning person. The dinner table was covered with scrolls, parchments and leather-bound maps. That explained it - some situation or other at the Ministry. Perhaps Ron simply hadn't gone to bed at all last night. He had been preoccupied with something during the last weeks, Harry didn't know what. Maybe Ron would tell him now. Sometimes Harry wondered if Ron wouldn't have done well in the Department of Mysteries, since he certainly had a talent for secrecy. But Harry was glad he didn't. It was bad enough that Hermione was an Unspeakable, to have both of his best friends unable to talk about what they did during office hours would have been really frustrating. He could tell that Hermione from time to time was nearly bursting from wanting to tell them about her work, but of course she couldn't and even if they had asked, he knew she wouldn't say anything.

"Want a cup?" Ron asked, gesturing to the steaming cup of coffee he held.

Harry nodded. "Just give me a minute. I want to take a shower first."

Ron laughed. "You look like you could use one. I gather you had fun last night, then?"

Harry merely made a rude gesture and hastily retreated to the bathroom.

As the hot water flowed over his body, his thoughts wandered to the previous night. He berated himself. It had been a close shave. When he had woken up, he hadn't had a clue as to where he was. A cracked ceiling that definitely wasn't home. The curtains by the single window were tattered and the walls were covered in stains and mouldy spots. A cheap hotel room, where the staff obviously didn't care about cleaning spells or taking care of leaks. Harry saw scattered clothes lying on the floor and the single chair, some books stacked haphazardly on a table, and a head of blond hair on the pillow next to him. He felt a warm body snuggled up against him. Sebastian, he reminded himself.

Sebastian had proved to be a most enthusiastic and prolific lover, and Harry had responded in kind. It had been cathartic - just what the doctor prescribed. He turned towards Sebastian and wondered if he would like a little continuation of the night's events. That would certainly be a very pleasant start to the day.

But the man beside him merely turned in his sleep, and Harry abruptly remembered that he wasn't supposed to be there, that he couldn't possibly stay. He had to get out, and quickly, too. He had had no intention of staying out that long when he went out with Seamus. The glamour draught he had taken would have stopped working a few hours ago, which meant that the man beside him would be very surprised if he woke up. Having gone to bed with one man, he would wake up next to another - and not just any other. Harry Potter.

With a tinge of regret, Harry had dressed as silently as he could, and left. The man had, thoughtfully enough, continued sleeping, turned back on his stomach with his head hidden in the pillows, hair flowing out over the linen like a pale fan.

Harry knew very well that that he had immersed himself in work after Remus' death. Not thinking about losing the last link to his parents. Not to mention that Remus was someone he regarded both as a mentor and as very good friend. He had been gone for long periods, but often stayed with Ron and Harry between assignments. Harry really didn't want to think about Remus never coming back from the last one. And he thought he would explode the next time someone mentioned what a stroke of luck it was that Voldemort had started to recruit werewolves and other dark creatures, which made it possible for them to get their own werewolf on the inside. Sure, they made him a hero, and gave him a posthumous Order of Merlin, (fifth degree only) but that didn't make the Ministry lessen their, in Harry's opinion, ridiculous and prejudiced decrees. Werewolves, and other creatures that were considered dark, still had a hard time getting employment and being accepted in any capacity.

There was so much to do, and it seemed much easier to lose himself in work than to think about what had happened. The destruction of Voldemort's inner circle created chaos at the ministry of magic. Not only were ten officials identified inside the building, but a further twenty-two people working at the Ministry were missing. The amount of work to be done was horrendous, and the investigations took quite a while.

So many people were implied as Death Eathers - too many, Harry thought. Their families, friends and acquaintances were investigated, people were sent to Azkaban merely because of suspicious circumstances. A few got whimsical parodies of trials, but most were simply deported by the Aurors or on Ministry orders.

It was a bit of an anticlimax, really. Voldemort was gone, Harry still alive, still working as an Auror. His heart really wasn't in it anymore, and he wondered if it ever truly had been. Ron couldn't understand that. Well, that wasn't surprising: after all, it was what he had wanted to do for so long. But it was not what Harry wanted. He had done it because it had been expected of him, much like his stint as Seeker for Puddlemere United. He had never really figured out what he wanted to do. Now it seemed to him as if he had done what others had decided for him for far too long, for much, if not all of his life. Ron was going into Auror training after Hogwarts and Harry thought he wanted the same thing. Then he got an offer to play professional Quidditch, so he postponed the Auror training. No one seemed to think that was a bad decision. At the time Voldemort hadn't been visible for a long time. He was rumoured to have left the country and Harry decided that he should actually do something he thought was fun. But it didn't last long. After the first season he left and joined the Aurors. As fun at it had been, it hadn't cost him much to leave the team. It was something that was expected of him. The Great Harry Potter couldn't simply play around on the Quidditch pitch when Voldemort's attacks were escalating. They had all expected him to join the fight actively, as an Auror. So he had.

It wasn't like he was essential to the fight in any way. The Auror force had wizards who were much more accomplished than Harry. He was a good wizard, and powerful, but so was Ron. They didn't see it that way, of course. It seemed to Harry as if they saw him as some kind of talisman: if The Boy Who Lived was present, they were bound to get the Dark Lord someday. And they did.

It was generally believed that Voldemort was in fact dead. The lack of new attacks were taken as proof of this, and the papers rejoiced. Harry had refused to give any interviews. He wouldn't take credit for the so-called "glorious victory", but that didn't stop the newspapers and magazines from writing about his involvement and praising him profusely. They seemed determined to portray him as a saviour. So Harry never went out without a glamour draught of some kind. Not that he went out that often. It was Seamus, on a rare visit to London, who had lured him out last night. Harry had expected to get drunk, talk about old times and get home at least relatively early. Just like the last time they went out together, a couple of weeks ago. But after leaving Seamus at his hotel, he had decided to stop by another bar on his way home, not feeling quite drunk enough and wanting to enjoy the anonymity of the glamour draught a little more. That, he reflected, had been a very good decision.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so calm and clear. Nothing had been even remotely interesting or fun during the last few months. Harry got out of the shower and stretched like a cat. Life was great.

* * *

Harry changed his mind ten minutes later. Life was definitely not great.

"No way," he said, "Ron, you don't understand, I couldn't do this."

"Harry, you need a challenge, you said so yourself. This is the best offer you're going to get, and at least it's one where you don't really have to work in a team. I will be your contact and I promise to help you as much as I can. And I'll have a team ready to take action when it's needed."

"But..."

"No buts. I'm counting on you, Harry. And so is Dumbledore. He was quite insistent that you take on this assignment."

"He hasn't contacted me."

"That's because he's in France."

"In France? What's he doing there? Besides, that wouldn't stop him from contacting me, you can Floo someone internationally, you know that. "

"He had to leave in quite a hurry. There's a Mugwump conference."

"A Mugwump conference? You're joking! Holy shit. He'll be gone for quite a while then. They usually take years, don't they?"

"The last one lasted ten years, yes. And the one before that went on for thirty-two years and two months. At least, that's what Hermione said."

"That settles it, then. She'd know. Trust her to actually remember what Binns droned on about."

Ron made a noise of agreement. "Furthermore," he added, "Dumbledore disagrees with the Ministry."

"What a surprise. What's it about this time?"

"He's not sure that Lucius Malfoy really is dead. Actually, he's almost certain that Lucius isn't dead."

"I thought they'd found the body. Even if it was hard to identify it properly, they found his wand. Could you really imagine Lucius Malfoy giving up his wand?"

"I know, Harry, and it does seem unlikely. But what remained of that body was so laden with spells, counterspells and various exotic charms that it could have been anybody. We know it was a wizard. A dead wizard, at that."

"Yes, well, it's rather unusual to stay alive when a burning building falls down on you."

"Very funny, Harry. I meant he was dead before that."

"Before what?"

"Before he died. No, scratch that, that's not what I meant. He was dead before he was burned."

"Ron, you're not making sense."

Ron sighed. "Look. Both the remains of the supposed Lucius Malfoy's body, and the one that we thought was Voldemort, had traces of polyjuice potion in them."

"So? I'll admit, it seems strange - I mean, why would they be using polyjuice? But still, that's hardly proof of anything. Polyjuice potion won't kill you."

"No, of course it won't, but the bodies also contained traces of several dangerous plants as well as venom from some kind of animal. Finding that was a major breakthrough. They couldn't understand how the bodies had stayed intact for so long - even preserving spells can't stop that sort of decay, you know." Harry was looking nonplussed, so Ron cleared his throat and hurried on. "I suppose Hermione could explain this far better than I, but never mind that. The general idea is that, when it's prepared in certain potions, this poison creates a death-like state. When revived, the person is very easy to subdue, very similar in effect to the Imperius curse, but there is no need to use any spells. It's entirely possible that it causes some form of brain-damage, since the state is irreversible."

"Like a zombie?"

"Like a what?"

"The living dead, haven't you heard of them? Come on, Ron," Harry said, "resurrected dead people, bent on eating the brains of the living? Rabid living corpses?"

Ron just stared at him. "I don't think necromancy was involved. As far as I know, that art is pure myth. It sounds highly dangerous to recall the spirits of the dead and revive their bodies, and I don't think it can be done."

"You've seen too few Muggle films, Ron," Harry said. "We'll have to do something about that. Never mind that now - what about Lucius Malfoy? Why did he leave his wand behind?"

"If you had no choice you might give up your wand, too."

"You don't mean to tell me he was kidnapped? Honestly, Ron, that's ridiculous."

"I agree. I think, as does Dumbledore, that he escaped of his own volition to join Voldemort, and left his wand behind as "evidence" of his demise. He was under surveillance most of the time after they let him out of Azkaban. At least when he was here. From what we know he spent most of his time abroad after he gout out."

"I still cannot believe they let him go. Imperio, my arse. And twice. I mean, how thick can they be... there is no way he could have been acting under a curse."

"He was questioned under Veritaserum. "

"Then he must have found some way around it. And I suppose donating huge amounts of galleons to different charities might have helped."

"I suppose it did. Still, he might have been annoyed about the surveillance, if Voldemort planned something big. And it worked rather well, didn't it? Just look at the newspapers... If it weren't for Hermione and Snape, I think he might have got away with it. I think it's imperative that we find out where he is. And Draco Malfoy can help us with that."

"I refuse to believe that that man would do anything if it weren't in his own best interests to do so. So what does Malfoy get out of all this?"

"A chance to get his family fortune back. I've already told you what he does now." Harry nodded as Ron continued.

"What about the Ministry?" Harry said, "won't they oppose this investigation?"

"The Ministry has its own problems right now. Malfoy's officially contending that his father wasn't in his right mind when he willed the family assets to a Foundation no one has ever heard of - what does the Ministry care that a Death Eater left his son with nothing? I can't be involved, except in a minor way, but you can if you're on leave. And the Minister himself has approved. Apparently he agrees with Dumbledore, but can't do so openly. It's got to be done secretly."

"Who else is in on this little conspiracy?"

"Snape and Hermione, I already told you. There's another Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries, too, but I don't think he's going to be involved in a big way. Not that I know - nobody really knows what the Unspeakables get up to."

"So, Snape and Hermione, basically. And where does that leave me?" Harry asked.

"You'll be working with Malfoy."

Harry shook is head in disbelief. "You've got to be joking. Do you trust him?"

Ron laughed. "Not as far as I can throw him," he said, "but he'll be linked to you, and if he starts something fishy you'll know about it immediately."

"And he doesn't mind? That's rather a large breach of privacy."

Ron didn't meet Harry's eyes. Harry had a flash of insight. "Ron, does he even know about this link? Have you told him?"

"Well, no, not exactly," he finally mumbled.

"Oh my God. Well? Even if he didn't know about that part of it, how did you get him to cooperate in the first place?"

"Even if it's only a slim chance, the results of the investigation could give him the proof he needs to convince the Ministry that his father is alive and faked his own death. Besides, if there is anything illegal about the Foundation that was given the Malfoy Estate, the original will is valid and he gets the estate and all the rest. Basically, he gets the chance to get his fortune back."

"I don't get it. I thought he inherited everything. When you told me about him I just imagined the Ministry had confiscated it or something."

"You don't read the papers, do you?"

"Not if I can help it, no."

"Just after Lucius Malfoy's death, one of his lawyers came forward and presented a will were Lucius left all his belongings to a certain Sea Trade Foundation. The will was dated a week prior to the destruction of Malfoy Manor."

"Draco must have been livid."

Ron glanced at Harry curiously. "Since when do you call him Draco?"

"Oh, well," Harry looked up, "I can't keep on calling him Malfoy if we're going to work together, can I?"

"I suppose so," Ron said. Harry gazed at his friend. There was something Ron wasn't telling him. He knew his best friend well enough to see that.

"You haven't told Malfoy he's going to work with me, have you?"

"Yes, of course I have."

"And what did he have to say about that?"

"He wasn't too happy about it."

"So he's unhappy about working with me, and that's without him knowing about the linking spell?"

Ron mumbled something. It sounded suspiciously like "Sodding git was hard enough to convince."

"Ron! Why on earth didn't you tell him?"

Ron shrugged and gave him a small, apologetic smile. "I decided to give him a pleasant surprise?" he suggested.

"Somehow I doubt he'll see it that way."