Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Ships:
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Genres:
Mystery Slash
Era:
Harry and Classmates Post-Hogwarts
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 06/18/2002
Updated: 07/31/2005
Words: 60,498
Chapters: 11
Hits: 76,193

Malfoy, P.I.

Nancy

Story Summary:
"I'm Draco Malfoy, private investigator. I've seen a lot--I mean a lot, and I'm like sweet seventeen a lot. I thought I'd seen it all, until a pair of green eyes stepped into my office." A noir AU set in L.A. where passion and magic collide. Slashy and sexy.

Malfoy, P.I. 08

Posted:
03/04/2003
Hits:
4,910
Author's Note:
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and commented on my story. I really love hearing from you all. Special thanks to my patient (and brutally honest) betas: John, Lissane, Clio, and Erica. Many thanks to Jen for coding the links to the pictures while dying a slow death from the flu. Jules RPed me through a rough spot, so the kiss scene is dedicated to her. Plu kept my spirits up when I was about to kick MPI’s ass from here to Calcutta. Milena and Sarah did the gorgeous artwork in the chapter. Milena drew the scene with Gary, Marlowe, and the second kiss. Sarah drew Debbie, Tom, and the first kiss. I’m so lucky to be able to showcase their work.

I woke up slowly, disoriented. I was in a strange room, and a strange bed.

Someone was in the bed beside me. From what I could feel pressed against me, it was a male. We were both nude.

I froze and looked around the room. The walls were cream, with very little decoration, save a few unobtrusive hotel-style paintings. Hardwood floors. A window to my right let in feeble gray light. It was very early morning. An empty bottle of bourbon was on the nightstand beside me.

“Good morning, lover,” the man beside me said, nuzzling my neck.

I turned over, and looked into Tom Riddle’s amused blue eyes.

I had no words. He smiled down at me. “Coffee?”

“I… um, yeah, coffee would be good…”

He got out of bed and walked out of the bedroom. I could see a short hall, with bare walls. I lay still, trying to remember the events of the night before. As hard as I tried, the only thing I could remember was going to Callahan’s, making notes on the case, trying to find the common thread. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table, with the empty bourbon bottle beside it. It was just past six. I could smell coffee brewing. I got up and dressed quickly.

I was sore all over. Tom, it seemed, liked things rough. I groaned and shuffled out to the kitchen, surveying Tom’s apartment. It was spare and utilitarian. There were only a few paintings on the walls, plain furniture, and absolutely nothing that gave any clue as to the personality of the inhabitant. I’ve found that people’s homes reveal more about them than they might realize. Pictures, knick-knacks, books, even the colors we use to decorate… they all are telling. Tom’s apartment was done in shades of beige and black. Austere.

But maybe he loved his mother. Tom smiled and held out a coffee cup, interrupting my thoughts. “I take it you’re not a morning person.”

“Not really, no.”

He studied me with a smile as corrosive as lye. “How do you feel? You had quite a night last night. Or, should I say, we did.”

“Yeah. Um… about that…” I had no idea what to say to him.

He waved an elegant hand. “Nothing wrong with a one-night stand, right? You were… quite creative.” He trailed a long finger down my cheek. “I’ve never done it with a private dick. But you’re no ordinary dick, are you? About to solve all of Harry’s problems, hmm?” His tone was tinged with menace.

“Last night… you were quite… thorough.”

He smiled again but his eyes didn’t. It was a smile that went with a noose. “I enjoy what I do. I’m sure we’ll run into one another again.”

“I’m sure we will. Thanks for the coffee. I should go home and change before I go to the office.”

“Ah. Yes. Some of us have to work for a living.” He lifted his coffee cup, a beautiful devil with blue eyes. “However, if I were you, I wouldn’t tell Jennifer.” He winked.

Oh, God, what had I done?

*****

Marlowe greeted me at the door, meowing for his breakfast. He led me to the kitchen and I fed him, stroking him while he ate. He looked up at me and purred, then went back to his meal. I went in the bathroom and started the water for a hot shower, pulling my clothes off. My reflection in the mirror made me gasp.

I was covered in bruises and bites, and I was sore in places I hadn’t been sore in for a long time. In places where the sun didn’t shine, as David would have said. Marlowe hopped up on the counter, watching me as I twisted around to examine my back in the mirror. A mark on my left forearm caught my attention. It was a bruise, but in the strangest shape I’d ever seen. I studied it for a moment. Pulling open the medicine cabinet, I swallowed some aspirin and got in the shower. I stayed in there for a long time, trying to wash Tom Riddle’s marks off of me.

Finally the hot water ran out and I stepped out of the shower, shivering. I didn’t feel clean, and I wondered if I ever would. I got dressed quickly, and walked out to the living room.

“Okay, Marlowe, be good, okay? No shredding the couch today.”

Marlowe chirped at me. He was sitting on one of the shelves of the bookcase. A book just to the right of where he stood caught my eye and I pulled it out.

Trilby, by George du Maurier. I’d always liked the story of hapless Trilby and her sinister mentor, Svengali. I glanced at the book and put it away. Marlowe meowed at me.

“What?”

He jumped down and marched back and forth in front of the bookcase.

“Sorry, guy, I don’t have time to read to you today. I’ll be home later. Be good.” I left, after filling my travel mug with coffee and brandy. I took a sip as I got in the car.

Then it hit me. I didn’t have any recall of the previous night, but I wasn’t hungover, either. It wasn’t a blackout.

I kept picturing Marlowe sitting by the book on the floor. Trilby had been hypnotized into becoming a famous opera singer by Svengali.

Maybe Tom had used Jennifer for his Trilby.

Maybe Tom had hypnotized me or drugged me somehow.

Maybe that’s how he got Potter to confess.

*****

I stepped out of my car, my mind still puzzling over the previous night. I couldn’t remember a thing, no matter how hard I tried. A hand on my arm startled me. I turned. A young man stood there. Dirty blond hair, thin, and shivering in the rain. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, but his brown eyes were much older.

“Looking for a date?”

I studied him. “How old are you?”

He shrugged. “I’m legal.”

“What’s your name?”

“Whatever you want it to be, mister.”

“Sorry.” I pulled some bills out of my pocket and held them out. “Go get some breakfast.”

His expression didn’t change. He was used to disappointment. “Thanks.” He took the money and faded into the shadows. I watched him go, wondering who he was.

Jennifer was reading the paper when I walked in. She looked up. “Good morning. Are you… all right?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I just had a rough night. Didn’t sleep well. How are you feeling?”

“Me? Oh, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I studied her. Her eyes were as sharp as lights on still water. She was all there. She shifted in her chair, seemingly uncomfortable under my gaze.

“Is there anything I can get you, Draco?”

“No. Can you try to get hold of Edward again for me?”

“Of course. “ She picked up the phone.

“No roses? Don’t tell me the honeymoon’s over?”

She laughed. “Not at all. He just had to go out of town on some business.” She regarded me again, brow furrowed with worry. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Jennifer. I told you I was fine. Drop it.” I went into my office and shut the door, a bit too hard.

I winced as I sat down, reminded once again of just what Tom’s “business” had been. I pulled my tie a little tighter, hoping the marks on my neck didn’t show.

It was drizzling outside, and I found myself thinking of the day my mother died. After they had taken her away, I’d gone inside and turned off the phone. I went in the kitchen and fixed a snack, then turned on the television, pretending that I still lived there and that she was just out running errands, soon to return. It was a rainy day that day, too, heavy rain, and I sat in the cocoon of my mother’s house, pretending she was still alive, but knowing deep inside that I was just prolonging the inevitable. I was playing Hearts in Atlantis, and it couldn’t last.

Nothing ever lasted.

I poured a drink, burned a butt, and talked to a memory that was never coming home.

*****

“Any new developments with Potter?” Gary asked. He’d called me and we’d agreed to meet for lunch.

“Not exactly, no. What’d you find out?”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but he’s not shacking up at some ritzy hotel on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“I didn’t think he was.” Potter wouldn’t do that sort of thing.

But sometimes I wished he would.

“He’s been seeing a shrink. Very reputable one, too.”

I choked on my bourbon. “Potter’s seeing a shrink?”

“Think about it. He’s been framed for murder and they’re itching to measure him for the chair. Don’t you think you’d have some baggage to unload if it were you?” Gary seemed amused.

“Oh, well, of course I would…. I just…” I trailed off and drank my bourbon like a good boy, thinking.

“You okay?” Gary watched me, then pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his leather jacket. He offered me one.

“I’m fine. Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I struggled with my lighter, until finally Gary reached over and lit my cigarette for me.

“You just seem off your game. And I don’t think you’ll be able to solve this case unless you’re in possession of all your faculties. You’ve got to be careful. You’ll find all the answers, but you have to tread carefully.”

“I’ll find out who framed Potter.”

“Those aren’t the answers you’re looking for. You’ve been asking the same questions ever since I knew you. And they have nothing to do with your detective work or Potter’s case.”

“You know so much about this goddamn case, solve it yourself,” I snapped.

Gary’s eyes narrowed, though not with anger. “Do you believe in fate?”

“What? Look, Gary, I may owe you a favor but I’m not gonna sing the existential blues with you, okay?”

“Do you believe in fate?” he repeated.

I didn’t reply, swallowing my response. He sat there, a biker Buddha, sipping his drink and watching me with depthless eyes.

Did I believe in fate. I took a long sip of false courage. “I’ll tell you what I believe. I’m on this planet and it’s just my luck that I got the life I did. No one’s going to help me, and no one’s going to mourn me when I’m gone. I’ll do the best I can with what I’ve got, and I’ll do the best I can for Potter, but when things get rough, I know I’m on my own. I’ve always been, and I always will be and, while that’s cold comfort on a lonely night, it’s all I have. But if you think that I believe that I was fated to marry Molly, or end up with David, or meet Potter, even, then I think you’ve been living in California too long. It’s all coincidence. Random. Things happen the way they do, and usually we bring it on ourselves.”

“So children abused by their parents bring it on themselves, then?”

“I said usually, Gary.” I wondered what the young hustler’s story was.

He studied me, hands turning the package of cigarettes over and over. He was utterly calm. Gary enjoyed this sort of thing. Conversations with him could be quite surreal. He’d once been a shaman.

“Do you follow your instincts?”

“I… of course I do. They’re what’s kept me alive this long. It isn’t easy to duck a .38, you know. But I did. Something told me it was coming.”

“And Harry? What do your instincts tell you about him?”

“That he didn’t whack LaMorte.”

“Who do you think did him, then?”

And it was all there. I looked up at Gary, who was draining his beer.

“Tom Riddle. He’s… I need to check him out. He’s like a phantom. There’s nothing out there about him. No records, no nothing. The only thing I know about him is that he’s British.” I sipped my drink, thinking. Potter’s parents had died in England, and Potter himself was from England, as was Tom… everything led to England.

“Guess I’m taking a trip across the pond.”

Gary smiled at me, and his smile felt like a benediction. Outside, dark clouds gathered in the west.

*****

I didn’t go back to the office. My car seemed to head straight for Potter’s office. I had a question to ask, and I figured that we would be able to stay out of trouble at his office. One look at Anne Oshlo would stop my libido in its tracks. The sky looked as bruised as I felt. I turned the radio on to a talk show, so that I didn’t have to think. Potter wanted me to open his hope chest, but I had a feeling his hope chest was going to resemble Pandora’s Box.

I glanced at the time and turned on my favorite radio show. Today’s show was classic rock, and the song that was playing was one of my favorites. It was an old Bon Jovi song. I turned it up, drumming percussion on the steering wheel.

“My name is Billy Jean, my love is bought and sold… I’m only sixteen, feel a hundred years old… My foster daddy went and took my innocence away… The street life ain’t much better, but at least I’m getting paid…”

I thought of the boy who’d hustled me this morning. I wondered what he was doing. His brown eyes reminded me of someone but I couldn’t remember who, although I wasn’t trying very hard to remember. I put my mind on the case, where it belonged. I hoped I’d be able to get out of the way in time. I’d do what I could for Potter. But he was on his own, as we all are in this world. Even young boys on the street.

I felt a twinge of something inside me but I resolutely ignored it. I’m good at that.

*****

I eased down into a chair across from Potter’s desk. He sat in the one beside me, rather than behind his desk. He was dressed in a dark brown pinstriped suit, white shirt, brown/red/white patterned tie, and brown and white wingtips. I took a breath and put on my detective face. My left forearm throbbed but I didn’t rub it.

“You okay, Malfoy? Can I get you some coffee?” His green eyes were worried. I pulled my tie a little tighter.

“I’m fine. I just need to ask you some questions.” Just facts. He was a client. Just a client.

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Were you and Tom lovers?”

Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it. He went pale, and his eyes turned dark with shock and something else. Memory? I couldn’t place it.

“I… how did you… why are you…?”

“You were, then. How long ago?” Just business. Nothing personal.

“It was… a few years ago. I… Tom can be very… persuasive.”

I could imagine. “How long did it last?”

He picked nervously at the arm of his chair. “Just a few weeks. I… I didn’t know what Tom was.”

“And what was he?”

“He… Tom… he could be… his tastes were a bit… exotic.” He flushed and straightened the crease in his pant leg.

Exotic? Yes, that’d be one word for it. Sadistic would be another. I was really starting to ache now and I shifted in my chair, unable to get comfortable.

Potter looked concerned. He glanced at my neck, then studied my face. “Are you sure you’re all right, Draco?”

He’d never called me by my first name before. His eyes were very green and he really seemed to care about my welfare, as if I were more to him than just hired brains… I stopped my thoughts before they went any further.

“I told you I was fine. What happened the night you were arrested? In the holding tank?”

“I… don’t remember much.” He got up and poured some coffee, but the coffeepot clinked against the cup, so I knew his hands were shaking. “I mean, I was in there, alone, and then he came in…”

“Go on.”

“I don’t remember! He says I confessed but I don’t remember anything past seeing him come into the cell. It’s like I was in shock.”

I studied him as he sat down. He was still pale, but seemed more composed. “Had you been drinking? Taking anything?”

“No,” he muttered resentfully.

“So. What’s the next thing you do remember?”

He looked up at me. “You don’t believe me,” he said reproachfully.

The office was warm and I loosened my tie. “What I believe doesn’t matter here. What do you remember next?”

“Waking up in a cell the next morning.”

“So you lost about… what? Twelve hours?”

“About that, yes.” Potter looked at me again, eyes narrowed.

Twelve hours sounded about right. “Right, then. I need to go to England.”

He blinked. “England?”

“Everything’s pointing to England. I’d like to investigate your parents’ deaths, and find out more about Tom. The whole thing with Tom sticks out so far you could break a yard off of it and still have enough for a baseball bat.”

“Do you have a passport?”

“Yes.”

He looked down at his lap. “I’ll have Anne make all the arrangements, then. I… when are you free to leave?”

Just business, I reminded myself. I wasn’t being cruel. I had to provoke him and see his reactions. I had to be cruel to be kind. Sometimes it was swell to be me.

“I can leave anytime.”

“Right.”

We were both silent then. I listened to the small unimportant noises of the office. Finally, I stood up. “Thank you for your time.”

He stood up, too, and came closer, as if to shake my hand, but he stopped. He reached out and ran a finger down my neck. “What… Draco, what happened?”

I cursed inwardly. I’d loosened my tie and he must have seen the marks.

“Marlowe’s been using me for a scratching post.”

He turned my jaw gently to the side and winced. “Who did this to you?”

“I have to go. You’ll call me with the travel information?”

“Are you all right?” His eyes flickered and he looked very young.

“If you think of anything else, let me know.” I looked away from his eyes and their mute appeal. I couldn’t bear what I saw in them.

“Malfoy… please. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what? Leave? I’ve asked my questions, and you’ve answered. I’m sure you’ve got things to do.”

His face grew blank. He was retreating into himself. I’m familiar with that look.

“I… right. I’ll have Anne call you.”

I nodded and left his office, but I couldn’t get those hurt green eyes out of my mind. I ignored Anne’s questioning glance. I didn’t want to hurt Green Eyes. He’d been hurt by Tom, and now Tom was using me to hurt him, and I didn’t want to leave things the way I’d left them. I stood in the lobby a long time, thinking of Potter and his green eyes and our first meeting, him so polite but so scared and how alone he must feel… how alone I’d felt. I wanted to let him know he wasn’t alone. I wanted… well, I wanted a lot of things.

I’ve never been able to recognize a slippery slope until I’m sliding down it on my ass, and by then it’s too late to do anything about it.

But I couldn’t get emotionally involved. I don’t get personal with the clients.

I remembered the conversation we’d had about Ginger and her fate. How my heart had sunk at the idea of him walking the last mile.

I was already involved. And still able to function. More determined than ever to solve this case and set him free.

I got in the elevator and went back into his office, brushing past Anne. Potter looked up from the chair he was still sitting in, and his eyes brightened a bit, though he was still wary.

“Did you—“

I cut him off. I pulled Green Eyes to his feet and kissed him. Long and deep and hard. I ran my hands through his lush black hair, and I watched those green eyes grow dark green with desire and I ran my hands all over him and he pulled at my tie and we were breathless as the storm raged outside.

“Draco, “ he murmured. “I…”

“Shut up, Potter.” I kissed him again and yes, green fire, and he was moaning softly in my ear.

He pulled away finally, panting. His hair was messy, but this time it was because of my hands, and those green eyes shone. He smiled at me and something inside lurched.

“You’ll keep in touch?”

“I’ll call you every day.”

His green eyes were dark. “Be careful.”

I ran my hands through his hair again and kissed him. I couldn’t get enough of him.

“I will. And I’ll figure this all out.”

I replayed that kiss over and over as I drove home.

*****

I drove home slowly in the traffic. Even the surface streets were slow going. I decided a few drinks would take care of my aches and pains. Make me forget them. Maybe help me forget a lot of things. I drove through the side streets to Joe Miller’s. It was close and maybe Debbie’d be there. Debbie understood.

It was so dark outside that the inside seemed bright by comparison. It was getting close to five o’clock, and sure enough, Debbie was sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender, who moved as if his feet hurt him. Her low, throaty laugh drifted over to me.

I walked behind her. “Best way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it.”

She spun on her stool. “Drake! How are you?”

“Thirsty.” I ordered a bourbon and sat down beside her.

“Be nice and I’ll sing a song for you.” She smiled, eyes full of promise, and I thought of Potter, and his kisses, and his soft moans. Her smile was cozy.

“I’d like that. Been a while.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” She played with a lock of her hair. Yeah. She snapped a mean garter. Pretty, but not so pretty you’d have to wear brass knuckles every time you took her out.

I shrugged. “Thought I’d kill time until the traffic died down.” It was an old joke in L. A. The traffic never died down.

She nodded. “You look like you could use a friend. Come home with me and I’ll fix you dinner. I’m off in an hour.”

I hesitated, but it was Debbie. We’d been through a lot and Debbie understood things. She never pushed me and she never questioned me. She was a good playmate.

I nodded and sipped my bourbon. The ground rumbled and the bar shook. My drink fell to the floor and shattered.

*****

I was late going into the office the next day. I’d had to go home and change, and feed Marlowe, mulling over something Debbie had told me the night before. Marlowe seemed glad to see me but he kept jumping up on the television set. I’d push him off, and then he’d jump right back on. Strange cat.

I was feeling vaguely guilty about the previous night’s events and I didn’t like the feeling. I slugged back a shot of bourbon and left the apartment. I stopped at the store on my way to work and got some white tulips for Jennifer, to make up for my snapping at her the day before. She was in my office, watching the television in the corner. I rarely watched the news—if I want murder and mayhem I can take a walk down the street or wait until it walks into my office—but Jennifer was a news junkie. She turned as I walked in.

“Oh, Draco, I’m so sorry.”

I handed her the tulips. “No, I’m sorry. I was an asshole yesterday. We still friends?”

“Thank you… they’re gorgeous.” She smiled at me but then her dark eyes grew serious. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

She waved a hand at the TV. “Debbie Harrison… didn’t you say you knew her?”

I’d known her quite intimately the night before. “Yes. Why?”

“She… she was found dead in her home this morning. Strangled.”

My vision swam and I swayed on my feet. Jennifer’s voice was far and wee.

Debbie. Dead. The songbird had been silenced.