lomonaaeren | Chapter Five of 'Keep It Simple, Stupid'- An Odd Caution

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Chapter Five—An Odd Caution

No matter how hard he ran, Draco couldn’t seem to catch up with Potter. The man kept ghosting ahead of him, now down one corridor, now down another, their captives hovering behind him. Now and then he’d speak a friendly greeting to someone else, but he never slowed down long enough to have a conversation. Draco swore under his breath and increased his pace, not caring how undignified he looked.

“Mr. Malfoy!”

Oh, shit.

Scrimgeour had just come around the corner of a corridor Draco had thought for certain was deserted, and stood there, looking shocked. Behind him were two Aurors, several secretaries, and a few wizards and witches with cameras. Daily Prophet reporters; Draco dimly remembered a memo about several members of the press being shown around the Ministry so they could observe the recent changes the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had made.

And now he had been caught in front of those visitors, running like a child who was afraid he wouldn’t get back to his common room before curfew. Draco felt a dull flush mounting in his cheeks, and managed to incline his head in the kind of small bow that Scrimgeour would expect before he clasped his hands behind him.

He was ready for a scolding. He was not ready for Potter to suddenly appear at his side, the captives now hung behind him in midair like trussed birds. And he was far from prepared for the friendly arm that Potter slung over his shoulder, while he faced his audience bright-eyed and smiling. It was enough for one to forget the dust that covered his hair and clothing. Draco was sure that none of the newspaper articles later would mention it, at least.

A murmur of excitement traveled through the audience. Multiple cameras flashed and clicked. Potter just bowed his head with assumed modesty, and Draco heard more than one witch sigh about how handsome he was.

You can have him! he would have shouted, if that hadn’t been even more undignified. As it was, he had to bite his lips in vexation and stand still, waiting for the moment when Potter would speak up and humiliate him even further.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Potter announced, “you are, at this moment, looking at a real live hero.”

Laughter answered him. “Of course we are!” someone shouted.

“Oh, not me,” said Potter, with eyes so wide and innocent that it took people a moment to realize what he’d said. When they did, demands for an explanation appeared. Draco tried subtly to pry at Potter’s arm over his shoulder, but it was like an iron bar.

“Draco Malfoy,” said Potter, with a tip of his head at Draco, therefore stealing the last anonymity Draco could have expected. At least some of the pictures might have said, “Auror Potter and friend.” Draco stared at the floor and waited for the jeering.

“He was a Death Eater,” a deep voice called, predictably.

“And he’s more than repaid his debt!” Potter roared back, loud enough to make Draco jump. “Or do you think that he’s so intent on joining his old comrades that he’d just pretend to prevent them from attacking me long enough for me to survive?”

More blinks. More stares. Potter jerked his head at Rodolphus and Dolohov. “These are two of the more dangerous rogue Death Eaters who still survive,” he said. “They appeared to attack me today, and I froze up. It’s been too long since I was in real danger. That’s what being called a hero when you’ve only ever performed one heroic act will do to you—“

It’s all right for him to say that, since he knows they’ll just take it as modesty and reassure him, Draco thought, but most of him was still too numb to respond.

“And Auror Malfoy here—“ Potter emphasized the title while glaring slightly at the Minister, “cast a bloody clever spell that held them at bay while I could recover my wits. I would have died if he hadn’t been with me. He’s a hero. Why don’t you interview him, while I go interrogate these two?” He nodded briskly to everyone and then turned, gesturing with his wand so that Dolohov and Rodolphus once more followed him down the corridor.

Avid eyes turned on Draco. He lifted his chin and bore with it, since he had no choice. He was well-aware that this was the most prestige he had received since he entered the Ministry.

And he had only got it because of Potter. That rankled.

Except…

Except that only the two of them really knew that. Potter had spun the story to make it seem as if the bravery and initiative had all been Draco’s, and he certainly seemed to have no interest in telling the truth. It really wasn’t all that different from some of the things Draco had done during Hogwarts to gain prestige for himself or Slytherin House.

Of course, Potter had the motive of trying to get into Draco’s pants. That had to be the reason he was doing this.

Well, he would have another think coming if he believed that pathetic gratitude would really throw a Malfoy into his arms. Draco answered questions absently but with the precision that his father had drilled into him while he went over Potter’s behavior in the last few weeks.

Yes, that was the reason. Do nice things for Draco, try to make him look good, and in the end he imagined Draco would swoon for him just like a little blonde witch.

It wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t. Draco might be attracted, but there was a large difference between thinking that and actually falling for an obnoxious git like Potter.

*

Draco noticed something different the moment he strode into the manor house where the Death Eaters usually met. There wasn’t only an absence of people, but a blazing trace of magical signatures, as though they had been here.

Just before he arrived.

Draco drew his wand and looked around cautiously. Maybe it was an ambush. Maybe they blamed him for Dolohov and Rodolphus being captured, and had set this up so they could kill and torture him.

“Ah, Malfoy.”

Draco turned swiftly. Prince was striding towards him, the thick robes that always swayed about him muffling his movements as usual. Draco bit his lip in vexation. He almost thought he could have told who the man was if not for those robes. He knew other people who walked in that determined fashion. But without being able to hear the sounds of footsteps or see the exact movements of legs, identification was impossible.

“I suspect you’re wondering why no one else was here to greet you,” said Prince, and tilted his head arrogantly. He’d come to a stop about three feet away from Draco and was examining him with what Draco thought was a pleased expression. “The truth is, I think you’ve become too prominent in the Ministry recently. You will be watched. They will be jealous of your sudden rise in rank—“

“They, my lord?” Draco interrupted.

Prince didn’t take offense to the interruption; perhaps the title pleased him too much. “The other Aurors who have struggled for years and didn’t achieve what you did in the matter of a few minutes, because the insufferable Potter—“ he sneered the name “—took notice of you. They’ll be jealous. It’s best to keep you away from their prying eyes. I’ve assigned Bellatrix and Yaxley to an attack on Potter that I’m absolutely sure will be foolproof as well as effective. You can relax for now, and await the grand news of Potter’s death!”

Draco’s chest tightened. Potter was annoying, of course he was, but no one deserved to be targeted by someone like Prince, and for such an irrational reason. Draco had combed through the records in the days between Dolohov and Rodolphus’s attack and now, and still he hadn’t found the name of anyone who matched Prince’s description of his defeat. That meant Prince had probably exaggerated how much he suffered, or how much of it was Potter’s fault, or both. Why not? It was certainly what the Dark Lord had used to do.

“Yes, my lord,” he said, because he knew that pushing for details now would only get Prince to strike out at him. With any luck, he might be able to owl Bellatrix and pry. She was probably so proud of her part in the mission that she’d babble on to him about it. And that would be good, because of the Death Eaters remaining, she was the most dangerous. “There is nothing else that you need me to do, then?”

“Absolutely nothing!” Prince beamed at him, and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. Draco hoped he managed to conceal his wince at the strength in the other man’s fingers. “I know you’re probably angry at missing the attack, but really, it was for the best. You’ve preserved your cover beautifully so far.” Was it Draco’s imagination, or was there a hint of suspicion in those deep tones? “This way, you can do so in perfect safety. If you don’t know anything about the attack ahead of time, no one can think that you should have prevented it.”

And I really won’t be able to. Draco could feel something like panic clawing up the inside of his chest. Bellatrix was dangerous because of her madness. Yaxley had a streak of something like common sense. And though Prince’s other plans hadn’t been masterworks of subtlety, there was always the chance that this one would be.

“I understand, my lord,” he said, and waited until Prince had nodded at him and left the room. Then he strode grimly out himself, mind already on the owls he wanted to send—a less relaxing way to spend a Sunday evening than laughing at a roomful of idiots, that was for certain. One owl would go to his aunt, implying his envy of her exalted position and begging her to let a few details slip.

The other would go to Potter, carrying the only warning Draco could give him: that Bellatrix and Yaxley would be after him soon, and that he must remain in the company of his bodyguards as much as possible.

Potter hadn’t listened to him so far. But from what Draco could remember, given hazy snatches of overheard conversations long gone, Potter had a special grudge of some kind against Bellatrix. Perhaps he would be more inclined to pay attention with her name in the letter.

*

Draco was walking down the corridor to his office the next day, after yet another unsatisfactory meeting with Scrimgeour—the man might have to treat Draco with more courtesy now, but he didn’t have to like it—when someone snagged his robe sleeve and drew him into an alcove. Draco immediately whipped out his wand and turned, only to find himself caught and held immobile against a strong chest.

“Just slow down, Draco,” Potter’s amused voice whispered into his ear. “We’ll get to the part where we stick each other later.”

Draco hissed under his breath, but reluctantly put his wand away. “You received my owl?” he asked, deciding that Potter must have paid attention after all and come to ask about more details. He hoped so. Bellatrix had only owled him back with a simpering tinge to her writing, saying she was sorry but really couldn’t divulge any details of the mission to Draco.

“Yes, and it was dazzlingly uninformative,” Potter drawled, seeming content to maintain his hold on Draco and even run his hand up and down his arm. At least there was cloth between them. Draco knew he had gooseflesh from the places where small hairs stood on end and strained towards Potter’s touch, and he didn’t want the prat to see it. He would probably listen to Draco’s body over Draco’s mouth. “I need more specifics. Where does Lestrange plan to appear? What about Yaxley? What special talents do they have that they might have picked up after the war? Will anyone else come with them—this Prince leader that you mentioned in your letter, perhaps?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said clearly. “That was the whole point of getting you to stay with someone else, Potter, so that you would be protected no matter where they appeared. Prince deliberately prevented me from finding out.”

“Oh.” Potter was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he brightened up. “Well, why don’t we make it more tempting for them? The way we inadvertently did last time? We’ll Apparate to a special place I know together. If they follow us, we’ll capture them easily enough. Especially you, my big strong hero—“

“Will you stop talking like that?” Draco snapped. “Respect was the thing I wanted most from anyone in the Ministry, and the way you got it for me is cheap and tawdry.”

“Really?” Potter’s voice became deep and teasing. “The thing you wanted most of all? From anyone in the Ministry? Hmmm?”

That came far too close to Draco’s own confused feelings for Potter. On the other hand, flailing about and snapping like a mad dog would reveal them, and Draco was determined to keep them hidden as much as possible.

“I’ll thank you to let me go,” he said, turning his head slightly so that he could stare into Potter’s eyes. They were standing awfully close, so that Potter almost breathed down his neck. “You said once that this wasn’t about making me love you. You can still avoid creating outright hatred in me, however, if you draw back now.”

Potter’s hands fell from his arms. Draco liked to think they had done it nervelessly, as though Potter was suddenly frightened to touch him any longer, but he doubted it. He busied himself with dusting off his robes, as though Potter’s touch had brought about sudden pollution.

You never know. It could have.

“As I was saying,” Potter continued without missing a beat, “if we go there and no one follows us, at least we can have the benefit of time alone.”

“Hearing you say those things is hardly better than feeling you touch me,” Draco said, and turned around to face him. He used the same serious, intent tone that had worked so well to make Potter back away physically. If it could be used for one thing, why not the other? “You know that, Potter. All I’ve ever asked for since this began was your attention and your honesty. Tell me why you really want to bring me there. End this game you’re playing.”

For long moments, Potter held his gaze, while emotions Draco didn’t understand passed across his face. There was a kind of wild yearning, as though he were looking back on a decision he had made and regretted keenly. There was also anger, and resentment, and helplessness. And for a moment, Draco thought he saw lust, deep-rooted and long-lasting, but that was so much his own hope that he had to dismiss it.

“Sorry,” Potter whispered, his voice low enough that he seemed to be afraid of outside listeners. “That’s the one thing I can’t do, not at this stage in the game. It would end everything too quickly, and it would make you react in ways that I can’t have you reacting, not if everything’s to be in the proper place for the last move.”

And he leaned forwards to kiss Draco lightly on the cheek, a tender gesture so at odds with the flirting obnoxiousness that Draco just stared. A moment later, Potter had shoved past him, out of the alcove, and was hurrying down the corridor so fast that his robes whipped behind him.

“Potter!” Draco bellowed, not caring if it made some Aurors turn to look at him and lowered his newly gained status in the Ministry. Curiosity burned in him for the first time as a pure emotion. Before, he had wanted to know why Potter was acting the way he did simply to put an end to the torment. Now he was sure the answer would be interesting. “You can’t tell me that and then leave me here.”

Potter glanced back at him, the hint of a devilish smile on his face. “I don’t see why not!” he called. “We’ll meet again soon enough.”

He turned a corner, and by the time Draco had reached it, he was gone.

Fuming and frowning, Draco returned to his own office and worked on a report on the capture of Rodolphus and Dolohov, because that was all he had to do. But his emotions were in turmoil, and for the first time, he would have been glad to be Potter, who could quit early and stroll out of the building at any time he desired.

*

Potter was ahead of him when Draco stepped into the alley outside the Ministry’s false phone box.

Draco slowed, his skin tingling. He had thought he might find Potter here. Why, he didn’t know—maybe just memories of the way that Potter had accosted him that day a few weeks ago when Draco had lingered on his way home. Now he waited for the other man to notice him, his steps soundless.

Two sharp cracks of Apparition echoed around the alley, and Bellatrix and Yaxley appeared, the one in front of and the other behind Potter. Yaxley was between him and Draco. The Death Eater immediately went about setting up Silencing and privacy charms, while Bellatrix screamed something at the top of her voice and launched a curse at their mutual target.

Draco took a few deep, gasping breaths. He had to make a choice. There was no way that Potter could handle both of the most competent Death Eaters alone. But this time, fighting Yaxley would almost certainly get his true loyalties reported to Prince.

Yaxley aimed his wand at Potter, who probably knew he was there but couldn’t afford to turn away from the madwoman in front of him.

Draco made his decision. And it was a decision based on what was right and what was practical, not the few moments of sanity that Potter had shown him in that alcove earlier.

He hurled forwards, the sudden sound of his running making Yaxley jerk and glance over his shoulder. Draco cast low, from his hip, a crackling line of red light that should bind Yaxley’s hands to his feet and leave Draco free to help Potter with his aunt.

Except, of course, that nothing could ever go so simply, and so Yaxley threw up a Shield Charm in time and then danced to the side, forcing Draco to adjust his aim so he wouldn’t hit Potter. Yaxley was snarling now, his wand flicking through a jagged pattern of movements that Draco didn’t recognize. He must have been casting nonverbally, because his voice was occupied shouting something else.

“I knew it, Malfoy! You couldn’t fool me with all your sniveling protestations of loyalty! Brat, traitor, Potter-lover!”

Draco had a moment to be amused that those were apparently the worst insults in Yaxley’s vocabulary, and then Yaxley’s signature curse, hundreds of little flying blades, was coming at him.

A curse that Draco had never learned how to counter.

Draco had no option but to Apparate, and he did, more quickly than he would have thought he could. And he even Apparated into the space he had been aiming at, directly behind Yaxley. He heard the sharp rattle and clatter of the knives hitting the walls and stones where he’d been, in the instant before Yaxley turned around to stare at him, mouth wide, eyes filled with denial.

Draco gave him a nasty smile, filled, for a moment, with longing to destroy the bastard. No one would ever know if Draco cast a spell that sent him to permanent “bed rest” in St. Mungo’s. It could be passed off as a matter of self-defense, or Draco not knowing his own magical strength. Potter and Bellatrix were too engaged in their battle to notice, and Yaxley certainly wouldn’t be around to contradict what he said.

But Draco remembered, almost too late, that he was an Auror, and that he didn’t do those kinds of things anymore. With only mild regret, he cast a spell that caused Yaxley’s heart to labor oddly for a moment, drawing his immediate attention, and then Disarmed and Stupefied him. He thought a moment, then added ropes, too, just to keep the fool still.

Then he stepped over Yaxley and moved cautiously forwards, uncertain, for the moment, how he could best assist Potter.

He and Bellatrix traded places so often, whirling around and around in a tight, chaotic circle, that Draco had no idea how to fire a spell that would definitely hit his aunt instead of Potter. Bellatrix’s cloak flew, and it seemed that she somehow had breath enough to cackle and cast at the same time. Potter’s face, when Draco could get a glimpse of it, was set and calm, though sweaty, his eyes so narrowed and intent that Draco would have given up the moment Potter looked at him that way.

Draco watched for a short time longer, still not seeing how he could enter the battle. And then he noticed something else, and leaned in, staring.

Potter—

Potter was being cautious. The sharp glitter of several modified Shield Charms sparkled a few inches from his skin, bouncing half of Bellatrix’s nastier spells before they could connect. Potter defended as often as he attacked, which was probably the reason that Bellatrix wasn’t stretched out on the ground yet. He knew that he could have wielded his magical strength in such a grand manner that she was absolutely crushed, but he also knew that that would have left him open to her strikes in the meantime. And with Bellatrix, even a moment’s hesitation could be a moment too long.

Draco knew that.

He would not have expected Potter to know it. This wary fighter didn’t bear comparison with the man who had sprawled on Draco’s desk and bragged that he could take care of any threat at all.

Even as he thought that, Potter stamped his foot hard on the ground. Draco’s breathing sped up. He knew that signal, part of a system used in Auror training to tell a partner to use a certain kind of spell. And this particular signal called for an intense illusion.

Draco cast an auditory illusion, the sharpest and most distracting sound he knew: his mother screaming at a house-elf over a broken vase.

“And just what did you think you were doing? I’ll have you know that my husband spent hundreds of Galleons on that vase—“

Bellatrix’s head whipped around. Draco could see her lips part in surprise. “Narcissa?” she whispered.

“Stupefy!” Potter roared. The jet of red light caught Bellatrix in the chest and downed her at last. Potter Summoned her wand next, and conjured chains. Then he knelt to make sure they were properly fastened on her wrists and ankles.

Draco stood behind Potter, breathing easily. He was waiting for the moment when Potter turned and glanced up at him.

A few things still didn’t make sense, but he knew, now, that much of Potter’s behavior with him must have been an act.

“Well?” he challenged.

Potter grinned sheepishly, like a schoolboy caught cheating at Gobstones, and reached into his robe pocket. He must have enchanted it to hold far more than it normally could, because the tangle of cloth he pulled out was thick. He held it up. Draco stared in silence. He could make out the familiar outlines of Death Eater robes and a white mask.

Potter raised an eyebrow, and touched his wand to his throat. The voice that emerged was Prince’s, smooth and deep. “Really, Mr. Malfoy, you should have expected it. After all, did you ever see us both in the same place at the same time?”

Chapter Five of 'Keep It Simple, Stupid'- An Odd Caution

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