Clearly an Idiot - Chapter III

Feb 19, 2007 17:19

Title: Clearly an Idiot 3/5
Author: dacro
link to past chapters
Pairing: Draco/Harry, Percy/Original character
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter) light bondage, hints at D/s, language
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter is sadly not mine. *sigh*
Summary: A change in location, an encounter with Muggle authorities, and the appearance of a leather harness, has Percy -once again - questioning his career path and his sanity.
Beta Army: djin7, darklinggirl, elwyna, and fyre_eyes Thank you sooooo much! At first I thought the universe was against me, because I had such a hard time finding anyone who was available, (and not on my regular beta team. Heh) but you gave up your time for me and the boys! Thank you again! Oh, I need to add dracofiend to this list, who beta'd a hard copy while she was jumpping planes, trains, and who knows what else! (and I'm very sorry about the first person present tense - a bugger, isn't it? Heh)
Dedication: To saladbats. Thank you for the bunny that started it all, and for your never-ending support and amazing friendship. It's scary wonderful how many kinks we have in common! *grin* I hope you enjoy. *hugs* Also, a special dedication to lusiology and juxtaposefantsy for their love of this universe, and their encouragement to keep it going. *loves*

And now…


Scotland.

Thoroughly unacceptable.

I half-heartedly hoped Harry would fail to get the go-ahead for this farce of a fact-finding mission, considering we were more than bending the cross-country rules of enforcement. But one smile from Potter is usually enough to open the stickiest of doors, even with our non-flexible deadline looming.

The invitation, a complimentary pass for two to an old Kirk-turned-club called Slains Castle, had been strategically slipped in between green leather and the skin of Harry's lower abdomen last night, seconds before we were thrown back to Grimmauld Place.

I stop walking the moment we round out from the alley and onto Belmont Street.

It's worse than I expected.

The old church might as well be frozen in time with its ancient stone walls, prominent tower, and worn oak doors. I draw Harry's attention to the decidedly non-religious music coming from inside, muffled by the glowing coloured glass of the high circular windows.

I mentally groan as Harry practically vibrates with excitement beside me.

"Looks like something from a film," he says breathlessly, taking in the image of the full moon over the tower, half-hidden behind feathery clouds that look like they've been painted there for this occasion.

I observe the dark spaces between the church and the surrounding closed businesses.

"It's a security nightmare."

"I like it. The setting, the costumes - it all adds to the mood."

"Oh yes, as if we don't spend enough of our time in leather and make-up," I mutter under my breath, remembering the words at the bottom of the invitation: Vampire theme - gothic dress required.

Harry's hand - sporting glossy black painted nails tonight- lands on my shoulder. "We'll be fine, Perce. Besides, this time we have our wands. At least it's a change from The Cave, right?"

I raise my eyebrows to show my opinion. I'm not feeling particularly generous after allowing him to dress me in this ridiculously lacy white shirt, navy velvet smoking jacket, and tight black trousers made out of a fabric that manages to be both slippery and clingy at the same time - and my hated boots. I don't know when I started caring that the colour of the jacket makes me washed out and pasty, but it hardly matters at a vampire themed gala, and even less, since I have no intention of impressing anyone.

In fact, I've been fighting the strangest mix of curiosity and depression all day - both from the weekend's adventures with Malfoy, and the failure of my crumbling marriage.

Speaking of my wife - on advice from her mother, she's decided that a permanent separation is the only course of action worth pursuing. I didn't put up as much of a fight as I thought I might. Still, I'm not looking forward to the disappointment and pity on my mother's face when I eventually tell her.

I'm sure the therapist would advise me to talk about this with Harry, or someone else I consider a 'friend', but since I didn't make the appointment, it's moot at this point. However pitiful my personal life may be, I have a job to do, and I'll deal with the rest during daylight hours.

"Local enforcement…" Harry says quietly, spotting the black and white checkered constable hats near the door. "Bet this is the most action they've seen on a Sunday night in a while."

I nod to humour him, and watch the mist creep low along the street, hiding the feet and knees of the silent, black-shrouded crowd queuing along the stone walk.

Harry's gone strangely quiet.

"Do I look all right?" He asks, wearing that vulnerable expression again.

"Working, Potter, remember?"

Even in this low light, I can see his cheeks flush. "Yeah, I know, it's just..."

I roll my eyes, but tell him what he wants to hear. "You look striking - not that I'm anyone to judge."

It's not much different from what he usually wears to the clubs, but along with the tight sleeveless t-shirt, leather trousers and kohled eyes, he's added long black fingerless gloves and a red velvet choker around his neck. It would be enough to draw Malfoy to him in an instant, even if he wasn't already interested.

"Thanks," he says on an exhale, grinning like he did in school when the snitch was trapped in his fist. "You look good too." His smile fades at my glare of annoyance.

"You all right?"

All earlier reasoning forgotten, I take a deep breath, and find myself telling Harry the truth - everything that's been troubling me from my wife's desertion to my frustrations about Malfoy's reluctance to part with more than one bit of information at a time - and feel slightly better for the genuine concern I see in Harry's eyes, and the warm words of sympathy that would sound like pity from anyone else.

We join the queue, and Harry insists on hanging off my elbow like the other couples and tight groups in front of us until we're passing through the doors.

"Wow," he says in awe, as we get our first glimpse of the room.

The large space seems to be a shrine to every gothic stereotype known to man.

I look up first to the iron chandeliers; hands on the end of each spoke hold thick white candles of varying lengths. The wax is dripping steadily, but none of it hits the floor. This confirmed sign of wizard presence turns up the uneasiness I'm feeling to a new level. I can't see beyond to the ceiling, but side pillars and archways lead up past statues of saints and angels into the shadows. I don't like what I can't see. Anyone could be hiding up there in the countless dark spaces behind the stone figures.

A shiver runs over me as I continue my scan.

The walls are a trade-off of narrow windows and thick tapestries, and from what I can see of the floor plan, it was designed to create as many dark corners and nooks as possible. The bar is lit up with black-light, and there are a few candelabras scattered around, but not much else for a light source - not that there ever is in most of the haunts Malfoy frequents.

An open area in the center, the dance floor, is framed by old pews draped in dark fabric. There are a few stools to the left of the bar, and a collection of settees and large pillows against the back wall next to a red door I assume gives access to the loo. But what concerns me most is the large empty throne set just in front of a candle-lit altar covered with white lace, which takes up the entire right side of the room.

It's possible - as Harry said - that it's all part of the ambiance, but I highly doubt it.

He mutters something about getting a drink, and dances away from me to the accompaniment of the strange blend of haunting organ music mixed with the pulsing of African drums. He's back in a few short minutes.

"They didn't even charge me. Here, drink this - you need it after the day you've had - and don't give me any wash about the regulations. It's one drink."

Whatever it is burns on the way down, but Harry's right - it hits the spot. He smiles, knowingly, as a dark young man with shiny black lipstick whispers something into his ear. He nods and is quickly pulled out onto the dance floor.

I roll my eyes - not that Harry cares or notices - and take another look into the darkness beyond the chandeliers.

~*~

When Draco appears - a long hour later - from a hidden room behind the altar, his entrance is as subtle as Fred and George's humour.

It's nothing we haven't seen before: Silvertwins first, and then Malfoy, flanked by his sentries. However, in a sea of nothing except varying shades of dark, Draco shines like a torch in a windowless room. He's wearing the same trousers as last night, and a similar t-shirt, but what catches everyone's eye is the high laced cream boots and matching fitted frock coat that sways over his hips as he moves.

Harry pulls off his sweat-dampened t-shirt, messing up his hair beyond repair as Draco comes to a stop in front of him.

"Oh, what you'd do to my heart if it were still beating, Potter," he says smoothly in the pause between songs, brushing his long hair back over one shoulder.

Harry shifts back slightly and runs his gaze over Malfoy. "You too. Um…I mean you look great."

Draco spreads his arms wide, and the twins make quick work of sliding his coat off. "Care to dance?" he asks, already leading Harry away from the pouty boy keeping him company.

Harry surprises me by looking in my direction, as if asking my permission. I shrug, knowing full well he'll do as he wishes anyway, considering how much he's heeded my advice in the past two evenings.

It's unhealthy the way they cling to each other, fitting perfectly, clearly enjoying the dance for what it is - freedom - connection to someone, even if it's only one night at a time. And I don't know what bothers me more: the fact that Harry loses all sense of the rules when Malfoy walks into the room, or that he looks most radiant when he allows Draco to take control of their 'encounters'.

I know what kind of power dances under Harry's skin - and it's no secret to Malfoy either. I'm sure he must be asking himself why someone who can throw off the Imperius Curse would allow himself to be caught up in the thrall of a very new vampire.

Or maybe not.

Something in my chest tightens uncomfortably as they smile seductively at each other - blind to the world.

What's truly unhealthy is my misplaced jealousy. The more I watch them, the more useless I feel. It's this flushed and out of breath performance that will get us the information we need, not the i-dotting and t-crossing that I constantly try to enforce while he's in my company. I might as well put on an apron and start serving drinks, for all the good I'm bringing to this investigation.

And now they're kissing, and I'm watching. For what? To make sure Harry doesn't cut himself on his vampire?

Pathetic - I'm a glorified childminder.

Perhaps I can talk Ron and Hermione into overseeing his upkeep once they get back from their extended honeymoon. And then I can retire to the hills and become the scary old man who saves Prophet clippings of people he's never met, and scares away children who set off his intruder alarms.

Oh, and there'll be lots of cats.

I'm pulled out of my pointless thoughts as Draco advances, forcing Harry to walk backwards off the dance floor.

A thin woman in a red velvet cloak - and very little else - rounds the end of one of the pews carrying a silver platter loaded down with champagne flutes. Draco lifts two from the tray as she passes, and presents one to Harry.

"I have a proposition for you, Potter."

Harry lifts his eyebrows in response as he sips from his glass, keeping his gaze fixed on Draco.

"Come," Malfoy says, crooking a finger seductively.

He walks back to the altar - Harry following obediently - and slowly takes a seat in the throne as the song draws to a close. But instead of another droning tune to take its place, the room stays eerily quiet. As if in a dream, the crowd slowly turns toward them, lowers their heads, and kneel as one before Malfoy.

Everyone - except Harry and me.

One look at the strange ensemble is enough to solidify my doubts and move my feet until my hand is closing around Harry's arm, and the other is gripping my wand.

"We're leaving."

Suddenly, the overwhelmingly blissful smell from last night is back, and I find myself fighting to remain standing.

Harry falls to his knees and slowly meets my gaze. His eyes are wide and glassy. "I want to hear his proposition."

At my feet, two boys in identical burgundy cloaks lift their heads and smile sweetly, confirming my worst fears.

Fangs.

Other faces slowly appear as hoods lower and dozens of similar sharp canines greet me.

A ball of ice sinks to the bottom of my stomach. I send the nastiest look I can manage at Malfoy, and he answers by shrugging smugly and releasing me from the thrall. Harry's free as well, if the stunned expression he wears as he looks at the kneeling sea of bodies is anything to go on.

"What is this, Malfoy?" I demand, trying to keep my voice steady and reach for Harry once more.

"Nothing to worry about, Weasley. No one will harm you."

My patience is running out, and I'm slightly insulted that he doesn't see me as enough of a threat anymore to make the effort to restrain me. "Then what are you…"

"Just felt the need to display," he says in a bored tone, waving his fingers gracefully as the room reanimates.

"Who are all these…people?" Harry asks in awe, as the music swells to its previous level. Malfoy beckons him forward with a finger, to be heard over the relentless pulse of the drums.

I finally lower my wand, but stay where I am, keeping the main exit in full view, wishing I hadn't let Harry talk me into leaving the Portkey behind.

"This is my new family: some old souls, a dozen or so friendly donors, and a few of my father's snacks that he left for dead. My friends and I turned them discreetly when the Muggle healers failed to save them.

"I believe you already know Fiona and François," he says, gesturing to the nearest pew, where the Silvertwins are swaying together, eyes closed. "…and, of course, Martin and Walter," he indicates the bulky guards to the left and right of the throne. "I believe that's…" Malfoy stops himself, and turns his gaze instantly to the door, raising a hand to keep his henchmen in place.

My wand's at the ready again in an instant.

"Oh, an uninvited guest," Draco drawls, waving Maletwin to his side. "François, make her welcome."

I watch the woman stumble through the door on heels that look right out of the box, and appear at least two inches too high. She's young, but not a girl - twenty-four, twenty-five maybe, and moderately attractive, even if it's obvious she's never walked on stilettos or worn a skirt quite that short before. I also know immediately what she is - having looked and felt just as uncomfortable and out of place in fashionable clubbing clothes - she's undercover: a Constable, perhaps a Detective.

She pulls at the shirt strap that's slipping down her bare shoulder and glances around the room discreetly.

Any second now, she'll be looking my way.

"Weasley!" Draco whispers harshly. "Lower your wand!"

Like the idiot I am, I stand there blinking until my distracted mind finally translates the message. I turn my left side toward her, and drop my arm to hide my wand.

The crowd either doesn't care about the intruder, or they're planning on feeding from her later. She makes her way to the bar past swaying bodies that have now stripped off a good portion of their cloaks and outer clothing. Maletwin, Francois, somehow reaches her before she starts to order her drink, and is offering her something from his vest.

I glance quickly at Harry, whose eyes are closed. He's managed to find his way onto Draco's lap, and is rocking slowly side to side with the pull of the music, oblivious to everyone else in the room.

He's fine.

I'm pushing Maletwin out of the way, and knocking a cigarette from the woman's slender fingers before I fully realise what I've done. She stares at me as François storms back to his sister, but not before sending me a cold glare.

"I'm sure he would have offered you one too," she shouts over the music, giving me a strange smile.

Merlin, her lips are perfect. Wait, she said something to me.

"What? No, I…" My eye catches the broken cig on the floor. "I don't smoke, myself. You never know what they add to those hand-rolled fags. Better safe than sorry."

Wonderful. One minute near a pretty woman, and all my years of diplomacy and training fly out with the post. I feel heat creeping up my neck and onto my cheeks. I mentally curse myself with every foul word ever invented by Fred and George.

"All right there?" She asks, bring me out of my self-berating trance.

"Me? Oh - yes." I remember why I charged over here to begin with, and quickly point to the door. "Outside?"

She takes another glance around the room, and pauses for a second too long on Harry and Malfoy. I don't need to look at them. The intimate sounds coming through the amplified listening spell tell me everything I don't want to know.

"Sure," she says finally, moving tenderly on wobbly heels.

As soon as the door closes, and the music is contained within the thick stone walls, my brain reminds whatever part of me is in charge at the moment, that I've just left my partner alone in a room full of vampires, and although I can still hear his ragged breathing and breathy pleas, my skin crawls to have him out of sight.

"I understand what you're looking for," I tell her frankly, "however, my partner and I have everything under control."

She nods, dark curls bouncing free from where she's pinned them up. "Ah, all the cute ones are always light. Oh well, at least you're up front about it."

"What? No, I'm not…cute?" I shake my head, convinced I've heard her wrong.

She shrugs, and smiles coyly. "I have a thing for redheads."

"Yes. No." Merlin's beard! "I know what you are, and it was foolish to come here alone, looking like…"

Her hands land solidly on her hips, and I brace for the attack that I can sense - too late - is coming. "Looking like a what?" she orders, sounding far too much like Minerva for comfort.

Not wanting to add further insult, I try another tactic, trying to keep my mind in the game, and not on the gooseflesh rising on her shoulders in the cool night air. "My guess is that people usually address you as Constable something. Am I right?"

"Fuck!"

"Indeed. Well, mine starts with Auror something, if that means anything to you." By the amazed look in her widening eyes, I know it does. She takes an impossible step closer, lifting up on her toes to whisper against my ear.

Dumbledore's blue eyes, her lips smell like caramel.

"My grandfather was an Auror, like you, but there hasn't been anyone else like him in the family since."

"No one at all?" I ask, diplomatically taking a step back, and offering her my jacket.

"Thanks. Long story - Gran couldn't have children, so my mum and her brother were adopted. Even after she died, there was no one else for my granddad - first love, and all that - and the magic stopped there." She's quiet for a moment, and then takes a good long look at my clothing.

"What?" I ask, suspiciously, wondering if my frilly shirt is transparent.

"Not really at home in that get-up either are you?"

"Me? I've been undercover for - no. I hate the boots more than the rest - they pinch."

She points to her dangerous footwear. "Want to trade?"

I smile for a moment, silently congratulating myself for getting the joke, but then remember the Malfoy-drunk Gryffindor I've left alone for too long already.

"I need to be getting back to my partner. I left him in there to get you out." She looks like she might protest, so I continue before she gets another word formed. "Not that you're not fully capable, but the place is crawling with vampires, and you have no protection."

She swears again, and this time I find the sound endearing.

"I knew it. There've been rumours that they gather once a month, but they've never been brassy enough to meet in the city until now."

"And you were sent alone - when your superiors knew?"

She shakes her head. "There are three of us, but the other two are uniformed and seemed to have pissed off somewhere. They were right here at the door."

My mind supplies me with the image of the two Constables Harry spotted upon our arrival. They seemed - to me - to be a bit old and soft round the middle to be sent vampire hunting.

She's still scanning the street for them when I realise I should probably say - something. "Oh. Yes, they seemed - well seasoned."

She tucks her hands into the pockets of my jacket and laughs. "Older than oaks - you can say it."

I want to stand here all night and listen to that sound, but my anxiety over leaving Harry is nagging me to go back.

"Right, well, I'll send a report to your chief constable then," I say quickly, and then give a nod towards the church. "They have consenting donors, and it's a good bet they'll be gone before sunrise, so I don't believe there's any immediate threat to the community."

She starts to remove the jacket, but I tell her to keep it.

"Thank you, again," she says, hugging the velvet. "This is all very strange, isn't it? Never thought I'd be standing here talking to a magician about the public threat of vampires."

"Wizard."

"Right, sorry. Hey, shouldn't our own Aurors be here? Not that I mind having you around, but you're not exactly local, are you?"

I panic for a moment about what to say, but then the words come, and I feel satisfied with what my mind has supplied. "Special case - I can't say anything more."

"Right. Well, I have to report back with the squidgy twins - oh, there's the fuckers," she says with relief as the two uniformed men appear around the side of the church shining torches into the shadows. All of a sudden, her hand shoots out towards mine, and she smiles warmly. The small space between her two front teeth wouldn't look attractive on anyone else, but on her, it suits perfectly. Her fingers are surprisingly warm when I accept her handshake.

"Very nice to meet you, Auror…"

"Oh, Weasley, Percy. And, you, Constable…"

"McRae, Sherry," she says, winking, and reaching down to remove her shoes. "If you're ever back in Aberdeen, look me up. We can have coffee in comfortable clothes, and I can return your coat."

Not one day into my separation, and I'm contemplating a future date with a charming Muggle law enforcement agent. Regret hovers just out of reach.

"I don’t think that's…" Shut up, Percy! "Thank you, I shall," I sputter suddenly as she gives a little wave before walking away, swinging her strappy shoes on one finger.

This is what I get for not calling that healer when I had the chance this morning.

Malfoy's spell-amplified voice in my ears shocks me into moving again.

"Well, at least we're finally alone, Angel, even if he's left you for a Muggle." There's a rustle of fabric, and a snort from Harry. "Ministry ever let you out to play without a constant chaperone?"

"It's not like that," Harry protests. "We work well together."

Draco hums in interest, "Is that so? I remember a time when he would have gladly served you up on a silver platter to Fudge."

I bite my tongue and push the large doors open, as Harry's huff of annoyance meets my ears.

"You think anything Percy's done is worse than what happened up on the tower, Malfoy?" Harry counters coolly without missing a beat.

There's silence from Draco as I push past a group of vampires leisurely feeding on their dance partners.

I feel a flash of pride at Harry's swift defence, but it's swallowed by a wash of guilt seconds later. I push it away. The past is the past.

"You're right," Draco says quietly, and I can almost feel the memories settle over both of them. "Lucky for us both you've inherited Dumbledore's need to rescue lost souls."

I reach the dance floor in time to meet Harry's gaze as he pulls himself from Draco's lap.

He sends me a look of concern, but I give him a nod to show I'm all right - that is until I take a closer look at him. A leather vest - no, a harness of some sort, unexpectedly appears over his shoulders and chest. In the middle of the contraption, where the straps intersect, the candlelight glints off a large silver loop, and a thin chain that leads to Malfoy's pale hand.

"Beautiful," Draco whispers, while Harry inspects his new outfit.

"This your version of an apology?" he asks, looking unsure, and yet a pink flush appears just above his collarbone.

Draco saunters forward, draping the end of the chain over his own shoulder. "Consider it more of a segue into my proposition."

I cross my arms and wait for the sky to fall. What I wouldn't give to see formal steps for dealing with this situation printed out in the Auror Field Guide.

Harry moves closer, chewing for a moment on his bottom lip. "Tell me what it is, and I'll let you know if I'll agree or not."

"You've already agreed, Potter," Draco says, sliding a finger under the velvet choker, tracing the faint marks he left last night. "We merely need to discuss the terms, and come to a mutually satisfying arrangement. No pheromones necessary to make you mine," he finishes, nearly purring.

Harry pulls back a fraction, denying the kiss Draco was moving in for.

I smile smugly to myself, knowing full well that this is the end of Malfoy's little game. There is no chance in all of the stars of the night that Harry will willingly consent to being 'owned' by anyone. He's made a career of trying to undo the pawnship of his childhood.

I swear out loud as he proves me wrong, closes the distance and whispers against Malfoy's ear, "What did you have in mind?"

I bite down on my tongue and resist the urge to leave Harry to his stupidity.

He just better know what he's doing.

Malfoy gently lowers himself to his knees, and takes a moment to taste the skin around Harry's navel. Harry moans, sliding his hands into Draco's hair. Malfoy slowly lifts his face, seduction written into every inch of the look he's giving Harry.

"A companion, a donor, and perhaps something…more," he says, winding the glittering chain around his hand until Harry follows the pull to kneel as well.

"You have them for that," Harry points out, nodding to the twins, his fingers still weaving around and through Draco's hair.

Malfoy shrugs. "Employees, born of necessity. I need someone strong enough to handle the dark power that comes out to play when I'm hungry."

His tongue swipes a path across his teeth as his fangs extend, and Harry might as well be drooling. To make matters worse, a crowd is starting to form around them. I step up onto the pew beside me just to keep Harry in sight as Draco slowly leans back to rest on his free hand. I'm amazed the leather of his trousers is holding up under such strain.

"I'm starting to believe you just may be the man for the job." Malfoy continues pulling slowly until Harry has no choice but to crawl toward him.

"I won't be your pet."

"Certainly not. A partner, Harry."

"Then why am I the one on the chain?"

Malfoy flashes a predatory smile that sends a ripple of pleasure through the crowd, and I have to admit I'd be impressed if I weren't so disappointed in our progress this evening, and didn't dislike Malfoy as much.

"Tell me you don't like the idea of laying your cares down at someone else's feet for once- even for a short while," he baits, throwing his head back, arching further away, so that his long hair nearly touches the soles of his boots. "Tell me you don't want me, Harry," he says smoothly, adding a roll of his hips before continuing. "Tell me that you didn't like seeing your blood on my lips, and that you're satisfied with a life of work and loneliness." He pushes up on his arm, and is chest to chest with Harry again. "Tell me you don't dream of me every night." His hand lands flat over Harry's collarbone, slipping up and around his neck, and pulls slowly. Only when Harry is finally reaching for him in turn does Draco lift his face and speak again, "Say my name and tell me to stop, Harry. I will. Just say it."

Harry's eyes are surprisingly clear, but it's evident that his whole world has narrowed down to Draco's words, and the tempting offer laid out before him

"Draco," he whispers, seconds before crushing his mouth to Malfoy's possessively. "Don't stop."

I've seen them kiss before - too often for three nights in a row, but something is different this time. Malfoy seems just as lost to Harry's touch as Harry was to Malfoy's invisible pheromone cocktail earlier, and is holding Harry with a tenderness I've never seen from him before.

The crowd breaks up into pairs and small writhing groups, intent on following their leader into the lust frenzy that is nearly visible in the air. I don't mind the unobstructed view it gives me, but wish there was something less uncomfortable to watch.

"I know you carry more than your share. I can help you," Draco insists, using his thumb to brush the damp fringe away from Harry's scar.

Harry pulls back for a moment to catch his breath. "And what do you get in return?" He asks, sounding suddenly suspicious, as if his mind has finally worked out just what kind of relationship Malfoy is proposing. "My blood, and my body?"

In answer, Malfoy swings his legs out and lies back on the faux-fur rug sitting at the base of the throne. As he stretches his arms above his head, Harry follows the pull from the chain, crawling up and over Draco's body.

"I hope your mind and heart come along as well. We'll satisfy each other, Harry - make our own rules - trust each other."

"Yes," he nods. "I want..." Harry pants, touching Draco's lips almost reverently.

Draco kisses the fingertips. "Yes, tell me. Anything you desire, Harry."

All of a sudden, I'm looking into Harry's troubled eyes, and then he's regarding Draco again, looking torn between too many choices.

"I want time," he confesses slowly.

Malfoy's frustrated growl draws the attention of a few nearby deviants.

"And we have to stop your father before I can consider anything else." Malfoy loses his grace for just a moment, and I can see the frustration and disappointment behind his eyes. Harry reaches out and brushes his fingers over the word transform spelled out on the t-shirt in bright silver letters across Draco's upper chest. "I wish we could talk - just about us, but right now, I have a job to do."

Surprisingly, Malfoy nods without any additional protest, but fixes Harry with a questioning gaze. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Harry sighs, and I can tell he doesn't want to have an honest conversation surrounded by vampires. "This - all this is amazing and sexy as hell, and I thought it was enough, but, a relationship needs, well, I need…"

Malfoy's eyes suddenly soften. "I know." He lifts up and kisses Harry softly on the forehead before banishing the harness and chain. "Meet me tomorrow," he whispers, drawing a card out of his pocket and slipping it quickly into Harry's, giving the stretched leather across his bottom a final caress. "No more games."

He turns his gaze on me, calling me forward with a finger as they untangle from each other.

"Weasley, do you know the names of the missing Muggles?" I nod. "Good," he says, getting to his feet, offering a hand to Harry. "I'm leaving Fiona with you. She'll be able to identify which ones are under our protection as vampires, and which are floating in my father's tank." He takes a step away from Harry and pulls on his coat. "I imagine their families would like closure - either way."

His fingers reach out to brush Harry's as he turns to leave. Harry follows for a few steps, as if still connected by the chain

"Where are you going?"

With a snap of Malfoy's fingers, François is suddenly standing within his reach and baring his neck. "I have to feed."

Harry's hand moves unconsciously to his velvet choker, and his eyes narrow at Maletwin, who's returning the glare and adding a smug smile as Malfoy steps between them. Draco pulls Harry close, catching him off guard.

"Tomorrow, Angel. No club, no distractions, just us." He joins Harry's fingers stroking the choker. "Think about my offer."

~*~

The sun is nearly up, and we've only just returned to Harry's sitting room. He looks miserable and lost on the large sofa, and yet I'm irritated and boot-blistered enough to let him have it.

"Well, I hope you're happy, Harry. A whole night's work, and nothing to show for it except one or two scraps to throw the victim's families!" I shout, unlacing my boots. "We didn't even get the password he promised us last night!"

My frustration drains quickly when I catch sight of the self-loathing surfacing behind his eyes, just before he drops his head into his hands.

"I know. I'm sorry, Percy. I…I messed up."

Oh, Merlin. "It's not as bad as…"

He sits up again. "Yes, yes it is. I should have listened to you from the start and transferred this case to-"

I summon our regular liquid coping device, hand him his glass, and take the seat facing him. Harry drinks quickly, but I sip and try to collect my thoughts before they do any more damage.

"Malfoy is a distraction, certainly, and he…clouds our judgement, but he's provided valuable information so far." Except tonight, my mind reminds me. Tonight has uncovered a good many things - unfortunately, nothing much we can use in our case.

He drains his glass and presses the cool crystal to his forehead. "Can you take one more night?" he asks, re-filling our drinks. "I promise to get the information or leave."

I raise my eyebrows. "And how well has that worked so far?"

He laughs for the first time, and the room seems to warm with the sound. "Worked great - at first, but not at all now." He slumps back against the cushions. "God, Perce, I was so jealous when-"

I sigh, "Yes, I know. After Lucius is taken care of…" I can't believe I'm saying this. "You should see if you and Malfoy can work out…something."

I can't contain a chuckle when he nearly drops his glass.

"What?" he asks, eyes wide with astonishment.

I move to sit beside him. "Harry, when you're in the same room together, the world comes to a halt, all rules are suspended, and you seem content - in a way I've never witnessed before. After this weekend, I doubt you'll be able to go back to just admiring from afar."

He gawks at me. "I don't - I wasn't…"

"Weren't you?"

"Maybe. God, I'm doomed, aren't I?"

"Oh yes," I say, patting his leg reassuringly, the way my father still does when he thinks I need it. "Now sleep."

He nods absently, lost in his thoughts as he removes the strap of velvet from around his neck.

I have my doubts about spending yet another night in Malfoy's presence, and I would be more the fool for not having them, but at least I can look forward to an evening without pounding music and a sea of vampires.

If all goes well, that is.

Before I step into the fire, he says, "I just cleaned the guest room next to mine. It's yours if you want it. We can write the report together this afternoon if you want to."

I nod and follow him up the stairs. It's not like I have anything more exciting to go home to.

I sit on the bed and pull off the devil boots, smiling at the sound they make as they hit the metal bin, and basking in the words printed on the back of the card Malfoy gave Harry tonight:

P.S. Casual dress tomorrow.

Maybe there's something good to be said about Malfoy after all.

~*~
Chapter IV

~*~
Notes: Slains Castle: Once an old Kirk (church), Slains is un-missable as you enter Belmont Street. A unique twist to the traditional pub, Slains offers an unusual gothic, eerie environment. A large pub with many dark secluded corners. The pub is a tribute to its namesake in Cruden Bay, Aberdeenshire. Picture a cross between the Adams Family and the Munster’s and you'll have an idea of the architectural surroundings.
Since I've never been there, or seen more than this of the interior, the description is pretty much all my imagination. I just thought running with the idea of a church-turned-pub was super fun, and made a great setting for our boys.
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