Fic: "A Reluctant Trust", for fiona_fawkes
Title: A Reluctant Trust
Author: jessicaqueen
Recipient: fiona_fawkes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~9,800
Characters: Harry, Draco.
Warnings: Mild course language and sexual references. Very mild.
Summary: Harry put out an anonymous advertisement for a financial advisor. He never expected that it would have such interesting results.
(A Reluctant Trust [revised/extended version] )
A Reluctant Trust
Harry knew he looked entirely too nervous and suspect. The waiter who guided him to his table obviously thought so as well.
"Don't worry, sir. Just coming to a place like this usually impresses any first date."
Harry frowned. "It's not a date, it's a business meeting."
The waiter raised his eyebrow pointedly at the candles arranged as the centrepiece of the cosy table for two, but only said in a mild tone of voice, "Of course, sir. My apologies."
Harry grumbled under his breath as the waiter left. That was the problem with these expensive Muggle restaurants. The waiters all thought being polite and helpful was going to get them an enormous tip. And perhaps it worked when they aimed the charm at rich Muggle customers. However, Harry would be damned if he was wasting his money on that. They had the whole upper echelons of the Muggle world from whom they could earn their money.
He personally thought that there were much better things he could be putting his increasing limited funds towards. He imagined almost all witches and wizards felt the same these days.
"H. B. Prince, I presume?" a voice inquired from behind him.
Harry swivelled in his seat in surprise as the man rounded the table. He hadn't expected the person he was meeting to arrive quite so soon. Certainly, he hadn't expected it to be this particular person who would be meeting with him.
"Malfoy!" he barked in surprise, and then quickly glanced around sheepishly to ascertain whether he'd drawn any unwanted attention with his outburst.
"Potter," Draco Malfoy returned calmly. "I'm somehow not at all surprised that it would be you, of all people, using that alias. But a word of advice, Potter; you may be a half-blood, but you don't strike me - or anyone else, I should think - as very princely." Malfoy paused thoughtfully. "Then again, neither did Snape, I suppose. Ghastly sort of fellow, when you really think about it. People using names that associate them with royalty should always be much prettier than that."
Harry raised his eyebrow. "Only you, Malfoy, honestly. He helped us win the war. I should think that would be more important than how 'royal' he looks. Not that you'd care, since you probably wanted Voldemort's side to win, anyway."
"Oh, come off it, Potter," Malfoy spat. "We're a little old to be playing the blame game with each other, don't you think? Anyway, don't pretend you care, either. You hated Snape with a vengeance. You wanted to kill him and everything, if I remember correctly. I, on the other hand, quite liked the man. He was a brilliant head of house, for a half-blood. But no amount of house pride could have helped that not-so-sunny disposition. Or that nose, for that matter." Malfoy grimaced almost delicately.
Harry shot him an incredulous look. "You don't like him because he had a big nose? And I thought hating Muggle-borns just because their parents can't do magic was bad. I suppose you still do hate Muggle-borns, even though you're as good as a Muggle yourself?"
Malfoy seemed to brush off the jibe without a thought, which was much more than Harry expected of him. Perhaps he was finally growing up.
Harry somehow doubted that.
"Once again, Potter, you just aren't listening," Malfoy objected. "I liked him well enough, all things considered. But then, no one could call him a hospitable man." Harry rolled his eyes at this comment. How very insightful. "And he may have helped you defeat the Dark Lord, but all he won was his own death. And the Ministry's right to control everyone else even more than the Dark Lord ever could, on top of that."
"You disagree with them?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Obviously. I wouldn't be here if I didn't, would I?"
Harry graced him with a disbelieving look.
"No, really," Malfoy continued. "If you only learn one thing in your life, which is quite possible considering that you're … well, you … then remember that no one tells a Malfoy what to do."
"Except Voldemort, right?"
"Now, Potter, that kind of talk is hardly conducive to us having a long and happy relationship," Malfoy chastised sardonically.
"Good," Harry muttered. "I'll remember to keep it up."
He raised his voice a little to make sure he was heard, though he had a hunch Malfoy could hear him even when he was mumbling to himself. He was a git that way. "Get out of here, Malfoy," he said.
"I don't think you really want that. I have something to offer you."
Harry sighed. "What's that? Endless frustration? Pain?"
Malfoy smirked. "Only if you beg me nicely for it, Potter." Harry made a disgusted face which Malfoy ignored. "No," Malfoy said, "I came to let you know that I'm the answer to your problems.
"You are my problem!" Harry exclaimed.
"No, that problem that you have with the money and the Muggles," Malfoy said. "You know the one."
"I do," Harry said simply. Then he narrowed his eyes. "The question is, how do you? And how did you find out about the H. B. Prince advertisement, anyway? I was very discreet when I made that enquiry, don't tell me I wasn't."
Malfoy shrugged. "Magic," he said.
Harry snorted. "If you could use magic, you wouldn't be here."
"No, I wouldn't," Malfoy replied. "But I am here, and though I may not be able to use magic, that wasn't the only skill I ever gained. My father taught me that there were three important things in the world … before you sent him to Azkaban to rot, that is." Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but he didn't push that particular sore point any further. "Those three things are political power, magical supremacy and finances."
"Sounds like you're set for life. Except, oh, you don't have any magic anymore, let alone magical supremacy. You're also not part of the Ministry, so you're worth less than dirt on the political front. And speaking of dirt, I hear you've been dirt poor since the Ministry cleaned out your father's vaults. That must have been humiliating for you. You're just like the rest of us commoners now, eh Malfoy?"
The waiter appeared then to ask them if they were ready to order. Harry tried to reply in the negative, but Malfoy was already ordering some expensive-sounding wine that Harry had never heard of. Harry was barely even surprised that Malfoy obviously had the wine list of a place like this committed to memory.
When the waiter had retreated to obtain the bottle, Malfoy turned back to him.
"I may not have magic or political power," he admitted, "but I can still handle your money better than any other witch or wizard out there."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You can certainly spend my money better than most, if your choice of wine is anything to go by. And you know I wouldn't trust you as far as I could hex you without my wand. Which is to say, not at all. What makes you think I would trust you with my money?"
Again, the waiter interrupted by suddenly appearing before them in order to pour two glasses of wine and subsequently place them on the table in front of them. They waited until he'd deposited the bottle of wine on the table as well and disappeared.
"Because you need to keep your little group afloat," Malfoy continued in a very certain tone, as if he hadn't ever been interrupted, "and that means as much money as possible. And you need someone who isn't friendly with the Ministry to get it for you." He tasted the wine. "Ah, very good. You should try this." Harry glared at him, and Malfoy shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, as for the first, I can triple your money in just a few weeks, see if I can't. And I've already mentioned just how friendly I am with the Ministry these days."
"Triple?" Harry gulped, his eyes going wide. That was a very nice offer indeed. Without really thinking about it, Harry threw back a mouthful of his wine.
"Honestly, Potter," Malfoy complained half-heartedly, "wine is meant to be sipped. You're so uncultured.
"Tripling my money, remember?" Harry repeated in an effort to redirect the conversation back in the direction it should have been going.
"Yes, guaranteed."
Harry's sceptical face must have been obvious.
"Don't believe me?" Malfoy asked. "Well, give me an amount that is too small to really put a dent in your vault, but big enough to actually do something with, and I'll show you want I can do. Say, a hundred Galleons, converted into Muggle money. I'll have at least three times as much back to you in no time. Then we can discuss further business between us."
"What's in this for you?"
"Why, I get to support Harry Potter!" Malfoy exclaimed sarcastically. "No? Fine, fifteen percent of your profits. That's as reasonable as anyone is going to offer you, Potter, but if you take me up rather than someone else who isn't as good at what they do, your remaining profit will be so big you won't care what percentage of it you aren't getting. Also, one day when you've proven your point and the wizarding world is bowing mindlessly to you once again, I get back the other two most important things for a Malfoy to consider."
"You won't ever be politically powerful now that your father has tarnished your precious pureblood name," Harry pointed out. He realised that he sounded more than just a little cruel, but he hardly cared. This was Malfoy he was talking to, after all. It wasn't as if he hadn't doled out as much - and worse - over the years.
"Money is power, Potter," Malfoy countered, "and so is knowledge. I already have a brain at my disposal. When this is all over, I'll have a bank account once again as well. It'll be as if my father was never disgraced. Believe me, Malfoys know better than most how short the attention span of the masses is. If it wasn't, we would have lost all popularity a long time ago."
Harry privately doubted that anyone would ever forget what had happened with Lucius Malfoy - short memory span or not - and thought that it would always reflect poorly on his son. Harry personally thought that Draco Malfoy might quite deserve being out of favour with the wizarding world. However, he kept quiet on that matter, focusing instead on the much more important consideration.
"How do I know you won't run off to the Ministry out of spite for me? I bet you still hate me more than them."
Malfoy smiled almost wickedly. "Good question, Potter," he said. "Quite simply, you don't know. And you never will. But what choice do you have? It's either going to be me or someone you've probably never met before. Either way, you aren't ever going to be able to trust whoever you employ. It might as well be me."
"Better the devil I know, is that it?" Harry scoffed.
Malfoy, on the other hand, looked at him as if that was an entirely serious thing to say. "Exactly, Potter," he said, his sharp eyes appraising Harry thoughtfully. "You know, I do believe you may have a brain cell or two after all."
Harry ignored the dig. "All right, say I agree to this. How do we arrange it?"
Malfoy smirked. "Don't worry, Potter. I know where to find you."
Harry gave him an incredulous look. Surely Malfoy couldn't possibly know where they were based? But then, he wouldn't really put it past him. Malfoys always had connections. Obviously that persisted regardless of whether or not they had the money to back it up.
Malfoy lifted his glass and sipped down the last of his wine. Harry wondered how he had failed to notice the rest of it disappearing.
"I'll leave you to pay the cheque, since we both know you can afford it better than I can these days."
Then Malfoy stood and exited the restaurant, leaving Harry completely gobsmacked.
All around, that hadn't exactly been how he'd expected a meeting enquiring after a financial advisor and manager to play out.
When the waiter returned, Harry ordered for himself, figuring he might as well get a decent meal out of this strange endeavour. Once it arrived, Harry sat eating in near silence, deep in thought.
Malfoy was right about one thing, he considered. The wine was exquisite. It was a shame he wasn't anywhere near as sure about anything else his old enemy had said. And that he didn't have quite as much of an appetite after putting his trust in man that he'd hated with a passion since their first meeting.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Incoming!" Bill cried.
He struggled to haul a middle-aged looking woman through the narrow door. Augustus Pye rushed forward to hook his own arms under the woman, one under her back and one behind the joint of her knee. Together he and Bill lifted her onto the table that served as a gurney.
"What are we dealing with here?" Augustus asked.
"Spell damage," Bill replied shortly. "I saw a Blood-Boiling Curse hit, at the very least. And, as you can see, there was obviously a Furnunculus in there somewhere, probably thrown by one of the less talented among them. I only got there for the end of the duel, though, so there could be more."
"An examination charm or two certainly wouldn't go amiss around about now," Augustus muttered wryly.
"Aurors?" Harry asked from the corner of the room where he stood by the potions cabinet, already retrieving a Boil-Cure Potion and a powerful Muggle pain-killer that Augustus had warned him to use with care. Although it was fairly easy to replenish, unlike most of the potions they used, wizards had been known to react in strange ways to Muggle medicines. Hell, Muggles sometimes reacted strangely to them as well.
"Yes," Bill replied with a scowl. "Isn't it always?"
"She looks to have been stunned as well," Augustus said thoughtfully. "Nothing we can really do about that but wait it out."
Bill looked surprised. "I thought she'd just lost consciousness from the pain. Someone must have got her while Fleur and I were helping her out of there. I'm surprised they didn't aim for us, if that's the case."
"It's probably better this way, anyway," Augustus replied. "At least she can't feel any pain if she's unconscious. No one should ever have to feel the effects of the Blood-Boiling Curse. Nasty thing, that."
Harry privately agreed, though he said nothing out loud. Augustus was in charge when they had a patient, and Harry liked to leave him to his work as much as possible. He was only really there to help out, after all.
After Augustus had given the witch the correct doses out of the vials Harry had handed him, he slumped back into one of the seats set up against the wall just far enough back from the table to allow easy access.
"That's the third person we've dealt with since yesterday afternoon," he complained. "Surely the Ministry haven't restarted the raids?"
Bill shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't think so. The last round caused a fair bit of public outcry, and I don't think the Ministry wants to risk any more opposition than they already have. Things have been getting a little shaky on the political front lately, it seems. The bank is seeing a lot more disgruntled customers, for one."
Bill, of course, was one of the lucky ones. He'd retained his job and most of his immediate family, including his wife and two children, as well as remaining largely the same person throughout the end of the war and the years following it. A lot of the witches and wizards that Harry spent his time around these days couldn't say the same. Harry numbered himself among them, for he sometimes thought he'd lost so much of himself that he was surprised people still recognised him.
"Should we be on the lookout?" Harry asked.
Again, Bill shrugged. "No more now than usual, I don't think. The Ministry knows about the PA, but they don't really know what we do, and they definitely don't know where we're based. Even if they decide it's worthwhile to raid our headquarters based on what little they know, they'd have to find it first."
Harry nodded, then stood up abruptly and paced out of the room, leaving the patient to Augustus. He could handle her, and Harry knew he'd be alerted if another poor soul was hauled in. He didn't doubt that there would be another. The Aurors seemed to be particularly wand-happy at the moment, as if having so much more power than the rest of the wizarding world was finally getting to their heads. Harry wouldn't put it past them to abuse their power. He didn't trust anyone in the Ministry, and the Aurors least of all.
Apart from a select few, of course. He thought that with all the action in that quarter lately Tonks, for one, would be stopping by any time now to fill them all in. Whenever she could sneak away from the watchful eyes of the Ministry, that was.
"So you're an apprentice Healer now, Potter? I'd never have guessed if I hadn't heard you messing around with your patient a few rooms over."
Harry stopped in his tracks and whirled around to stare at Draco Malfoy where he stood at the bottom of the long flight of stairs that lead into the underground building.
"How did you get here?" Harry demanded.
Malfoy shrugged. "It wasn't that difficult. It isn't like you have any security to speak of. Anyone could just waltz right in, really. Not that they would want to, really." Malfoy gave the cracks in the greyish concrete wall in front of him a pointed look. "The place isn't exactly inviting, is it?"
If Harry had had a wand, he would have trained it right in between Malfoy's eyes. As it was, he had to settle for a menacing glare.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Well, honestly. It's quite simple to find the place if you know that the eldest Weasley is one of the scouts in your little resistance. Really, Potter, he doesn't exactly blend in with all that red hair. Not to mention those enormous scars gouged into his face."
"You're right, Malfoy, you're not to mention those. You really want to stop talking right now," Harry said dangerously, "because you don't want to remind me how you let Greyback into Hogwarts that night, making those scars on Bill's face almost entirely your fault. I have enough of an urge to hurt you very badly without that adding to it."
Harry didn't really expect Malfoy to look scared, but was a little surprised when he didn't show any sign of having heard the threat.
He gave Harry an uncaring look. "How would you do that, Potter? With your wand? Oh, wait, you don't have one, and the only people who could lend you one are the Ministry. I don't think they're going to be all that inclined to give Harry Potter, of all people, the means to use his magic. That would kind of defeat the purpose of this whole regime. While we're on the topic of blaming people for things they couldn't help, that is."
"I haven't done any magic in three whole years, Malfoy, and I'm still here. Don't presume I haven't found other ways to cope with everything, even you."
Malfoy's eyes widened. "Three years? But the stations …"
"The Ministry's magic stations are of no use to me. As you pointed out before, they'd be stupid to hand me a wand, even if my use of it would be completely surveyed. They aren't going to let me use any of the few magical items left behind from the purges for the same reason. Hell, the Ministry won't even give me a handout like the rest of the people who were left unemployed, because they think I'm going to use it to fund some super secret organisation bent on overthrowing them and restoring order."
"Well, wouldn't you? We've all heard about the resistance you house in this little building of yours, though most people don't know about the building itself. You call it the PA, right? The Phoenix Alliance, bringers of truth and justice. Everyone knows you head it. They were starting to refer to it as Potter's Army, last I heard. Just like Hogwarts all over again, isn't it? It made the Ministry very nervous back then as well, if I recall."
"That's hardly the point," Harry said. "It's just another example of the inequality they're enforcing on us."
"Merlin, do you ever stop whining? 'Woe is me; I have to fight Dark Lords, Death Eaters, Dementors and evil Ministries all on my lonesome. How shall I ever survive?'" Malfoy faked a swoon.
Harry threw his hands up in frustration. "You never change, Malfoy. I don't know why I agreed to deal with you."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Then hand me the money and you won't have to deal with me for a little while."
Harry, who had been unsure when or where Malfoy might pop up and thus had decided to be prepared at all times, withdrew a sack of coins from his robes.
"A hundred Galleons," he said. "Now how do I know you won't go withdraw some money from your own bank account to make it look like you've tripled my money and then run off once I've given you a bigger sum?"
"You don't. You don't know anything for sure with me, Potter. I thought we'd already covered this. But let me say that if I had two hundred Galleons lying about in my Gringotts account, I wouldn't be living in the Leaky Cauldron, eating semi-stale food and choking on the dust that flies out of my bed every time I sit or lie down on it."
"The Leaky Cauldron isn't that bad," Harry protested.
"Once upon a time, Potter, it was almost adequate for short-term occupancy. Very short time, and only for those people like you who would have settled for cheap accommodation in the first place. But I'm guessing you haven't visited it in the last few years. It, like everything and everyone else in the wizarding world bar a lucky few people who are in with the right people, is going broke fast. Upkeep costs money, so they rent the rooms out for less. It's not like most of their customers can afford to complain too loudly, even me."
"But you were rich," Harry said with a frown. "I know the Ministry didn't leave you with much, but still. Your house, at least …"
"My father was rich," Draco corrected. "He was arrested before I came of age, so I couldn't stop the Ministry from taking over his Gringotts accounts and the Manor itself. By the time I was seventeen and within my rights to claim it back, there was nothing left. The Manor was purged and then burned to the ground, just in case there was any Dark Magic left inside. I wasn't really surprised."
For a split second, Harry felt vaguely sympathetic. No wonder Malfoy hated the Ministry. However, he then reminded himself that this was Malfoy, and that he had probably earned his near-poverty far more thoroughly than the rest of those in the wizarding world who were suffering the same fate. After the way Malfoy had always taunted Ron, it was like an ironic sort of justice.
Harry could hardly believe Malfoy hadn't brought up Ron, actually. He had to know that it was a sore point, and Malfoy had never been able to resist poking Harry where it hurt the most.
Perhaps, as he'd thought to himself before, Malfoy was actually beginning to grow up. Just as Harry himself was, he thought. A year or two ago he would have slammed the door in Malfoy's face, or perhaps used his sudden appearance to give his fists a bit of a workout. He thought it must have meant he'd matured at least a little that he was hearing the other man out instead.
After several long seconds of the two of them staring at each other, Malfoy snatched the coin satchel out of Harry's hand impatiently and almost ran back up the stairs without saying another word, as if something had frightened him, or at the very least made him uncomfortable.
Harry's eyebrows rose of their own accord and he stared off after Malfoy for a long time, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened before remembering that he'd been on his way to see Hermione before Malfoy had appeared.
She was going to be pissed off with him for making her wait, especially since he didn't intend to tell her the reason.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Neville!" Harry called out.
Neville, who had been on his way down the corridor, stopped.
"Harry?" he asked. "Wow, it's been a while."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry I haven't been a little more hands on with your job."
Neville bit his lip. "It's fine. I never expected you to be. You don't brew the potions, and you don't go anywhere near my greenhouse upstairs, so it doesn't make sense that you'd spend your time worrying about me when there's so many other things you have to deal with.
"But you're my friend, Neville," Harry said. "That should be enough reason for me to arrange to see you more than maybe twice a year, if we're lucky."
Neville shrugged. "It's okay."
Harry shook his head, but didn't press it any further. "Look, I just wanted to say congratulations. You and Luna, eh?"
Neville blushed very lightly. Harry imagined everyone must have been ribbing him about it for the last few days.
"Yeah. It just happened, you know, what with us spending so much time in the field collecting ingredients for the PA and whatnot together. We didn't expect it to last, but it has. There's going to be an engagement party three weeks from Saturday, actually. I'd love to see you there."
"I'd love to go," Harry said with a wistful sort of smile. "Merlin, I can't believe you're getting married. I feel so old, that one of my old dorm mates is settling down."
Neville smiled. "You're positively middle-aged, Harry," he teased.
"Sometimes I feel like I am," Harry replied seriously.
The grin faded off Neville's face at Harry's tone. "I know what you mean," he said. "I feel like we've been fighting one war after another for decades rather than a few years. And whoever thought I'd be a soldier, anyway?"
"A lot of people, actually. I don't think anyone was surprised when you offered to help with the Phoenix Alliance. You're a good man, Neville, and everyone knows it."
Neville blushed even darker.
Harry, sensing the conversation leading to emotional things he really didn't want to deal with right then, steered it in another direction.
"By the way, did Hermione tell you that we're running out of snake fangs? Not to mention all the plants we need. You and Luna are going to have to go out hunting soon."
Neville nodded. "It'd be easier if we could go separately. She's available to go out gathering potions ingredients a lot more often than I am. But you know Luna, she's a bit prone to wandering off looking for more interesting things if someone isn't there to rein her in."
It was said with enough affection to make Harry's chest hurt. He wished he had someone to look after him like that, but he honestly didn't have time for a relationship. And anyway, the only girl he'd ever really liked had been among the many casualties of the Ministry's raids.
Harry remembered receiving the news that Ginny and Ron had been killed. He was fairly certain he hadn't let himself be close to anyone but Hermione since, and even that relationship was beginning to suffer under the strain of all they'd seen and all they knew they had to deal with.
Although, he quite liked Augustus, and since they were partners of sorts in the Healing aspect of the resistance, he'd spent enough time to get closer to him. It was a matter of letting himself, and Harry was still wary of doing so. Augustus was, after all, one of the wild cards in the PA. Most of the others had been friends of his, or among the more active members of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Right, speaking of which," Neville finally said, "I have to be off. The Bubotubers are ready to have their puss squeezed out."
Harry made a face, which Neville saw. Neville grinned. "You know, you use Bubotuber puss in several of your healing potions, so don't screw your face up like that. You'd be out of a job if I didn't collect you the gross ingredients as well as the harmless-seeming ones."
"I know," Harry replied. "And for that, I thank you, really. But I wouldn't want to be the one to have to do it."
When Neville had disappeared around the corner, Draco Malfoy stepped out from the room beside where Harry was standing.
Harry started. "How do you always manage to show up right where I am without me realising it? What, do you lurk in the shadows all day just waiting for me to walk past your hiding place?"
"Of course not. It's simply because you're slow, Potter," Malfoy replied lazily. "I thought you'd realised that already."
Malfoy then withdrew the same pouch that he'd taken from Harry a few weeks before. It looked quite a bit larger in circumference now.
"Two hundred and eighty-nine galleons," he announced, "after I took my cut. I could have made it so you'd have your whole three hundred in another few days or so, but I decided you probably favour speed over accuracy in all your endeavours."
Harry had the feeling he'd just been insulted. He took the money bag and opened it to look inside. There was a lot of gold, that was for sure. Harry decided to take Malfoy on his word of how much it was exactly, not because he trusted him, but because it looked like about that much, and counting it would take a lot of effort that he didn't want to expend. Diggle dealt with the money issues generally, surely he could do it later, Harry thought wearily.
"Satisfied?" Malfoy asked. "Are you ready to do some real business now?"
Harry wasn't at all sure that he was ready, or that he ever would be, but he nodded all the same.
"I'm willing to entrust two thousand galleons to you, for now. That's quite a bit of money, Malfoy, and you'd better not lose it."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You make nothing, I make nothing, Potter. I'm not about to try to screw you over if it's going to have a worse effect on me. After all, you can afford to lose that money. It's being used for your Phoenix Alliance, I assume, rather than to keep you alive. I can't afford not to get paid."
"Right," Harry agreed. "Well, just make sure you don't conveniently forget that at some point. I know how spiteful you can be. Don't think I've forgotten that you broke my nose for no real reason"
Malfoy sneered. "Whatever you say, Potter. I'll be back on Tuesday for the money. Have it ready."
Malfoy turned to go but then stopped and looked at Harry speculatively.
"By the way, Longbottom and Loony Lovegood? I hope they never have children. The world could do without any more hopeless cases."
Harry bristled. "Well I bet they hope the same of you."
Malfoy laughed bitterly. "I don't think there's much chance of that, Potter. Honestly, don't you ever read the gossip columns?"
Harry knew he looked completely unimpressed. "You're joking, right? I don't even get the paper anymore. Why would I want to read complete trash like that?"
Malfoy sighed. "Oh, I don't know, Potter, maybe because otherwise you get so caught up in what you're doing that you forget there are unimportant things out there, and that for some odd reason people actually care about them. But that wouldn't be an issue for you, would it, Potter? You've never been too busy with your work to pay attention to your friends."
Harry was fairly certain Malfoy was only referring to the conversation he'd just overheard between Harry and Neville, but Harry couldn't help but think of Ron and Ginny, and how he hadn't been there for them either. It was the kind of thing he would have expected of Malfoy a few years earlier, but perhaps not anymore. He hoped not anymore, at least, because he didn't like to think he was putting his trust in someone who would still taunt him that way.
Harry sighed and decided to just let it be. "Whatever, Malfoy. Forget I brought it up. Wait, no, you brought it up! So why do you care, anyway?"
Malfoy shrugged. "I like to know who I'm working with, and so I was just wondering whether there was anyone in this little club of yours that isn't completely incompetent or insane? Or doesn't have indecent amounts of red-hair and freckles, and isn't married to someone who does?
Harry scoffed at the question. "I don't trust you enough to tell you that."
Malfoy examined Harry for a moment before nodding as if impressed.
"Good for you, Potter. You're learning. There may be hope for you yet. But then again, probably not."
"Bite me, Malfoy."
"You wish I would, Potter."
Harry wasn't quite sure what Malfoy meant by that, but he wasn't about to look foolish by asking.
* * * * * * * * * *
Harry had spent the weeks since Malfoy had first appeared at the Phoenix Alliance headquarters on constant alert for a Ministry raid, but after more than a month had passed, he relaxed his guard a little. If Malfoy had been intending to sell them all out to the Ministry, he'd surely have done it by now.
So when Malfoy appeared yet again a week after he'd collected Harry's two thousand galleons, Harry was in a better mood than he'd been in during their past encounters.
Even so, he couldn't say he was entirely happy to have Malfoy strolling around the building whenever he pleased. Harry wished he could use magic now more than ever when he thought about the poor security on the building. They couldn't even put up Muggle locks, because they were meant to be a haven for those who needed a respite from the Ministry, and to lock out those people would completely defeat the purpose of having the Headquarters. Harry didn't like to think about them not being able to help those who needed it, for there had been many they hadn't been able to get to in time.
The Ministry had a lot of blood on its hands, these days.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked.
"I was having a slow day and I decided that you never gave me the grand tour of this dump. You really aren't a very good host, Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't really want you showing up here in the first place, in case that failed to register in your tiny brain. And now you want me to encourage it?"
Malfoy shrugged. "It's up to you. I could just sit at the top of the staircase scaring off any people who show up looking for help instead."
Even though it sounded like it should have been taken as a threat, Harry didn't hear even a hint of malice in Malfoy's tone. He supposed that it was that that stopped him from throwing Malfoy out by his ear, or simply beating him to a pulp where he stood.
"Whatever," Harry grumbled. "I suppose it's about time I did the rounds, anyway. You can tag along if you really want to."
Malfoy snorted. "Oh, come off it, Potter. You aren't fooling anyone. If your conversation with Longbottom last week was anything to go by, you aren't really in the habit of 'doing the rounds' all that often."
"Right," Harry said. "So as I said, it's about time I did them, isn't it?"
Malfoy merely smirked.
Harry showed him around the building. He must have seen half of it in his sneaking about anyway, Harry reasoned, so it could hardly hurt them too badly. Knowing the location of the building itself was more potentially harmful to them than knowing what went on inside each particular room.
"And this is where you Healers do your thing," Malfoy said as the reached the last room on the tour.
Harry hadn't precisely shown Malfoy everything, but he'd taken him to most of the rooms. Malfoy had even met the children Hermione tutored and managed not to either scare them or get their hackles up. Harry was impressed, really.
"Yep," Harry confirmed. "This is where I help out Augustus."
Augustus himself was staring at Malfoy with a curiosity that couldn't quite be hidden.
"Augustus, hey?" Malfoy asked. "I'm Draco Malfoy. Pleasure to meet you."
Harry was shocked. Malfoy hadn't spoken a single word to any of the adults in the resistance he'd come across today, and he'd barely said two words to the students either. It was entirely unexpected that he should suddenly be attempting to be … well, friendly.
"Er, you too," Augustus returned awkwardly. The curious look had morphed into something more like morbid fascination, Harry thought. It hadn't gone away by the time he and Malfoy finished their introductions and Harry had been dragged back out of the small hospital room.
"Nice guy," Malfoy said innocently.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "You're a strange man, Malfoy."
"Yes, well," Malfoy sniffed, "who really wants to be normal. How common."
Harry snorted. "Whenever you try to sound like your father you just end up sounding even more like a completely pompous git."
He realised a second too late that he probably shouldn't be bringing up Lucius Malfoy if he wanted to keep the peace with his son. It was undoubtedly a sore point. However, Malfoy acted as if it didn't matter to him. In fact, it was as if Harry hadn't spoken at all. He just continued walking along unheedingly until they reached the top of the stairs. Harry hadn't even realised where Malfoy was leading him, and felt a bit stupid that he hadn't been paying attention. Malfoy could have led him into some sort of trap after all.
Harry knew deep down that that was true, but somehow it still didn't seem all that believable any more. Malfoy had had ample opportunities to hand Harry and the whole PA over to the Ministry, after all.
"Why does the leader of an operation like this decide to become a Healer's assistant in his spare time. I mean, you aren't even a real apprentice. Doesn't that feel like a demotion?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, actually, no. Not really." Harry looked Malfoy in the eye for the first time since their meeting in the restaurant. He'd forgotten just how intense that grey colour was. "One day I aim to have this whole 'The Ministry as Judge, Jury and Executioner' thing past us, and then I won't be a leader of any sort. I don't really want to be a leader all that much. I never did.
"But when that time comes, I'll need a profession of some sort. And I like helping people, so being a Healer would be just as good as anything else. I figure I should get some of the knowledge now. Get a foot in the door."
Malfoy nodded distractedly. "Right. That could be the first time you've actually thought ahead, Potter. Well done."
Harry thought to himself that that just might be right.
It didn't occur to Harry until after Malfoy had left that he hadn't actually told anyone, even Augustus, his reasons for helping out with the Healer activities. He couldn't really remember anyone asking him about it.
* * * * * * * * * *
The Ministry raid on the Phoenix Alliance headquarters occurred a while after Harry had finally let his guard down. He had expected it to occur as soon as he'd begun letting Malfoy in on some of the less volatile inner workings of the resistance. He hadn't expected Malfoy to be present at the time, forced to flee himself. Certainly, he'd expected to be in the building himself.
Instead, Harry only heard about it later. Hermione told him about how Malfoy had burst into her classroom announcing that the Ministry was here, and he hoped she knew where on earth to find one Harry Potter, damn it.
Harry hadn't let anyone in on his plans to visit Gringotts and deposit some of the money Malfoy had earned him over the last few months, so they hadn't been able to reach him.
Hermione had also told Harry about the slightly panicked expression on Malfoy's face and how he'd informed the students that if they had any intention of spending the remainder of their lives outside Azkaban's walls, they should follow him, and Merlin help them if they fell behind because he certainly wouldn't save them.
If anyone would know of the sole secret passageway in the building, Harry wasn't at all surprised that it would be Malfoy. He seemed to have made a career out of finding places to hide from Harry - and from the others - so that he could listen into private conversations and interject at the most embarrassing moment possible.
Harry could hardly believe that Malfoy actually seemed to give a shit about anything related to the PA other than the money, and had even showed it in his own way. But then, he shouldn't have been so surprised. There had to have been a reason he allowed Malfoy to know more and more about the PA. And about himself, at that.
Malfoy was starting to get under his skin. Harry wasn't sure whether he was comfortable with that or not.
Of course, it didn't matter how comfortable with Malfoy he was. His old rival appeared to be there to stay regardless. Harry found him spending time telling the children stories and making himself out to be a war hero more often than not.
"Why do you do that?" Harry asked him once after dragging him away. "Spend so much time with them, I mean."
Malfoy shrugged. "They're young. They look up to me. In fact, they're the only people around here that don't look at me like I'm scum at least half the time. Every adult here, especially Granger and the countless Weasleys still milling about, has that look in their eyes that says, 'I know what you did during the war and I still hate you for it'. Even you, Potter.
"But all those kids know of what I did in the war is what I tell them, and they worship me for the person they think I am. The person I could have been. In short, spending time with the children here makes me feel more powerful than I really am. It's exhilarating, and very few things are these days."
Harry frowned. "If you love power so much, why didn't you become a Ministry official?"
Malfoy sneered back at him. "Oh, please. Malfoys do not get low-paid, under-appreciated jobs where we will blend into the host of others who do exactly the same thing. Malfoys do not work. We achieve our power through influence. Blackmail, if necessary. But never actual labour."
Harry's frown deepened with incomprehension. "So what do you call your role as my financial agent if not work?"
Draco waved him off flippantly. "Preparation for the day that I will be the most influential wizard in the world, of course. I can't do that until I've earned a little money. And it tickles me that Harry Potter is helping me do just that, so I also call it amusement. There's little enough of that in any of our lives these days."
"Oh please, Malfoy, don't get all maudlin on me."
"Don't worry," Malfoy replied, "you cry enough over every little thing for both of us. I wouldn't dream of stealing your favourite pastime."
Harry would have poked his tongue out at his old nemesis, but he felt much too old to still be doing such childish things. Instead, he whacked him soundly about the back of the head.
Yes, that wasn't childish in the slightest.
"Watch it, Potter!" Malfoy said, but he didn't sound angry. Strangely, a small smile was creeping onto his thin lips. "People will start thinking that you like me if you keep that sort of thing up. And then where will we be?"
Where would they be if everyone - themselves included - decided that Harry liked Malfoy, and that it might possibly be mutual? They hadn't actually fought since the war, for all that they bickered non-stop. That, if anything, was more a comfort than any real show of animosity. The world would surely stop spinning if Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy weren't sniping at each other during every spare moment, and sometimes even when there was no time to be doing so. Harry would miss it.
He would actually miss Malfoy, or at least something about him. Good Lord, what was wrong with him?
* * * * * * * * * *
"The Ministry's having trouble yet again!" Harry called out happily as he charged into the hospital area.
The last thing he expected to find in there was Augustus being pinned against the wall by Malfoy, who seemed intent on sinking his teeth into the Healer's neck.
Augustus, panicked by the sudden interruption, shoved Malfoy away from him and went some colour resembling a Muggle fire truck in the space of half a second.
"Harry," he greeted, his voice slightly shaky. Harry's eyes darted in between him and Malfoy, trying to figure out what on earth he'd just seen.
"Er, I didn't know you were gay," he finally breathed. "Either of you."
Malfoy sighed. "Honestly, Potter, you are so incredibly thick. Remember when you mentioned me never having babies? Well, I don't think the hint I dropped could have been any more obvious."
It was Harry's turn to blush. "Oh. Right."
Malfoy muttered something like, "Clueless."
Neither of them noticed Augustus mumbling something that might have been - and probably was - an empty excuse, and stumbling out of the hospital room.
"So that's why you were so nice to him when you first met him," Harry said.
Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe I've just grown up since my less than illustrious first meeting with you."
Harry laughed, and suddenly the whole thing seemed less tense and somehow funnier. "Right. You keep telling yourself that, Malfoy. So, is this why you've been spending so much time at Headquarters lately?"
Malfoy seemed, for a moment at least, a little offended. Then he sneered, and whatever other emotion he might have been feeling was hidden.
"One day, Potter, you'll learn that it doesn't have to be all or nothing. You can be involved in something big like this little group of rebels and still find time for a quick snog against the wall. It doesn't have to mean you want to devote your whole life to that person, but everyone has needs. You can't go on forever without acknowledging that."
"I don't want to know anything about your needs," Harry said. "I think I've seen enough of them for one day, thanks all the same."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Not just sex, Potter, Merlin. Like I said, all or nothing. People need other things. Like right now, I think what you need is to forget about the PA for a day. A whole day, mind, Potter. We'll go out and get completely plastered in Muggle London, what do you say?"
Harry would have liked to have said no, actually, but Draco didn't leave him with the choice, for all that he seemed to like giving him the illusion of one. Instead, he dragged Harry out of the building. Harry sighed and decided that letting himself go for one day couldn't hurt all that much.
* * * * * * * * * *
"So Augustus says you're more or less qualified as a Healer as far as you can be with only theoretical knowledge in a lot of areas. He says you shouldn't have a problem getting accepted into a proper apprenticeship in that field once this is all over."
Harry was really quite annoyed that Draco could still use big words all strung together like that. He obviously hadn't been drinking anywhere near as much as Harry had been.
"Shh!" Harry giggled. "Can't talk 'bout that here. Muggles,
'member?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "People talk about stranger things than 'Healers' in Muggle bars, Potter, trust me. And you're one of those people. You do realise you've told me you're not gay no less than eight times since we arrived, don't you?"
Harry frowned. "You keep asking me back to your place!" he slurred.
"So that you can sleep it off. Get your mind out of the gutter. Honestly, Potter, that's it. You're coming to the Leaky and going to sleep even if I have to drag you. I won't have you continuing to make a fool out of me."
Harry couldn't see how he could possibly be making a fool out of anyone but himself. But then, he supposed, Malfoy always made everything about him. It was annoying, really, and Harry was annoyed that he didn't feel more annoyed.
Yep, he was definitely drunk.
He allowed himself to be pulled back to Malfoy's room in the Leaky Cauldron. He, unlike Malfoy, didn't even really notice the dust flaring up around him as Malfoy dumped him on the bed. Malfoy was just picky, was all. Such a prick. Picky and pricky. Harry giggled.
He had a feeling he was going to have a really enormous hangover in the morning, but for the moment he could hardly bring himself to care.
"Just sleep it off," Malfoy ordered.
Harry wasn't sure whether he complied or not. He supposed he must have fallen asleep for a while at least, because the next thing he knew there was a banging jerking him upright.
His head definitely was pounding quite a bit already, and it was still dark outside. He hoped it wouldn't be any worse than that by morning.
"Was'sat?" he asked.
"Ministry of Magic," a voice announced loudly from outside the door. "Auror Department. Open up." The banging on the door resumed.
Harry looked wildly around the room only to find Malfoy slumped against the wall in the corner, eyeing the door speculatively.
"Malfoy!" Harry hissed. "We have to get out of here!"
"Where exactly would you suggest we go, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "We're trapped in here. There's nowhere to run."
"We have to try," Harry insisted, clutching his aching head. "They're here for us, they must know something."
Malfoy smiled grimly. "I'm sure they do. But you're wrong about something. They're here for you, not us. They don't give a fuck what I've done. After all, I'm just your financial advisor. You're the one who's been teaching magic and growing illicit plants and sheltering people who the Ministry are warranted to arrest."
"You're abandoning me?" Harry gaped.
Malfoy shrugged. "You could say that. But actually, it's more like I'm turning you in. How do you think they knew you'd be here? Come to that, how do you think they knew exactly what you'd been up to?"
For the first time Harry grasped the enormity of what was happening. As the Aurors outside the door presumably grew impatient and decided to blast the door down, Harry clenched his eyes shut and turned away from both the sight of the Ministry officials rushing in to take him in hand and the sight of Malfoy just standing back and watching it happen.
There had been a time not so long ago when he'd expected nothing less of Malfoy than to stab him in the back. That time had passed. So had the time to be angry about it.
All Harry could feel was the hurt and betrayal.
He noticed Malfoy didn't meet his eyes from the start of Aurors' siege on his room to the end and wondered whether that meant that he felt guilty. But then he realised that it didn't matter. Malfoy's feelings weren't going to be any help to him. Nothing could help him now.
* * * * * * * * * *
When Draco went downstairs in the morning to collect his paper - for the Daily Prophet was no longer sent by individual owl, of course - he wasn't at all surprised to see a Muggle photograph of Harry Potter's shocked face taking up most of the front page. Nor was he surprised, when he opened the paper the main article on the next page, to see his own name repeated several times throughout the text, each time in a much more positive light than the press had written the name 'Malfoy' in years.
He wasn't exactly stunned when owls - obviously commissioned from the post office, since it was illegal to actually own an owl - began to fly in and out of his window steadily throughout the morning, leaving behind no trace of their presence but for the many smoking red envelopes that threatened to explode into screeching voices at any moment. He'd have to evacuate the room before that happened or risk being deafened by the noise, he suspected.
When Hermione Granger burst into his room, Draco merely sighed, for he'd half expected that to happen as well.
"Have you told the Ministry all about the PA?" she demanded, her voice as shrill as any of the Howlers could hope to be. "For once in your life, Malfoy, be a human being and tell me, so that we can save ourselves from the Ministry. There are innocent children involved, remember? Those children look up to you!"
"Oh, relax Granger; I haven't given anything about your resistance away. Why would I have? It would have served no purpose."
"You betrayed Harry," Granger pointed out bitterly.
There wasn't much Draco could really say to that, but that didn't stop him from being offended by her tone of voice.
"How very astute of you, to have figured that out," he said bitterly. "I thought I'd hidden that fact quite well, what with my name being splashed all over that article and the thousand and one Howlers scattered all over my room."
Granger seemed stunned. "You aren't even sorry, are you? I thought you'd at least regret it just a little. Harry trusted you."
"No, I'm not sorry," Draco admitted, "and you shouldn't be either." He paused to allow her to take that in. "Unlike with your resistance, there was a reason for it."
Hermione grimaced. "Do I even want to know what reason you might find for pretending to care, even just a little, about someone and then getting them locked away in Azkaban?"
Draco shrugged. "You don't have to listen, Granger. You can head right back out that door and I won't be sorry to see the back of you. But if you do want to hear it, let me put it this way. Potter was born to be a martyr. The only difference is that this time someone other than himself martyred him."
"Why? What do you think you martyred him for?"
Draco forced a smirk onto his face. "Give it a day or two and you'll see."
He turned to leave the room, since Granger obviously wasn't going to do so, and he didn't want to be in the same place as her any longer. Besides, those Howlers were beginning to look extremely ominous, as if they were gathering themselves for the big moment.
"Malfoy, stop," Granger ordered abruptly. "Half the resistance is outside the Leaky Cauldron. You can't run."
Draco turned to look at her. "Who said anything about running?" He withdrew the thin, long piece of wood that was hidden up his sleeve. "I was planning on walking out."
Granger eyed the wand with more than a little fear, as if it was a dangerous object in and of itself, rather than because Draco was dangerous when he was holding it. "The Ministry will arrive the moment you cast a single spell," she said. "They can track wand use, or have you conveniently forgotten that as well as everything Harry did for you? You'll get both of us put in Azkaban right alongside him."
Draco ignored her entirely and cast a full body bind spell on her. Her limbs snapped into place and she fell onto the floor of his rented room, her eyes still wide. They darted around as if trying to see everything that was going on in the room.
Except nothing was happening. After a few moments of still silence, Malfoy said, "Oh, look at that. No one suddenly appeared. I am so surprised!" Then his eyes hardened and the sarcasm left his voice. "The Ministry has bigger worries right now than me or you, Granger."
Draco turned once more and this time left the room and walked out of the Leaky Cauldron itself. He found himself feeling a little surprised that there weren't any members of the Phoenix Alliance waiting to ambush him, because he'd never really pegged Granger as the kind to be capable of a believable bluff.
He was even a little disappointed that he wouldn't see their faces as well as Granger's when he used his magic without any measure of Ministry control or consequences for the first time in years. It was exhilarating. He felt powerful again.
He walked out into Diagon Alley and the first sounds of angry yelling and perhaps even rioting reached his ears. A man who appeared to be an Auror was frantically casting spells at the crowd that was descending upon him, but they easily overwhelmed him with their sheer numbers.
"That'll teach you to lock innocent wizards in Azkaban!" one elderly sort of witch screamed as she hit a Ministry official who'd lost his wand with her handbag.
Draco smiled.
People usually did exactly as Draco wanted, whether they realised it or not.
Author: jessicaqueen
Recipient: fiona_fawkes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~9,800
Characters: Harry, Draco.
Warnings: Mild course language and sexual references. Very mild.
Summary: Harry put out an anonymous advertisement for a financial advisor. He never expected that it would have such interesting results.
(A Reluctant Trust [revised/extended version] )
A Reluctant Trust
Harry knew he looked entirely too nervous and suspect. The waiter who guided him to his table obviously thought so as well.
"Don't worry, sir. Just coming to a place like this usually impresses any first date."
Harry frowned. "It's not a date, it's a business meeting."
The waiter raised his eyebrow pointedly at the candles arranged as the centrepiece of the cosy table for two, but only said in a mild tone of voice, "Of course, sir. My apologies."
Harry grumbled under his breath as the waiter left. That was the problem with these expensive Muggle restaurants. The waiters all thought being polite and helpful was going to get them an enormous tip. And perhaps it worked when they aimed the charm at rich Muggle customers. However, Harry would be damned if he was wasting his money on that. They had the whole upper echelons of the Muggle world from whom they could earn their money.
He personally thought that there were much better things he could be putting his increasing limited funds towards. He imagined almost all witches and wizards felt the same these days.
"H. B. Prince, I presume?" a voice inquired from behind him.
Harry swivelled in his seat in surprise as the man rounded the table. He hadn't expected the person he was meeting to arrive quite so soon. Certainly, he hadn't expected it to be this particular person who would be meeting with him.
"Malfoy!" he barked in surprise, and then quickly glanced around sheepishly to ascertain whether he'd drawn any unwanted attention with his outburst.
"Potter," Draco Malfoy returned calmly. "I'm somehow not at all surprised that it would be you, of all people, using that alias. But a word of advice, Potter; you may be a half-blood, but you don't strike me - or anyone else, I should think - as very princely." Malfoy paused thoughtfully. "Then again, neither did Snape, I suppose. Ghastly sort of fellow, when you really think about it. People using names that associate them with royalty should always be much prettier than that."
Harry raised his eyebrow. "Only you, Malfoy, honestly. He helped us win the war. I should think that would be more important than how 'royal' he looks. Not that you'd care, since you probably wanted Voldemort's side to win, anyway."
"Oh, come off it, Potter," Malfoy spat. "We're a little old to be playing the blame game with each other, don't you think? Anyway, don't pretend you care, either. You hated Snape with a vengeance. You wanted to kill him and everything, if I remember correctly. I, on the other hand, quite liked the man. He was a brilliant head of house, for a half-blood. But no amount of house pride could have helped that not-so-sunny disposition. Or that nose, for that matter." Malfoy grimaced almost delicately.
Harry shot him an incredulous look. "You don't like him because he had a big nose? And I thought hating Muggle-borns just because their parents can't do magic was bad. I suppose you still do hate Muggle-borns, even though you're as good as a Muggle yourself?"
Malfoy seemed to brush off the jibe without a thought, which was much more than Harry expected of him. Perhaps he was finally growing up.
Harry somehow doubted that.
"Once again, Potter, you just aren't listening," Malfoy objected. "I liked him well enough, all things considered. But then, no one could call him a hospitable man." Harry rolled his eyes at this comment. How very insightful. "And he may have helped you defeat the Dark Lord, but all he won was his own death. And the Ministry's right to control everyone else even more than the Dark Lord ever could, on top of that."
"You disagree with them?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Obviously. I wouldn't be here if I didn't, would I?"
Harry graced him with a disbelieving look.
"No, really," Malfoy continued. "If you only learn one thing in your life, which is quite possible considering that you're … well, you … then remember that no one tells a Malfoy what to do."
"Except Voldemort, right?"
"Now, Potter, that kind of talk is hardly conducive to us having a long and happy relationship," Malfoy chastised sardonically.
"Good," Harry muttered. "I'll remember to keep it up."
He raised his voice a little to make sure he was heard, though he had a hunch Malfoy could hear him even when he was mumbling to himself. He was a git that way. "Get out of here, Malfoy," he said.
"I don't think you really want that. I have something to offer you."
Harry sighed. "What's that? Endless frustration? Pain?"
Malfoy smirked. "Only if you beg me nicely for it, Potter." Harry made a disgusted face which Malfoy ignored. "No," Malfoy said, "I came to let you know that I'm the answer to your problems.
"You are my problem!" Harry exclaimed.
"No, that problem that you have with the money and the Muggles," Malfoy said. "You know the one."
"I do," Harry said simply. Then he narrowed his eyes. "The question is, how do you? And how did you find out about the H. B. Prince advertisement, anyway? I was very discreet when I made that enquiry, don't tell me I wasn't."
Malfoy shrugged. "Magic," he said.
Harry snorted. "If you could use magic, you wouldn't be here."
"No, I wouldn't," Malfoy replied. "But I am here, and though I may not be able to use magic, that wasn't the only skill I ever gained. My father taught me that there were three important things in the world … before you sent him to Azkaban to rot, that is." Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but he didn't push that particular sore point any further. "Those three things are political power, magical supremacy and finances."
"Sounds like you're set for life. Except, oh, you don't have any magic anymore, let alone magical supremacy. You're also not part of the Ministry, so you're worth less than dirt on the political front. And speaking of dirt, I hear you've been dirt poor since the Ministry cleaned out your father's vaults. That must have been humiliating for you. You're just like the rest of us commoners now, eh Malfoy?"
The waiter appeared then to ask them if they were ready to order. Harry tried to reply in the negative, but Malfoy was already ordering some expensive-sounding wine that Harry had never heard of. Harry was barely even surprised that Malfoy obviously had the wine list of a place like this committed to memory.
When the waiter had retreated to obtain the bottle, Malfoy turned back to him.
"I may not have magic or political power," he admitted, "but I can still handle your money better than any other witch or wizard out there."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You can certainly spend my money better than most, if your choice of wine is anything to go by. And you know I wouldn't trust you as far as I could hex you without my wand. Which is to say, not at all. What makes you think I would trust you with my money?"
Again, the waiter interrupted by suddenly appearing before them in order to pour two glasses of wine and subsequently place them on the table in front of them. They waited until he'd deposited the bottle of wine on the table as well and disappeared.
"Because you need to keep your little group afloat," Malfoy continued in a very certain tone, as if he hadn't ever been interrupted, "and that means as much money as possible. And you need someone who isn't friendly with the Ministry to get it for you." He tasted the wine. "Ah, very good. You should try this." Harry glared at him, and Malfoy shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, as for the first, I can triple your money in just a few weeks, see if I can't. And I've already mentioned just how friendly I am with the Ministry these days."
"Triple?" Harry gulped, his eyes going wide. That was a very nice offer indeed. Without really thinking about it, Harry threw back a mouthful of his wine.
"Honestly, Potter," Malfoy complained half-heartedly, "wine is meant to be sipped. You're so uncultured.
"Tripling my money, remember?" Harry repeated in an effort to redirect the conversation back in the direction it should have been going.
"Yes, guaranteed."
Harry's sceptical face must have been obvious.
"Don't believe me?" Malfoy asked. "Well, give me an amount that is too small to really put a dent in your vault, but big enough to actually do something with, and I'll show you want I can do. Say, a hundred Galleons, converted into Muggle money. I'll have at least three times as much back to you in no time. Then we can discuss further business between us."
"What's in this for you?"
"Why, I get to support Harry Potter!" Malfoy exclaimed sarcastically. "No? Fine, fifteen percent of your profits. That's as reasonable as anyone is going to offer you, Potter, but if you take me up rather than someone else who isn't as good at what they do, your remaining profit will be so big you won't care what percentage of it you aren't getting. Also, one day when you've proven your point and the wizarding world is bowing mindlessly to you once again, I get back the other two most important things for a Malfoy to consider."
"You won't ever be politically powerful now that your father has tarnished your precious pureblood name," Harry pointed out. He realised that he sounded more than just a little cruel, but he hardly cared. This was Malfoy he was talking to, after all. It wasn't as if he hadn't doled out as much - and worse - over the years.
"Money is power, Potter," Malfoy countered, "and so is knowledge. I already have a brain at my disposal. When this is all over, I'll have a bank account once again as well. It'll be as if my father was never disgraced. Believe me, Malfoys know better than most how short the attention span of the masses is. If it wasn't, we would have lost all popularity a long time ago."
Harry privately doubted that anyone would ever forget what had happened with Lucius Malfoy - short memory span or not - and thought that it would always reflect poorly on his son. Harry personally thought that Draco Malfoy might quite deserve being out of favour with the wizarding world. However, he kept quiet on that matter, focusing instead on the much more important consideration.
"How do I know you won't run off to the Ministry out of spite for me? I bet you still hate me more than them."
Malfoy smiled almost wickedly. "Good question, Potter," he said. "Quite simply, you don't know. And you never will. But what choice do you have? It's either going to be me or someone you've probably never met before. Either way, you aren't ever going to be able to trust whoever you employ. It might as well be me."
"Better the devil I know, is that it?" Harry scoffed.
Malfoy, on the other hand, looked at him as if that was an entirely serious thing to say. "Exactly, Potter," he said, his sharp eyes appraising Harry thoughtfully. "You know, I do believe you may have a brain cell or two after all."
Harry ignored the dig. "All right, say I agree to this. How do we arrange it?"
Malfoy smirked. "Don't worry, Potter. I know where to find you."
Harry gave him an incredulous look. Surely Malfoy couldn't possibly know where they were based? But then, he wouldn't really put it past him. Malfoys always had connections. Obviously that persisted regardless of whether or not they had the money to back it up.
Malfoy lifted his glass and sipped down the last of his wine. Harry wondered how he had failed to notice the rest of it disappearing.
"I'll leave you to pay the cheque, since we both know you can afford it better than I can these days."
Then Malfoy stood and exited the restaurant, leaving Harry completely gobsmacked.
All around, that hadn't exactly been how he'd expected a meeting enquiring after a financial advisor and manager to play out.
When the waiter returned, Harry ordered for himself, figuring he might as well get a decent meal out of this strange endeavour. Once it arrived, Harry sat eating in near silence, deep in thought.
Malfoy was right about one thing, he considered. The wine was exquisite. It was a shame he wasn't anywhere near as sure about anything else his old enemy had said. And that he didn't have quite as much of an appetite after putting his trust in man that he'd hated with a passion since their first meeting.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Incoming!" Bill cried.
He struggled to haul a middle-aged looking woman through the narrow door. Augustus Pye rushed forward to hook his own arms under the woman, one under her back and one behind the joint of her knee. Together he and Bill lifted her onto the table that served as a gurney.
"What are we dealing with here?" Augustus asked.
"Spell damage," Bill replied shortly. "I saw a Blood-Boiling Curse hit, at the very least. And, as you can see, there was obviously a Furnunculus in there somewhere, probably thrown by one of the less talented among them. I only got there for the end of the duel, though, so there could be more."
"An examination charm or two certainly wouldn't go amiss around about now," Augustus muttered wryly.
"Aurors?" Harry asked from the corner of the room where he stood by the potions cabinet, already retrieving a Boil-Cure Potion and a powerful Muggle pain-killer that Augustus had warned him to use with care. Although it was fairly easy to replenish, unlike most of the potions they used, wizards had been known to react in strange ways to Muggle medicines. Hell, Muggles sometimes reacted strangely to them as well.
"Yes," Bill replied with a scowl. "Isn't it always?"
"She looks to have been stunned as well," Augustus said thoughtfully. "Nothing we can really do about that but wait it out."
Bill looked surprised. "I thought she'd just lost consciousness from the pain. Someone must have got her while Fleur and I were helping her out of there. I'm surprised they didn't aim for us, if that's the case."
"It's probably better this way, anyway," Augustus replied. "At least she can't feel any pain if she's unconscious. No one should ever have to feel the effects of the Blood-Boiling Curse. Nasty thing, that."
Harry privately agreed, though he said nothing out loud. Augustus was in charge when they had a patient, and Harry liked to leave him to his work as much as possible. He was only really there to help out, after all.
After Augustus had given the witch the correct doses out of the vials Harry had handed him, he slumped back into one of the seats set up against the wall just far enough back from the table to allow easy access.
"That's the third person we've dealt with since yesterday afternoon," he complained. "Surely the Ministry haven't restarted the raids?"
Bill shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't think so. The last round caused a fair bit of public outcry, and I don't think the Ministry wants to risk any more opposition than they already have. Things have been getting a little shaky on the political front lately, it seems. The bank is seeing a lot more disgruntled customers, for one."
Bill, of course, was one of the lucky ones. He'd retained his job and most of his immediate family, including his wife and two children, as well as remaining largely the same person throughout the end of the war and the years following it. A lot of the witches and wizards that Harry spent his time around these days couldn't say the same. Harry numbered himself among them, for he sometimes thought he'd lost so much of himself that he was surprised people still recognised him.
"Should we be on the lookout?" Harry asked.
Again, Bill shrugged. "No more now than usual, I don't think. The Ministry knows about the PA, but they don't really know what we do, and they definitely don't know where we're based. Even if they decide it's worthwhile to raid our headquarters based on what little they know, they'd have to find it first."
Harry nodded, then stood up abruptly and paced out of the room, leaving the patient to Augustus. He could handle her, and Harry knew he'd be alerted if another poor soul was hauled in. He didn't doubt that there would be another. The Aurors seemed to be particularly wand-happy at the moment, as if having so much more power than the rest of the wizarding world was finally getting to their heads. Harry wouldn't put it past them to abuse their power. He didn't trust anyone in the Ministry, and the Aurors least of all.
Apart from a select few, of course. He thought that with all the action in that quarter lately Tonks, for one, would be stopping by any time now to fill them all in. Whenever she could sneak away from the watchful eyes of the Ministry, that was.
"So you're an apprentice Healer now, Potter? I'd never have guessed if I hadn't heard you messing around with your patient a few rooms over."
Harry stopped in his tracks and whirled around to stare at Draco Malfoy where he stood at the bottom of the long flight of stairs that lead into the underground building.
"How did you get here?" Harry demanded.
Malfoy shrugged. "It wasn't that difficult. It isn't like you have any security to speak of. Anyone could just waltz right in, really. Not that they would want to, really." Malfoy gave the cracks in the greyish concrete wall in front of him a pointed look. "The place isn't exactly inviting, is it?"
If Harry had had a wand, he would have trained it right in between Malfoy's eyes. As it was, he had to settle for a menacing glare.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Well, honestly. It's quite simple to find the place if you know that the eldest Weasley is one of the scouts in your little resistance. Really, Potter, he doesn't exactly blend in with all that red hair. Not to mention those enormous scars gouged into his face."
"You're right, Malfoy, you're not to mention those. You really want to stop talking right now," Harry said dangerously, "because you don't want to remind me how you let Greyback into Hogwarts that night, making those scars on Bill's face almost entirely your fault. I have enough of an urge to hurt you very badly without that adding to it."
Harry didn't really expect Malfoy to look scared, but was a little surprised when he didn't show any sign of having heard the threat.
He gave Harry an uncaring look. "How would you do that, Potter? With your wand? Oh, wait, you don't have one, and the only people who could lend you one are the Ministry. I don't think they're going to be all that inclined to give Harry Potter, of all people, the means to use his magic. That would kind of defeat the purpose of this whole regime. While we're on the topic of blaming people for things they couldn't help, that is."
"I haven't done any magic in three whole years, Malfoy, and I'm still here. Don't presume I haven't found other ways to cope with everything, even you."
Malfoy's eyes widened. "Three years? But the stations …"
"The Ministry's magic stations are of no use to me. As you pointed out before, they'd be stupid to hand me a wand, even if my use of it would be completely surveyed. They aren't going to let me use any of the few magical items left behind from the purges for the same reason. Hell, the Ministry won't even give me a handout like the rest of the people who were left unemployed, because they think I'm going to use it to fund some super secret organisation bent on overthrowing them and restoring order."
"Well, wouldn't you? We've all heard about the resistance you house in this little building of yours, though most people don't know about the building itself. You call it the PA, right? The Phoenix Alliance, bringers of truth and justice. Everyone knows you head it. They were starting to refer to it as Potter's Army, last I heard. Just like Hogwarts all over again, isn't it? It made the Ministry very nervous back then as well, if I recall."
"That's hardly the point," Harry said. "It's just another example of the inequality they're enforcing on us."
"Merlin, do you ever stop whining? 'Woe is me; I have to fight Dark Lords, Death Eaters, Dementors and evil Ministries all on my lonesome. How shall I ever survive?'" Malfoy faked a swoon.
Harry threw his hands up in frustration. "You never change, Malfoy. I don't know why I agreed to deal with you."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Then hand me the money and you won't have to deal with me for a little while."
Harry, who had been unsure when or where Malfoy might pop up and thus had decided to be prepared at all times, withdrew a sack of coins from his robes.
"A hundred Galleons," he said. "Now how do I know you won't go withdraw some money from your own bank account to make it look like you've tripled my money and then run off once I've given you a bigger sum?"
"You don't. You don't know anything for sure with me, Potter. I thought we'd already covered this. But let me say that if I had two hundred Galleons lying about in my Gringotts account, I wouldn't be living in the Leaky Cauldron, eating semi-stale food and choking on the dust that flies out of my bed every time I sit or lie down on it."
"The Leaky Cauldron isn't that bad," Harry protested.
"Once upon a time, Potter, it was almost adequate for short-term occupancy. Very short time, and only for those people like you who would have settled for cheap accommodation in the first place. But I'm guessing you haven't visited it in the last few years. It, like everything and everyone else in the wizarding world bar a lucky few people who are in with the right people, is going broke fast. Upkeep costs money, so they rent the rooms out for less. It's not like most of their customers can afford to complain too loudly, even me."
"But you were rich," Harry said with a frown. "I know the Ministry didn't leave you with much, but still. Your house, at least …"
"My father was rich," Draco corrected. "He was arrested before I came of age, so I couldn't stop the Ministry from taking over his Gringotts accounts and the Manor itself. By the time I was seventeen and within my rights to claim it back, there was nothing left. The Manor was purged and then burned to the ground, just in case there was any Dark Magic left inside. I wasn't really surprised."
For a split second, Harry felt vaguely sympathetic. No wonder Malfoy hated the Ministry. However, he then reminded himself that this was Malfoy, and that he had probably earned his near-poverty far more thoroughly than the rest of those in the wizarding world who were suffering the same fate. After the way Malfoy had always taunted Ron, it was like an ironic sort of justice.
Harry could hardly believe Malfoy hadn't brought up Ron, actually. He had to know that it was a sore point, and Malfoy had never been able to resist poking Harry where it hurt the most.
Perhaps, as he'd thought to himself before, Malfoy was actually beginning to grow up. Just as Harry himself was, he thought. A year or two ago he would have slammed the door in Malfoy's face, or perhaps used his sudden appearance to give his fists a bit of a workout. He thought it must have meant he'd matured at least a little that he was hearing the other man out instead.
After several long seconds of the two of them staring at each other, Malfoy snatched the coin satchel out of Harry's hand impatiently and almost ran back up the stairs without saying another word, as if something had frightened him, or at the very least made him uncomfortable.
Harry's eyebrows rose of their own accord and he stared off after Malfoy for a long time, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened before remembering that he'd been on his way to see Hermione before Malfoy had appeared.
She was going to be pissed off with him for making her wait, especially since he didn't intend to tell her the reason.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Neville!" Harry called out.
Neville, who had been on his way down the corridor, stopped.
"Harry?" he asked. "Wow, it's been a while."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry I haven't been a little more hands on with your job."
Neville bit his lip. "It's fine. I never expected you to be. You don't brew the potions, and you don't go anywhere near my greenhouse upstairs, so it doesn't make sense that you'd spend your time worrying about me when there's so many other things you have to deal with.
"But you're my friend, Neville," Harry said. "That should be enough reason for me to arrange to see you more than maybe twice a year, if we're lucky."
Neville shrugged. "It's okay."
Harry shook his head, but didn't press it any further. "Look, I just wanted to say congratulations. You and Luna, eh?"
Neville blushed very lightly. Harry imagined everyone must have been ribbing him about it for the last few days.
"Yeah. It just happened, you know, what with us spending so much time in the field collecting ingredients for the PA and whatnot together. We didn't expect it to last, but it has. There's going to be an engagement party three weeks from Saturday, actually. I'd love to see you there."
"I'd love to go," Harry said with a wistful sort of smile. "Merlin, I can't believe you're getting married. I feel so old, that one of my old dorm mates is settling down."
Neville smiled. "You're positively middle-aged, Harry," he teased.
"Sometimes I feel like I am," Harry replied seriously.
The grin faded off Neville's face at Harry's tone. "I know what you mean," he said. "I feel like we've been fighting one war after another for decades rather than a few years. And whoever thought I'd be a soldier, anyway?"
"A lot of people, actually. I don't think anyone was surprised when you offered to help with the Phoenix Alliance. You're a good man, Neville, and everyone knows it."
Neville blushed even darker.
Harry, sensing the conversation leading to emotional things he really didn't want to deal with right then, steered it in another direction.
"By the way, did Hermione tell you that we're running out of snake fangs? Not to mention all the plants we need. You and Luna are going to have to go out hunting soon."
Neville nodded. "It'd be easier if we could go separately. She's available to go out gathering potions ingredients a lot more often than I am. But you know Luna, she's a bit prone to wandering off looking for more interesting things if someone isn't there to rein her in."
It was said with enough affection to make Harry's chest hurt. He wished he had someone to look after him like that, but he honestly didn't have time for a relationship. And anyway, the only girl he'd ever really liked had been among the many casualties of the Ministry's raids.
Harry remembered receiving the news that Ginny and Ron had been killed. He was fairly certain he hadn't let himself be close to anyone but Hermione since, and even that relationship was beginning to suffer under the strain of all they'd seen and all they knew they had to deal with.
Although, he quite liked Augustus, and since they were partners of sorts in the Healing aspect of the resistance, he'd spent enough time to get closer to him. It was a matter of letting himself, and Harry was still wary of doing so. Augustus was, after all, one of the wild cards in the PA. Most of the others had been friends of his, or among the more active members of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Right, speaking of which," Neville finally said, "I have to be off. The Bubotubers are ready to have their puss squeezed out."
Harry made a face, which Neville saw. Neville grinned. "You know, you use Bubotuber puss in several of your healing potions, so don't screw your face up like that. You'd be out of a job if I didn't collect you the gross ingredients as well as the harmless-seeming ones."
"I know," Harry replied. "And for that, I thank you, really. But I wouldn't want to be the one to have to do it."
When Neville had disappeared around the corner, Draco Malfoy stepped out from the room beside where Harry was standing.
Harry started. "How do you always manage to show up right where I am without me realising it? What, do you lurk in the shadows all day just waiting for me to walk past your hiding place?"
"Of course not. It's simply because you're slow, Potter," Malfoy replied lazily. "I thought you'd realised that already."
Malfoy then withdrew the same pouch that he'd taken from Harry a few weeks before. It looked quite a bit larger in circumference now.
"Two hundred and eighty-nine galleons," he announced, "after I took my cut. I could have made it so you'd have your whole three hundred in another few days or so, but I decided you probably favour speed over accuracy in all your endeavours."
Harry had the feeling he'd just been insulted. He took the money bag and opened it to look inside. There was a lot of gold, that was for sure. Harry decided to take Malfoy on his word of how much it was exactly, not because he trusted him, but because it looked like about that much, and counting it would take a lot of effort that he didn't want to expend. Diggle dealt with the money issues generally, surely he could do it later, Harry thought wearily.
"Satisfied?" Malfoy asked. "Are you ready to do some real business now?"
Harry wasn't at all sure that he was ready, or that he ever would be, but he nodded all the same.
"I'm willing to entrust two thousand galleons to you, for now. That's quite a bit of money, Malfoy, and you'd better not lose it."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You make nothing, I make nothing, Potter. I'm not about to try to screw you over if it's going to have a worse effect on me. After all, you can afford to lose that money. It's being used for your Phoenix Alliance, I assume, rather than to keep you alive. I can't afford not to get paid."
"Right," Harry agreed. "Well, just make sure you don't conveniently forget that at some point. I know how spiteful you can be. Don't think I've forgotten that you broke my nose for no real reason"
Malfoy sneered. "Whatever you say, Potter. I'll be back on Tuesday for the money. Have it ready."
Malfoy turned to go but then stopped and looked at Harry speculatively.
"By the way, Longbottom and Loony Lovegood? I hope they never have children. The world could do without any more hopeless cases."
Harry bristled. "Well I bet they hope the same of you."
Malfoy laughed bitterly. "I don't think there's much chance of that, Potter. Honestly, don't you ever read the gossip columns?"
Harry knew he looked completely unimpressed. "You're joking, right? I don't even get the paper anymore. Why would I want to read complete trash like that?"
Malfoy sighed. "Oh, I don't know, Potter, maybe because otherwise you get so caught up in what you're doing that you forget there are unimportant things out there, and that for some odd reason people actually care about them. But that wouldn't be an issue for you, would it, Potter? You've never been too busy with your work to pay attention to your friends."
Harry was fairly certain Malfoy was only referring to the conversation he'd just overheard between Harry and Neville, but Harry couldn't help but think of Ron and Ginny, and how he hadn't been there for them either. It was the kind of thing he would have expected of Malfoy a few years earlier, but perhaps not anymore. He hoped not anymore, at least, because he didn't like to think he was putting his trust in someone who would still taunt him that way.
Harry sighed and decided to just let it be. "Whatever, Malfoy. Forget I brought it up. Wait, no, you brought it up! So why do you care, anyway?"
Malfoy shrugged. "I like to know who I'm working with, and so I was just wondering whether there was anyone in this little club of yours that isn't completely incompetent or insane? Or doesn't have indecent amounts of red-hair and freckles, and isn't married to someone who does?
Harry scoffed at the question. "I don't trust you enough to tell you that."
Malfoy examined Harry for a moment before nodding as if impressed.
"Good for you, Potter. You're learning. There may be hope for you yet. But then again, probably not."
"Bite me, Malfoy."
"You wish I would, Potter."
Harry wasn't quite sure what Malfoy meant by that, but he wasn't about to look foolish by asking.
* * * * * * * * * *
Harry had spent the weeks since Malfoy had first appeared at the Phoenix Alliance headquarters on constant alert for a Ministry raid, but after more than a month had passed, he relaxed his guard a little. If Malfoy had been intending to sell them all out to the Ministry, he'd surely have done it by now.
So when Malfoy appeared yet again a week after he'd collected Harry's two thousand galleons, Harry was in a better mood than he'd been in during their past encounters.
Even so, he couldn't say he was entirely happy to have Malfoy strolling around the building whenever he pleased. Harry wished he could use magic now more than ever when he thought about the poor security on the building. They couldn't even put up Muggle locks, because they were meant to be a haven for those who needed a respite from the Ministry, and to lock out those people would completely defeat the purpose of having the Headquarters. Harry didn't like to think about them not being able to help those who needed it, for there had been many they hadn't been able to get to in time.
The Ministry had a lot of blood on its hands, these days.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked.
"I was having a slow day and I decided that you never gave me the grand tour of this dump. You really aren't a very good host, Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't really want you showing up here in the first place, in case that failed to register in your tiny brain. And now you want me to encourage it?"
Malfoy shrugged. "It's up to you. I could just sit at the top of the staircase scaring off any people who show up looking for help instead."
Even though it sounded like it should have been taken as a threat, Harry didn't hear even a hint of malice in Malfoy's tone. He supposed that it was that that stopped him from throwing Malfoy out by his ear, or simply beating him to a pulp where he stood.
"Whatever," Harry grumbled. "I suppose it's about time I did the rounds, anyway. You can tag along if you really want to."
Malfoy snorted. "Oh, come off it, Potter. You aren't fooling anyone. If your conversation with Longbottom last week was anything to go by, you aren't really in the habit of 'doing the rounds' all that often."
"Right," Harry said. "So as I said, it's about time I did them, isn't it?"
Malfoy merely smirked.
Harry showed him around the building. He must have seen half of it in his sneaking about anyway, Harry reasoned, so it could hardly hurt them too badly. Knowing the location of the building itself was more potentially harmful to them than knowing what went on inside each particular room.
"And this is where you Healers do your thing," Malfoy said as the reached the last room on the tour.
Harry hadn't precisely shown Malfoy everything, but he'd taken him to most of the rooms. Malfoy had even met the children Hermione tutored and managed not to either scare them or get their hackles up. Harry was impressed, really.
"Yep," Harry confirmed. "This is where I help out Augustus."
Augustus himself was staring at Malfoy with a curiosity that couldn't quite be hidden.
"Augustus, hey?" Malfoy asked. "I'm Draco Malfoy. Pleasure to meet you."
Harry was shocked. Malfoy hadn't spoken a single word to any of the adults in the resistance he'd come across today, and he'd barely said two words to the students either. It was entirely unexpected that he should suddenly be attempting to be … well, friendly.
"Er, you too," Augustus returned awkwardly. The curious look had morphed into something more like morbid fascination, Harry thought. It hadn't gone away by the time he and Malfoy finished their introductions and Harry had been dragged back out of the small hospital room.
"Nice guy," Malfoy said innocently.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "You're a strange man, Malfoy."
"Yes, well," Malfoy sniffed, "who really wants to be normal. How common."
Harry snorted. "Whenever you try to sound like your father you just end up sounding even more like a completely pompous git."
He realised a second too late that he probably shouldn't be bringing up Lucius Malfoy if he wanted to keep the peace with his son. It was undoubtedly a sore point. However, Malfoy acted as if it didn't matter to him. In fact, it was as if Harry hadn't spoken at all. He just continued walking along unheedingly until they reached the top of the stairs. Harry hadn't even realised where Malfoy was leading him, and felt a bit stupid that he hadn't been paying attention. Malfoy could have led him into some sort of trap after all.
Harry knew deep down that that was true, but somehow it still didn't seem all that believable any more. Malfoy had had ample opportunities to hand Harry and the whole PA over to the Ministry, after all.
"Why does the leader of an operation like this decide to become a Healer's assistant in his spare time. I mean, you aren't even a real apprentice. Doesn't that feel like a demotion?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, actually, no. Not really." Harry looked Malfoy in the eye for the first time since their meeting in the restaurant. He'd forgotten just how intense that grey colour was. "One day I aim to have this whole 'The Ministry as Judge, Jury and Executioner' thing past us, and then I won't be a leader of any sort. I don't really want to be a leader all that much. I never did.
"But when that time comes, I'll need a profession of some sort. And I like helping people, so being a Healer would be just as good as anything else. I figure I should get some of the knowledge now. Get a foot in the door."
Malfoy nodded distractedly. "Right. That could be the first time you've actually thought ahead, Potter. Well done."
Harry thought to himself that that just might be right.
It didn't occur to Harry until after Malfoy had left that he hadn't actually told anyone, even Augustus, his reasons for helping out with the Healer activities. He couldn't really remember anyone asking him about it.
* * * * * * * * * *
The Ministry raid on the Phoenix Alliance headquarters occurred a while after Harry had finally let his guard down. He had expected it to occur as soon as he'd begun letting Malfoy in on some of the less volatile inner workings of the resistance. He hadn't expected Malfoy to be present at the time, forced to flee himself. Certainly, he'd expected to be in the building himself.
Instead, Harry only heard about it later. Hermione told him about how Malfoy had burst into her classroom announcing that the Ministry was here, and he hoped she knew where on earth to find one Harry Potter, damn it.
Harry hadn't let anyone in on his plans to visit Gringotts and deposit some of the money Malfoy had earned him over the last few months, so they hadn't been able to reach him.
Hermione had also told Harry about the slightly panicked expression on Malfoy's face and how he'd informed the students that if they had any intention of spending the remainder of their lives outside Azkaban's walls, they should follow him, and Merlin help them if they fell behind because he certainly wouldn't save them.
If anyone would know of the sole secret passageway in the building, Harry wasn't at all surprised that it would be Malfoy. He seemed to have made a career out of finding places to hide from Harry - and from the others - so that he could listen into private conversations and interject at the most embarrassing moment possible.
Harry could hardly believe that Malfoy actually seemed to give a shit about anything related to the PA other than the money, and had even showed it in his own way. But then, he shouldn't have been so surprised. There had to have been a reason he allowed Malfoy to know more and more about the PA. And about himself, at that.
Malfoy was starting to get under his skin. Harry wasn't sure whether he was comfortable with that or not.
Of course, it didn't matter how comfortable with Malfoy he was. His old rival appeared to be there to stay regardless. Harry found him spending time telling the children stories and making himself out to be a war hero more often than not.
"Why do you do that?" Harry asked him once after dragging him away. "Spend so much time with them, I mean."
Malfoy shrugged. "They're young. They look up to me. In fact, they're the only people around here that don't look at me like I'm scum at least half the time. Every adult here, especially Granger and the countless Weasleys still milling about, has that look in their eyes that says, 'I know what you did during the war and I still hate you for it'. Even you, Potter.
"But all those kids know of what I did in the war is what I tell them, and they worship me for the person they think I am. The person I could have been. In short, spending time with the children here makes me feel more powerful than I really am. It's exhilarating, and very few things are these days."
Harry frowned. "If you love power so much, why didn't you become a Ministry official?"
Malfoy sneered back at him. "Oh, please. Malfoys do not get low-paid, under-appreciated jobs where we will blend into the host of others who do exactly the same thing. Malfoys do not work. We achieve our power through influence. Blackmail, if necessary. But never actual labour."
Harry's frown deepened with incomprehension. "So what do you call your role as my financial agent if not work?"
Draco waved him off flippantly. "Preparation for the day that I will be the most influential wizard in the world, of course. I can't do that until I've earned a little money. And it tickles me that Harry Potter is helping me do just that, so I also call it amusement. There's little enough of that in any of our lives these days."
"Oh please, Malfoy, don't get all maudlin on me."
"Don't worry," Malfoy replied, "you cry enough over every little thing for both of us. I wouldn't dream of stealing your favourite pastime."
Harry would have poked his tongue out at his old nemesis, but he felt much too old to still be doing such childish things. Instead, he whacked him soundly about the back of the head.
Yes, that wasn't childish in the slightest.
"Watch it, Potter!" Malfoy said, but he didn't sound angry. Strangely, a small smile was creeping onto his thin lips. "People will start thinking that you like me if you keep that sort of thing up. And then where will we be?"
Where would they be if everyone - themselves included - decided that Harry liked Malfoy, and that it might possibly be mutual? They hadn't actually fought since the war, for all that they bickered non-stop. That, if anything, was more a comfort than any real show of animosity. The world would surely stop spinning if Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy weren't sniping at each other during every spare moment, and sometimes even when there was no time to be doing so. Harry would miss it.
He would actually miss Malfoy, or at least something about him. Good Lord, what was wrong with him?
* * * * * * * * * *
"The Ministry's having trouble yet again!" Harry called out happily as he charged into the hospital area.
The last thing he expected to find in there was Augustus being pinned against the wall by Malfoy, who seemed intent on sinking his teeth into the Healer's neck.
Augustus, panicked by the sudden interruption, shoved Malfoy away from him and went some colour resembling a Muggle fire truck in the space of half a second.
"Harry," he greeted, his voice slightly shaky. Harry's eyes darted in between him and Malfoy, trying to figure out what on earth he'd just seen.
"Er, I didn't know you were gay," he finally breathed. "Either of you."
Malfoy sighed. "Honestly, Potter, you are so incredibly thick. Remember when you mentioned me never having babies? Well, I don't think the hint I dropped could have been any more obvious."
It was Harry's turn to blush. "Oh. Right."
Malfoy muttered something like, "Clueless."
Neither of them noticed Augustus mumbling something that might have been - and probably was - an empty excuse, and stumbling out of the hospital room.
"So that's why you were so nice to him when you first met him," Harry said.
Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe I've just grown up since my less than illustrious first meeting with you."
Harry laughed, and suddenly the whole thing seemed less tense and somehow funnier. "Right. You keep telling yourself that, Malfoy. So, is this why you've been spending so much time at Headquarters lately?"
Malfoy seemed, for a moment at least, a little offended. Then he sneered, and whatever other emotion he might have been feeling was hidden.
"One day, Potter, you'll learn that it doesn't have to be all or nothing. You can be involved in something big like this little group of rebels and still find time for a quick snog against the wall. It doesn't have to mean you want to devote your whole life to that person, but everyone has needs. You can't go on forever without acknowledging that."
"I don't want to know anything about your needs," Harry said. "I think I've seen enough of them for one day, thanks all the same."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Not just sex, Potter, Merlin. Like I said, all or nothing. People need other things. Like right now, I think what you need is to forget about the PA for a day. A whole day, mind, Potter. We'll go out and get completely plastered in Muggle London, what do you say?"
Harry would have liked to have said no, actually, but Draco didn't leave him with the choice, for all that he seemed to like giving him the illusion of one. Instead, he dragged Harry out of the building. Harry sighed and decided that letting himself go for one day couldn't hurt all that much.
* * * * * * * * * *
"So Augustus says you're more or less qualified as a Healer as far as you can be with only theoretical knowledge in a lot of areas. He says you shouldn't have a problem getting accepted into a proper apprenticeship in that field once this is all over."
Harry was really quite annoyed that Draco could still use big words all strung together like that. He obviously hadn't been drinking anywhere near as much as Harry had been.
"Shh!" Harry giggled. "Can't talk 'bout that here. Muggles,
'member?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "People talk about stranger things than 'Healers' in Muggle bars, Potter, trust me. And you're one of those people. You do realise you've told me you're not gay no less than eight times since we arrived, don't you?"
Harry frowned. "You keep asking me back to your place!" he slurred.
"So that you can sleep it off. Get your mind out of the gutter. Honestly, Potter, that's it. You're coming to the Leaky and going to sleep even if I have to drag you. I won't have you continuing to make a fool out of me."
Harry couldn't see how he could possibly be making a fool out of anyone but himself. But then, he supposed, Malfoy always made everything about him. It was annoying, really, and Harry was annoyed that he didn't feel more annoyed.
Yep, he was definitely drunk.
He allowed himself to be pulled back to Malfoy's room in the Leaky Cauldron. He, unlike Malfoy, didn't even really notice the dust flaring up around him as Malfoy dumped him on the bed. Malfoy was just picky, was all. Such a prick. Picky and pricky. Harry giggled.
He had a feeling he was going to have a really enormous hangover in the morning, but for the moment he could hardly bring himself to care.
"Just sleep it off," Malfoy ordered.
Harry wasn't sure whether he complied or not. He supposed he must have fallen asleep for a while at least, because the next thing he knew there was a banging jerking him upright.
His head definitely was pounding quite a bit already, and it was still dark outside. He hoped it wouldn't be any worse than that by morning.
"Was'sat?" he asked.
"Ministry of Magic," a voice announced loudly from outside the door. "Auror Department. Open up." The banging on the door resumed.
Harry looked wildly around the room only to find Malfoy slumped against the wall in the corner, eyeing the door speculatively.
"Malfoy!" Harry hissed. "We have to get out of here!"
"Where exactly would you suggest we go, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "We're trapped in here. There's nowhere to run."
"We have to try," Harry insisted, clutching his aching head. "They're here for us, they must know something."
Malfoy smiled grimly. "I'm sure they do. But you're wrong about something. They're here for you, not us. They don't give a fuck what I've done. After all, I'm just your financial advisor. You're the one who's been teaching magic and growing illicit plants and sheltering people who the Ministry are warranted to arrest."
"You're abandoning me?" Harry gaped.
Malfoy shrugged. "You could say that. But actually, it's more like I'm turning you in. How do you think they knew you'd be here? Come to that, how do you think they knew exactly what you'd been up to?"
For the first time Harry grasped the enormity of what was happening. As the Aurors outside the door presumably grew impatient and decided to blast the door down, Harry clenched his eyes shut and turned away from both the sight of the Ministry officials rushing in to take him in hand and the sight of Malfoy just standing back and watching it happen.
There had been a time not so long ago when he'd expected nothing less of Malfoy than to stab him in the back. That time had passed. So had the time to be angry about it.
All Harry could feel was the hurt and betrayal.
He noticed Malfoy didn't meet his eyes from the start of Aurors' siege on his room to the end and wondered whether that meant that he felt guilty. But then he realised that it didn't matter. Malfoy's feelings weren't going to be any help to him. Nothing could help him now.
* * * * * * * * * *
When Draco went downstairs in the morning to collect his paper - for the Daily Prophet was no longer sent by individual owl, of course - he wasn't at all surprised to see a Muggle photograph of Harry Potter's shocked face taking up most of the front page. Nor was he surprised, when he opened the paper the main article on the next page, to see his own name repeated several times throughout the text, each time in a much more positive light than the press had written the name 'Malfoy' in years.
He wasn't exactly stunned when owls - obviously commissioned from the post office, since it was illegal to actually own an owl - began to fly in and out of his window steadily throughout the morning, leaving behind no trace of their presence but for the many smoking red envelopes that threatened to explode into screeching voices at any moment. He'd have to evacuate the room before that happened or risk being deafened by the noise, he suspected.
When Hermione Granger burst into his room, Draco merely sighed, for he'd half expected that to happen as well.
"Have you told the Ministry all about the PA?" she demanded, her voice as shrill as any of the Howlers could hope to be. "For once in your life, Malfoy, be a human being and tell me, so that we can save ourselves from the Ministry. There are innocent children involved, remember? Those children look up to you!"
"Oh, relax Granger; I haven't given anything about your resistance away. Why would I have? It would have served no purpose."
"You betrayed Harry," Granger pointed out bitterly.
There wasn't much Draco could really say to that, but that didn't stop him from being offended by her tone of voice.
"How very astute of you, to have figured that out," he said bitterly. "I thought I'd hidden that fact quite well, what with my name being splashed all over that article and the thousand and one Howlers scattered all over my room."
Granger seemed stunned. "You aren't even sorry, are you? I thought you'd at least regret it just a little. Harry trusted you."
"No, I'm not sorry," Draco admitted, "and you shouldn't be either." He paused to allow her to take that in. "Unlike with your resistance, there was a reason for it."
Hermione grimaced. "Do I even want to know what reason you might find for pretending to care, even just a little, about someone and then getting them locked away in Azkaban?"
Draco shrugged. "You don't have to listen, Granger. You can head right back out that door and I won't be sorry to see the back of you. But if you do want to hear it, let me put it this way. Potter was born to be a martyr. The only difference is that this time someone other than himself martyred him."
"Why? What do you think you martyred him for?"
Draco forced a smirk onto his face. "Give it a day or two and you'll see."
He turned to leave the room, since Granger obviously wasn't going to do so, and he didn't want to be in the same place as her any longer. Besides, those Howlers were beginning to look extremely ominous, as if they were gathering themselves for the big moment.
"Malfoy, stop," Granger ordered abruptly. "Half the resistance is outside the Leaky Cauldron. You can't run."
Draco turned to look at her. "Who said anything about running?" He withdrew the thin, long piece of wood that was hidden up his sleeve. "I was planning on walking out."
Granger eyed the wand with more than a little fear, as if it was a dangerous object in and of itself, rather than because Draco was dangerous when he was holding it. "The Ministry will arrive the moment you cast a single spell," she said. "They can track wand use, or have you conveniently forgotten that as well as everything Harry did for you? You'll get both of us put in Azkaban right alongside him."
Draco ignored her entirely and cast a full body bind spell on her. Her limbs snapped into place and she fell onto the floor of his rented room, her eyes still wide. They darted around as if trying to see everything that was going on in the room.
Except nothing was happening. After a few moments of still silence, Malfoy said, "Oh, look at that. No one suddenly appeared. I am so surprised!" Then his eyes hardened and the sarcasm left his voice. "The Ministry has bigger worries right now than me or you, Granger."
Draco turned once more and this time left the room and walked out of the Leaky Cauldron itself. He found himself feeling a little surprised that there weren't any members of the Phoenix Alliance waiting to ambush him, because he'd never really pegged Granger as the kind to be capable of a believable bluff.
He was even a little disappointed that he wouldn't see their faces as well as Granger's when he used his magic without any measure of Ministry control or consequences for the first time in years. It was exhilarating. He felt powerful again.
He walked out into Diagon Alley and the first sounds of angry yelling and perhaps even rioting reached his ears. A man who appeared to be an Auror was frantically casting spells at the crowd that was descending upon him, but they easily overwhelmed him with their sheer numbers.
"That'll teach you to lock innocent wizards in Azkaban!" one elderly sort of witch screamed as she hit a Ministry official who'd lost his wand with her handbag.
Draco smiled.
People usually did exactly as Draco wanted, whether they realised it or not.