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Leopardspaw	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21311 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Ten—Searching for a Sign

            “What did you learn from Immortal?”

            Harry took a moment to seat himself in the chair in front of Kingsley, though a large part of his fussiness came from wanting to make sure that there was enough of a distraction for Malfoy to sneak into the Minister’s office unheeded. Of course, Malfoy might have managed it even if Harry hadn’t made noise. He had got through the wards on the cell that sheltered Immortal, after all.

            They would have to talk about that later.

            For now, Harry leaned forwards and fixed earnest eyes on Kingsley. “I learned that he can’t possibly be working alone.”

            Kingsley’s hand jerked, so that he nearly knocked over the inkwell he had been reaching for. He put it down slowly, his eyes fastened to Harry’s face as though he wanted to make him deny what he’d said by sheer willpower. “I was afraid of that,” Kingsley whispered. “What makes you think so?”

            Harry sighed and leaned back in the chair, arms folded, radiating a tension he didn’t feel. In a way, lying like this made him uncomfortable. It went against his newfound reverence for the truth.

            On the other hand, Kingsley was not the one stuck with seeing red halos around the heads of people who lied. And his reverence for the truth was nothing against his reverence for Malfoy and another chance, possibly, to sleep with him, which depended on doing well in this case and finding Malfoy’s bloody father.

            With that resolution in mind, Harry bowed his head. “Because Immortal is dangerous, and a good researcher, but insane,” he murmured. “He couldn’t have come this far on his own…Kingsley, he said that he’d discovered a way to destroy souls, definitively and forever, that didn’t involve Dementors. How could he do so unless he has someone behind him?”

            “He didn’t say so?” Kingsley pressed. “Did you ask him? Maybe you should talk to him again and see if he lies?”

            Harry held up a cautioning hand. “His insanity is such that some of the things that came across as true to me could have been lies. Remember, my cu—gift can’t give objective information about things that someone believes to be true.” That was true, something proved in the studies with the Unspeakables. Harry didn’t know what Kingsley’s reaction to hearing him call his stupid accident a curse would be, though, so he would keep that little pet name back for right now.

            “And that makes it all the more likely that he has a helper,” Kingsley muttered, assuming and reasoning the way Harry had hoped he would. He shook his head, making a soft crushing noise from his hair brushing against the thick leather on the back of the chair. “Very well. We’ll look around some more and inform you when we have someone.”

            Harry smiled a little. “There was a thought I had, actually. Has anyone escaped from Azkaban recently? Do any of the guards have news? The only people I know who claimed to be able to destroy someone’s soul are all inmates of Azkaban now.”

            Kingsley started and sat up. “We did have an escape. How did you hear about it?”

            Harry snorted and pointed a finger at the center of his chest. “I’ve been on holiday for the past several weeks, Kingsley. I wouldn’t have heard about it. That’s why I said it was ‘a thought I had,’ not ‘a mystical revelation.’”

            Kingsley laughed, and for the first time, did look like someone who would do whatever Harry told him to with a little prompting, because it was Harry telling him to do it. Harry checked a sigh. That jest had been weak. It was the universe and not himself who produced the most intense comic situations, anyway.

            Such as that I’m apparently falling for Draco bloody Malfoy.

            Harry let the thought pass through him. Ignoring it and trying to argue with it would both make him weaker.

            “There has been an escape,” Kingsley said, and seemed to debate for a few minutes before he spoke further. “Lucius Malfoy. But he never seemed to have worked on anything important when he was with You-Know-Who’s band. An unimportant entity, first and last, more of value for his name and money than anything else.” He gave a small smile. “And since the war, both of those things have lost their power.”

            Harry stretched out, casually, with one arm, to catch the strike that he assumed would be heading towards the Minister. He felt nothing, though, and Kingsley failed to curl up writhing with the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. In fact, he was blinking at Harry.

            “Did you have a cramp in your shoulder, Harry?” he asked.

            “Er, no,” Harry said, pulling his arm back and watching the air over Kingsley’s shoulder for a sign that it was wavering and dancing. If Malfoy was moving in that direction under the Disillusionment Charm, to cut Kingsley’s throat for him from behind his head, then Harry ought to be able to see it in time to stop him.

            “Or something in your eye?” Kingsley was watching him with his brows arched so high now that Harry thought he would do himself an injury if he tried to maintain the expression for long. “I only ask because you look as if you’re an instant away from winking.” He turned and looked over his shoulder, but to Harry’s relief, there seemed to be only empty office there.

            Harry sighed. “I’m stressed, it’s true, and I do wish the Unspeakables had an answer to this already.” He raised his stained hands.

            Something bumped his shoulder. Malfoy was apparently standing near his side, and had understood what he feared and was going to reassure him. Harry was glad that he had got rid of his stupid tendency to blush a while ago. That would have revealed to Kingsley that something was up—although he might have taken it for a flush of anger.

            This is why I don’t enjoy politics. I don’t want to guess at everyone’s motives and the nuances of their actions all the times. There are times that I just want to hit something.

            “They would like to run some more tests,” Kingsley said, looking apologetic for bringing it up and at the same time relieved that he didn’t have to wait for Harry to say something in the conversation that would naturally lead there. “If you don’t mind, Harry, you could go to the Department of Mysteries and—”

            “No,” Harry said. He said it as firmly and pleasantly as possible, but Kingsley still stared at him. If he fawned over Harry, then, it was at least the sort of fawning that made him question his actions. “I need to know about Lucius Malfoy’s escape, Kingsley. There are reasons.”

            He lowered his voice on the last word, and Kingsley gasped and leaned towards him. “Is it one of your hunts?” he whispered.

            Harry hid a grimace as he nodded. The “hunts” were what Kingsley and other Aurors called the miraculous ability Harry supposedly had for ferreting out criminals from the smallest of clues, which he would start hunting for based on nothing more than a slight feeling of unease or a conviction that the facts didn’t fit with the apparent circumstances. They had exaggerated things until they now thought that Harry’s hunts were the way he solved all his cases. In truth, Harry had only ever had two or three of them.

            “Then you can have all the information you need,” Kingsley said warmly, standing up. “I’ll bring in the latest coterie of guards who left Azkaban recently. Most of them were on the island when Malfoy escaped.”

            He passed Harry’s chair on the side where Malfoy was standing as he went towards the door. Harry couldn’t see what really happened because of the Disillusionment Charm, of course, but he imagined Malfoy moving aside with the grace of a dancer, because it amused him to do so.

            The minute the door shut, Harry saw the air ripple as though Malfoy was about to remove the charm. He shook his head. “Wards,” he said out of the side of his mouth, in a tone that would make someone listening mistake it for a complaining sigh.

            Malfoy paused, then said in a voice low enough that Harry didn’t think the wards would pick it up, “I know tricks for getting around those.”

            Harry leaned his head back and shook it a little more. What he really wanted to say was that Malfoy might know tricks for getting past the wards that guarded doors, but that wasn’t the same as fooling wards that were meant to detect strangers inside rooms.

            Perhaps Malfoy agreed, or was so confused by Harry’s gestures that he had to shut up and think about them for a while. Either way, he didn’t try to remove the charm, and Kingsley came back with a number of Aurors who filled most of the room. Harry was confident Malfoy would still find some place to stand where he wouldn’t bump into them, though. He was graceful like that.

            Harry learned little from the Aurors, most of whom he knew at least casually, and who had been chosen for guard duty because of their stolid personalities and their gift for snaring and imprisoning spells rather than their observation skills. One Auror, Gerald Peabody, did volunteer that Lucius Malfoy had seemed more nervous than usual the last week before his escape.

            Harry frowned at him. The others all stared at Peabody as if he was making this up, which didn’t reassure Harry much. “And you didn’t notice why?” he asked.

            Peabody folded his arms. “Uncommunicative bastard, wasn’t he?” he asked.

            Like you, Harry thought. He could make out the harsh set to Peabody’s jaw that put him in the category of Harry Potter Hater Number Four: someone who was jealous of the immense number of favors he thought Harry received. Harry would like to body-switch with one of those Aurors in the middle of a hard case once, just to see what they would do about being plunged suddenly into the middle of a “favorable” situation, curses flying.

            “There must have been something that started it,” Harry said. “A meal he was served? A new Auror coming in that he didn’t know well?” He was proud of himself. His voice was so mild and so perfect, hiding his contempt of Peabody and all the others who were looking back and forth between him and Peabody as if they thought his questions were perfectly reasonable but Harry’s were suspect.

            Yes, someday I’ll become a Dark Lord, and right now, I think Peabody’s is the first head I want to put on a spike.

            Peabody blinked a moment, as though the thought was entirely new to him, and snapped his fingers. “There was something. After the post came in one day, he started laughing and couldn’t stop for five hours.” He looked down his nose at Harry, as much to say, Would you remember how long he laughed?

            Harry returned a look that made Peabody rock back on his heels. Harry hoped that his glance had said he would not only remember it, he would have brought it up the first time someone asked him. Then he said, “Did the prisoners receive any post or packages that the guards hadn’t looked through?”

            Peabody snorted like an angry racehorse. “Of course not. Why would you think they did?”

            Harry smiled back at him, and held the smile and the gaze until Peabody looked on the point of drawing his wand. Then Harry said, “So he would have read only letters that someone else had already read?”

            “Yes.” Peabody stared at him, perplexed.

Harry turned towards Kingsley and bowed a little, spreading his hand out in front of him with a flourish. “Minister, your reason for escape.”

Kingsley gave him a mild scowl. Harry raised his eyebrows back. Kingsley, he knew, hated it when Harry showed up the stupidity of the other Aurors, which Harry thought was an excellent reason not to hire stupid people to be Aurors. “I’ll find someone who remembers the content of the post,” Kingsley said. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry opened his mouth to make a gentle disclaimer, and then paused. There was a faint tugging on his sleeve, a ripple of motion next to him that would have come perilously close to attracting Kingsley’s attention if it was more in the open. Luckily, Peabody and another member of the Unobservers Corps stood between Kingsley and the motion.

For Malfoy to risk touching him in front of others, it must be important. Harry chose to take a risk, and hope it was the right one later. He sighed and shook his head. “If you don’t need me for anything else, Kingsley, I’ll be going,” he said, standing. “This was a nice holiday from boredom, but my telly calls.”

            Kingsley stared at hm. “You’re not at all interested in the matter of Lucius Malfoy’s escape?”

            “I’m sure you have competent people who can handle it,” Harry said smoothly, and nodded at Peabody, who now regarded him as though thinking that this whole story about Harry having a piece of Voldemort’s soul in him that had been destroyed was pretty suspicious, and why had no one ever investigated it before? “You know me. Easily-solved mysteries aren’t my forte.”

            And with a smile and nod at everyone there, he swirled out of the room, in a dramatic fashion that left plenty of space around him in the doorway, and pretended not to hear Kingsley’s forlorn call about whether he would continue handling the Immortal case.

            Harry stalked through the corridors of the Ministry with a bent brow, and occasionally muttered things like “Poison!” and “Supernova!” to himself. It kept anyone from approaching him, the way it had all the years he’d used it, and he got out into the open air, with Malfoy brushing him occasionally to say he was still there, without the coterie of followers he might have picked up otherwise.

            Then he slowed, and said out of the corner of his mouth, “What was so bloody important that we had to leave?”

            Malfoy came out from under the Disillusionment Charm, only to immediately go back under a Dimming Charm, which would make him appear like a ghost or a dream for anyone who didn’t expect to see him there. Harry recognized the heat-shimmer waver in the air above his face, and nodded in approval.

            “There was a letter to the Manor a few weeks before my father’s escape,” Malfoy said quietly, his eyes fastened on the distant buildings. Harry thought they should get out of London, but for the moment, Malfoy seemed content to walk slowly and think, so Harry imitated him. “It asked me if I knew how wonderful Lucius was, what a perfect subject.” Malfoy grimaced. “I was thinking of what your Immortal said.”

            Harry winced. Yes, now that he thought about it, that explanation for Lucius’s disappearance did sound likelier than it had. “Is there any possibility he would have tried to speak to the Aurors about it if he thought his life was in danger?”

            Malfoy shook his head. “The wording was innocuous enough in mine. It was probably even more so in the one that reached him, because whoever wrote it had to have known it would go through inspection. Nothing he could say would have convinced them.”

            Harry nodded. “So we’re looking for someone with enough connections to get your father out of Azkaban, rather than him escaping by himself. That does make more sense. Can you think of any reason they would want him in particular, though?”

            Malfoy brushed his hand along his left arm, and grimaced.

            Harry sighed. Yes, trying to resurrect Voldemort was the worst thing he could think of to happen, so—

            Then he narrowed his eyes. “What they want won’t work,” he said. “I wonder if they know that? Or do they know and intend to try anyway? I don’t know anything about soul-destroying magic outside Dementors, really.”

            Malfoy stared at him. “Why would bringing back—the Dark Lord not work?” He had to pause before he said the title, but Harry thought he probably wouldn’t half-faint if Harry said the name now.

            “Because he tore his soul into eight pieces, if you count the one that remained in his body, trying to become immortal,” Harry replied. “I know the one that was in me is beyond their reach.” That was one of the high points of his life, in a weird way, that session in the King’s Cross Station of his mind with Dumbledore. Decisions he made there were absolutely right, and the shard of Voldemort’s soul was absolutely safe. “We destroyed most of the others when we destroyed the things he was keeping them in. If we hadn’t, there was no way he could have died.”

            Malfoy fell back a step. “You mean Horcruxes,” he said. “You’re talking about Horcruxes.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows. “Since you already know the word, I won’t deny it, but you could keep from blurting it out to half of wizarding London.”

            Malfoy shook his head and lowered his voice, without even a comment about how no one was near enough to overhear them. “That makes him—different than I thought he was.”

            Harry thought of asking exactly what Horcruxes meant to Malfoy, but decided there was no need, not with that expression on his face. He nodded. “But it’s possible, I suppose, that someone could try to resurrect the shard of soul that was still in his body when he died. I don’t know exactly how that would happen, or how they would reach it, or whether a ghost with a tattered soul would be able to possess a living body. But that might not matter if they’ve already destroyed your father’s soul.”

            “Which they will,” Malfoy whispered, and sighed. “This just became more urgent than I ever dreamed it could.”

            “That’s what happens when I take any case,” Harry told him. “For some reason, trouble courts me.”

            To his irritation, Malfoy didn’t look jealous.

*

            Nightlo: Thank you! It’s not the attraction Draco is denying so much as the sex; he thinks it’ll get in the way of their hunt. And that’s the conclusion Harry and Draco are coming to, too.

            polka dot: Harry wants to know that, too.
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