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Secrets & Lies	By : Digitallace Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 14570 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with the fandom, nor do I get paid to write or post this work.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Author's Note: Thanks again to all who reviewed and to Cris for looking this chapter over for me.

Chapter 8 Falling Apart

"Minister Shacklebolt," Harry greeted formally, despite being told many times not to bother with formalities. As he stepped into the opulent Ministry office, his gaze lingered on the many portraits of past Ministers, a handful of the frames empty from the Ministers that were merely retired, not deceased. He'd only been in this office a handful of times despite his close relationship with the Minister, but he supposed that was still more than most Ministry employees could boast.

"Harry," Kingsley sighed, shaking his head. Harry could almost hear the words 'please, call me Kingsley' on his lips, but he didn't use them this time. Instead, he shot Harry a wry grin and gestured toward the chair across from his desk, as if there were several options for where to sit. "I assume Ron and Hermione got to you."

That was one of the things he enjoyed most about his friendship with Kingsley. There was no need for preamble, both men just got to the point and then moved onto more pleasant things. "You could say that," he muttered. "Is it true that Fledgecraft is off the Malfoy case?"

"Is it true that you think he's innocent?" Kingsley countered, and Harry did his best not to fidget under the Minister's scrutinizing gaze.

"Innocent is a strong word, Sir. Everyone is guilty of something, after all," he reasoned. "I'm just not sure Malfoy is as guilty as Fledgecraft's vendetta paints him."

Kingsley steepled his fingers and leaned back, regarding Harry for a long moment before nodding his approval. "You're keen, Harry. Even Hermione didn't pick up on that."

Not wanting to lose face, but not exactly understanding the Minister's words, Harry only cocked his head to the side, hoping Kingsley would elaborate. "Sir?"

"On the vendetta," he said at last. "Fledgecraft's wife was a casualty of Voldemort's war."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I think I heard something about that, but there were a lot of casualties and it was rare anyone sought vengeance against any one person. Especially given the fact that Malfoy was only a teenager through most of it."

"As were you, Harry, but still you managed to save the world."

The words hung in the air between them, and Harry could no longer resist the urge to fidget. He knew that Kingsley had a point, but who was he to demand everyone make the same decisions he did in the war. "I didn't have a family to protect. In some ways my parents being dead made it easier to do what I did."

A slow, careful smile crept across Kingsley's features and he nodded. "Fledgecraft's wife was an Unspeakable, in fact, she was the woman who cataloged your prophecy when it arrived," he explained, and Harry could only blink and wait for the Minister to continue. "She was captured by Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor where she was tortured and killed."

"Fuck," Harry breathed, none too lightly. "No wonder he hates me so much." She was killed for information about Harry, about the prophecy. His prophecy. If not for him, she'd probably be in the bowels of the Ministry cataloging more usual magical artifacts as they spoke.

With an irritated huff, Kingsley shook his head. "The placement of grief rarely makes sense, Harry. Regardless of his reasoning, Fledgecraft has treated you unfairly."

Harry shrugged it off. Now that there was a reason behind it, something tangible he could think back to, Harry thought it might be easier to cope with. Maybe they could even reach a tenuous understanding over a pint and a cigar. "So he blames Malfoy because, what? It was his house?"

"It was by his hand that she was tortured, and by his father's she was killed," Kingsley breathed.

"Oh."

There wasn't much more Harry could think to say. So many people had done so many out of character things during the war, and though it wasn't completely out of character for Lucius, he was safely locked away in Azkaban. For some irritating reason, Harry couldn't imagine Draco having taken any pleasure in torturing anyone, but he couldn't prove it. And he couldn't change it. What he could do is work to find out which Draco Malfoy was the real one. Was he like his father? A Death Eater to the core, or was he just a man who had lived through a great tragedy and only wanted a normal life.

Like Harry.

He shook off the thought and straightened his shoulder. "Well, Sir, I appreciate the insight. I think that will make my job much easier. I'd like to return to my position here at the Ministry, that is, if you'll have me."

Kingsley stood, offered his hand to Harry and nodded. "Let's just forget you ever left, shall we?"

Harry offered him a wry grin and nodded. "Fair enough. Thank you, Sir." The grip on Harry's hand didn't wane at all as he stared, starting to feel uncomfortable. "Sir?"

"I need you to promise me, Harry," the man whispered, more intense than Harry had seen him since the war. "Promise me you won't use this trouble with Fledgecraft to convince yourself that Draco Malfoy is an innocent man. There are plenty of trails that Ministry have followed and all of them have ended with a perfectly dead end."

"Maybe that just means he hasn't done anything illegal," Harry pointed out, aware that he was mostly trying to convince himself even though he didn't know why.

"When I say dead end, I mean just that, Harry. The investigations just stuttered to a close for some reason or another. Not because they met a natural ending that one might have when the leads turn up useless rubbish, but it was as if our investigations were purposely severed," he explained, letting the words and their implications sink in before moving on. "If Malfoy is up to something and has even the slightest inkling that you're on to him, you could be in danger."

Harry nodded slowly, feeling suddenly numb. What if Malfoy was playing along because he knew Harry wasn't genuine? What if the sneaky Slytherin was setting him up for humiliation, or worse, plotting to strike when he was good and distracted? Giving Kingsley a suitably wary smile, Harry finally felt his hand freed of the Minister's strong grip. "I'll be careful," he assured Shacklebolt and himself both.

"See that you do, Harry," the man intoned before inclining his head, letting Harry know he was dismissed.

"Well, Boss," Ron chimed, grinning like a happy Crup. "What should we do first? Play a game of Wizard's Chess? Put spiders in that tosser Morrison's office?" He seemed to catch Hermione's glare and shrugged, probably used to it by now. "What? He deserves it after spreading around the office that Harry…you know."

Harry cocked a brow and looked up from the paperwork he was using to studiously ignore Ron's childishness up until this point. "What lie did Morrison spread around the office?"

Looking uncomfortable, Ron glanced to Hermione, who shrugged much the same way he had a moment before. "You wanted to run your mouth, now you can explain it all to Harry," she challenged curtly.

With a heavy sigh, Ron fidgeted, seemingly unable to meet his friend's gaze. "Well, he was sort of telling people that you asked Malfoy to fuck you. That you'd begged Fledgecraft for the case…."

Harry tried not to show any emotion whatsoever at Ron's admission. He was used to being the target of the rumor mill, but this one bothered him more than it should. "Well, thankfully I think everyone in the office will realize that's ridiculous tripe," he pointed out, hoping what he said aloud sounded more mature than the diatribe that was scrolling through his head, listing all the vengeful things he could do to Morrison in return for his big mouth.

"I'm sure no one believed him, Harry," Hermione assured. "It was petty and unwarranted."

"He's just mad that you were chosen to be on the leading Auror team over him," Ron added, trying to smooth it all over. "Jealous twat."

"Look," Harry began, shifting slightly in his seat as he imagined people outside the conference room gossiping about the state of his virgin arsehole, "can we please just move on? What's the plan for settling this Malfoy case once and for all? The sooner I put it all behind me, the better."

"Well, we're clearly not using the same tactics as before," Hermione stated with an obvious air. "That was cruel and unusual punishment to say the least."

Harry shifted again, frowning. "It was…but…maybe Fledgecraft had a point. I mean, I'm certainly not going to sleep with him or anything, but maybe if he and I became friends…maybe I could get to the bottom of this whole thing a bit quicker."

"Harry, you're not serious?" Hermione huffed, eyes narrowing. "It was this very point that drove you to quit, and now you're agreeing with Fledgecraft?"

Letting out a sigh at Hermione's lecture and Ron's gaping look, he shook his head mildly. "I'm not agreeing with him exactly," Harry protested. "I'm just saying that his method was rooted in something that may potentially work. Plus…I sort of have a date with him," he rushed, the words smooshing together in a nearly unintelligible string.

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, the look on her face saying clearly that she hoped she misunderstood.

"What the hell does that mean?" Ron demanded much less eloquently.

Harry fought back a blush and stood, pacing around the room so that he didn't have to look at his confused friends. "I ran into him earlier this week," he began.

"You mean earlier this week when you weren't an Auror," Hermione cut in, scrutinizing him closely.

"Not technically an Auror. No," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair and giving a soft huff. "It just sort of happened. I was out running errands for Ginny and-"

"Your girlfriend Ginny," Hermione pointed out, butting in again with a mild glare.

Gritting his teeth, Harry took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly before continuing. "He asked. I said yes. It's not a big deal. I knew that it could be useful even though I wasn't an Auror any longer."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Ron quieted her with a hand on her arm. "Leave it to our Harry to be thinking like an Auror even after he quit," Ron chimed good-naturedly and to Harry massive relief. "Now we have a starting point at least. It should be easy enough to explain that it was all a big misunderstanding and that you're not really bent. Who knows, maybe he'll be fine and you can start building on that friendship thing you mentioned," he added rather awkwardly.

"No. That's ridiculous," Hermione scoffed, leveling her gaze on Harry as she directed her tirade at her fiancé. "If he does that, he'll lose all credibility. Everything we've worked for to this point will be moot. There is no way in hell Malfoy will be okay with Harry jerking him around like that. It's not like it was some inadvertent misunderstanding," she reasoned.

"So what do you suggest?" Ron demanded, looking irritated.

"Harry either has to stick to the original plan or take an entirely different route. We can figure out a way to infiltrate his finances, bring him down for questioning under Veritaserum, send in a team to raid his properties." All good options, but Harry couldn't restrain a grimace.

"Those are all things you do when there is already a shred of proof that the target is guilty. All we have to go on is a grudge by our former superior," Harry pointed out. "Is that enough to burst in wands blazing?"

"Don't you want to put him away, Harry?" Ron asked, looking confused.

"Yes...no...I mean, I want him put away if that's what he deserves, but you can't sentence someone to Azkaban because they're a bit of a prick," Harry sighed.

"A bit of a prick?" Ron countered, ginger brow quirked.

"Okay, fine. He's much more than that, but you can't lock someone away for anything we know Malfoy has done. Unless we find more concrete proof that he's the criminal Fledgecraft has made him out to be, I'm not comfortable treating him as such. It's innocent until proven guilty, not 'cover your bits because we're coming after you no matter what'."

His eyes met Hermione's and Harry watched a mixture of emotions flitter over her face. He knew he caught annoyance, but he also thought he noticed a sliver of grudging respect, but it was all well masked by a thick layer of 'If you fuck this up, Harry Potter, so help me I'll Hex you into next week'.

"It sounds like you've made your decision then," she noted, her voice holding a quiet sternness as she squared her shoulders and seemed to prepare for the worst.

"We continue on the same path. For now," Harry confirmed, sounding surer than he felt.

"I highly doubt that it's entirely unfounded-" Ginny chimed from the kitchen, the kettle whistling and drowning out the rest of her words, but Harry wagered he knew what they were without hearing them this time. They'd been having the same argument for an hour.

"Why can't you just support me in this?" Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. It was likely a riot of black by now, but he didn't have it within him to care. Ginny walked back into the room carrying a scowl and two cups of tea. If there was one thing he could say in favor of this relationship, it was that they usually managed to fight in a civilized fashion. There was hardly ever any yelling or hexes thrown. They simply tried to talk things out like rational adults.

"Hm, I wonder why?" Ginny bit out, somewhat bitterly as she handed Harry his tea. He took a sip, wincing at how hot it was and set it aside for the moment. "What reason could I possibly have to take issue with my boyfriend going on a date with Draco Malfoy?"

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He knew he should have kept work assignments separate from his relationship, but one of Hermione's terms for maintaining this ruse with Malfoy was that Ginny be told of every incident. Harry could admit that it was fair, but it didn't mean he had to enjoy it. "C'mon, Gin. You can't possibly be worried that I'd cheat on you with Malfoy?" he huffed, the idea completely preposterous.

Ginny rolled her eyes and took a long sip of her tea before replying. "No. I know that. It would take a pretty potent love potion to make you fall for that git, but…." Her voice trailed off a she chewed her lip, looking deep in thought. "What will be people think?" she whispered at last, eyeing him seriously.

Brow furrowed in confusion, Harry picked up his tea and tried to drink it again, burning his tongue in the process. Ginny gave an exasperated huff and cooled it with a flick of her wand and a simple spell. "Thanks," he muttered, but merely clung to the teacup as if it would act as a barrier between them. "What people?"

"What if someone sees you two together? What if some slimy insect like Rita Skeeter catches you out with him?" She shuddered, lip curled up in a disgusted grimace. "You'd be the laughingstock of London if word got out."

Bristling, Harry felt himself sit up just a little bit straighter and glare at her just a little bit harsher. "Why do I get the impression that your concern is less for my reputation and more about your own?"

Ginny had the decency to look scandalized for a brief moment before narrowing her eyes. "This isn't about me, Harry. I'm just trying to protect you and the life we've created together. You're still a highly sought commodity. You have to be careful who you're seen fraternizing with."

Her words sent a sliver of contempt sliding down Harry's spine as he took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. "Well, luckily I won't be fraternizing with anyone," he announced icily. "I will, however, be completing the mission I was tasked with, which involves spending time with Draco Malfoy. And if your concern is honestly centered on me, you should know that I don't give a shit what the media or anyone else has to say about me." He stood, letting his tea rest coldly on the table and walked from the room, ignoring Ginny's shrill calls for him to come back and continue their conversation. He'd had enough talking. Now he just wanted to punch something, but it seemed he'd have to settle with silently stewing in his study.

The lamp on Draco's desk was the only thing illuminating his father's old study, casting the rest of the room in ominous shadows. He hated this office and had been tempted to magically seal it from the rest of the Manor when his father was imprisoned. He loathed the legacy that was left to him, wished he could cast it off like a tattered old coat, but his pride and Lucius' clients would never allow that. He was all that remained of a frail bloodline and the only one clever enough to handle such a business and not get caught.

With a heavy sigh, Draco traced his initials on the framed portrait resting quietly on the desk, followed by his mother's in turn. The air around him shimmered and he knew the small latch on the underside of the expanse of mahogany had appeared. Without looking at it, he yanked the lever and stepped back before the floor fell away, revealing a steep staircase.

He quickly descended, keeping his arms close to his sides in the narrow corridor. It was so tight he was forced to walk sideways in certain areas and he had to wonder how his father, whose frame was not large but certainly larger than his own, had ever navigated this space. Eventually it emptied into a vast room that had to be situated near the dungeons in some way. It was dank and smelled faintly of mildew, but he was able to mask the scent with a charm. Torches flamed to life as he walked briskly through the room, its magic attuned to Draco's wand. When he reached a door at the far end, he felt the wards caressing his skin, making certain he was allowed to pass.

Draco waited patiently for the buzzing to lift from his ears and knew the entrance would be unlocked for him. Inside the room beyond the door were all numbers of things that could send him to Lucius' adjoining cell. Shelves were tucked into the stone, filled with everything from outlawed potion ingredients to cursed objects and even some very deadly magical creatures. It was Draco's little emporium of illegal, his father's really, but he'd inherited this burden along with the title of Lord Malfoy.

Earlier in the week a very high profile client had paid Draco for a vial of virgin's blood and a caldron made of human bone. He knew the kinds of wicked things that could be done with such items, but he didn't hesitate in acknowledging that he had such tools at his disposal. Then he'd procrastinated all week, not wanting to visit his father's horrid cellar, not wishing to learn of what awful things the wizard wanted to do with those objects, and most of all, hating to be a disappointment to the wizard he'd grown unnaturally attracted to.

He didn't understand Potter. At moments he seemed genuinely interested in him and at other times he seemed purposefully detached. It wasn't a quality that usually bothered him in the men he dated, and he wasn't even dating Potter, so he had no idea why it irritated him now. Certainly he seemed on the surface the type of man Draco could get serious about. He was gorgeous in a haphazard kind of way, had a good sense of humor, danced adequately and that didn't even begin to touch on how powerful he was, both socially and magically. Draco needed a strong match if he was ever going to take charge of his own life and forsake the ways of his father.

Shaking his head, Draco pulled himself out of his revere. That was utterly impossible, and he'd never allowed himself to even consider it before now. Grabbing the items he'd been contracted to sell, Draco pushed the thought deep into the recesses of his being. He was the man that he was, a broken Malfoy with a broken legacy, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. If ever.

Author's Note: Uh oh. It seems Draco has been a very naughty boy. Perhaps Harry really does have something to worry about.
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Secrets & Lies