The Best Aurors in the Department | By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4564 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; that belongs to J. K. Rowling. I am making no money from this fic. |
Title: The Best
Aurors in the Department
Author: lomonaaeren
Disclaimer: J. K.
Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not
profit.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3400
Challenge: for incinerapture
Keywords: iPhone, water,
purple
Dialogue: "It's too early."
Summary: Harry
Potter and Draco Malfoy are the best Aurors in the Department, but even they don’t usually bring in traumatized
prisoners muttering through their own drool. It’s up to Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt
to get to the bottom of this.
Author’s Notes: Unbeta-ed, sorry. Warnings for profanity,
violence, and implied sex.
The Best Aurors in
the Department
“And you’re
certain you can’t get any sense out of him?” Kingsley didn’t mean to sound
snappish, but the utterly terrified look on the face of the subordinate who had
summoned him and the half-incoherent babbling the man had inflicted on him as
they raced down the corridors drove him to it. At least if he sounded snappish,
there was less chance that he would sound out of breath.
“None whatsoever, sir.” The man paused in front of the door
that opened on the holding cells where the Aurors traditionally placed their
prisoners for an initial questioning, and gazed at Kingsley. There was powerful
magic in the air, from defensive wards to alarm spells that were meant to
snatch a wand out of an unauthorized user’s hand. There had to be, to keep this
part of the Ministry safe from the Dark wizards and other criminals the Aurors
usually tracked. Even so, Kingsley knew it was fear that kept the man’s hair
standing on end, not any sympathy with the magic. “We’ve questioned him twice
already,” he said, and then paused impressively.
Kingsley
would have demanded he get on with it, but the next words made him less
impatient and increased his dread both at once.
“We’ve let
Bellona at him.”
Kingsley
whistled under his breath. Bellona was the most experienced interrogator in the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She went into shut rooms with a small
smile, and she came out with answers. She never left any marks on the prisoners
she questioned. She didn’t need to.
“And still
nothing?” Kingsley asked.
“No, sir.” The man sighed and opened the door that led to
the holding cells. “Perhaps you can get something out
of him, though. He might give an answer to the man who can protect him from
Aurors Potter and Malfoy.”
Kingsley
shot him a sharp glance, but the man had already vanished down the corridor,
and once again Kingsley had to follow at a brisk pace if he didn’t want to be
left behind. Fifty-two steps of crackling, blurred air—this much magic did odd
things to the places it occupied—passed them, and then the man paused in front
of a door and tapped his wand against it. An iron key materialized out of the
wood and was laid solemnly in Kingsley’s hand.
“Merlin go with you, sir,” the man murmured, and stood back.
Frowning,
Kingsley tapped his wand in the right place to summon the lock, and then went
through an identification and ward-lifting process he could do in his sleep.
His mind was resting more heavily on the hint that the Auror had let fall, that
Potter and Malfoy had something to do with this.
Kingsley
had warned them against what would happen if they let their newfound
relationship disrupt their work. And it sounded as if that was what had
happened. If Potter, for example, had used more force than necessary on a
criminal because he thought the man might hurt Malfoy…
Kingsley
exhaled hard. He’d discipline them, break them apart if necessary. He wouldn’t
have any choice.
He stepped
into the cell, and found the prisoner curled on the floor, crying. He was at
least sixty years old, to judge by the mangled beard that he was chewing on and
the ash-grey color of the hair hanging in his face, clumped by bogies and
tears. That only made his condition all the more disturbing.
Never
taking his eyes away—this was still a Dark wizard, after all, and Kingsley was
not about to discount the possibility that this was meant as a trick—he
Summoned the file that would remind him who this man was and exactly what he
had done. He read through it once, and then nodded in satisfaction. The man’s
name was Emmet Gascoigne, and he’d been casting spells on Muggle artifacts that
turned them into “harmless, fascinating” toys which then harmed Muggles. His
case had originated in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, but when the spells turned
Dark and deadly, that Office had gladly handed the job of tracking and
arresting him over to the Aurors. He had killed someone with something called
an iPhone, enchanted so that more of the Muggle’s mental and emotional essence passed into the
device after each use, ultimately leaving her an empty, soulless shell in a way
that mimicked the Dementor’s Kiss.
Kingsley
knelt until he was on Gascoigne’s level. “You have two minutes to tell me why
what happened to you isn’t a fitting punishment for what you’ve done,” he said
sternly.
Gascoigne
stopped crying and stared hard at him through a maze of tears. Kingsley felt a
moment’s relieved disgust. They tried
everything they could to get the truth out of him, indeed—
“Can you
protect me from them?” Gascoigne
whispered, and his voice took on a pathetic eagerness. “I’ll confess to
whatever you want me to, honest! I’ll go to Azkaban! I’ll do anything, anything, to put a wall between me and
those lunatics!” He hugged his shoulders and began to rock back and forth.
“You’ll
have to tell me what they did to you, first.” Kingsley could feel himself
moving, reluctantly, towards a conviction of his Aurors’ non-innocence. They
had done something to frighten Gascoigne this badly, and it didn’t sound as if
Dark magic or the taint it left on one’s soul scared him, so it must have been
something extreme.
“I’ll do
better than that. I’ll show you. You can have my memory, if you have a Pensieve
about.” Gascoigne laughed, a sudden, despairing sound.
“It’ll be worth it to have the images out of my head for an hour or two anyway.
And their words!”
Shuddering, he buried his head in his hands.
Keeping a
wary eye and wand on the prisoner, Kingsley stood and called for a Pensieve.
*
The first
thing Kingsley noticed when he plunged into the Pensieve memory was the steam.
He frowned, wondering for a moment if Potter and Malfoy had tracked Gascoigne
to one of the private baths in the Roman mode that some wizards and witches
operated around Diagon Alley.
And then a
purple pinwheel flew past his head, and Kingsley ducked automatically even though
he remembered it was a memory, and he decided that the steam was probably the
result of prior spells. The memory had begun where Gascoigne had heard the
voices.
“See if I
ever sleep with you again!”
Kingsley
blinked and stepped sideways to be out of the way as a panicked Gascoigne
pelted past him. He realized in a moment that there was no way out of the blind
alley and turned, his wand steady in his hand and his
eyes filled with the desperate look of a hunted creature. Unwillingly,
Kingsley’s respect for Potter and Malfoy increased. He wouldn’t have wanted to
approach someone as cool as Gascoigne looked right now, much less try and
reduce him to the sobbing creature Kingsley had met in the cells.
“And why
would you think I’d want to?” That
was Malfoy’s voice, slippery as the stone underfoot, which meant the first
voice must have been Potter—though, distorted with rage, it hadn’t sounded like
his. “You couldn’t get your leg around a spavined unicorn who
was attracted to non-virgins.”
Potter
snarled wordlessly. Gascoigne pointed his wand towards the sound, causing
Kingsley to tense, but a soundless red burst of light leaped out of the steam
to his left, grabbed his wand, and slapped him on the cheek with it. Gascoigne
lifted his hand to the stinging welt as if he weren’t certain what had
happened, then made a tentative grab for his wand. The red light smacked him
across the lips with the handle.
“Admit it,
Potter,” Malfoy said, teasing, goading. Kingsley listened intently, but he
couldn’t hear their footsteps even on the wet stone. They must have taken at
least some of the lessons in Stealth
and Tracking seriously, instead of constantly eye-fucking each other across the
room; he couldn’t see them, either. “That’s the real reason you haven’t
bottomed before. You’re so clumsy you knew you would scrape your partner’s eyes
out with your toenails.”
“You prick—“ The air
shimmered and turned into several silver clouds the size of Muggle bowling
balls, which flew towards Malfoy’s voice. Kingsley heard the man laugh
breathlessly. A moment later, the ball-shapes burst apart like dandelion pods
scattering their seeds.
“Temper, temper, Potter. Just for that, I’m not going to
cast the healing spell on your arse that I promised.”
“Oh, that’s a lack I’m going to feel.”
Potter’s voice was low, grating. “Considering I barely felt anything go up there in the first place.”
Malfoy
yowled like a stepped-on cat. Gascoigne snatched for his wand with a small
smirk on his face, seeming confident that his pursuers were utterly distracted
with their own row. Kingsley blinked to see the wand poke abruptly into the
soft skin at Gascoigne’s throat and hold him there. He wouldn’t have thought
that Malfoy could muster the strength to keep the red light spell, whatever it
was, stationary whilst he argued with Potter. Perhaps there had been some low
scores reported on the Strength and Development Exams. Lord knew Malfoy had
enemies in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, still—
A cascade
of boiling water traveled past Kingsley’s nose, and made Gascoigne flinch. It
vanished in Potter’s direction. Potter hissed in the next moment, the way
Kingsley himself had adopted when chasing Dark wizards in the field and wanting
to avoid letting them know that he was in pain.
But
apparently Potter wouldn’t give his partner the satisfaction of knowing how
hurt he was, either, because he was talking again in the next instant, voice
crackling with self-satisfaction. “You want to know the real reason I don’t
bottom, Malfoy?” Two sharp arrowheads of green appeared in the steam, thrummed
for a moment, and then vanished. Malfoy yowled again, which seemed to indicate
they’d found their target. “Because I’ve never found anyone
who can give me half the pleasure that I can give someone when I top, so I’m
reduced to toys and fantasy lovers. Don’t worry,
you’re not going to penetrate those
exalted ranks any time soon.”
“You
enjoyed yourself, I know you did.” Malfoy’s voice was surprisingly ragged. Of
course, Kingsley thought, as Gascoigne made another grab for his wand and this
time it jabbed hard enough into his larynx to reduce him to choking sounds, that could be from the pain he was probably in by now, or the effort of holding the
spell that cornered Gascoigne steady.
“I didn’t
come.” Potter sounded smug and outraged at the same time, a bad combination for
him and anyone else in the area. Abruptly, a quick tap-dance sounded out of the
steam; Kingsley reckoned Malfoy had sent a spell after Potter that he couldn’t
see from this angle. “You might have noticed that, if you hadn’t been so busy
grunting and rocking your way into oblivion. But then, you barely notice
anything in the midst of sex, do you? Certainly not anyone
else’s pleasure. Certainly not half-formed questions
on lips. Certainly not—“
Malfoy
interrupted him with a wordless cry, and then a spell Kingsley could only make
out the shadow of, but which brought several near-soundless gasps from Potter. He
caught a glimpse of a silhouette for a moment: Potter, he decided, bent over
with his arms wrapped around his gut. Then the steam closed in and took it away
again.
Kingsley
was beginning to experience a queasy feeling, and understand a bit of
Gascoigne’s terror. These were all extremely sophisticated spells, the kind
Kingsley would not try without hours of preparation, and they were being done all at once and nonverbally, in tandem with the exchange of angry words and the
magic that held Gascoigne prisoner and kept the steam rising. Yes, Potter and
Malfoy were the best Aurors in the Department, and at the moment, it was easy
to see why.
“If you
would once understand why I do that—“ A series of spells like smoke-rings, except that they
landed near Potter with the clang of iron. The spell holding the wand on
Gascoigne caused it to spew ropes that wrapped around his limbs.
“If you
would once take heed of someone else—“ Potter had
evidently escaped the iron, and he sent back several dazzling forks of
lightning at Malfoy.
“I did want to take care of you—“ A shield splintered the lightning and caused it to boil
away as harmlessly as the steam.
“Rubbish—“
“Listen!”
Malfoy was shouting now, the tone of his voice entirely at odds with the words
emerging from his lips. “I made a mistake,
and I was wrong, and I’m sorry! But you didn’t exactly enter me
painlessly our first time, either.”
Ringing silence from Potter’s direction. The loudest sound
right now, Kingsley thought, trying his best to be clinical in the midst of the
flying residue of spells and the unwanted details about his Aurors’ sex lives,
was Gascoigne’s whimpers as he hung upside-down in the grip of the ropes.
Kingsley hadn’t known it was possible to use someone else’s wand to cast Incarcerous, either, at least not
without touching it.
“I didn’t
promise it would be painless, either.” Potter sounded sullen, but he had
lowered his voice. Kingsley hoped that might mean the end of the row was
coming. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I told you the truth, and that’s
why you grew to like bottoming. I just thought you preferred to continue the
way we’d got used to, that was all.”
“So my
hints of wanting to try a different position meant nothing, did they?” Malfoy
sounded like a viper slithering its way up the walls, or maybe that was the
next spell he cast. Kingsley caught the edge of a vast, spoked
orange wheel that made him glad he couldn’t see the magic more clearly. “I
reckon you think that I ask to top for fun.
You would all but pat me on the head when I suggested it.”
“I patted
you elsewhere,” Potter corrected. “And you liked
it.”
This time,
Kingsley saw one of them move, in a leaping, cat-like motion; he thought it was
Malfoy, because he was fairly certain Potter had been standing in that direction, but the steam was still
writhing around and confusing his senses. Gascoigne had closed his eyes and was
moving his lips in what might have been prayer as the ropes tightened. Kingsley
found it hard to blame him.
“If you
listen to me,” said Malfoy, from what was definitely closer, unless they had
enchanted the mist to play tricks on Kingsley as well as Gascoigne, “then maybe
I’ll listen to you. I have wanted to top, for a long time, and because you
seemed to get so much pleasure out of it.”
“If you’re
going to tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself when it was your turn to bottom—“ Kingsley had never heard the same amount of outrage and
desperate, wounded pride as were mixed into Potter’s voice at the moment.
“I did,”
said Malfoy, and his voice had softened. “But the best pleasure palls in time, if it’s never varied.” A
puff of red smoke rose as he spoke the word “palls”; Potter laughed, and
Kingsley saw the sweep of an arm that might be his blocking the spell. Malfoy
sighed a little, and then spoke on as if he had never interrupted himself. “So
I asked for variation. And then you gave in with bad grace.”
“Well,
that’s a match for your level of skill at topping,” Potter retorted, and
Kingsley heard a sound like the snarl of a great cat. For a moment, a shadow
that was definitely not human flickered past him. Gascoigne’s prayers surged
into the audible range.
“No one can
be perfect the first time—“
“But it
doesn’t need to feel as though someone’s shoving a stick up your arse—“
“Funny,
from the way you’ve behaved today I imagine it would have been company for the
one you have up there already—“
Their
voices hushed suddenly, and Kingsley wondered if they’d remembered their
audience. But no. Instead, a series of wet sounds came
through the steam, and then soft moans, and then Potter’s panted murmur, “Damn
it, I never could resist you when you
were yelling into my face.”
From Malfoy, a wordless growl, and more loud noises.
Kingsley rolled his eyes and hoped the steam wouldn’t dissipate, though that
was rather pointless, since this was a memory and whatever was going to happen
had already happened. Perhaps the sight of Malfoy and Potter coupling had been
what caused Gascoigne to become practically catatonic.
“I’m
topping this time,” gasped Potter.
“No, I am.”
“Why don’t
we make it a contest?” The spark of challenge had entered Potter’s voice, and
Kingsley could picture the expression on his face perfectly. It was the way he
had looked the first day Malfoy was introduced to him as his new partner:
frustrated and ready to overcome that frustration by any means possible. “The
one who can scare Gascoigne the most wins the right.”
“You’re
on,” Malfoy said, and together they emerged from the mist and walked straight
towards Gascoigne.
Potter had
several odd burns around his eyes and ears, and a swollen mouth that would have
let Kingsley guess in a moment what he had been doing, if he hadn’t had the
evidence of his ears. Malfoy’s hair was wildly disordered and burned away on
the left side. For all that, they both wore intent, predatory expressions that
caused Gascoigne to twitch in his ropes.
Potter held
his wand out and raised an eyebrow. Small, serrated blades at once began to
grow out of the ropes, curving in towards the terrified man like teeth from the
mouth of a shark. Gascoigne closed his eyes and tried to twist his arms over
his head, which made some of the blades cut him. His face grew white as the
blood flowed over his skin, and Kingsley felt a stab of pity as well as one of
annoyance. Yes, he would need to talk to Potter. The magic he was using was not
Dark, any more than the simple conjuring of a knife to
aid in cooking was, but an Auror was supposed to keep to the spirit and not
just the letter of the law.
Malfoy
watched Potter’s efforts with a faint, contemptuous smile. Then he leaned
closer to Gascoigne and waited until the man opened his eyes and stared at him
through runnels of sweat and blood.
“They lied,
you know,” he whispered. “We’re not actually the best Aurors in the Department.
We’re the weakest.”
Gascoigne
stared at him for some moments, his face growing paler and paler. Then his eyes
rolled back in his head and he began to gibber.
“You win,”
Potter said, with disbelief in his eyes and a curl to his lips that suggested
to Kingsley he wasn’t so displeased as his expression
might suggest.
Malfoy
leaned towards Potter, eyelashes almost fluttering. “I promise to be careful of
your sore arse, Potter.”
And there
the memory ended.
*
Carefully,
Kingsley pulled his head from the Pensieve and stood staring down at it for
some moments. He pondered what punishment to assign to Aurors Potter and
Malfoy. They had been playing a dangerous game, launching spells at each other when they were supposed to be
capturing a dangerous criminal. And their relationship was getting in the way
of their work, just as he had foreseen that it would.
On the
other hand—
“It’s too
early,” he murmured to himself. Potter and Malfoy had only been working
together for five months, and shagging for a shorter time than that. Kingsley
had the feeling that he’d barely seen what they could do.
And
Gascoigne was a Dark wizard, responsible for the loss of at least one person’s
soul. He didn’t deserve death or to be tortured, but he might deserve not much
short of that.
In the end,
Kingsley left the isolated room where he had viewed the Pensieve with
arrangements made for Gascoigne’s trial and a satisfied smile hovering around
his mouth. He would write a letter to Potter and Malfoy, lightly reprimanding
them for their contact and praising them at the same time, so that they
wouldn’t be sure how much the Minister knew and how he had found it out. It was
best to keep a hold on them if he could, and encourage them to be respectful.
After all,
they were the best Aurors in the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Kingsley would just as soon that
they not have any grudge against him.
End.
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