Fic: Game of Goblins

[alisanne]

Title: Game of Goblins
Author/Artist: Alisanne
Rating: NC-17
Word Count/Art Medium: ~12,550
Warnings: Nothing beyond what the rating indicates.
Content/Enticements: Mild angst, a smattering of sex.
Summary: Draco’s having a no good, very bad day, and then, just when he thinks it can’t get any worse, Potter shows up.
Author/Artist's Notes: Written for the 2014 hd_erised fest. Thanks to my beta-readers, sevfan, emynn, and faithwood (it really did take a village to produce this fic, lol), as well as to the fest mods. *smooches*
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.


~

Game of Goblins

~

He has cared for her through times of fire and pain, through times of darkness and sorrow and even joy. And now that she is alone, he cannot stop caring for her. He is all she has left. And so he must comfort her, even if others would not approve. What does he care for others, after all? She is his everything.

So, when the other one comes and shows him a way to make her happy again, he is grateful. And he listens, watches, and waits until finally, he strikes.

~

Draco enjoys his job. Really, he does. But there are some days it’s...difficult. I knew I should just have stayed in bed today, he thinks he as looks up at his clearly panicked secretary’s panicked face. He sighs.

The day already hasn’t started well. He’s late, for one thing, and the goblins hate tardiness. He’s accidentally put too much sugar in his tea, and it’s disgusting, and the cart where he gets his breakfast is out of his favourite sweet rolls. Thus, when Felicity bursts into his office, he’s well aware it isn’t going to be good news. Not on a day like this. “What now?”

“Something terrible’s happened, Mr Malfoy.” Felicity has always been one for over-dramatisation. Draco’s not sure why the goblins ever hired her, but he’s stuck with her now.

Stifling the urge to shout at her, Draco asks, “What’s that, then?” A part of him is pleased that he manages an even tone.

“Another vault has been broken into.”

“What?” Draco cries, dropping his quill. Cursing under his breath, he banishes the inky mess before glaring up at her once more. “Say that again.”

“There’s been a burglary,” she repeats, hands clutching her notepad tightly. “It happened very early this morning. It’s the third one this month!”

“Yes, thank you, I can count,” Draco growls. Perhaps she’s not being too dramatic. This is terrible.

Felicity coughs. “And Griplock wants to see you right away, sir. He’s pretty upset. He sent for you earlier but--”

“But I wasn’t here because I was late. And now he’s aware of that.” Groaning, Draco drops his face into his hands. After a moment he feels the wetness of the ink on his skin. He groans again.

“Oh dear,” says Felicity. “I believe you there’s some ink on your robes, sir. Would you like a towel?”

Biting his tongue hard, Draco snaps, “Yes, that would be lovely.”

Fortunately, he keeps a spare set of work robes in the wardrobe in his office, so after he cleans up and makes a quick change, he’s off to see Griplock. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck,” Draco chants under his breath. He grabs his notes and races out the door. As he passes Felicity’s desk, he says, “Tell Griplock I’m on my way. And while I’m in there, get me all the details on the latest burglary. And tell Blaise and Pansy I need their reports as soon as possible.”

She nods. “Yes, sir. I’m on it.”

“Salazar, of all the times for this to happen--” Draco stalks out of his office and down the hall, pausing to take a deep breath before knocking on his supervisor’s door and walking in.

When Draco first got this trial job with Gringotts, he believed all goblins looked and thought alike. He has since come to know better. Some are more focussed on numbers, counting, and some are more focussed on information gathering. Griplock is one of those who likes both.

As for their appearance... Well that’s difficult for anyone who’s not a goblin. They really do all look alike. But goblins, he’s discovered, have a very developed sense of ownership, so no one would ever sit at another’s desk. Basically, he knows this was Griplock because it says so on the desk plate.

“I understand there’s been another burglary, sir,” Draco says, pitching his tone to be deferential, another lesson hard learned. “And I want to reassure you that we’re working to plug any security holes that may have--”

“You said you could prevent them if we hired you and your associates,” Griplock interrupts, glaring at him. “That is why we hired you when no one else would.”

Draco nods. At least he doesn’t have to bite his tongue now; goblins appreciate bluntness. “Yes, I’m aware of why you hired us,” he says, tone dry. “Perhaps if you tell me exactly what happened we can start a proper investigation and get to the bottom of--”

“It should not have happened at all.” Griplock stands up, his attempt to be more intimidating. Because of their height disadvantage, the goblins’ desks are all built on platforms so that they tower over anyone who enters their offices. “You promised you could protect our vaults.”

Draco grits his teeth. “We can, I just need more information. Like what exactly was stolen--?”

“You have failed,” Griplock continues as if Draco isn’t still speaking. “Tell me why we should not dismiss all of you immediately, Draco Malfoy.”

Fuck. Draco schools his features. “Because you’ll stand a lot better chance of retrieving what was lost with us than without us,” he says, all the while wondering where the fuck Pansy and Blaise are.

Griplock crosses his arms. “This is your last chance. You will locate the missing items, or you will be all dismissed.” He narrows his beady little eyes. “And your pay, all your pay, will be docked as compensation. We did not have burglaries before you came.”

Draco coughs. “You mean you weren’t able to track the burglaries that occurred here before we came and started shoring up your security,” he says. “You had them. You just didn’t know about them.”

“Prove it,” sneers Griplock.

Can this day get any worse? Exhaling, Draco tries to backtrack. “Of course, since all we have are anecdotal reports that’s not possible--”

Griplock grunts. “I don’t care about that. Now that we have you, we were supposed to not have any robberies. You are to fix this!”

Draco nods. “And we shall. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a lot of work to do--”

“Wait.” Tapping a button on his desk, Griplock barks a few staccato grunts into it. Not for the first time, Draco wishes he could have learned Gobbledygook. “This time we have decided to notify the victim as well,” Griplock says. “He is here, and wishes to take part in the investigation.”

Draco frowns. “What? I don’t believe that’s a good idea since we’re only just getting started in our own investigation--” He spins when the door opens, his words fading as he sees who’s standing there. “Oh, bugger.”

Potter, the smug bastard, walks in looking positively edible in formal robes that make his shoulders look broader and his eyes greener than Draco remembers. “Hello, Malfoy. I hear that I’ve been robbed. I was at a fundraising breakfast and I came right over as soon as I was notified.”

Cursing his instinctive attraction to men in formal attire, Draco grinds his teeth as he feels a headache coming on. Why did I ask if this day could get worse? Things can always get worse. Now this has become the fucking worst day in the history of ever. It’s all Draco can do not to smack the smirk right off Potter’s face. In fact, his hands form fists before he can control himself.

“Technically, Potter,” he sneers, “this was a burglary, since no one was held at wand point.”

Potter chuckles. “You’re right, of course. I stand corrected.”

Draco huffs. Turning to Griplock, he wills himself to relax before saying, “Excuse me, but I don’t understand why Mr Potter is here.”

“Because Mr Potter is...very familiar with our security measures.” Griplock scowls. It’s clear there’s no love in his heart for Potter. “We believe he may be able to provide some insight into how this sort of thing can happen.”

Potter flushes, looking away.

Draco purses his lips, his own irritation forgotten in the face of Potter’s discomfiture. “Oh?”

“You have not read the security files?” Griplock’s eyes narrow.

Draco thinks, his mind racing, and after a moment, he remembers. “Ah, yes,” he says. “Of course.” Potter, when all of eighteen, broke into Gringotts and somehow escaped. It’s one of the few times Gringotts hasn’t been able to hide a robbery. The details, however, are classified. “The relevant details have not been shared with me, however.”

Griplock nods. “Because you are not a goblin.”

Draco glances at Potter. “But I am the one you hired to manage your security, so perhaps an exception can be made--”

“No.” Griplock climbs back into his seat. “You will work to solve the case and Auror Potter will assist.”

Auror Potter. Of course. Draco manages not to scream only by sheer will. “The Auror corps are not traditionally involved in Gringotts security--”

“It is his right as the victim,” says Griplock, sitting back down. “And, if you do not recover the stolen item by the end of tomorrow, you will be dismissed and charged replacement costs plus a...fee.” He smirks, showing his sharpened teeth, and in that moment Draco knows the ‘fee’ will likely be everything he owns.

“Griplock, I must protest--”

“Find the thief and recover the stolen items or you are dismissed.” Griplock points to the door.

Draco sighs. He needs a drink and it’s only nine-thirty in the fucking morning. Pasting a patently insincere smile on his face, he inclines his head towards Potter. “As you wish, sir. Welcome to Gringotts security, Potter. Follow me.”

~

“So this is the third burglary in as many weeks?” They have gone to the conference room attached to Draco’s office, and Potter has undone his formal tie, loosening the top button on his shirt. Draco is having a hard time not staring at his very lickable throat. Potter looks up from his perusal of Draco’s security reports, raising an eyebrow. “Why haven’t we heard anything about this at the DMLE?”

Draco’s seriously considering breaking out his emergency flask. If only he carried one. He’s pretty sure Pansy does, though. Where the fuck is she?

Draco exhales through his nose. “Gringotts maintains strict security protocols,” he says. “The last thing we need is the wizarding public thinking that their precious family heirlooms and money aren’t safe here.”

Potter raises an eyebrow. “Although apparently they aren’t.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “The majority are, however. Look, are you going to help me solve this case or not? The sooner we do this the sooner we can both go our separate ways.”

“Right.” Potter purses his lips. “So what was stolen this time?”

“Didn’t they tell you?”

Potter shakes his head. “No. All I got was a letter stating that there had been a breach of security and that I had thirty days to file if I wanted to request compensation.”

“Right.” Draco started rummaging through his papers. “A description of what was stolen has to be in here somewhere--”

“It was a brooch,” says Pansy, sashaying in. “And hello, Potter. Don’t you clean up nicely?”

Draco glares at her. “And what sort of time do you call this, then?” he snaps. “I sent for you at least thirty minutes ago.”

Pansy shrugs. “I was conducting a check of the security wards. I knew you were going to ask, and before you do, no, none of our wards were disturbed and none of the usual alarms were tripped.” She directs a questioning look at Potter, mutely asking why he’s there. Draco shakes his head. She purses her lips and nods. “Even more interesting than what was stolen, however, is whose vault it was stolen from,” she continues. “Guess.”

“It was Potter’s vault.” Draco sighs. “We already know that. It’s why he’s here.”

“Ah, but do you know whose vault it was before it was Potter’s?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Just spill it, Pansy.”

She smirks. “The item disappeared from the Lestrange vault.”

“Lestrange?” Draco’s eyes narrow. “The previous two items were taken from a couple of Ministry vaults. I wonder--”

Potter leans forward. “What sort of Ministry vaults?”

“The sort where they put items they’ve confiscated from people,” said Draco. “For example, there are probably some Malfoy family heirlooms in there that they confiscated from us after the war.”

“Oh.” Potter nods. “I understand. So does this sort of thing happen often?”

“No.” Draco frowns as something occurs to him. “Why do you own the Lestrange vault anyway?”

“No idea.” Potter shrugs. “I was notified that I inherited a bunch of vaults a few months ago, but I haven’t had a chance to even look at them before now. I don’t even know all of them. I have the papers somewhere at home.”

Draco bites the inside of his cheek. He remembers those days, when he knew he owned things but had no idea of the details. Since the war, however, those days are gone. He keeps a close account of his every possession. It’s not that much to monitor. He stares at Potter. “You haven’t inventoried your vaults?”

“I look at the balance in my main one.” Potter flushes under Draco’s steady stare. “I don’t really need anything from the others, so--” He spreads his hands. “I mean, the Lestrange vault is full of antique artefacts. What would I do with those anyway?”

Draco looks down at his papers to steady himself. Of course Potter has no appreciation for what that vault represents, for wizarding tradition or history. Then, he frowns as Potter’s words sink in. “Wait, how do you know the Lestrange vault has antiques?”

“Because I was inside it once, during the war.” Potter exhales. “It was years ago, though. And I didn’t do a detailed inventory. I was looking for something specific.”

“I see,” says Draco, raising an eyebrow.

Pansy coughs. “Something else is interesting. One of the items stolen from the Ministry vaults? It’d been in the Lestrange vault up until very recently, when it was confiscated as being Dark. Only then did the contents of the Lestrange vault reverted to Potter.”

Potter blinked. “So someone searched the vault before handing it over?”

“Standard procedure,” says Draco. “At least these days.”

Pansy perches on the conference table and leans forward in precisely the best way to show Potter her cleavage. Draco grits his teeth. Why is everyone being so annoying? “Exactly how many other vaults do you own, Potter?” she purrs.

Potter seems oblivious. “I’ve no idea.” Looking down at the parchments he has spread in front of him, he says, “Is there a way the goblins could give me a list?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” says Draco. “Pansy can get it, right, Pansy?”

Pansy huffs. “Of course.” She licks her lips and Draco can see her readying herself for another full frontal assault on Potter. “I’d be happy to. As for why you inherited the Lestrange vault--” Reaching into her cleavage, she pulls out a parchment, placing in down in front of Potter. “If you’d like to see how it happened, look for yourself.”

Potter looks, blinking. Shaking his head, he passes it to Draco, who scans it. “So according to this, in addition to being the Potter heir, you’re also the Black heir by virtue of Sirius Black having left his estate to you. And, since all the Lestranges died during the war and their heirs were the Blacks, too, their estate reverts to you.”

Potter frowns. “But isn’t your mother--?”

Draco’s eyes narrow. “My mother has renounced all family ties but Malfoy.”

Potter shrugs. “I’m happy to offer part of it to her if she wants it.” He raises an eyebrow as Draco gapes at him. “Problem?”

“No,” Draco says around the lump in his throat. “Although perhaps you should inventory the vault before you decide to give it away.”

Potter shrugs. “I have more than enough money,” he says, looking down at the parchments once more. “And since I never knew I had it, I’ll never miss it.” He smiles faintly. “Plus, maybe she can help me appreciate some of what’s in there. I’m sure there are priceless heirlooms that mean a lot to her. Maybe she can tell me about them and their cultural significance.”

Draco makes a mental note to talk with his mother about their sudden inheritance. Well, once Potter actually offers it to her. “That’s...quite generous,” he manages. He offers a faint smile. “And I’m sure Mother would be happy to shed some light on the family and cultural significance of the contents.”

“It certainly is generous. More than.” Pansy’s eyes lock on Draco and, smirking, she tosses her head and leans even further forward. Draco’s not sure how her breasts stay inside her robes. “Oh, Potter?”

“Hm?” He looks up at her, his eyes never even stopping at her cleavage. “Yes?”

Pansy searches his eyes for a long moment then, sighing, sits up straight. “Never mind,” she says. The look she tosses at Draco is resigned. “All yours,” she mouths.

Draco rolls his eyes. If only it were that simple, he thinks.

Potter leans back in his chair, looking up at Pansy. He’s clearly missed all the byplay. “Is there any way to identify the brooch that was removed? And do we know anything about its significance?”

Shaking her head, Pansy hands him another report. “There’s a description of it there. It’s curious that the thief didn’t take anything else,” she says, all business now that her seduction failed. “I mean, there was a fortune in gold and Galleons lying about in there, but none of that was even touched, just that brooch.”

Potter reads the report and sighs. “And the items taken from the Ministry vaults? What were they?”

“One was a vase, early Ming, and the other was a rug. Persian.”

“Is there something connecting them?”

“Not that we’ve been able to tell,” says Draco. As Potter shakes his head, Draco looks at Pansy. “We’ll have to try to ascertain if there’s any connection between the items and if they have any special properties or significance to anyone. Basically, you’ll need to establish the provenance for everything that was taken. Maybe the addition of the brooch will help shed some light on things, although we don’t know the robberies were connected.”

“It’s the same modus operandi, right?” asks Potter.

Draco nods. “Yes.”

Potter shrugs. “Then it’s probably the same thief.”

“I’m on it,” says Pansy, moving away from the conference table. “I’ll start in the archives. That’s probably where Blaise is.”

“Zabini works with you, too?” asks Potter once Pansy’s gone.

“Yes.” Draco gathers up the paperwork. “He’s our expert on curse-breaking, Pansy is our archivist, and I do it all, although we’re all versed in all aspects of the business.”

“You’re like a well-oiled machine,” says Potter.

Is that admiration in his voice? Draco wonders. He smirks. “Of course. We’re Slytherin. Do keep up, Potter.”

“I’m trying.” Potter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, so to summarise. Someone’s been getting in and out of Gringotts vaults without triggering any alarms and you have no idea who or how. And at least two of the items they’ve stolen belonged, at some point, to me.”

Draco inclines his head. “So it appears.”

Potter goes still, then, scrabbles through the papers. When he finds the one he’s looking for he reads a passage. “From the description, I think I know this brooch.”

Draco narrows his eyes. “Potter, if we’re to track down this thief, you’ll need to be absolutely honest with me. You just said you had no idea what’s in that vault and now you know the brooch?”

“I am being honest.” Potter slides the page towards him. “I don’t know about half the stuff that’s in the vaults I know I own. How would I possibly know what’s in vaults I’ve forgotten that I own? But I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that brooch before.”

Draco bites his tongue. Hard. Must be nice, he thinks. “Where did you see it?”

Potter shakes his head. “I just don’t remember.”

Draco scans the description. It sounds similar to any number of brooches that his mother used to own in better days. He shunts that thought aside. “Very well. While you try to recall more about it, the goblins can provide you with a detailed list of all the remaining items in your vaults,” he says, once he can be polite. “You’ll have to request it, of course.”

Potter sighs. “Yes, all right.”

“And am I to assume you’ve never been inside any of your vaults?” Draco asks. He glances down at the paperwork. You own...six of them.”

Potter coughs. “I’ve seen the Potter vault.” Draco’s sure his expression is incredulous because Potter starts babbling an explanation. “It’s just...I’ve been really busy with work and stuff and, well, I’ve a bit of a...thing about vaults anyway.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “A thing?”

“Breaking into Gringotts during the war was pretty traumatic. I try to go to my own vault as little as possible, so going to the others--” He runs a hand through his already ridiculous hair. “Plus, the goblins aren’t exactly welcoming.” He flushes under Draco’s steady gaze. “It’s all very...stressful.”

Stressful. Draco shakes his head. “Using the goblin provided list is all well and good, Potter, but an even more accurate way of documenting what’s in your vaults is to actually go inside and look for yourself.” He smirks. “Don’t tell me the great Auror Harry Potter is scared?”

Potter rolls his eyes. “I suppose when you put it like that it’s silly.”

Draco doesn’t even bother to answer that. Instead, he stands. “I’ll requisition the keys to your vaults, Potter. We need to go and inspect them anyway to be sure nothing else is missing. And I’ll need a list of any enemies.”

“Enemies?”

“Yes. Anyone who thinks you may have wronged them. Any jilted lovers or ex-girlfriends.” Draco pauses. “Or boyfriends. Anyone who would have reason to want to take something from your vault. Maybe a list of criminals you’ve incarcerated? Someone who wants revenge, perhaps?”

“I can’t think of anyone.” Potter, standing, too, nods. “And wouldn’t the criminals all be, well, too busy being in Azkaban to have access to a Gringotts vault anyway?”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Nevertheless--”

Potter sighs. “Fine, all right, I’ll do my best. And when would you like to do this inspection?”

“As soon as possible.” Draco moves for the door. “My retaining this position depends on solving this case quickly.” When he opens the door, however, he finds Pansy standing there loitering, a cigarette in her hand. He frowns. “Shouldn’t you be off researching?”

Pansy smirks, blows some smoke, and drops the cigarette butt, grinding it under her heel. “I was just taking a break.” Her eyes dart to Potter, who’s just behind Draco. “Anyway, I just thought of something. May I speak with you for a moment, boss?” She licks her lips. “In private?”

“Excuse me, Potter.” Pulling her further out into the hallway, Draco crosses his arms. “What?”

Pansy purses her lips. “It just occurred to me. Your day just took a dramatic turn for the better, hasn’t it? It’s clear Potter has no interest in women since he ignored my fabulous assets, and since you’ve always had a huge crush on him, this is your opportunity.”

“What in Salazar’s name are you on about, woman?” Draco hisses. “We’re in the middle of an investigation! We don’t have time for pointless speculation about my love life!”

“What love life?” Pansy winks. “And there’s no need to be coy, Draco. Everyone knows how you feel about Potter, we always have.” She pats his cheek. “You must be doing something right today.”

“The only thing I could have done right today was call in sick to start looking for a new job,” Draco mutters, fighting a blush. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and requisition some keys. And don’t you have some work to do?”

“Of course, boss.” Pansy turns away. “I’ll just take my time in the archives while you wander about Potter’s nice, dark, intimate vaults, shall I? I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of what’s shaping up to be your best day ever.”

Draco sighs as she saunters away. It’s clearly going to be a long afternoon.

~

The goblins seem very reluctant to allow Potter access to his vaults. “But they’re his vaults,” Draco repeats at least five times before Gringotts’ head goblin, Nagnok the third, capitulates.

“As you know, in the past, there have been...problems.” Nagnok glares up at Draco. “And no goblin will accompany him down there.” He shoots a malevolent look at Potter, who flushes. “After all, the last ones who did died. If there are more problems today, you will be held responsible, Draco Malfoy.”

Unable to see a way out of agreeing, Draco nods, signing a contract that states as such. Once they’re on their way down to the vault, however, he glances at Potter. “What the hell did you do to make them so paranoid?”

Potter licks his lips. “Haven’t you read about it?”

Draco shrugs. “Yes, but just the bare facts. You Disillusioned your way in somehow, took something from my aunt’s vault, and blasted your way out.” He snorts. “I always thought it was just a story, a part of the Potter legend, until I came to work here.” He smirks. “Your file is required reading for all Gringotts employees. They redacted the bits about how you got as far as you did, and about how you got out, though. So, how did you do it?”

“I got in using an Invisibility Cloak. As for how we escaped--” Potter looks away. “There was a dragon here, guarding the Lestrange vault. It was blind, so we...Well, we freed it from its chains, jumped on its back, and by sheer, dumb luck, it clawed its way out and we went with it.”

Draco stops walking, his mouth dropping open. “You mean those rumours were actually true? You really did ride a dragon out of Gringotts? And you lived to tell about it?” He shakes his head. “How in Salazar’s name did I not know this? And how the hell did you survive it?”

When they reach the carts, Potter shoots a half smile at him. “I’ll tell you on the way down to the vault,” he says.

As they careen through the caverns, Potter explains what happened, and Draco, who has always hated the ride to the vaults, laughs until he’s sick. By the time they arrive at the vault in question, Draco’s more relaxed than he’s been all day.

“This looks the way I remember,” Potter says, hopping out of the cart. “Although this was a better way to arrive.”

“And no dragon,” murmurs Draco, still chuckling. “You took care of that.”

Potter laughs, shaking his head. “Yes, I suppose I did. You’ve the key?”

“Right here.” Unlocking the vault, Draco gestures for Potter to precede him. “After you.”

“There are protections on this vault?” Potter asks.

Draco inclines his head. “Of course, which is why you should go first.”

Potter nods, walking ahead. Draco, behind him, feels the wards testing him. His throat starts to close and he chokes out. “Potter--”

Potter turns to look at him. “Oh, right. Sorry. Be welcome to my vault, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco exhales as the ritual words wash over him and the pressure on his chest eases. “Thanks.” Looking around, his eyes widen. “Salazar.”

“Yeah,” Potter says, expression unreadable.

The vault is crammed floor to ceiling with artefacts. Everywhere Draco looks there are cups and coins, bowls overflowing with jewels and suits of armour. While the Malfoy ancestral vault was bigger, everything in there was organised and catalogued. The vault they’re standing in now is a mess.

“I haven’t been back since escaping on the back of that dragon.” Potter looks around. “There were a lot of hexed items here back then.”

Draco nods. “I’m not surprised. My aunt was...notorious for that sort of thing.” He makes a face. “She had a thing for setting traps, so be careful.”

Potter smiles faintly. “I wasn’t going to say it, but--”

“Even though she was family, she was also quite mad,” Draco says. “There’s little point denying it.” Squaring his shoulders, he draws his wand. “Now, shall we get to work? Cataloguing a vault of this size will take a while.”

Potter’s still looking around. “Yeah, it’s pretty overwhelming. Now do you see why I haven’t really sat down and listed anything in any of my vaults?”

Draco purses his lips. “I think I’ve a fair idea, yes. But, Potter, you do realise that, as a wizard, you’ve other options?”

Potter frowns. “Like what?”

Draco rolls his eyes. He keeps forgetting about Potter’s Muggle upbringing. “There are spells for this sort of thing, you know. You wouldn’t want to do any of them remotely, but if you cast an Abacus Charm it will count everything for you and make a list.”

“Oh?”

Drawing his wand, Draco says, “Percensui!” Immediately, a parchment appears over their heads and items begin appearing on the list. “You really should double check it once it’s done, but that should give you a complete list of everything in here,” he says.

Potter smiles, his eyes lighting up as he stares at the parchment. Draco is hard pressed to call his expression anything but wonder. “Magic really is brilliant, isn’t it?” Potter murmurs.

Draco can’t help but smile in response to such simple joy. “I’ve always thought so.”

Potter stares at him for a long moment. Draco starts to wonder if he has something on his face. “Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No.” Potter looks away. “Nothing.” He coughs. “So how long will this spell take to count the items in here?”

Pulling his wand, Draco scans the room. “I’d say about twenty minutes. I’m going to check the wards in here, see if I can detect any breaches. Unless you need to go, in which case I can ask a goblin to come down here and observe--”

“Oh no, I’m fine,” says Potter. “It’s time I knew what was in here. I’ll just...look around while I wait.”

“What would be really helpful is if you could come up with a list of people who have access to your vaults. Friends, family, significant others--”

Potter shakes his head. “It’ll be a short list, but all right.” He hums. “And I don’t have a significant other at the moment.” He smiles. “No boyfriend.”

Ignoring the traitorous leap his heart makes at those words, Draco nods, turning away to check the security wards. Taking a deep breath to centre himself, he starts with the foundation’s wards and works his way up layer by layer. It’s hard work, and by the time he’s reached the superficial wards he’s sweating. He’s almost forgotten that Potter’s there, so when Potter clears his throat, Draco sighs, opens his eyes, and spins to glare at him.

“Sorry,” says Potter, looking apologetic. “You looked like you were really concentrating, so I wanted to give you a warning before I interrupted. Is this not a good time?”

Lowering his wand, Draco rolls his head, stretching his neck. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m just about done. Only a couple of superficial wards left to check, and honestly, I’d be surprised if anything was off there. Whoever did this was very good.” Straightening his shoulders, Draco focusses on Potter. “Anyway, what was it you had to interrupt to say?”

“First, here’s the list of people who even know I have this vault.” Potter hands him a parchment. “And none of them would do this. They know that if they asked, I’d give them whatever it is they needed.”

“What about enemies?” Draco asks, accepting the parchment.

Potter sighs. “When I return to my office I’ll get you a list of the people I’ve incarcerated in my four years of being an Auror.”

“Good.” Draco scans the list, lips pursed. He’s inclined to agree with Potter about the majority of the people on it. Still, if it’s one thing he’s learned doing security, it’s that people motivations don’t always make sense. “And it’s still a good idea for us to check into your friends’ recent activities here at Gringotts. Just in case.” He slips the list into his robes.

Potter doesn’t look happy, but he nods nevertheless. “All right.” He glances up at the list that’s still being collated. “It’s still going.”

“Yes.” Draco raises his wand once more, having recovered a bit. “There are a lot of items in here, Potter. It’s going to be a long list.” As he speaks, Draco closes his eyes and concentrates on the last of the superficial wards, testing them. It only takes a minute, and when he opens his eyes once more he finds Potter staring at him, an odd look on his face. “Is something wrong?” Draco asks.

Potter smiles. “No. It’s just...You really enjoy this job, don’t you? You look as though you do.”

Draco looks away from Potter’s intent gaze. “I enjoy creating and dismantling wards and curse-breaking, yes,” he admits. “But the politics of working here are...wearying.”

“I’m sure.” Potter sighs. “I could say the same about working in the DMLE.”

Draco hums noncommittally. “I’m sure the politics there are worse.”

“Maybe.” Potter smiles. “Although the goblins seem like pretty tough customers to me.”

His lips curving up into a cynical smile, Draco nods. “You’ll get no arguments from me,” he says. “Oh. You implied earlier that you had something else you wanted to say.”

Potter nods, focussing on something behind Draco. “Yes, I did. While you were checking the wards, that crystal orb over there started to glow. I wasn’t sure if that was significant.”

Draco spins in time to see the orb in question pulsing with light. “Oh fu--”

There is a soundless explosion of light that bathes them both, and Draco staggers backwards, collapsing into Potter, whose arms come around him, bracing him. They both fall onto the stone floor as waves of light pulse over them. Then, abruptly, the light stops and they are left panting, clinging to each other in the dimly lit vault.

Draco, meanwhile, has ended up on top of Potter, staring down at him. Their faces are mere inches apart, and Potter smells like an intoxicating combination of citrus and spices. Draco can see flecks of deeper green and even some blue in Potter’s eyes.

Potter’s gaze locks on Draco’s and he licks his lips. “What in Merlin’s name was that?” he whispers.

Suppressing a groan, Draco shakes his head. “No idea.” Knowing that if he doesn’t move he’ll do something foolish, like try to kiss Potter, he shifts, pushing himself away from Potter’s warmth. He flops onto his back, wincing as he hits the cold floor. “Ow.”

“Are you all right?” Potter asks.

Draco nods. “I’m fine,” he lies. “And we seem to be alive, so that’s something.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Potter starts to sit up and look around. He squints. “Erm, by the way? That orb is gone now.”

“It’s what?” Draco sits up as well, pain forgotten. He scans the spot where the orb had been. “Circe and Morgana! I believe we just witnessed another burglary, Potter!”

“Yeah, it would seem so.” Potter scrambles to his feet, helping Draco up. Draco stumbles, ending up standing close enough to Potter that he once again can smell him. He steps back quickly, clearing his throat and trying to clear his head. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Nor have I.” Had Potter clung to his hand for a bit longer than strictly necessary? Draco thinks so, but there is no time to dwell on it. “And I’m sorry.”

Potter blinks at him. “About what?”

Draco gestured to his robes, which are now covered with dust. “Your formal robes are ruined. A shame, really. They suit you.”

Potter looks down at himself. “You like them? I generally feel more comfortable in jeans and trainers, but I couldn’t attend the fundraiser breakfast in anything less than formal wear.”

Draco smiles. “Of course.” His smile fades. “But back to the robbery.”

“Don’t you mean the burglary?” Potter teases.

Draco flushes. “Of course.”

Sobering, Potter nods. “Right. So whoever did it did it through the wards. Who the hell can do that?”

“I have no idea.” Draco groans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“What?” asks Harry.

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off his headache. I really need to start carrying a fucking flask, he thinks. “Griplock. Salazar only knows what he’ll have to say about this.”

Above their heads, the parchment rolls itself up and floats down into Potter’s hand. He smiles ruefully. “I guess this means the list is done?”

~

Griplock has a lot to say about the new burglary. “You watched it happen!” he shouts, his arms flailing. “You did not stop it!”

“We were both there and we couldn’t stop it,” says Draco. “The orb just disappeared!”

“This is unacceptable!” Griplock points at Draco. “Gringotts has a reputation to uphold! You said you could fix this and you have not. Now there is another item missing. You are incompetent and careless--”

“Now wait just a minute,” interrupts Potter, eyes narrowed. “I was there, too, and I couldn’t have stopped it. No one could have stopped it. There’s some unknown magic at work here. It’s not Malfoy’s fault.”

“He guaranteed no more robberies would occur on his watch.” Griplock crosses his arms. “He is responsible for this and he will pay the price as he has now opened us up to charges of incompetence! He is hereby dismis--”

“What if I don’t press charges?” asks Potter. “If no one claims anything is missing, then no one can charge Gringotts with incompetence, can they?”

Griplock’s eyes narrow. “Why would you do this?”

Draco stares at Potter. “Yes,” he whispers. “Why?”

“Because no one could have prevented what I saw occur in that vault today,” says Potter. “But something tells me that now that Malfoy has seen what happened, he stands the best chance of preventing it from happening again. I’m just trying to give him a chance to solve the case.”

Griplock is silent for a long moment. Finally, he nods. “He has until tomorrow morning.”

“Brilliant,” says Potter, clasping Draco’s arm and pulling him out of Griplock’s office. “We’ll be in touch.”

Once they are outside Griplock’s office, however, Draco rounds on Potter. “What the fuck was that all about?” he hisses.

“That was me saving your job,” Potter replies. He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

Draco huffs. “I didn’t need your help--”

Potter smiles. “Maybe not, but you have it nonetheless. Now come on, we need to find your team and get to the bottom of whatever this is.”

Draco’s eyes narrow as Potter turns away and starts for the lifts. Just when had Potter assumed control of the situation? And why is it so bloody arousing? Suppressing a groan, Draco trails after him. He’s right about one thing: they need the results of Pansy and Blaise’s research, and they need it now.

~

“I heard there was some excitement in the vaults,” says Pansy when Draco and Potter walk into the archives a few minutes later. She’s standing at some bookshelves, and she looks Draco up and down when she sees him, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you all right?” Her eyes widen when she sees the state of Potter’s robes. “Circe and Morgana! What were you doing? Rolling about on the floor?”

“We’re fine,” says Draco, shooting her a warning look. “Have you discovered anything useful?”

Blaise looks up from the book he’s studying. “Draco,” he drawls. “Potter.” Closing the book, he stands. “I haven’t found anything particularly interesting,” he says. “But Pansy has.”

“Oh?” Draco eyes Pansy, who is smirking like a cat who’s got the cream. “Well?” he snaps. “Are you going to share?”

“Of course, boss. I just wanted to check on that last item you saw disappear. Some sort of orb, right?” Sauntering to the table, Pansy perches on the edge, crossing her legs so that her already short robes ride high on her thighs. “As it turns out, all the items taken had, at one time or another, belonged to the same person.”

“And who’s that?” asks Potter, eyes narrowed.

Pansy hums. “A distant relative we all happen to share one way or another. Walburga Black.”

Potter frowns. “I’m not related to Mrs Black.”

“Of course you are,” scoffs Pansy. “Your ancestor, Percival Potter, married Cassiopeia Black back in the seventeen hundreds. Walburga’s indirectly descended from that union. One of their great grandchildren married back into her family.”

Potter raises an eyebrow. “All right, I stand corrected. But Walburga is dead, so there’s no way she could be doing this.” He pauses. Right?”

“Probably not, no,” chimes in Blaise. “Although someone could be doing it on her behalf.”

“Why? And wouldn’t they have to be a relative?” Potter starts pacing back and forth. “And there are none, other than Andromeda Tonks and Malfoy’s mother--” He pauses, looking at Draco.

Draco glares at him. “You cannot possibly be insinuating that my mother could have something to do with this.”

Potter holds up his hands defensively. “No. But both your mother and Andromeda renounced their claims to the Black fortune. That’s the reason I inherited the Black vault and properties in the first place.” He spins to look at Pansy. “So are we sure there are no hidden relatives anywhere? Someone who thinks they have a better claim?”

Pansy shrugs. “There are probably Squibs,” she says. “But a Squib wouldn’t have the means to break into a Gringotts secured vault and spirit something away under the noses of a security expert and an Auror.”

“Well, not without magical help,” says Blaise.

Draco shakes his head. “What we saw is a totally new form of magic, at least to me. That was no hired thief.”

“Agreed, it was definitely a form of magic I’ve not encountered before,” says Potter. “Although--” His eyes narrow. “I have an idea. I need to get back to Grimmauld Place to check on it, though.” He starts for the door.

“I’ll go with you,” says Draco, ignoring Pansy’s knowing smirk. “You two continue researching. See if you can find any other instances of similar break-ins here in the past.”

“Of course, boss,” murmurs Pansy. “You go and research Potter’s...house. You should help him out of those messy robes, too.” She winks. “Have fun.”

Draco glares at her, but since it appears Potter didn’t hear her, he doesn’t hex her on principle. He simply holds up two fingers in an unmistakable gesture.

Pansy laughs. “Sure, boss. If you’re lucky.”

~

Grimmauld Place isn’t quite as grim as Draco remembers. Potter has somehow managed to spruce up the place while still retaining its original features. It’s certainly more welcoming than Draco recalls. Draco hated his visits there as a child, and he suppresses a shudder as Potter gestures him into the front hallway.

Cringing, Draco looks up at the spot on the wall where Walburga’s portrait had been hung at the time of her death, but he sees a blank space, the wallpaper restored.

Exhaling, he glances at Potter, who smiles grimly. “It took some doing,” he says. “But I finally managed to pry her off the wall.”

“Where’s the portrait now?” Draco asks.

Potter shrugs. “No idea. When I managed to take it down, Kreacher spirited it away.” He snorts. “It’s one of the more useful things he’s done for me, I must admit.”

Kreacher is the Black’s house-elf. Draco recalls him being a mean-spirited little thing that liked to creep about in shadows and mutter to himself. He nods. “Doesn’t he keep your house?” he asks as they walk through into the living room.

“Not as such, no.” Shrugging off his formal robes, Potter rolls up his sleeves and walks over to a sideboard. He opens it up, revealing a decent collection of liquor. “I offered Kreacher his freedom and he refused, so I told him he could stay as long as he didn’t get in the way around here. I try very hard not to give him any orders so he doesn’t think I’m his master or something.” He holds up a bottle of brandy. “Drink? I dunno about you, but I could use one.”

Draco licks his lips. It has been a rough day and there are worse things he can think of than sharing a drink with a hot man in half-undone formal attire. “That would be lovely, thanks.”

Potter pours them both a generous portion, levitating Draco’s snifter over to him. “I wouldn’t normally be drinking at this time but--”

“Don’t worry, Potter,” Draco says, settling into a chair and raising his glass in a salute. “I won’t tell anyone that the big, bad Auror drinks during the day.”

Potter shakes his head and smiles ruefully. “Thanks.”

They spend a companionable couple of minutes sipping what Draco privately admits to himself is excellent brandy before he finally says, “Well, as lovely as this is, Potter, you said there was something you wanted to check. What was it?”

“Yes. Right.” Sighing, Potter sets down his snifter and stands, walking over to a bookcase. Pulling out a book, he starts rummaging through it before pausing at a particular page. “Here it is.”

“What is it?” Draco asks, setting down his glass as well and rising to join Potter by the bookcase. “What is that book?”

“An annotated history of the Black family.” Potter points to an illustration. “Look familiar?”

Draco purses his lips. “That’s the brooch that was taken from your vault.”

Potter nods. “I knew I’d seen it somewhere. It’s just taken me some time to remember where. What’s more, I’m pretty sure Mrs Black wore it in her portrait.” He looks up at Draco, and Draco can see the different coloured flecks in his eyes once more. “What do you want to bet she’s behind this somehow?”

“Yes, I can see her doing that,” Draco says, heart speeding up at how close they are standing. All he’d have to do is lean in slightly and press his mouth to Potter’s to taste him... Clearing his throat, he moves back, out of reach, away from temptation. “But no portrait is capable of the magic we encountered in your vault earlier.”

“Right,” agrees Potter. “But the details of house-elf magic are largely unknown to wizards, right? I mean, they can get into places no one else can, and can probably Summon things from places that the average wizard can’t.”

Draco’s eyes widen. “Yes, I suppose they can. You think--”

“Kreacher!” Potter calls out. “Come here, please!”

A moment later there is a pop and a filthy house-elf is standing before them, rags hanging from his thin frame. He blinks up at Potter with bleary eyes, but perks up when he sees Draco. “Master Malfoy!” He bows obsequiously. “You honour this ancient and noble house with your presence.” He shoots a defiant look at Potter.

Potter rolls his eyes. “We have some questions for you, Kreacher. Things have been going missing from the Lestrange vault. Do you know anything about that?”

A crafty look flashes across Kreacher’s face. “How would a lowly house-elf such as myself know anything about such things, Master Potter?”

Potter sighs. “All right. Then where did you put Mrs Black’s portrait?” he asks. “Can you tell us that?”

“I keeps the Mistress safe,” Kreacher says. “You doesn’t care for Mistress, so Kreacher does.”

“Okay, but where is she, Kreacher?” repeats Potter, clearly getting exasperated.

“Kreacher keeps Mistress safe.” Kreacher starts to edge away from Potter.

Draco coughs. “Well, that’s all fine and good,” he says, aiming for the lofty tone his father used to assume with their elves. “But Walburga is my relative, and I want to see her myself to be assured that she is being adequately cared for.”

Kreacher pauses, looks at Draco as if considering what he said. Slowly, he nods. “Kreacher will show Mistress to Master Malfoy so that he knows Kreacher takes good care of Mistress.”

“You’ll show both of us,” says Potter, tone firm.

Kreacher hangs his head. “It will be as Master Potter orders,” he mutters. A glow surrounds them and a moment later they are standing in a different room. There is a tiny, filthy window covered with grime that blocks any sunlight, but the room itself is spotless, its wooden floor gleaming. Against the wall is propped a portrait, and within its confines they see Walburga. Fortunately, she appears to be asleep, her eyes closed, the lines of her painted face relaxed.

The portrait rests atop a Persian rug, and there is a small round occasional table directly in front of the portrait on which sits the missing brooch, the missing Ming vase, and the orb that Draco and Potter saw taken from his vault earlier that day. In addition, there are other assorted pieces of furniture scattered about the room.

“Mistress does not like to look outside,” says Kreacher, wringing his hands. “She says the light bothers her eyes. Kreacher will get curtains for the window soon.”

“Where are we?” asks Potter, looking around. “Is this the attic?”

Slowly, Kreacher nods.

Draco looks around. “So where did you get the rest of this furniture, Kreacher?”

Kreacher smirks. “It comes from the house.” He shoots a look at Potter. “Master Potter does not notice when bit and bobs disappear.”

Potter sighs. “And I probably wouldn’t have noticed the missing items from the vault either but for Gringotts crack security detail.” He smiles at Draco, who flushes, looking away.

“I sometimes wonder if it wouldn’t have been better if we’d left things alone,” Draco says after a moment. “Before us, things went missing all the time and no one knew.”

“No, it’s always better to know.” Potter smiles at Draco. “Always.” Turning to face Kreacher, Potter continues, “But what I don’t understand is why you did this? And why those items?”

“Mistress was lonely.” Kreacher looks down at the floor as he speaks. “She doesn’t tell Kreacher, but Kreacher knows she misses her favourite things, so Kreacher brings them to her when he finds them.”

“Right.” Potter sighs. “Well, it looks like our mystery is solved, at least.”

“That it does,” says Draco. Pulling his wand, he continues, “I’ll just gather these items so we can return them to Gringotts and--”

“Wait.” Potter holds up a hand. “What’s to stop Kreacher from doing it again?”

Draco snorts. “That’s simple. Just order him not to. He’s bound to obey you.”

Potter bites his lip. “Erm, the thing is, I try to give him as few orders as possible, remember? I want to free him, so giving him orders sort of sends the wrong message--”

“No!” Kreacher, his eyes wide, starts to back away in fear. “Kreacher is a proper elf! He is not free! Not like the other!”

“The other?” Potter frowns. “What other--?”

“There, you see?” Draco interrupts. “He wants to follow orders. So just order him to return the items and not to steal anything more from any vaults and then we’ll be done. And the goblins will finally extend my contract to a full one. It’s a win for both of us.”

Potter, however, is staring at Kreacher, in whose eyes there are tears welling up. “Sorry, Malfoy. I don’t think I can do that. It wouldn’t be right. Look how upset he is.”

Draco eyes Potter incredulously. “You’re joking, right? You must be. You cannot possibly be suggesting that we let a house-elf keep these items as a shrine to a dead woman rather than return them.”

“Why not?” asks Potter, eyes narrowing. “And last I checked they were my items to do with as I wish. Why can’t I opt to let a house-elf keep them if they make him happy?”

“You are unbelievable,” says Draco, a tremor in his voice from suppressed rage. “And here I thought you’d changed, but you haven’t, have you? You’re still a selfish arsehole who hasn’t developed any appreciation for traditional wizarding culture. I thought you wanted to share the stewardship of this vault because you hoped to learn more about our culture, but you just want to run roughshod over tradition when it suits you!”

“And I thought you’d changed, too!” shouts Potter. “But you’re still the same selfish brat that only cares about himself and who sees anyone else as inferior. Who’s to say that Kreacher’s wishes are any less valid than yours?”

Draco is shaking he’s so angry. Through gritted teeth he sneers, “The law says so, that’s what. He stole these items from Gringotts. But of course laws and rules mean nothing to you, do they? You’ve been flaunting the rules since birth!”

“If I hadn’t, I’d be dead right now and so would a lot of other people, and that snake-faced madman you decided to follow would be ruling the world with pain and blood!” snaps Potter. “So yeah, I break the rules when I need to! Unlike you, I suppose, who tried to kill Dumbledore? Oh, wait, attempted murder isn’t against the rules for you as long as you’re getting ahead, is it?”

Draco goes cold.

“Who disturbs my rest?” shrieks Walburga’s portrait, her shrill tone making them both wince.

“Your heir, Aunt Walburga,” Draco spits, gesturing at Potter. “Perfect Potter!”

Potter’s eyes flash, and for a moment Draco thinks he’s going to go for his wand, and then his expression clears. He holds up his hands in supplication. “Look, Malfoy. Let’s not argue. Why don’t we take a step back and talk about what the best for everyone--”

Somehow, his reasonable tone enrages Draco even further. “Fuck. You,” Draco snaps. “Do what you want, you will anyway. And you can keep your fucking vault.” His eyes narrow. “And for your information, I did what I did during the war for my family and for no other reason. But I suppose that’s something you don’t understand since you don’t have one.” And, waving his wand, Draco Apparates away.

~

“Damn, it’s a wonder you didn’t Splinch yourself leaving so abruptly,” Pansy murmurs as she hands Draco another martini and settles on the sofa beside him. “And isn’t the Black ancestral home Unplottable or something? How did you manage to Apparate out?”

“Maybe I was so angry I Apparated through the wards,” Draco says, relishing the burn of unadulterated vodka as it slips down his throat. “Who the fuck knows?”

Pansy hums. “Or maybe Potter took them down when you got there,” she says. “As a welcoming gesture.”

Draco groans. “I don’t want to talk about sodding Potter,” he snaps. “How were things at Gringotts as you were leaving today?”

Blaise, also well in his cups, snorts. “How do you think they were? All the bigwigs were rushing about and Griplock looked like he wanted to murder someone. Pansy and I were lucky to slip away without a lecture.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Reaching into her robes, Pansy hands Draco an envelope. “I got what I could.”

“What’s this?” Draco opens it, eyes widening as he sees thousands of shrunken Galleons. “What did you do?”

“Took as much money as I could from all our vaults,” she says, smirking. “I imagine the goblins will freeze our assets come tomorrow when Potter--” She pauses. “Sorry, when the-man-whose-name-we’re-not-allowed-to-say goes in and tells them that the stolen items are gone forever.”

“Pansy--” Draco growls.

“I know, but I didn’t mention his name.” She leans in, kissing the top of Draco’s head and hugging him. “Let’s talk about something else. Like what we’re going to do now that we no longer have jobs.”

Draco sighs. “I’m sorry I dragged you two into this,” he says. “I really thought this would work. This sort of work plays to all our strengths.”

“We should have been successful.” Blaise sits forward. “And, honestly, now that we know that Gringotts isn’t house-elf proof, we should be able to find a way to fix it. If I tweak the wards--”

Draco grunts, staring into his almost empty martini glass. “Nice thought. Except they’ll probably fire us tomorrow.”

“There is that,” agrees Blaise, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the coffee table. He holds up his empty glass. “How much vodka do you have, anyway, Pansy?”

Pansy smirks. “Enough.”

“Thank Salazar,” says Draco, draining his drink and holding his glass up for more. “Looks like we’re going to need it.”

~

Draco’s head is pounding as he enters Gringotts the next morning. He made sure to dress carefully. If I’m to be fired, I may as well look my best.

The sunlight is bright and it’s a relief to enter the dark entrance of Gringotts. Perhaps having vodka for dinner and Pepper-Up for breakfast wasn’t my best choice, he thinks as he approaches the lifts. But he can’t bring himself to regret it.

Pansy and Blaise reported to work earlier that day; Draco hasn’t heard anything from them, so for all he knew they’ve already been fired and are back at Pansy’s making up another batch of martinis.

He snorts to himself, wondering if he can make it for the first round of drinks. Probably so, he thinks. It all depends on how quickly he’s fired. When he sees Felicity standing by the door waiting for him, he groans under his breath. As he moves closer, he holds up a hand. “Let me guess. Griplock wants to see me.”

She blinks. “How did you know? Yes he does. And he seems pretty impatient.”

“I’m not late today,” snaps Draco. When Felicity recoils he sighs, softens his tone. What’s happened isn’t her fault. “Sorry. He can’t have been waiting that long.”

Felicity shrugs. “I don’t know about that, Mr Malfoy. All I know is that I was supposed to tell you that he wants to see you as soon as you came in.” She leaned in. “Although that dreamy Mr Potter is with him, so it can’t be all bad.”

Draco freezes. Of course Potter is here. It takes all he has not to turn on his heel and walk straight out the door, but pride won’t allow him to do that, so he exhales and, nodding, walks into his office. “I’ll be there in a minute. I need to collect my...files.”

It takes mere moments to shrink his belongings and slip them into his pockets. Draco doesn’t imagine he’ll be allowed to return to his office once he’s fired, and there are a few personal mementos he can’t bear to leave behind. As he exits his office and walk past Felicity, he can’t help but say, “Goodbye, Felicity. Be well.”

Felicity looks up from her parchments and blinks. “Won’t you be back after your meeting, Mr Malfoy?”

“We’ll see,” he mutters, walking into the hallway. It feels like he’s walking to his execution. Then, he shakes his head and squares his shoulders. This is nothing, he tells himself. Having to face Voldemort after failing to kill Dumbledore, that was torture. Literally. His pride may be shredded today, but it’s unlikely that either Potter or Griplock will use repeated Cruciatus Curses on him. And so, with that cheering thought, Draco knocks on Griplock’s door.

“Come!”

Potter is there, of course, standing in the corner, looking glorious in his official Auror uniform. Draco doesn’t even glance at him when he walks in. He stares straight up at Griplock, and says, “I hear you have been looking for me, sir?”

“Yes.” Griplock nods. He doesn’t stand. He just eyes Draco over the top of his desk, piled high with papers, his beady eyes glittering. “I have spoken with Auror Potter and he has told me everything that occurred.”

Draco still refuses to look at Potter. “I’m sure he has. And if you’d just let me explain my side of the story, then perhaps--”

“That will not be necessary.” Griplock picks up a parchment, holding it out towards Draco. “Take this.”

Draco’s mouth goes dry. Is this it? Is he being fired? He licks his lips and wonders if he needs to beg. It isn’t something he wants to do in front of Potter, but he is prepared to do it if he has to. “But, sir, won’t you just allow me to explain about--?”

“No explanation is needed.” Leaving the parchment hovering in the air before his desk, Griplock presses the button on his desk, speaking Gobbledygook. When he finishes, he looks up. “You may go now,” he says to Draco. “My next appointment is here.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco sees Potter moving towards him and, growling under his breath, he snatches the parchment hovering in front of him and wheels, starting for the door. He makes it into the hallway before Potter catches up. “Malfoy! Draco! Wait!”

Draco’s plans to ignore Potter crumble when he grabs Draco’s upper arm. Unable to go anywhere, Draco spins, glaring at Potter. “What?” he snarls, trying to reclaim his arm. Potter grip is firm, however. “Isn’t it enough that you managed to get me fired today, Potter? Do you have to rub salt in the wound, too?”

Potter’s eyes narrow and, with his hand still clamped like a vice around Draco’s arm, he hauls him down the hall and into the conference room, slamming the door. When they are alone, he snaps, “Before you assume things, shouldn’t you look at what the goblins are offering you?”

Huffing, Draco unrolls the parchment. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he mutters before looking down and starting to read. “You just have to see me be completely humiliated and--” His voice trails off as the words he’s reading start to permeate. “What in the--?” He looks up at Potter, eyes wide. “This is a new, permanent contract,” he whispers. “Offering us even more money that we requested at the beginning of our trial period. How?”

Potter relaxes. “Well, when I told him that you traced the stolen items back to my house-elf, and that you had come up with a way to block any further house-elf incursions, Griplock was happy to offer you a full contract.” He smirks. “And, when I mentioned that there was the possibility of the DMLE poaching you to help us with security investigations, he increased the money to keep you here. You can still do external projects, though, I made sure he included that in the contract.”

Draco considers pinching himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. The pounding in his head makes it unlikely that he’s in a dream, however. “The DMLE wants what?”

Potter’s mouth curves up in a slight smile. “We want to offer you a job, too. It’s contract work, but I think you’ll find it lucrative. We really could use people like you, Parkinson, and Zabini on occasion. I think Zabini sold it when he mentioned the possibility of blocking house-elves. It’s a loophole in our security, too. One we never considered.”

“But--” Draco’s hands start to shake. “We don’t know if we can block house-elf magic.”

“Zabini’s seems pretty confident he can come up with something,” says Potter. “Of course, he could have been lying, but--”

“You spoke to Blaise?” Draco feels as if he’s in an alternate universe. “When? How?”

“This morning when he came in to work,” Potter says. “I was waiting for him and Parkinson when they showed up.” He smirks. “Do keep up, Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes narrow. “Did Kreacher return the stolen items?” he asks.

Potter shakes his head. “It wasn’t necessary. When I explained it was a domestic dispute and that I was prepared to issue a public statement absolving Gringotts of any wrongdoing, in exchange for them offering you a contract, they agreed.”

“You--” Draco blinks. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do, because you’re good at your job and you deserve to keep doing it, and--” Potter’s voice softens. “Because you were right in what you said to me yesterday.”

“Which bit?” asks Draco, eyebrow raised.

“The bit where you said I was a selfish rule breaker who doesn’t have enough appreciation for wizarding tradition.” Potter smiles. “I do break the rules a lot, and I really don’t know anything about wizarding traditions. But I’m still hoping you’ll teach me.”

Draco hums. In one fell swoop Potter has just taken him from disaster to an assured future. “Well,” he drawls, leaning in. “There is one tradition with which we could start--”

“Yes?” breathes Potter, his gaze flicking rapidly between Draco’s eyes and mouth. “What’s that?”

“It’s a way to express appreciation for favours rendered.” Draco tilts his head and opens his mouth slightly. “I find it works quite well in certain, limited circumstances.”

“And is this one of those circumstances?” Potter whispers.

“It does seem to be, yes,” murmurs Draco just before their mouths touch.

The kiss is gentle at first, as if neither one of them wants to scare the other, but that lasts only a moment. It rapidly turns carnal, and as Potter’s tongue strokes deep inside Draco’s mouth, teasing him, tempting him, Draco moans, surrendering himself.

When they part, they’re both panting. Potter tucks a lock of Draco’s hair behind his ear. “You know,” he whispers. “I may be somewhat familiar with that method of expressing appreciation.” He licks his lips. “But just to be sure, maybe we could try that again?”

Draco huffs. “Honestly, Potter. How do you expect to learn anything if you don’t pay attention?” And, framing Potter’s face in his hands, he leans in, kissing him again. This time he walks Potter backwards into the wall, snogging him until they are both rocking against each other, and Potter is fumbling with Draco’s robes.

Pulling his mouth from Potter’s, Draco gasps, “We can’t. We’re in a place of business.”

Potter, who’s pulled open Draco’s robes and is starting to unbutton his shirt, moans and leans forward, resting his forehead against Draco’s. “I know. You just look so bloody gorgeous today that I can’t help it.”

“Is that so?” murmurs Draco. He smiles. “Keep that up, Potter, and you’ll force me to express even more appreciation.”

Potter grins. “This could get circular if we keep expressing our appreciation of each other like this.”

“Is that a problem?” Draco asks, toying with the soft, short hair at the nape of Potter’s neck.

“Oh,” says Potter, leaning in to nuzzle Draco’s jaw. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Mmm,” sighs Draco, regretfully drawing back. “Sorry, Potter. But, much as I’d love to spend all day in here with you, perhaps utilizing that conference table in entirely inappropriate ways, now that you’ve assured me this job, I should go and actually do it.”

Potter groans. “Fine. But what about later?”

“Later?” Draco hums. “Later, I’m all yours.”

~

“You actually packed up your office?” Pansy shakes her head.

“And I told Felicity goodbye,” Draco says. He smirks. “I suppose I can put all that stuff back now.”

“Or you can redecorate entirely.” Pansy purses her lips. “The goblins would probably even pay for that now that we’re on their good side.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” says Draco. “I really want to get out of here early today. I’m still recovering from last night’s vodka dinner.”

Pansy sighs. “Aren’t we all?” She glances over to where Potter is chatting quietly with Blaise. “And I suppose you wanting to get out at a reasonable time and not spend the evening redecorating your office has nothing to do with Potter and all those longing looks he’s shooting at you?” When Draco glares at her, she laughs, patting his face. “You shouldn’t try to hide anything from me, darling. It never works.”

Draco sighs. “Nosy bint.”

“Mmhm, and I love you, too,” she says. “Now off with you. I need to get some sleep tonight.” She chuckles as he turns away. “And you should, too.”

“I will,” he says as he walks away. He smirks to himself. Eventually. As he nears Blaise and Potter, they are still discussing various wards, though, and, since all Draco wants to do is get Potter to himself, he raises his eyebrow and shoots Blaise a look.

“...then, once I adjust the Ministry’s ward settings to include non-human magic, we can--” Blaise smirks at Draco. “And I believe you’re being summoned, Potter. Looks like we’ll be discussing this at another time.”

Potter looks over at Draco and flushes. “Oh no, Zabini, it’s fine. You can continue your--”

“Goodbye, Blaise,” says Draco pointedly.

Blaise rolls his eyes. “See you later, Potter.”

Potter laughs as Blaise moves away. “Aren’t you being a little obvious?” he says quietly.

Draco clasps Potter’s arm, steering him from the room. “I don’t care,” he murmurs. “It’s past time that I express my appreciation for all you’ve done.”

Potter grins. “Well,” he says. “You’ll get no arguments from me.”

~

Potter insists on cooking for Draco, although they don’t make it much past dinner. Instead, emboldened by more of Potter’s brandy, Draco rises as Potter prepares to clear the dishes and bring out the pudding. Pushing him against the edge of the table, Draco leans in. “Dinner was lovely, Potter,” he murmurs against his mouth. “But I’m interested in consuming something else now.”

They stumble into Potter’s bedroom snogging, Draco dragging Potter down with him onto the bed before straddling him. Potter’s eyes are bright as he gazes up at him. “So what is it you want?”

“Dessert,” replies Draco, bending down, capturing Potter’s mouth in a deep kiss. Instantly, Potter arches up, meeting him half way. They move slowly with each other, carefully, their tongues tangling together.

Potter is a good...no, he’s a fabulous kisser. Draco is anxious to see what else he’s good at, and Potter doesn’t disappoint, manoeuvring his hand between them to stroke Draco’s rapidly hardening cock.

As they move together, Potter manoeuvres Draco onto his back, and skates his mouth down the column of Draco’s neck, sending sparks of pleasure through Draco’s core. Pressing Draco’s thighs apart, he thrusts his leg between them as his fingers skim ever closer to Draco’s hole.

Potter takes his time preparing him, and although Draco prefers being opened the old-fashioned way, with lube and fingers, he also wants to feel Potter inside him now, so he urges him on, whispering, “Hurry! Just use magic--”

Potter groans, burying his face in Draco’s neck. “I am hurrying--” he says, his tongue slipping along Draco’s jaw. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous--”

“Hurry faster,” Draco gasps as they continue to move together. Potter uses a lubricating spell and his fingers, and when he finally slides inside Draco with a slow, sensual thrust that takes his breath, all Draco can do is wrap his arms and legs around Potter and cling to him.

Potter starts sliding in and out, his thrusts sending sensation spiralling through Draco until pleasure crests over him and his cock pulses, spreading his come between them as he shudders through his orgasm.

Once Draco comes, Potter speeds up, panting as he, too, chases his own pleasure. Within only moments, he is shuddering through his orgasm, burying his face in Draco’s neck as he comes.

When he finally raises his head to peer into Draco’s face, Potter is flushed, his hair is a mess, and he’s gorgeous. “So,” Potter whispers. “Was dessert satisfactory?”

Draco smiles at him. “It’ll do,” he says.

Potter grins back. “Right. What does tradition say we should do now?”

“Now?” Draco closes his eyes. “Now we rest.” He smirks. “Tomorrow I’ll test you to be sure you really learned this tradition properly.”

Potter chuckles. “You know, I could get used to these traditions.”

As Draco drifts off, he thinks that he could, too.

~

Kreacher has finally got Mistress settled; she rants for hours after Master Malfoy and Master Potter leave. But Kreacher continues to show her her precious items, and eventually she sleeps. And Kreacher watches her, as content as he has ever been.

There is a shimmer in the air and Kreacher stiffens, feeling the approach of the other, the one who showed him how to get Mistress’ things back, how to make her happy again. When he appears, Kreachers glares.

Dobby, his body transparent, wavers before Kreacher. “Harry Potter is happy now,” he says. “He has found what he seeks. Dobby can rest.”

Kreacher scowls. “And everyone will leave Kreacher and Mistress alone?”

Dobby nods. “Dobby helps them forget. No one will bother Kreacher again.”

Kreacher nods. And as Dobby fades for the final time, Kreacher resumes his contemplation of his Mistress. All is well.

~

The End

~