Chapter Text
The front door to Potter's cottage burst open, Draco strolling straight in as though he owned the place. His eyes immediately found Potter in the small space, standing at the kitchen sink and already filling the kettle up with water, setting it to boil.
He glanced up to Draco, a friendly grin on his face, rolling his eyes at his dramatic entrance. Draco brushed past him, making for the rounded kitchen table and pulling out his trusty notepad and quill.
"Were you born in a bloody barn, Malfoy?" Potter asked, tone trying to play at annoyance but coming out as a resigned playfulness. His Emerald eyes shone as he watched Draco take a seat at his table.
"I have no clue what the circumstances of my birth have to do with tomorrow's headline, Potter," Draco sniffed, "but I assure you, I was born into unfathomable grandeur, the likes of which you could not even imagine, and I have the photographs to prove it."
Draco discretely flicked his wand, and the door swung shut gracefully, closing with a quiet click. Draco pretended not to notice, but he couldn't stop his lips from turning up as he flipped through his well loved notebook.
Potter pulled the chair out and sat at the other end of the table, looking at Draco with interest. "Who's the nosey prick this time? Not Skeeter again, right?" he asked with a grimace at her name, and Draco shook his head.
"Might as well be, though. Some bigheaded Prophet reporter, too lazy to do his own research for an article. Serves him right." Draco smirked, flipping to an empty page and beginning to write. "So, what will it be today, Potter? Are you feeling overcome with Wrackspurts? Suffering from a fullbody sunburn after falling asleep on a nude beach? Accidentally transfigured yourself into a shrub?" He looked up, leaning closer and staring into Potter's green eyes. "What hasn't the saviour of the wizarding world been up to this week?"
Potter leaned back in his chair, humming thoughtfully and tapping his chin with his wand. Over in the kitchen, the kettle began to shriek. With a casual wave of his wand, he summoned the kettle and their two teacups, which float gracefully over to the table. The kettle poured them both a cup of tea, and Draco stirred in a spoonful of sugar to his cup of tea, watching the other man lost in thought.
The afternoon sun beamed through the windows, lighting up Potter's crown of wild shoulder length black curls and giving it an angelic glow. His sunlit hair contrasted against the bronze of his skin, pocked with little scars that stood out in the light. Everything about him seemed to glow, especially when he smiled at Draco.
It was a rather nice look, Draco found himself thinking. Sometimes, Potter tied his hair back off of his neck, and that was a rather attractive look too. He was a lot more appreciative of Potter's untamed look than he was as a teenager. A teenager with obviously poor taste, who couldn't appreciate-
Oh. Potter was staring right at him, mirroring his smirk back as he waited for him to stop staring and respond to the sentence he had definitely heard Potter speak. He felt heat rising up the back of his neck, and while his goal was to subtly ask Potter to repeat himself, he instead squeaked out an ineloquent, "What?" before clearing his throat and trying again.
"What was that, Potter?" He would simply not acknowledge his staring. It would not do.
Potter rather charitably decided not to point it out, raising his eyebrows and chuckling to himself instead.
"Well, I definitely haven't developed a wrackspurt infestation, At least as far as I've noticed. However, I have a feeling the only newspaper willing to run an article about me and my Wrackspurt journey has far too much journalistic integrity to pay a stalker for headlines." Draco sighed, scratching 'Wrackspurts' off of his list.
"I suppose I can only dream of being paid off by the Quibbler to stalk you. Nude beach?" Draco wiggled his eyebrows, revelling for a moment in the laugh he received from Potter.
Potter did seem to consider it for a second, but eventually shook his head. "While I'm absolutely sure you would get paid top dollar for such a headline, I simply don't know if I could handle Molly Weasley reading about me tromping around on a beach in the nude, even if it isn't true. I think she may go a bit batty."
"And Merlin knows we don't want that," Draco muttered to himself.
He didn't strike the words 'nude beach' off of his list entirely, but jotted down a small, 'next time' beside it. He won't let that killer headline go so easy. "Any big ideas then, since you're so keen to shoot down my star contenders?" He sipped his tea to occupy his hands, so he wasn't just nervously fiddling with his quill. He refused to let Potter see him nervous. Calm, cool, and collected. A Malfoy never fiddles. Almost never, at least.
"I'm not entirely opposed to having transfigured myself into a bush. To be honest, being a bush seems like it would be pretty top. No fans, no stress, no responsibilities. Just good old photosynthesis." Potter's face scrunched as he spoke. "I doubt that would be a big seller though. Hard to imagine being very interested in a bush."
Draco's arm disappeared into his bag, and returned grasping a magical camera. "Anything will sell when it comes with Photo Evidence," he said matter-of-factly. When Potter instinctively covered his face, Draco tsked at him. "Not of you." He looked around, glancing out the window. "Surely you have shrubbery somewhere on this property?"
✶ ✶ ✶
Walking out the back of the cottage, Potter escorted him to a few of the bushes along his property, letting Draco look until he identified one that felt right. It was tall gangly, sparsely covered, and pefectly awkward looking enough to pass for the transfigured Saviour.
Grinning and snatching Potter's glasses off his nose, Draco snapped a photograph with the iconic rounded glasses balanced precariously on a branch, and they headed back inside to finish their tea.
Potter poured him a second cup of tea and watched with interest as he pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and furiously scrawled a written report with his favourite falcon feather self-inking quill. Self-inking quills truly are the future, Draco thought to himself as words blossomed across the page in his elegant script.
Once he was satisfied with his work, he flipped his parchment around for Potter's perusal, as had become customary in their agreement. His eyes scanned the report, his eyebrows raising higher and higher as he reads until they were completely hidden underneath his mass of dark hair. When he glanced back at Draco, attempting to keep a serious face, Draco mirrored him back, turning his nose up in defiance.
"Anything to add, Potter? I feel pretty confident about this week's article. I can already picture the headline."
"'Has Potter been Pruned? Golden Boy turned Green, Spotted Transfiguring into Shrub.'"
He could see Potter's facade cracking as he nodded, his lips twitching with the attempt to keep a straight face.
"The photo really sells it, I think," Potter added, A small grin breaking through his pensive expression. The way Potter's eyes peered at him through his overgrown bangs only egged Draco on.
"I'm rather impressed by the likeness, actually. Do you intentionally trim your shrubs to look as disheveled as you?"
He revelled in the small chuckle Potter let out him as he gave Draco's shoulder a shove, standing and heading back into his small kitchen. Instead of gracing Draco's obvious needling with an answer, he simply asked, "Fancy a toastie?"
✶ ✶ ✶
With sandwiches devoured, Draco leaned back and was surprised when Potter broached the comfortable silence.
"What else do you even do, besides stalk me?" He meant it as a joke, but Draco bristled anyway. It felt a little too close to home considering their history. Not that Draco could really deny that he was being paid specifically to stalk Potter. He was, but it wasn't the only thing he did, and he let Potter know it with indignation in his voice.
"I do plenty else with my time, Potter." He sniffed, shaking his head. "You're lucky I've even been making it here on a weekly basis with how heavy my workload is. I'm practically worked to the bone, you know."
Potter's fingers ran through his hair as he responded. "Well, yes, I wasn't trying to insinuate you weren't." He frowned. "I guess I'm asking, er, what else you investigate? You said you were a Private Investigator, after all, but if I'm honest I don't really know what you do. It seems like you're a reporter, a glorified celebrity stalker, to me at least."
Draco could feel the irritation bubbling up in his chest at the idea of him being compared to a reporter. He felt very little respect for most reporters these days. Especially the ones on the level of the Daily Prophet, pumping out swill for the masses to eat up, too lazy to even do the research on the topics they headline pick for.
He turned his nose up as he scoffed at the outrageous sentiment. "I'm almost offended to be compared to the kind of lazy, morally bankrupt prat that spends their days writing pandering headlines for The Prophet to lie to the public. I at least try for integrity."
Potter snorted at Draco's indignation. "If there's one thing we can agree on, it is the moral bankruptcy of Prophet journalists." He smirked as he locked eyes with Draco. "Still haven't answered my question, though. All I've seen you do is write headlines about me for Witches Weekly or some other swill rag. Prove me wrong, Malfoy."
What a prat. He was definitely trying to provoke Draco into lowering his guard, and spilling his secrets. And fuck, Draco can't turn down a challenge. Not when Potter said it in that daring voice, his eyes piercing into Draco's core.
Draco snapped back, "Well, Potter, I am meant to be sworn to secrecy about the intricacies of my job, given that I sign contracts for my work on potentially sensitive persons and cases, and it wouldn't help my reputation for me to go talking about my work to just any prick who makes me tea and a toastie."
"However," he sniffed, and summoned the Malfoy Sneer to really sell his disdain, "given that you are such a sad, isolated sod that you haven't been seen out of your house in over half a decade, I suppose I can stand to divulge a few secrets."
Potter's eye twitched at Draco's needling, but it wasn't enough to distract him, and clearly his interest in Draco overtook his desire to fight. He leaned in, giving Draco that decisive eye contact that made his stomach twist in knots and his nerves tingle.
"My lips are sealed," he said with a grin.
The moment he mentioned his lips Draco's eyes immediately flicked down to look at them. The way Potter's tongue flicked out to wet them. Being in such close proximity to Potter, especially without the angst of their youth, the anger and animosity that kept them at an arm's length, was a dangerous combination. Potter had always had a way of getting under his skin, working him up, and from the moment they had met, he had always had Draco's stomach doing backflips. He used to pin it on anger, on hating him for the humiliation brought upon him, on the shame beaten into him by his Father for being so obsessed with the Boy Who Lived, but these days…
Ugh. He felt like shaking himself by his shoulders, slapping himself across the face and yelling at himself to GET IT TOGETHER, MALFOY! Potter was still watching him, and he realized he had been zoning out, staring back at him for longer than was socially acceptable and definitely for long enough that Potter would notice. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, in that case…"
"I have a few different types of cases I take on. The classic spouse that suspects the other of cheating, family member wondering where a distant or disowned sibling or cousin is. Not very interesting, but sometimes the scandals I've uncovered are enough to make even Skeeter blush. Yes, sometimes public figures. Either contracted by a journalist that fancies themself above stalking, or a fan without the resources to do so."
He shrugged, and Potter grimaced and shook his head. He didn't protest, however, so Draco continued.
"My favourite cases are often the missing persons; either the family wants a second opinion, doesn't believe aurors are doing a good enough job, or the case has gone cold and they want a new set of eyes on it. These ones are rarer, more rewarding to solve." They are the cases that made Draco feel like an auror. Like he could sit down and look at the evidence, and solve a case nobody else could see. They were puzzles that made his brain work, and he loved it. "Far more rewarding than writing glorified gossip columns."
He glanced down at his finished scroll sitting on the table, getting the sudden urge to send the entire thing up in flames. He sighed. "I hate writing gossip column pieces. I generally will turn them down, the only reason I take these ones, as I told you before, is the ridiculous rate being offered. And, well," he cleared his throat, "I have to admit, I was curious as well."
"As is most of the wizarding world, I imagine." Potter sighed, propping his chin up with his hands as he leaned forward against the table. "If the Prophet has contracted you… have you done contracts for the Ministry as well? "
"Not under an official capacity, of course. They can't have aurors outsourcing their jobs to ex-death eaters, can they? Not a good look for the department." He laughed drily. Potter shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Unofficially, I've been contacted to get profiles on low-level criminals running in bad crowds. Usually illegal or highly regulated potion brewing, or trafficking magical creatures. Sometimes they want me to track Pureblooded wizards partaking in the selling or procurement of cursed artefacts. The bastards at the Ministry know I know more about some of these circles, and who does or owns what. They figure it'll take them weeks to figure out what I already know, so they just pay me to do their dirty work."
He hummed in thought for a moment, and then smirked as he remembered quite possibly his favourite contract he had ever taken.
"Once, they had me do an international trackdown, as it was far easier for me to do so as an independent investigator than for a government body to do an international search, coordinating with local governments and obeying local laws." He grinned.
"That one was fun, actually. It meant spending my summer in Spain, chasing down Rodolphus Lestrange after his escape from Azkaban. While much of it was work, I won't lie and say I didn't spend more time than necessary laying on beaches with an infinite supply of wine. Part of my contract states that any travel costs be compensated by the employer upon receipt of agreed information. I can't not take advantage of the Ministry vaults when I can."
"And they trust you with all of this, investigating families you know or even have familial ties with?" The moment it left his mouth, Potter seemed to know the accusation was too far, and he winced. Draco stiffened in his seat. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just meant-"
Draco stood slowly, not even really as angry as he had a right to be, more resigned than anything. He had been fighting for so long, too long to overcome his reputation. And yet, it always followed him.
"Yes, of course. You just meant you couldn't ever believe the Ministry could trust somebody with-"
He yanked the left sleeve of his robe up to expose his mark, faded to grey but still visible after all this time. Potter winced at the sight, but didn't look away.
"What does it matter if I spent the last decade you've been hiding in your hovel trying to make reparations, to prove myself to the entire Wizarding world, if I have that on my arm? Not that you'd know what that feels like, Potter." He practically spit the name out, but the anger in his voice was weak, and they both knew it. He sagged a little with the weight of his outburst, the silence in the room deafening.
The sound of a chair scraping across the floor was the only sound in the cottage as Potter stood, not moving closer, simply standing and wringing his hands, looking for something to say.
"Old habits die hard." Potter's voice was hardly more than a whisper, but Draco understood. It was still hard for Potter to trust him, to believe he had changed and grown, just as it was hard for Draco to not needle and prod and mock him, try and provoke him into a fight. Even in the amicability they had developed, Draco couldn't help but trying to piss him off.
"Yeah," Draco finally whispered back, "old habits die hard."
He took his notes, parchment and quill, tucking them into his bag. "I think I had better get going for today, Potter. Thank you for the toastie." He turned, walking to the door, Potter frozen by the table, watching him leave. Right as he was about to walk through the front door, he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see Potter beside him, having collected himself.
They stare at each other for a moment, Draco's chest thumping. The skin around Potter's fingers tingled from the warmth of his hand, sending shivers up his arm, before Potter softly murmured, "Come back soon, alright?" And let go.
And like that, their argument moments ago was entirely forgotten. Draco's brain was racing a thousand kilometers a second, and all he could do was nod numbly before stepping through the door of Potter's cottage and walking out into the sunshine.
✶ ✶ ✶
The moment Draco got home, he nearly collapsed onto his bed, his arm still burning from Potter's touch on his skin. It felt like he was on fire from Potter's eyes, his touch, his laugh, his smile. Every time he closed his eyes, his vision swam with the emerald green of those eyes, peeking at him through jet black hair.
And now that he was home, out of Potter's sight, out of his house, all of the rush of emotions he had been trying to ignore came back to him all at once.
He tried to work on his paperwork, on his reports, but his mind was pudding and he couldn't get a single thought out onto paper. Every time he blinked those eyes stared into his soul. Draco knew he had a tendency to get a little… focused. On Potter. Ever since that first day at the age of eleven, he had never been able to free his mind of the boy who was supposed to be his friend.
The sting of that first childhood rejection coloured all of their interactions for the following decade, filling his mind with rage and anguish. It took a long time for Draco to learn how to manage being rejected, and Potter being the first time he had ever been turned down set him up for failiure. But at least when he hated Potter's guts, it was so much easier to process. He could just rant to his classmates, bully him, hit him with jinxes and mock him with charmed pins and it made the feeling in his chest ease.
But Draco was no longer an embarrassing holier-than-thou schoolboy, and his life was not run by angst. He was an adult. An adult with a job, and friends, and priorities, and he could not afford to spend all his time thinking about Harry bloody Potter. Especially now that their relationship was not running on pure mutual hatred.
There was something else there now. Something that made Draco's heart seize when Potter looked ashamed for admitting his lack of trust in Draco. Something that made sparks run along his nerves when Potter touched him. Something he was bloody well not going to address right this moment, because he was an adult with a report to finish.
At least, that's what he told himself when he sat properly at his desk. Three hours later, however, he could still hardly focus, and he stood up and stretched, scanning his parchment and deciding it was good enough to sell to the media rumour mill. With the photo attached, they should definitely eat it up.
He took the parchment over to the window, rolling it up and allowing his owl Mathias out of the cage to deliver his report. As his owl flew out of his window, another one soared in, a great Eagle owl with a brooding stare. He recognized this as a Ministry owl, and swiftly procured a treat for the hulking bird so it didn't bite his finger off. Ironic as always for the Ministry to reach out to him after just spending the afternoon talking about how uncommon it was for them to do so.
He removed the scroll, reading the letter sent to him.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
After your commendable work on our last contract, it has been suggested to us that we procure your services again. We require some information and reconnaissance around one Zacharias Smith, including known associates, living situations, and general activities. We trust in your absolute discretion around these matters, and your standard payment will be transferred to your account upon completion of contract. Please sign attached contract and send back if terms are agreeable. Any questions or updates are not to go through standard Ministry channels, please send to Auror Ewan Ward via personal channels.
Thank you as always for your service and continued discretion.
Draco sighed and skimmed through the contract, noting it was the same as the one they've sent with every job, basic requiring of discretion and sworn to secrecy. Standard Ministry hogwash. He signed it and tied the scroll back to the owl, sending it on its way with another treat. He would start on that tomorrow. Tonight, he was exhausted, and deserved a good rest and an early night.
In classic Draco fashion, the moment his head hit the pillow, his brain began supplying him with a nonstop feed of thoughts about Potter.
He couldn't stop thinking about what Potter had said to him as he was leaving.
"Come back soon," he had said, his voice soft and almost hopeful. Apologetic. Like he actually wanted to see Draco come back. He buried his face in his pillow and lets out a rather pathetic sounding groan.
When had thoughts of Potter started making him act like this? It hasn't been like this the whole time. Draco had actually had almost an entire decade of Potter-free thoughts.
The last time he had seen him was at Draco's own trial in the autumn of 1998. By the time his two years of house arrest had ended, in the winter of the year 2000, Potter had nearly disappeared from the Wizarding world entirely, and Draco was more than willing to put his face out of his mind and focus on his own hard earned redemption.
He had gone a whole eight years not having to see his wild mass of black hair, his scar that trailed across his forehead like a bolt of lightning, or his piercing green eyes that stared straight through Draco's insecurities. It had been years since Draco had even had more than the occasional passing wonder about what he was up to. Those were a marvellous many years where Draco felt in control of his own destiny, and that Harry Potter did not commandeer a starring role in his life.
Really, all had been fine, absolutely peachy, until last year. That was the year Draco began losing his mind.