Title: To do the Unspeakable

Author: mony2208

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: Post-Hogwarts. Auror Draco Malfoy is on the verge of being fired. Given one last chance to redeem himself, he is sent to investigate dark activities at a muggle university, where he stumbles upon a certain saviour who disappeared from the wizarding world two years ago. Pre-Deathly Hallows. Slash.

Author’s Notes: I’ve been a bad bad girl. I allowed my real life to stop me from writing, even though it was one of my New Years Resolutions to stick with it, no matter what. Gah, I’m sorry to all those who had started to get into this story, and I hope there are some people out there who are still interested in reading it. I didn’t mean to abandon it for so long :( Please don’t kill me.

To do the Unspeakable

Chapter Six

Draco awoke from an uneasy sleep.

It had been one of those nights where he had dreamt so many different dreams that in the end, now upon waking, he was only left with flashes of conflicting images all coalesced into one confusing and unclear fog in his head.

One finger raised in a triumphant salute … a hooded jacket, thrown back to reveal a haunted, masked face … a doll, snapping in half the way a twig does when somebody steps on it, but in this instance there was no foot; just an invisible crushing pressure, squeezing and squeezing until a loud crack filled the air …

Pulling himself up into a sitting position, Draco blinked his grogginess away, and immediately checked under his bed to make sure his wand was still stuck neatly to the third wooden slat.

It was.

He leant back with a sigh, swiping a hand over his bleary eyes. From the faint darkness of the room, it was obvious that the sun hadn’t even properly risen yet. Otherwise the annoying rays would have made the easy journey past his flimsy blue curtains by now, blaring straight into his line of vision and blinding him.

Still, being blinded into awakening seemed a tad more inviting than usual, especially after what he’d had to endure throughout the remainder of the night. Try as he might, the only images Draco could remember from his dream marathon were unusual to say the most.

Draco shook his head to clear the images from his mind, feeling strangely unsettled. Perhaps it was just because of the almost panicked feeling that the last image seemed to almost smother him with, he tried to reassure himself, rising out of the bed. Wandless magic always did unbalance him. Ever since the war, he’d hated the unpredictability of such a rare and powerful talent, never knowing when or how it would strike. He’d seen the disastrous effects in too close a proximity.

But - as he dressed in front of his cooing mirror - a little voice at the back of his mind was telling him that there was something more to it than that, something he was missing …

Something vital.

Draco trotted into the bathroom an hour later, still feeling unsettled, only to be unpleasantly reminded of the previous night’s events.

Annoyed, he kicked out at one splayed leg. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

The person occupying the toilet lifted his head to peer at Draco with half-closed, bloodshot eyes. “’The fuck does it look like, Malfoy?”

Draco quickly shut the door behind him.

“Do you mind?” he hissed furiously, his heart racing. “Wasn’t it enough that you broke the International Confederation of Wizard’s Statute of Secrecy at least a dozen times last night that you also have to-”

“What?”

Potter jerked up from his slumped position. He went to shake his head before obviously thinking better of it. “I didn’t break any Statute.”

“The Fuck you didn’t, Golden boy,” Draco shot back. “After lamenting the break-up of your precious Golden Trio, you babbled on about me and broomsticks, and felly tones -- which I guessed was the Weasel’s pathetic impression of the telly phone.”

With a groan, Potter lowered his head back down to the ceramic bowl. “Bloody fucking hell. I can’t remember a thing.”

That got Draco’s attention.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Can’t remember anything, hey?” he repeated, smirking. “So I’m guessing you’re unable to recollect the sob story you gave me about the break-up of your precious Golden Trio?”

“What? I’d never tell you about R-” Potter began, aghast. Lifting his head from the toilet again, he stopped mid-sentence when he caught Draco’s smug expression. “Oh, har har, aren’t you a fucking comedian,” he huffed tiredly. “You honestly think I’d believe anything you say to me? Since when did you tell the truth to anyone?”

“Believe what you will, Potter,” Draco replied, not ready to concede yet. “Or better yet, why don’t you ask Marty to give you a recap of the night?”

“Marty?” Potter echoed, in a small voice. He seemed to shrink in front of Draco’s eyes, looking more like the teenager that he’d known back at Hogwarts. “He – heard things?”

Draco nodded, still smirking. “You’re lucky Marty mistook your inept descriptions of our world as mere drunken ramblings – something you apparently do every time you get all drunk and depressed.” He stopped when Potter suddenly bent over and retched. “Merlin, Potter. Couldn’t you have crawled over to your own toilet to do that?”

Potter’s answer was understandably muffled. “Shut up. M’not in the mood for anymore dry wit this morning.” As if to prove his point, he retched again, pale hands gripping both sides of the toilet.

“What, no wonder concoction to magically fix your hangover left?”

Even with his head in the toilet, Draco could feel Potter’s glare.

“So why does meeting up with the Weasel and his – girl make you want to drink yourself into oblivion?” Draco asked, still unwilling to finish their conversation, especially when Potter was still so off-balanced by the night before. “I mean, clearly I can understand the need for some alcohol after coming face to face with the Weasel, but really …”

Draco trailed off as a delicious thought hit him. “What with the Weaslette being five feet under, you haven’t gone and fallen in love with the Mu-Granger, have you?”

All of a sudden, Draco found his back meeting the door very hard, pushing all the air out of his lungs.

Lowering his now spinning head, he very slowly met Potter’s fury-filled glare. The man was still leaning heavily against the toilet, but now had one hand cruelly outstretched in Draco’s direction; fingers curling almost mockingly. Draco barely refrained from gulping at the blatant show of wandless magic, but was almost pleased at the return of Potter’s anger.

So there still are those same buttons to push …

“Don’t you dare even think her name,” Potter spat, and for a split second, Draco couldn’t understand who it was Potter had reacted so strongly towards.

“Who, the Mudblood?” he said unthinkingly.

Potter scowled, and there was an invisible warning around Draco’s throat.

“No, Ginny,” he hissed back dangerously, before adding, “and don’t you dare call Hermione that filthy name either.”

Draco knew he should be scared at the depth of Potter’s anger – his throat could attest to that fact – but as always couldn’t stop his runaway mouth. “So you’re not in love with Granger?”

Surprisingly Potter snorted at that, and the tension on his throat abated slightly. “Of course not. She’s practically my sister.”

“So why are you hiding away?”

“That is none of your business,” Potter threw back, his face instantly closing off. He dropped his hand back into his lap, and Draco suddenly found he could move away from the door again, although it hardly mattered anymore.

“Is it because of the Weaslette’s death?” he pressed on, trying to remember if there had been anything unusual about her death. As far as he knew, it had just been an accident, but with the Unspeakable department, one never knew …

Potter said nothing. He turned back to the toilet as if nothing had ever happened, his anger once again making that remarkable disappearance Draco couldn’t quite believe was possible.

“Potter, at least tell me why you drank yourself into oblivion.”

Silence.

“You never drink.”

Another retch.

“Fine, you know what, why don’t you just hurry up with the puking, then get out,” he snapped, his impatience finally getting the better of him. He’d be damned if he begged for information. There were other less humiliating methods he could use. “I’ve got business that I need to attend to.”

Potter made a vague rude gesture in Draco’s direction.

Draco let out an irritated sigh. The close proximity of Potter and his stench was making him feel light-headed. “Whatever, Potter. Just don’t think I’ll be letting you do this here again. Marty might choose to tolerate you, but I sure as hell don’t.”

Not waiting for an answering groan, Draco gladly tore out of the bathroom, and back to the safety of his room, where he collapsed onto the bed with a weary sigh. Merlin, just one conversation with the man and he felt completely drained. Didn’t it use to be the exact opposite at Hogwarts? Exhilarating and invigorating, and all things alive? When did his life become so dreary? And why hadn’t he drawn his own wand to even the playing field out?

Merlin, why hadn’t he even thought about retaliating until now?

He rubbed at his tender neck almost absently, staring up at the cracked ceiling in deep thought. By the time he had gained enough nerve - or rather his bladder had demanded attention - to leave his room again, all that remained of Potter’s little sleep over was a blanket carelessly thrown on one side of the couch …

… and a familiar pair of oddly shaped glasses lying crookedly on the coffee table.

Late that afternoon, Draco was reminded of why he had been dumped there in the first place.

It was halfway through his tutorial lesson, when his left pant pocket began to vibrate ominously.

“Shit,” he cursed, dropping his pen in alarm. Heart pounding in anticipation, his left hand automatically went to his pocket, where he had carefully folded his clever little parchment. In his impatience, he would have taken it out right then and there, if it hadn’t been for the shadow that suddenly loomed in front of him.

“Mr. Malloy.”

Draco snapped his head up. His tutor, looking none too pleased, stood in front of him, hands placed expectantly on her hips.

At his attention, she continued to address him in a disapproving manner. “Part of our university policy is to prohibit the presence of mobile phones during class. I will only let you off this time. Kindly switch it off, or if it is an emergency, take the call outside.”

By now, their conversation had drawn the entire class’s attention. Some Muggles had even took it upon themselves to stop working completely, and simply ogle Draco, who was gaping mindlessly.

He really should have known what a mobile was … he’d heard them mentioned enough times, but he just had no idea. Perhaps some sort of a relation to the telly-phone, but he really wasn’t in any sort of mood to find out at that moment. Instead, Draco had no qualms about snatching it up as an excuse, since it was sort of handed to him on a silver platter.

He stood up, placing all his stuff into his satchel, and ignored all the inquisitive looks. “Uh yeah – sorry,” he said quickly. “It is an emergency. I have – to go – now.”

The parchment in his pocket continued to make known its presence as he turned around, and he hurried his exit from the room without any further ado. Then –

“Oh my God!”

The horrified scream caught him off-guard. Well-honed instincts almost had him dropping to the ground and reaching for his wand, but he managed to turn around semi-calmly to face the girl that had stood up and was pointing to something across the other side of the room.

As others began to exclaim their surprise, Draco followed her finger to the glass window and immediately saw the reason for their shock.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin,” he muttered softly to himself, rolling his eyes.

Right there hovering outside the classroom’s window, in broad daylight, was an owl bearing the Ministry insignia; its beak pecking furiously on the pane.

Well, there’s one thing you have to admit about them, he thought wryly as he slipped quietly out of the room amidst the cries of his classmates and the persistent pecking of the owl, their owl delivery is certainly getting quicker.

He didn’t bother searching for the troublesome owl after he had walked out of his room. No sooner had the door shut behind him did Draco yank out the parchment with shaking hands, and began to unfold it.

With growing excitement, he perused the parchment, and his eyes latched onto the flashing red light on the bottom right hand corner of the map. It he wasn’t mistaken, that beacon was closest to the section of the university that he’d only been to just yesterday – when he had been tailing Potter, in fact.

Surely, that was no coincidence, he mused thoughtfully.

Draco absently fingered his wand - hidden carefully in his pocket - itching to make use of the other function of the map, but other issues demanded his attention first. Regretfully pulling his hand away from his wand, he began to sprint towards the building highlighted on the map. After all, there was no time like the present to catch the culprit in the act, even though it was highly unlikely they’d still be sticking around.

He met little resistance as he dashed through the hallways and up countless stairs as most students were now in class, as he should have been. But that hardly mattered anymore. Draco was so close to solving his case … he could feel it with every great stride he took. Breathing heavily, he glanced again at the dot on the parchment, growing closer to the spot – and, as he had suspected – the classroom he’d followed Potter to just the day before, the classroom that Potter had had no legitimate reason to go to.

It was almost anti-climatic when he finally reached the source of the latest Dark magic, because predictably enough, it was the very same classroom Potter had been spotted leaving, and there was absolutely nobody inside, or for that matter, even close by.

But it did confirm one very important thing for Draco.

Potter was somehow linked.

He glanced down at the parchment again then, curious to see just what spell had been used, and would have reached into his arm sleeve to pull out his wand, but students began to filter out of the classrooms on either side of him. One looked at him weirdly as she passed, and he sneered rudely back at her, before refolding the parchment and heading to the nearest toilets.

Taking care to assure that nobody else could bother him, he performed a silent Imperturbable Charm on the cubicle he stepped into before taking out the parchment again. This time, he tapped the flashing red dot twice, murmuring a spell to reveal itself to him.

Slowly, tiny red cursive letters instantly scrawled across the parchment.

Draco recognised the Dark Spell immediately. Being part of a Pureblooded family, he was familiarised with the sort of spells one family would use with one another. Curiously, this one was one of them. It was a form of communication between wizards, initiated through the shedding of blood to ensure nobody but the intended could read the message. Not a particularly dangerous Dark Spell, but part of the Dark Arts nonetheless as it included the element of blood.

Draco frowned as he leant against the wall of the cubicle. It was an unusual spell for more than the fact that only purebloods had ever used the spell. Blood was precious for the pure bloods in the wizarding world, and there were far more complex spells that could just as easily ensure absolute secrecy with their messages. For instance, the spell used for the Inter-Memos at the Ministry of Magic was just as effective, as was the ever popular use of owls to send messages, both of which require less effort than this particular spell.

Besides, it was somewhat archaic to communicate in such a way. Draco’s own father had never resorted to spilling his own blood to communicate with anyone. He’d always believed that it was too dangerous to offer his rare blood to anybody, especially to his close friends.

‘You can never be too cautious, Draco …’

Draco wrenched his mind away from the memory of his father’s voice, and focused once more on the location of the spell, information not even the Ministry had. He folded up the parchment, and disassembled the Charm around the cubicle, deciding eventually that there was much more to this situation than he or Moody had ever thought.

Draco wiped at his eyes tiredly a few hours later, the words of his text book blurring before him.

You’d think I would be feeling somewhat ecstatic that something was finally happing with the case, he thought wryly.

He’d finally had his first real concrete evidence that there was Dark activity going on in this university, and that it could possibly be linked to Potter, albeit loosely. But he couldn’t summon up the expected triumph he should be feeling.

Instead, he couldn’t stop thinking about his dreams.

They’d kept him feeling on edge ever since he returned from that classroom, and he hadn’t been able to concentrate since. He shut his book with a sigh. It was as though his subconscious was demanding that he was missing something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think what.

Draco hated that feeling. The last thing he wanted was to miss something now and find out afterwards that it had been in front of his nose the whole time.

Although it was nowhere as effective as Severus’s handy Pensieve would have been, Draco tried to visualise the images from his dream again, closing his eyes as he leant back in his chair. He couldn’t think where that doll snapping had come from; the memory of something from his childhood kept slipping away from him. But … the rude gesture and the hooded face … they clearly came from that little altercation in the hallway the day before.

It was easy enough to remember that jostle from behind - his shoulder still bore the bruise - as was the immediate aftermath. He could still see in his mind’s eye as the Muggle swung around arrogantly to flip him the bird; the jumbo-sized hood falling back in the process to reveal tousled black hair, and icy blue eyes that glared back at him. He also remembered as that glacial glare quickly turned into shock when Draco stepped away from the lockers and sneered at him.

He frowned as that niggling feeling returned. What was he missing? There was nothing unusual about the Muggle’s reaction to him, was there? It was only natural that the Muggle would have run away from him after Draco’s infamous sneer. So many others had in the past.

Yet, as he envisioned the Muggle’s expression in his mind again - mouth dropping open, eyebrows disappearing way up to his hairline - he could have sworn that, for the briefest of seconds, something very close to recognition had flashed across his features.

Draco jolted up from his chair, eyes wide.

How had a Muggle recognised him?

Later that night, Draco brooded over the case, sipping his beer at Joe’s with the rest of the gang. Thankfully though, Potter was absent. Draco had heard him arguing with Marty as he was changing, followed not long after by their front door slamming shut with considerable force, and then the sound of another door slamming in the distance.

Marty sat beside him, with a rare look of frustration on his face. After Potter had stormed out of their apartment, Marty had uncharacteristically snapped at Draco when he’d casually asked if Evansson was going to be joining them that night.

“What the fuck do you think after that commotion?” he had spat out derisively, before spinning on his heels to clang around in the kitchen for a hidden bottle of alcohol.

He’d later apologised for his outburst, which Draco had found somewhat surprising. Apologies were rarely directed his way. Usually people expected him to be the one apologising … for his upbringing, attitude, and practically every choice he’d ever made in his life.

Draco cast away his morbid thoughts when Marty sighed heavily. “How are you feeling now?” he asked him carefully.

“Oh, all right, I guess,” Marty answered, his speech slightly slurred. He’d just finished his seventh drink, and was waiting for Dan to bring the next round. “James is just pissing me off – but that’s nothing you don’t already know.” He shot Draco a sheepish grin before continuing on. “God knows I love the bloke, but James is so closed off about his past that it makes it impossible for me to help him when he gets all dark and depressed. Especially when he goes and meets up with those friends of his …”

“Does he get like that often?” Draco interrupted eagerly.

A suspicious gleam appeared in Marty’s eyes, and Draco realised he had pushed too far.

“Sometimes,” Marty said evasively, and twisted his head around to see where Dan was.

Merlin’s balls, Draco swore inwardly, taking another sip of his drink. Just when I was getting somewhere interesting.

From what Marty had inadvertently indicated in their conversation, it appeared that Potter frequently had these ‘dark and depressed’ periods where he’d drink until he dropped, and meet up with some rather shady characters for days at a time.

It also appeared that these periods were not particularly consistent to one another. Something reminded Potter of his past, and he went on a binge to forget. This coincided perfectly with the random dark activities occurring around the university.

Also, after seeing one of those ‘dark and depressed’ events for himself, Draco couldn’t help but remember how complacent Potter was about revealing intimate details about his magical past. Could it be possible that - in those times when Marty couldn’t get to him - he was just as unworried about performing some dark magic in front of sycophantic followers who thought he was some kind of magician? After all, it wasn’t too far fetched to suggest that the anonymity of the Muggle world was probably too much of a change to his previous way of life that Potter had merely reconstructed a similar situation amongst gullible Muggles. Draco knew that Potter had always loved the positive attention of the wizarding public, regardless of what Severus had said to him.

Draco sighed a long sigh of his own. But what he needed was the hard evidence to back him up. A night of drunken ramblings wasn’t going to be enough to get the boy wonder locked up for good. He needed to get proof of Potter’s drunken indiscretions … pictures of him drinking … voice recordings of him revealing their world of magic … and most importantly of all, him performing little magic tricks to his shady Muggle friends.

It just had to be him, Draco thought, frowning. Who else could it possibly be?

At that moment, Dan came back with two beers, and a sour expression on his face.

“So I see James has found his old buddies,” he said, practically slamming their glasses onto the table.

“What?” Disbelief laced Marty’s tone. He turned around, head straining to look around the club. “What are you talking about? James couldn’t come tonight.”

Wordlessly, and looking none too impressed, Dan pointed to a spot over Draco’s right shoulder.

Draco slowly followed Marty’s shocked gaze over to the middle of the dance floor.

His eyes widened. It looked as though he might have a chance to gather evidence on Potter that night after all, for a suspiciously familiar brunette was on the dance floor, and dancing extremely close to another shadowy figure.

Both Sam and Tyler gasped in unison.

“Seems to me he’s planning on coming anytime now,” Sam noted from beside him. His voice was sounding a little choked.

And despite the sneer that immediately appeared on his face, Draco could hardly blame the Muggle. For an ex-Quidditch player, the other man had an unusually compelling method of dancing. Clad completely in black, Potter was almost wrapped around the other bloke – for the figure was unmistakeably male – slowly, but purposefully grinding in a way that left nothing to the imagination.

A low growl suddenly had him turning back to the group – abruptly remembering where he was and who he was staring at - and Draco was surprised to see an ugly expression had formed on Marty’s face.

“I can not believe him,” Marty breathed angrily, eyes fixed on Potter. Fists clenched, he went to stand up, obviously with the intention of marching out onto the dance floor and confronting the oblivious man.

But Dan laid a steadying hand on his shoulder that kept him seated.

“We can’t confront him here,” Dan said evenly, sidling closer to his partner. Slowly, he unfurled Mart’s fists clenched until they reluctantly relaxed in his grip. “Something’s clearly got him fired up enough to seek those friends of his, and that something won’t stop him from biting our heads off if we go over there and cause trouble again.”

“Those friends of his are no friends. They’re disgusting, perverted idiots,” Marty spat, but he made no move to rise up again. Although … if looks could kill. “They’re getting him into trouble that I don’t think he’ll be able to escape from.”

He looked so close to tears at that moment that Dan ran a soft hand through his hair, and pulled him close enough to whisper something into his ear; everyone else at the table abruptly forgotten.

Averting his gaze from their little private moment just as Sam and Tyler had done, Draco couldn’t help himself; his eyes drifted back over to the dance floor, almost riveted at the sight. He’d never seen Potter move so seductively before. It was raw and tough and definitely dangerous looking, but it was also so tantalising at the same time.

He wasn’t the only one who thought that either. Other people on the dance floor clearly noticed Potter’s overpowering presence, too. Guys kept on approaching him only to be roughly rebuffed by one sharp shake of his head.

It appeared that Potter only had eyes for this strange, faceless guy tonight, he thought wryly, though Salazar knows why.

His neck ached from the angle he was looking from, but Draco pushed the discomfort aside as he continued to watch. I’m just trying to figure out who the other guy is, he told himself firmly. Not for any other reason.

But unfortunately, it wasn’t quite so easy to convince the others. Sam caught him looking, and nudged him with a laugh.

“Yeah, he’s a real one to look at, ain’t he?” he whispered, and Draco saw that his eyes also kept straying towards Potter. “But you ain’t got a chance with him, ‘cause he likes them all tough and mysterious.”

Draco sighed inwardly. Like I’d ever want a chance with him. “Like him.”

“Yeah – like him.”

Draco accidentally caught Marty’s eye - when he glanced at Potter again - who flashed what looked to be a sympathetic smile in his direction. Suddenly, watching Potter continue to grope and grind the other man was more than Draco could take. With an obvious effort even he couldn’t ignore, he tore his eyes away from the horrifying, yet embarrassingly arousing sight, and abruptly stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” he said when the others looked up at him curiously. “I just need to use the bathroom.”

Not even waiting for the others to reply, Draco hurriedly stepped away from their table, and weaved his way through the rowdy crowd and over to the bathroom. Not once did he raise his eyes from the ground, especially not when he passed by the dance floor. Finding out the identity of the other man would just have to wait until another time, Merlin dammit.

When he reached the safety of the bathroom, he let out a breath he had not realised he’d been holding. Then, noticing a couple of other men already standing in the urinals, he straightened his shoulders and went into a cubicle to fix up a certain problem that had arisen and could no longer be ignored.

Except he found he was quite unable to.

Draco barely had the chance to lock the door before a commotion went on outside.

A growled, amplified voice rose above the music of the club, filling the room. “Get the fuck out.”

Predictably, nobody took well to the imperious command.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Draco heard one guy complain. “The fucking Queen?”

There was no verbal answer, only a massive crunch as flesh met bone, and then an indignant yelp of pain.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” the first voice repeated in a deceptively soft voice.

There was the sound of multiple zippers hurriedly being zipped up, and then a stampede-like rush to the door.

At that moment, something told Draco that it would be better to hide his presence rather than reveal it by walking out of the cubicle. Backing up to the toilet, he instantly pointed the wand at himself, feeling the cold, trickling sensation of the Disillusionment Charm travel down through his body. A moment later, he climbed up onto the now closed toilet seat and pointed his wand at the door, quietly twisting the lock until it was back in the vacant position.

Just in time, it seemed. When all seemed to be quiet outside, the bathroom door slammed shut and the lock clicked loudly; the noise echoing with a finality that made Draco instinctively shiver and check to make sure his wand was out of sight.

Another, slightly less familiar voice then spoke. “Potter, you-”

Potter must have directed him to stop, because the voice cut off abruptly, and nothing was more said.

Listening hard, Draco realised someone had begun to approach the cubicles; slow, measured footsteps that were growing closer and closer. At that moment, he had never been gladder for his Auror training. Silently, he inched up the toilet seat, looking through his disillusioned feet for reassurance.

“Anybody here?” Potter cooed.

Tilting his head to one side, Draco could just see the tip of one shiny black shoe as it stopped at the cubicle next to his. He held his breath as the door forcefully swung open, forcing himself not to wince as it crashed into the wall by his ear.

When nobody was found, Potter moved on.

Draco’s fingers tightly gripped the toilet as Potter took one step closer to his cubicle. Hopefully, his Outstanding in Stealth and Concealment would pay off against the slayer of the Dark Lord. He just wouldn’t be able to handle it if Potter saw him like this. His situation was humiliating enough as it was without adding to it.

The footsteps slowed to a stop in front of his cubicle, both shoes now pointing forebodingly in his direction. Draco braced himself as the door suddenly opened with a forceful whoosh; slamming so fast and so hard into the wall that his disillusioned hair was blown back by the aftermath.

Looking straight ahead, he saw Potter’s silhouette, fierce and angry, and couldn’t help himself as he flinched back into the toilet. Potter had never looked so damned threatening in that moment…

…nor darker.

Potter stared at the space Draco occupied for one very long moment, his lips curled in a sneer. Just when Draco was absolutely convinced his cover had been blown, the other man with Potter spoke up again.

“There’s no one here.”

The voice was slightly impatient, and in Draco’s opinion, stupidly aloof. Only certain people could get away with talking like that to the Chosen One. He knew from personal experience.

Potter turned away from Draco’s cubicle to address the other man, clearly annoyed, and the door finally rested to a stop, three-quarters of the way closed.

“I can see that,” he snapped, though he continued to check the remaining cubicles without further comment. Evidently satisfied that there was indeed nobody there, he eventually walked back over to the entrance and out of Draco’s sight.

He heard Potter’s voice, unnaturally rough say, “Now, didn’t I tell all of you not to contact me like that again?”

There was a strangled gasp and the unmistakeable sound of a zipper being unzipped. “Forgive me – bu- but Malfoy. Malfoy is here. Jac-Jacob saw him on campus the other day.”

Draco’s heart sped up at the mention of his name, and the fact that somebody else had recognised him.

“Do you think me blind?” Potter said cuttingly. “I was there too. He’s been a part of my group.” His voice grew harsher. “Besides, is that a good enough reason for your stupid brother to stand me up? If he had left me the message at the time and place I had planned, Jacob would never have bumped into Malfoy. It’s been foolproof until now.”

The utter contempt in Potter’s voice still wasn’t warning enough to shut the other man up.

“But what does he want?” he whined. “He’s an Auror. He knows us. He could find us out.”

“I don’t know what he wants yet, but I will be the one to find out. Not you.”

“But-”

“We’re already attracting enough suspicion,” Potter interrupted darkly. “You know you shouldn’t have allowed him to use that spell to communicate with anyone. It’s careless acts like that which could jeopardise the whole plan. Not to mention the fact that I never intended for him to use his gift like that. What a waste of my time.”

“He’s still only learning,” the man maintained stubbornly.

“Don’t give me that pathetic excuse. He’s had months to learn. I tolerated his earlier stunts in the beginning, but now it is unacceptable. There’s been too much Dark activity in this area for it to be deemed as a coincidence anymore, especially with an Auror sticking his nose around the place.”

There was a sullen pause, which re-ignited Potter’s fury.

“Look, just remember who it is that is risking everything here? Remember what it is I am doing for you and your brother and the rest of those bumbling idiots.”

“Yes – I know.”

“Then don’t second guess me,” Potter snapped, then added slyly, “I am the Golden Boy, after all.” Amazingly, the two shared a quiet, dry chuckle, before Potter’s voice barked out, “Now turn around.”

A low moan was the other man’s only reply.

Unable to resist temptation any longer, Draco carefully eased himself off the toilet seat and leant the slightest bit forward, so one eye could see through the crack of the door. He looked at the wide mirror over the sinks, and saw the most unexpected scene ever in the reflection.

Potter pushing the slightly taller man into the wall with one hand, and tugging at his own pants with the other. When the other man’s pants dropped to the ground, Draco watched on in disbelief as Potter’s hand snuck around to the man’s front, drawing out another strangled gasp.

“Fuck.”

“That was what I was planning on doing actually,” Potter whispered back.

Draco couldn’t see Potter’s expression, but heard the deep moan as the so called Golden Boy suddenly drove himself forward and into the other man.

A ragged scream tore through the man’s throat even as he pushed himself closer to Potter, who, in return, made no move to slow his rough thrusts; placing both hands on the other man’s hips so tightly that it would certainly leave bruises.

It was almost too painful for Draco to continue to watch, but there was no doubting the other man was welcoming the violent actions, delighting in them even. His back arched with every thrust, and his breathy moans easily rose above the noise outside. Frozen in place, Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away for the second time that night.

In between thrusts, Potter’s voice was grim as he taunted the other man. “You like that, don’t you,” he said harshly, not even sounding slightly out of breath. “You like the pain, the feeling of submitting. You’re a sick fuck, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Oh … Merlin, yes.” The man was mimicking his movements, groaning.

“And you wouldn’t want me to stop now, would you?” he asked, driving himself in and pausing for one, excruciating looking moment.

“No – fuck, don’t stop – don’t stop. Keep going.” Draco curled his lip at the pathetic begging, but still didn’t turn away as Potter started again.

Draco caught Potter’s strangely emotionless face when he stopped a second time and turned his head to lean forward and whisper into the man’s ear. “Then when am I going to see them again? You told me I would and it’s been three months since then.”

He gently drew in the earlobe with his lips, then bit the earlobe. Hard.

The man squirmed. “Ahhh – I don’t – don’t know. Oh Mer-Merlin – soon. I think, soon. Just – pleaseeee.”

“I need more than that,” Potter warned, closing his eyes, unmoving. “I can stop right now, as you know very well.”

The other man started babbling, and Draco’s eyes inadvertently drifted over to the bared arms that were straining to hold himself up against the wall. “I promise – please, I’ll get you in to see them. Just fi-finish it, I swear – I swear, Potter.”

“Very well.”

Potter appeared to have been waiting for that promise. With a sly smirk, he resumed his earlier movements; thrusting faster and faster until, after a few more torturous minutes had passed, he softly moaned his release. Tugging at the other man’s front with one rough hand, it wasn’t long before he too followed suit with a howl, falling forward onto the wall.

When Potter had recovered enough, he pulled himself out as uneventfully as if he’d just taken a leak, and used a mild cleaning charm on himself.

“Clean yourself up,” Potter ordered, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “And get out. I don’t want to see you until you make contact with them. I’m sick of waiting and constantly having to prove myself. You all know I’m worth more to you lot than that.”

Still slumped against the wall, panting, the man – whose features were still faced away from Draco – nodded fearfully.

Looking satisfied, Potter dissolved the complicated locking charms on the door, and the man scrabbled to do what he had said, quickly exiting the toilets.

The door shut softly and re-locked behind him, and all the earlier fierceness seemed to instantly seep out of Potter. With an air of an old man, he turned around and sagged against the wall for a long moment, then stiffly walked over to look at himself in the mirror.

The face that appeared shocked Draco to the very core. There was little left of the boy who had so brazenly defied the Dark Lord, and more of the crazed man that he had defeated. With one eye still riveted to that mirror, Draco couldn’t believe how much the so-called saviour had changed yet again.

Potter gave one last sigh at his ragged reflection, dead looking green eyes staring back at him, before visibly straightening himself up and pushing away from the mirror. He waved his hand almost neglectfully as he approached the door, allowing it to unlock again long enough for him to exit.

As other annoyed Muggles started to enter the almost deserted bathroom, Draco re-locked his own door, and leant back on the closed seat, his legs trembling. What was Potter all about? One minute he was arrogant, then the next all drunk and hopeless, and now – now he was mingling with Death Eaters as though he was the Dark Lord and they were his followers.

And there was no doubt that Potter was in touch with Death Eaters. Draco couldn’t miss the faded Mark that was so blatantly uncovered on the other man’s left arm. It was unlikely he’d ever not be able to recognise it, even from such a distance, as it was branded in his heart as much as it had been branded on his own arm

Merlin, I can’t figure out the stupid git.

He almost gave a sigh at the sheer complexity of the stupid mess he’d involved himself in, but something stopped him. Something much more demanding.

Draco groaned in disbelief.

“You’re kidding me, right?” he exclaimed softly, looking down.

Far from wilting, his crotch could only twitch in reply.

A/N: Okay, well, I hope that this chapter was a decent update. I know it raises even more questions, but the bathroom scene was one of the first scenes I had envisioned for this fic, and it took me absolutely ages to get it right. So, what do you think? Is the rating now justified for the fic? You don't think it was too explicit to post on here, because the last thing I want to do is have my account suspended :(

Oh, and sorry, one last thing. Thanks to everybody who has reviewed so far, and added me to their author alerts or favourites lists. It is much appreciated as always, and hugs go out to all!