Harry practically sprinted down Knockturn Alley on his way to Adelgar’s Apothecary. It was Saturday morning, very early Saturday morning, and that meant that his potion would be finally ready. The last couple of days he had been driven to distraction by the strange... lack he seemed to have between his legs. He had never before realised how comforting and assuring he had found the warm weight he kept safely tucked into his underwear. Thanks to the numbing potion, he kept on panicking whenever he realised he no longer felt anything there and surreptitiously touching himself to reassure himself that everything was where it should be. But he still felt strange, as if he were not completely whole.

Harry eagerly yanked the shop door open, the bell jangling in the early morning chill. The shop was deserted except for Danae. The saleswitch was leaning against the counter, charming her long fingernails a brighter shade of pink with a bored air. She barely spared Harry a glance until he stood in front of her and cleared his throat meaningfully.

“I would like to speak to... Draco Malfoy, please,” he informed her, vaguely annoyed.

She shrugged disinterestedly and made her way to the back room.

Harry’s stomach was a twisted ball of excitement as he drummed his fingers on the counter, trying to contain his impatience. He barely knew what he was looking forward to more: finally getting the promised curative potion, or seeing Malfoy again. Harry had come to the conclusion that his condition must be addling his brain, as there was no other logical explanation for the amount of time he had spent these last few days thinking and wondering about his old school rival.

Speaking of the devil, Malfoy appeared shortly, without Danae, and briskly walked up to Harry, carrying a brown paper bag. He was wearing the same frayed old robes he had been last time. Limp strands of light blond hair escaped from the black tie holding it back and fell messily in front of his eyes, barely brushing his chin. The man looked tired and pinched, yet Harry’s breath caught. He seemed even more beautiful than he had the first time he’d seen him a few days ago.

Malfoy placed the tantalising bag on the counter in front of him and smirked at Harry rather predictably.

“How are you keeping up... sir?” he asked.

Harry wished Malfoy would stop it with the false politeness. It was getting on his nerves, which he supposed was the point.

“Fine,” he grumbled, sounding anything but.

“You’ll be pleased to find out that your salve is ready,” Malfoy began in a salesman-like tone. “The salve required by your... hum... delicate condition is complex and time consuming. I’m sure you’ll forgive us any inconvenience due to the delay.”

Malfoy’s lips quirked up and his eyes glittered mischievously. Harry just wanted to punch him in his pretty pointed nose, but the blond continued, undaunted. “I hope that the potion purchased on your last visit offered you some relief and didn’t prove too unpleasant?” Malfoy raised his eyebrows expectantly while Harry scowled darkly at him.

“It worked all right, I suppose...” he grumbled, “...but I would rather not use it again – it was bloody disquieting.”

“Hmm... yes. I can see what you mean.” Malfoy barely concealed his amusement under his professional veneer as he looked at Harry pointedly.

“Yes, yes,” said Harry impatiently, “but the salve is ready now.”

He was itching to finally get his hands on the precious concoction and then to get it on his cock. The bliss and relief finally promised him made his mouth water and his eyes briefly glaze over. Why couldn’t Malfoy just get on with it and give it him to already? Oh, yes, because Malfoy always had to be difficult.

And Malfoy, besides being difficult, was also speaking. “...No need to worry,” he was saying. “The instructions are very simple. Almost foolproof, one might say.” He pointedly looked at Harry. “But just in case, I have taken the liberty of writing them on the label of your salve.”

Harry gnashed his teeth. Malfoy was purposely dragging out the visit and extending Harry’s agony. For a brief moment he fantasised about grabbing the salve and running out the shop. But Malfoy’s grey eyes were bright and crinkled at the corners from amusement and his lips were pink and glistening and forming words...

“...No more than three times a day and should be rubbed in until it is completely absorbed. By tomorrow you should be as right as rain. Only in extreme cases will it take a day longer.” Malfoy took a deep breath and smiled at Harry before continuing. The smile was half forced professionalism, half amusement with Harry’s plight, but it made no difference to Harry - his breath hitched and his heart started beating double time. Hazy spots formed at the edge of his vision, though that could simply be the beginnings of a migraine. How could he ever have hated Malfoy? Most probably because he had never smiled at him before.

“...Like to thank you for your kind patronage and hope that our services were to your satisfaction. If you ever have need of our services again we would be most happy to provide them.” Malfoy finished his rote speech with a flourish and a raised eyebrow.

“Um, yeah... yeah. Of course,” Harry stammered. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to remember. How much do I owe you?”

“That would be twenty Galleons.”

The price was steep, but Harry didn’t care. He tossed the coins onto the counter, grabbed the salve, gave one last glance to Malfoy and quickly trotted out the shop, Apparating home as soon as he set foot in the road.

*****

An hour later found Harry spread-eagled on his bed, completely naked with a dazed happy look on his face. His clothes were strewn all over the place and the jar of salve lay on the bed next to him, the lid screwed on crookedly. There were sticky white stains on the dark duvet and the unmistakable smell of sweat and semen in the air.

As soon as he had got home, Harry had applied the salve on his inflamed cock, rubbing it in until it was completely absorbed – just as Malfoy had told him to. Only he hadn’t stopped rubbing then; he had continued, in fact, until he had had two blissful irritation-free orgasms. It was amazing how much Harry had missed his cock, and it had only been a week! He was certainly glad to have it back. He gazed at it fondly as it lay limp and tired – but hopefully not for long.

Harry spent the whole of Saturday at home, only leaving to pick up some quick take-away for dinner. He spent his time dozing, listening to the Wizard Wireless, applying the salve twice more and making up for all the wanking he had missed out on in the past week. He found it only slightly worrisome that his fantasies consisted of a pale pointy school-yard rival turned into a deceivingly delicate-looking adult. He imagined long-fingered hands sliding over him, touching and teasing; sly grey eyes glittering through a curtain of blond as a head dipped and wicked pink lips opened to swallow him down.

*****

That night Harry dreamt. He was sitting by the lake at Hogwarts with Ginny; they were gazing over the water together. Her hand rested on his knee, only the fingers were longer than he remembered and there were no freckles. He absently carded his hand through her hair, which was oddly fine and silky and, when he turned to look, blond. Ginny turned ‘round and it wasn’t Ginny at all but Draco Malfoy who was sitting next to him, smiling his strange half-smile half-smirk. Harry lifted his hand to touch Malfoy but the other man had moved away. Harry got up to go to him but Malfoy constantly stayed out of reach, silent and unmoving with an odd half-smile on his lips.

Harry chased after Malfoy but could never catch up, not until they reached the gates of Malfoy Manor. Harry put his hand on the other man’s shoulder and together they stared at the silent house and its abandoned gardens until Malfoy turned around and looked at Harry with sad grey eyes. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy disappeared and the house was no longer empty. Black-robed Death Eaters swarmed out of the house and into the garden. As they neared the gates, they fired off curses and hexes Harry’s way. Colourful flashes of light zinged past Harry, just missing him. Before he could react he was tackled to the ground by a large hard body. He turned his head and came face to face with a dirty and bloody Ron.

“Keep down!” Ron hissed, exasperated.

“We got it!” whispered Hermione excitedly from his other side.

Harry abruptly woke up, opening his eyes to the cold morning light slanting into his bedroom from the half closed curtains. He shook his head, as if that could get rid of the memories crowding his mind. That happened more often than he would like: random dreams turning into actual memories, and always unpleasant ones or ones from the war.

He stretched lazily and got up to peer out the window. It was a surprisingly sunny winter morning, the sun a sickly yellow hazy globe in the pale blue sky. Harry felt as if he should take advantage of the good weather and maybe leave the house – he had practically spent the whole Saturday cloistered inside, after all.

As he scrubbed his face under cold water to completely wake up and studied his stubbly chin in the mirror, wondering if he should bother shaving or not, slivers of his dream kept on creeping into his consciousness. He was spending far too much time thinking of Malfoy and his manor. But how could he not? Malfoy intrigued him and he couldn’t help being curious about what was going on with the manor. And if there was one thing Harry hated, it was leaving his curiosity unsatisfied.

Harry left the bathroom to get some breakfast, having decided he wouldn’t bother shaving. He had a sudden desire to visit Wiltshire. Why shave to go for a walk in the countryside? He had heard that Wiltshire was a county well worth visiting.

*****

Wiltshire was beautiful in the cold crisp air of the February morning. Green plains and hills spread into the misty distance as far as the eye could see. It was a chequered patchwork of rural villages, fields and pastures, each different coloured patch inscribed by low stone walls, trees or the dark tarmac of roads. Harry breathed in the damp fresh air as he leaned against a low wall and took in the view. In the distance he could see Muggle farmers in wellies and anoraks and fluffy white sheep grazing under the shade of ancient standing stones.

Harry remembered the ancient stones from the last time he visited Malfoy Manor. He had come here in the quest for Horcruxes, looking for clues. It was war time and the three of them were wild-eyed and exhausted, barely hanging on in quiet desperation. Nevertheless, they couldn’t help noticing the majestic stones in the fields, exuding power and a sense of place. Hermione wasn’t able to help herself from giving them a brief history of the place, for a moment excited and eager as if she had forgot the war and everything it entailed.

Now in the calm clear sunlight of a quiet Sunday morning, Harry could really look at the prospect spread out before him. In the not-silence of the English countryside he could feel the slight vibrations all wizards felt in magical places. In his mind’s eye he could fill in the gaps left by time and man and see the ghost of the shape that would have been etched out in the land that lay before him.

To his left rose the conical mount of Silbury Hill. The hill looked completely unprepossessing, its surface smooth and covered with grass and brambles, but it exuded the same thrum of energy and latent magic that so many other such landmarks did. To his right, not far from the source of the gurgling that merrily winded through the countryside, lay the ruins of a collapsed 17th century manor-house with crows’ nests in its fallen roofs and ivy climbing the crumbling walls. It looked like something out of a gothic romance. Harry found the theatricality of it oddly fitting.

Fixing his gaze on the ruined house, he steadily walked closer until he saw the tell-tale shimmer cover it and suddenly he could see Malfoy Manor. It was still an elegant and imposing 17th century mansion, only now one could see that until recently it had been lived in, and the garden tended to. The signs of neglect and the weeds overgrowing the garden were only six years old. Still, there remained a certain sadness in the air and a pervading foreboding atmosphere.

Harry stood for quite a while just outside the gates of the manor, studying it. The windows were covered with six years’ worth of grime; two on the left side of the second floor were broken. Birds had made nests on the balconies and Harry could make out marks and cracks on the walls from hexes thrown during the storming of Malfoy Manor that had taken place at the end of the war. He hadn’t been present at that battle, he had been miles away hunting down the final Horcrux, but he had heard the stories. It had been a vicious battle with many casualties on both sides. It still remained a mystery how Voldermort and a few of his choice Death Eaters had managed to escape the mansion without triggering the Anti-Apparition nets or the Portkey-tracking charms.

Now the gardens lay in partial ruin, their one time beauty and grandeur still apparent to the perceptive observer: rose bushes and clusters of lavender and lilies, trellises covered with creeping vines, fountains now run dry, and meandering pathways. Tall trees were swaying in the breeze, and in the distance Harry could even make out a half-collapsed gazebo. Harry thought the gardens were actually more impressive than the house itself. The house stood tall with a square and very masculine sort of English elegance, whereas the gardens were so much more vibrant and alive, full of colour in the spring and a certain whimsicalness. Harry wondered if Narcissa Malfoy had tended the gardens herself or if he was admiring the work of one of the family’s house-elves.

Carefully observing the house in front of him, Harry easily concluded that while the house itself seemed to have been left completely undisturbed for a number of years, the front pathway and the main door it led to had obviously been used recently. The lock on the front gate looked well-oiled too. Harry took out his wand to run a couple of scans on the gate for wards and other spells when a voice interrupted.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”


Harry quickly spun round to face the direction the familiar voice had come from. He had to squint, but now that he knew what he was looking for, he saw him. Not far to his right, hidden in the shade of an oak tree and thick bushes, and not to mention a particularly good concealment spell, Draco Malfoy slowly shimmered into view.

“Don’t just stand gaping like a giant lummox!” Malfoy hissed. “Slowly walk away in the other direction until those bushes over there hide you. I thought you were trained!”

Harry found himself at a loss for words, but decided to follow Malfoy’s order, or rather suggestion, just in case, and demand explanations later.

Once safely hidden from view of the Manor, Harry slowly counted twenty beats before pulling out his wand to cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself. Once he was comfortably camouflaged, he turned to find Malfoy.

“Very good,” a voice whispered in his ear. “I always thought you were a little too proficient at sneaking around. Now follow me.”

The high-handed attitude rather chafed Harry, but he obeyed anyway, albeit clenching his jaw in annoyance. He was now recalling what a bossy and overbearing brat Malfoy could be.

Harry followed Malfoy’s shimmering half-invisible form as he led him across fields, through brambles and past sheep droppings. The more Harry stared at the translucent form in front of him, the clearer it came into view, until in the end Harry was shocked to see that Malfoy was wearing Muggle clothes. Jeans, too! Harry thought as he intently inspected Malfoy’s scrawny jean-clad arse. It was obvious that Malfoy was bony and underfed and his hip-bones jutted out in sharp angles, but that didn’t stop Harry from swallowing thickly at the view.

The blond suddenly dodged behind a couple of tall bushes and Harry scrambled to follow, afraid that he would Apparate away before explaining his paranoid behaviour. Behind the bushes Harry found a fully corporeal jean-clad and mouse-haired Malfoy. Harry dropped his Disillusionment Charm and sputtered without thinking, “What happened to your hair?”

Malfoy raised a brown eyebrow – he had done a thorough job – before responding. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s this little thing called disguise, but it looks like an Auror like you wouldn’t know about that sort of thing.”

“I bloody well know what a disguise is Malfoy!” Harry snapped. “What I would like to know is why you found it necessary to disguise yourself as brown-haired Muggle to visit the countryside. I want to know what you’re up to.”

“Not here, follow me,” was all Malfoy said as once again he turned his back and strode away, leaving Harry jogging to catch up.

Malfoy led him past large standing stones resonating with energy and gawking Muggle tourists in the distance, towards a congregation of cottages in the centre of the ruined circle. One of those cottages turned out to be the Red Lion Inn and Malfoy promptly disappeared inside. Dutifully following, Harry stepped into the dimly lit pub to find the other man at the bar ordering himself a pint of beer.


Soon enough they were both ensconced in a corner table with a pint of the house ale in front of each.

Harry looked at Malfoy expectantly. “I’m all ears,” he told him.

Malfoy sort of smiled in response and lifted his glass to take a long sip that left him with a moustache of froth. Harry couldn’t help but stare, mesmerised as the blond’s pink tongue came out to lick his upper lip clean, leaving it glistening provocatively, or so Harry thought. Harry swallowed to clear his throat and managed not to sound too hoarse as he repeated his demand for explanations from Malfoy.

“You know, I could just as well demand that you explain yourself too,” the other man answered. “I would very much like to know why you decided to spend your Sunday gawking at my house. Is that what you do with your free time? Gaze at other people’s homes like some sort of homeless Vanquisher of Dark Lords? Or do you only pay that honour to the confiscated ones?” he finished bitterly.

Harry squashed his sudden urge to growl at him and settled for clenching his jaw. “Need I remind you that I am the Auror here, and thus the one in the position of power and the one with the ability to demand explanations?”

Malfoy shot him a nasty glare over his pint of ale but decided to finally answer Harry’s questions. “Obviously I was here to observe the manor. You must have reason to believe yourself that there is something off, or else you wouldn’t be here too. Of course I hardly think that the fact you are off duty is an excuse for you to stomp around like the epitome of clumsy curiosity, triggering Protective Wards and Alarm Charms. Merlin, Potter, was the Great Harry Potter, Glorious Defender of the Light and Destroyer of Evil Dark Wizards, deemed above lowly Auror training lessons?”

Harry growled low in his throat and glared daggers at Malfoy. It was almost just like Hogwarts. Only at Hogwarts Malfoy never looked this tired and thin, except for sixth year, and he certainly never wore worn Muggle jumpers that were slightly too large and gaped at the neck, revealing smooth white skin and sharp delicate bones. Harry suddenly felt very hot, and the completely uncalled for and ridiculous urge to lick Malfoy’s clavicle drowned out his anger. Harry took a deep breath and resolutely ignored inappropriate and distracting thoughts.

Fortunately Malfoy chose that moment to give a resigned sigh and commence speaking. “Well,” he began, “you must agree that even given the Ministry’s inefficiency and penchant for procrastination, six years is a ridiculous amount of time for the investigations on the manor to still be pending. Every other location investigated has long since been cleared and returned to the proper owners. And I am the owner of Malfoy Manor and all its grounds, it’s my rightful inheritance and the Ministry can’t seize it for payment for my father’s crimes.” At that Malfoy sat taller and glared indignantly at Harry, daring him to contradict him, spots of colour blooming on his high cheekbones. Harry just shrugged and nodded for Malfoy to continue.

“About three years ago I’d had enough. All I’d got from the Ministry were vague non-committal answers to my letters, and at the Office for the Investigation of Dark Artefacts and Locations the officers in charge of the investigation at the manor were never there. I did manage to get a name though, Clarence Brown.” Malfoy stopped his narrative to take a sip of his beer and tuck a strand of his fine temporarily brown hair behind his ear. So far he hadn’t really told Harry anything he didn’t already know, except for confirming his hunch that something fishy was going on and giving him another name to add to the two already he had.

“Anyway, as I said, I’d had enough so I finally decided to put a lawyer on the case – much good that it seems to be doing me,” Malfoy continued. “I even visited your friend Granger’s – or should I say Weasley’s? – department at the Ministry a couple of times. But it seems like equal treatment for all doesn’t extend to the likes of me,” he added bitterly.

Harry suddenly felt the need to defend his friend, but he was feeling rather non-confrontational and settled for a simple, “I’m sure Hermione’s department does the best they can.”

Malfoy lifted a doubting eyebrow but said nothing for a couple of seconds, giving Harry plenty of time to study his elegant pale hands as he tapped his fingers absently on the table-top. The fingertips might be stained, but the rest of his hands looked just a shade off from pure white, with ridiculously thin wrists and a criss-cross of clearly visible blue veins. Malfoy seemed to sense Harry’s gaze and stopped tapping to pull nervously at the frayed edge of his sleeve, making Harry look away guiltily.

Soon enough Malfoy started speaking again. “To continue with our narrative, getting a lawyer made them take me a bit more seriously, but has yielded no results so far. No positive results, that is.” At that Harry looked at him curiously and urged him to continue. “To keep the public satisfied, after my hearing the Wizengamot decided to put me under temporary supervision,” Malfoy explained. “The usual business of keeping track of my whereabouts and spell usage. I agreed at the time that they didn’t have much choice since the majority of the public was not persuaded that I was completely innocent. This supervision was to last a maximum of four years. It’s been five and not only have they not lifted it, but the new official in charge of my monthly check-ups is now almost over-zealously thorough in his job. Actually, lately it’s been more than not bordering on... intrusive.”

That certainly piqued Harry’s attention and he made a mental note to find out the name of the official and maybe have a talk with him. “Malfoy,” he said, however, interrupting the blond, “this is all very interesting and pertinent, I admit, but it is also longwinded. What I really want to know is why you were staked out outside the manor and what you hoped to find out. Do you actually have any evidence that something’s going on?”

Malfoy hmmfed, looking annoyed with Harry’s interruption, and scowled at him before speaking. “It’s pretty damn well obvious that something’s going on. For a start there’s the fact that no one seems to know anything about the manor except for the people in charge of the investigation, who can never be found. There’s the fact that they are obviously trying to silence and discredit me. Who will take the word of someone under strict surveillance and Restraining Spells seriously?”

That last shocked Harry. What Restraining Spells was Malfoy under, and why? If it was true, it seemed that Malfoy’s persecution complex was more than simple paranoia.

“What’s more,” Malfoy continued, “I know for a fact that the Dark Lord was conducting some rather unsavoury Dark Experiments in the underground network in the Malfoy grounds, a fact that has been kept strangely silent. And finally I know for a fact that the manor shows signs of being regularly visited. You’re an Auror,” he sneered at Harry, “don’t tell me you didn’t see that the manor had been visited within the past week by more than one person?”

Harry couldn’t disagree with any of those statements. Malfoy was right and things did look awfully suspicious. Harry had suspected (quite often correctly) conspiracies with less evidence to go on than this.


They didn’t stay much longer at the pub. Harry only offered Malfoy short noncommital answers to his questions, making the blond annoyed and snappish. He did promise, though, to send an owl if he came across anything important or conclusive. He hoped that Malfoy didn’t notice he had his fingers crossed under the table.

Once back home Harry flopped onto his old lumpy sofa and stretched widely. He couldn’t help smiling to himself. He felt contented. It was not only Malfoy’s heady presence that left him feeling slightly drunk, it was also the promise of a mystery to solve – a real mystery out of the confines of his job and restricting Ministry regulations – that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t felt in a while.