Chapter Text
HARRY’S POV:
Harry knew the Ministry was trying to make post-war changes. He knew they were big, complicated changes, but nothing had prepared him for this.
“Potter,” Robards said, sounding far too cheerful for eight in the morning. Robards had been there to guide both him and Ron back when they first started out as Aurors and was someone Harry considered a good colleague. “Your new Auror partner has arrived.”
Harry straightened in his chair. He’d been reviewing spell safety forms (which he suspected existed solely to punish him for living) when he heard footsteps approaching. The sound was light and measured, the gait of someone who had never rushed for anything in their life.
Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck lift before he even turned around.
No... No, Kingsley wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
“Potter,” came a voice that dragged Harry straight back to Hogwarts corridors, detention arguments, and a smug smirk he’d never managed to hex properly despite the many attempts. “Try not to look too pleased to see me.”
Harry exhaled slowly. Very slowly. Then turned.
Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway of the Auror department, looking absurdly out of place. His robes were immaculate, and his hair was the exact same platinum shade Harry remembered being irrationally annoyed by. The only change was that it now hung loose instead of being slicked back with so much gel Harry had wondered how he even still had hair. The twat’s expression looked bored and superior as usual, but Harry noticed something faintly resembling… nervousness?
No. Wishful thinking.
“Malfoy,” Harry said flatly. “What are you doing here?”
Robards beamed. “As part of the Ministry’s Reconciliation Initiative, Mr. Malfoy will be joining the Auror program.” Robards was no longer considered a good colleague in Harry's book.
Harry blinked. “You’re joking.”
“Do I appear to be joking?” Malfoy asked smoothly.
“If you were joking,” Harry said, eyeing him carefully, “your face would probably crack.”
The side of Malfoy’s lips twitched into something almost like a smirk. Almost.
Robards clapped his hands. “Excellent! You two know each other, so that saves introductions. Potter, Malfoy will shadow you today.”
There were many things Harry wanted to say. Most of them would have probably gotten him sent home for the day. Instead, he muttered a resigned, “Brilliant.”
Malfoy stepped further into the office, gaze flickering over Harry’s messy pile of paperwork, the half-open cabinet, the cracked teacup Hermione had given him as a “congratulations on not dying again” gift.
“Well,” Malfoy said lightly, “this is… charming.”
Harry closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to sound calm. “Sit down, Malfoy.”
“Oh, good. Orders already.” Malfoy rolled his eyes as he swept into the seat opposite Harry, robe flaring dramatically. “This will be delightful.”
Harry had never wanted to quit something so badly in his life.
The absurdity of having Draco Malfoy sitting in his office was certainly something that threw off Harry's momentum, and considering the guy was still just as much a twat as he had been during their school years, Harry felt like he was in a fever-dream. And yet, some traitorous part of him, the one that always made his life more complicated than necessary, was curious. Because Malfoy looked different. It had been a few years since he had last seen him. At that time, it had been during the trial where the one in front of him had looked like a terrified child about to be handed a death sentence. Now though, he looked older, sharper, but also more... guarded.
Harry straightened his parchments. “Once I'm done with these documents, I guess you can tag along on the mission I’m going on.”
“How nice of you to offer, Potter.” Malfoy arched a brow. “I can see how overjoyed you are.”
Harry huffed. “Yeah, well, trust me, if I had any say in who I get stuck with, your name wouldn’t even make the list.” It felt strange how easy it was to fall into old habits once faced with your old rival, who by the way, had the same shitty personality years later. Harry thought he had changed, had become older and more composed, but the moment Malfoy had opened his mouth, that composure flew out the window.
Draco gave a short, cold laugh. “Please. As if I’m thrilled about being paired with the Chosen One and his chronic martyr complex.”
Harry stared at him. Malfoy stared back.
Robards sighed loudly behind them. “This is going to go beautifully, huh... Kingsley specifically ordered you two to team up, so please do try to get along.”
Draco’s POV:
Draco regretted everything.
He regretted waking up that morning. He regretted signing the blasted Ministry agreement. He regretted letting Pansy convince him that “public rehabilitation” was preferable to “rotting in the manor like a ghost.”
Most of all, he regretted walking into the Auror department and immediately seeing Harry bloody Potter.
Potter, who looked the same and completely different all at once. Potter, whose hair was still a disaster, whose expression was still far too earnest, and who, Draco realized with a sinking feeling, had developed the shoulders of someone who saved worlds.
Disgusting.
No, not disgusting, Draco corrected himself. Dangerous, unsettling and very much annoying.
Potter was staring at him now the way one might stare at a cursed artifact that could explode at any second. It took everything Draco had to refrain from fidgeting under that gaze.
Get it together, he told himself. You’re a Malfoy. You do not crumble under pressure. Somehow, the terrifying idea of having Potter see any sort of weakness from him, made Draco resort to the only thing that felt familiar... sarcasm and pushing Potter's buttons as far as he could.
Potter gestured curtly. “Give me a second to finish up here first.”
Of course. Straight to business. No acknowledgment of how deeply uncomfortable this situation was, how the very air seemed heavy with things unsaid. Potter probably didn’t care. Probably didn't think their past to be important enough to spare another thought.
“So even the wonder boy has to do paperwork, huh?” Draco said, because snark was easier than sincerity and far less embarrassing than anxiety.
Potter rolled his eyes. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have their life handed to them on a silver platter.”
Draco did not comment. Of course, Potter would believe that. All he probably remembered from their school days was Draco getting whatever he wanted at the flick of a wrist. He had absolutely no idea of what underlying horrors Draco had to go through just to live up to this father’s expectations, to shield his mother, and to survive the Dark Lord.
Sodding bastard, Draco thought as he gritted his teeth.
The next few minutes passed in tense silence. Potter quietly scanning through one document after the other, while Draco bored himself to death.
Once he could no longer bother to look down at his own hands, he scanned the room properly. Only the desk in front of Potter looked like a cluttering spell had been fired, while the rest of it was fairly organised to Draco's surprise and dismay. He didn’t like the thought of the saviour showing any ability to change and grow. Not when he still regarded him as the same brat he had known back in school.
For a mere moment Draco caught his own reflection in one of the glass cabinets. He looked pale, too thin, with hints of dark circles under his eyes. His looks had turned into something he preferred not looking at. He looked like someone who didn’t sleep properly. Someone who still woke up from nightmares.
“Alright then.”
Draco startled at the sudden sound. He'd been so lost in thoughts that Potter’s voice sounded unusually loud through the silence.
Potter rose from his chair and put on his Auror robes before turning to Draco. “I’m sure you’ve been through the introduction program already, which means you know that your role today will be solely as my shadow. No need to try and show off or actively take part in my mission.” Draco heard the emphasis Potter put on ‘my’.
“Yeah, yeah...” Draco rolled his eyes as he stood and followed Potter out of the office.
This was going to be absolute hell.
HARRY'S POV:
Harry didn’t care to look if Malfoy was following him as he headed out the office and towards the room where Robards was waiting for them.
“All right you two,” Robards said as they stepped into the briefing room. “This is a basic field check. Routine disturbance in Knockturn Alley. Probably nothing, but the shop has closed down until you've investigated it.”
“Oh good,” Malfoy drawled. “A scenic stroll through the slums.”
Harry ignored the comment trying to keep himself composed. He knew this was going to be a long day and he needed to keep a level-head for as long as he could manage or things would surely turn disastrous.
Robards handed him a parchment with information about the shop and gave a pointed look at Malfoy. “Remember that Potter is your lead today. You follow his instructions no matter what. Do not act independently, please.”
Malfoy made a grand show of placing one hand over his heart. “I wouldn't even dream of it.”
Harry snorted loudly and ironically as he muttered. “Right.”
Robards sighed. “This is an important team up, alright? Try to be civil and you might just manage better than expected.”
Harry doubted that strongly. Robards might have known that they were acquaintance, but he couldn't possibly know how much of a rivalry they had been through during their school years. If so, Harry was certain that Robards would've tried harder to convince Kingsley they wouldn't be a good match.
Moments later they Apparated to Knockturn Alley, boots landing unevenly on cracked cobblestones. The air smelled like damp stone, potion runoff, and regret.
“Stay close,” Harry said. “We just have to check a shop that reported strange magic fluctuations. Apparently, something in the storeroom keeps rattling the shelves-”
“Oh yes, terrifying,” Malfoy interrupted. “Shelves.”
Harry pressed his lips into a thin line, willing himself not to hex the guy. “Malfoy.”
“Yes, Potter?”
“Do me a favour and shut up.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Fine. Wouldn’t want to distract you during such a dangerous investigation.”
Merlin give me strength, Harry thought.
The shop in question looked dimly lit, cramped, and filled with enough cursed objects that even Harry felt uneasy. A dusty sign read: Marwick’s Used Magical Oddities.
Just as he stepped one foot inside, he felt the air shift. Magic all around them was humming faintly, but somehow, something felt wrong.
“Let me guess,” Malfoy said in a low tone. “You’re just going to barge in without assessing magical signatures, checking wards, or doing literally anything that resembles basic protocol?”
Harry glared at him. “It’s a shop, Malfoy. We have to get to the source to investigate, no?”
“And were you born this reckless, or did you have to work to become so good at it?”
Before Harry could snap back, something thudded in the storeroom behind the counter.
A heavy, metallic thud.
Harry motioned for Malfoy to stay behind him as he stepped fully into the shop.
Yet, before Harry could scan the room properly, Malfoy ignored him completely and walked past him. “Fine. If we’re diving headfirst into idiocy, let’s commit to it properly. If you think I’m going to stand here and watch you charge in like a brainless Gryffindor...think again.”
“Merlin’s sake! I’m the one in charge-”
“Oh, trust me, I've noticed your need to constantly remind me.”
“Will you stop being-”
Another loud crash cut him off.
A small window into the storeroom swung open on its own, hinges screeching. A faint pulse of dark green light flickered from inside. Harry raised his wand and saw Malfoy mirror him shortly after.
“We'll go in on three,” Harry whispered.
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Three what? Three seconds? Three steps? Three-”
“Count to three and then go in, Malfoy! How bloody thick are you?!”
“Then say that!” Malfoy said in an exasperated tone.
Harry threw his free hand up. “ONE-”
“Wait, are we going on three or on 'go'-?”
“TWO-”
“This is a terrible plan, you know-”
“THREE!”
Harry shoved the door open and leapt into the storeroom. A wave of unstable magic whipped outward like a shockwave, slamming into both of them. Harry stumbled as Malfoy crashed into him, knocking Harry's wand out of his hand. Something exploded above their heads, raining sharp splinters all around them.
“Protego!” Harry shouted, managing to grab his wand with his left hand and barely casting a shield.
“Your spell is angled wrong, you absolute cretin-!” Malfoy yelled back, correcting it with a sharp flick and expanding the shield around them.
A cursed storage trunk in the centre of the room thrashed violently, metal rattling as it glowed an alarming shade of green.
“Don’t touch it!” Harry yelled.
“Who in Merlin’s name would touch it?!” Malfoy snapped.
Then the trunk lunged. Actually lunged.
The whole metal frame sprang forward, animated by a curse neither of them recognized. They jumped in opposite directions, Malfoy to the left and Harry to the right. Leaving a giant, trunk-shaped gap in their 'strategy.'
“Potter you idiot! Don’t split off-!”
“You were the one who moved first!”
“You moved first!”
“I SAID THREE!”
“You didn’t specify what three meant!”
“Oh for-! just STUN IT!”
“I AM TRYING!”
They fired spells, two perfectly aimed stunners that collided mid-air because they were cast at the exact same moment. The spells ricocheted off each other and shot backward. Harry barely ducked in time. Malfoy shrieked something deeply un-Malfoy-like as he threw himself behind a crate narrowly avoiding it.
“Brilliant, Potter! Stop messing everything up!” Malfoy snapped, already popping back up. His wand flicked sharply. “Incarcerous!”
Ropes shot forward, only to be caught in the swirling unstable magic erupting from the trunk. They writhed like angry serpents before exploding into confetti-like strands that rained down on both of them.
Harry coughed. “Why would you cast THAT?!”
“Because SOME OF US are trying to contain the threat!”
The trunk shuddered violently, a deep groan rising from within.
Harry raised his wand again. “Immobulus!”
A pale blue wave surged forward, slowing the thrashing magic in the air for half a heartbeat, and then shattering like glass as another pulse from the trunk blasted outward.
Malfoy swore. Loudly and expensively. “Move! MOVE!” He swept his wand upward. “Ventus Maxima!”
A gale-force wind tore through the storeroom, scattering loose papers, knocking potion bottles off shelves, and flipping a crate of rubber chickens into the air in a horrifying cascade of squeaks. The trunk skidded an inch… then rattled harder.
“Stop using WIND!” Harry yelled over the gust. “It’s destabilizing the whole room! Finite! Finite!”
The wind died abruptly, as papers fluttered down like the world’s saddest snowstorm.
Malfoy whirled on Harry, wild-eyed. “You cannot shout ‘Finite!’ at everything like it’s a personality trait, you twat!”
Another pulse rocked the room, making the lights flicker, and a stack of cursed candlesticks began spinning ominously in the corner.
Harry gritted his teeth, ignoring Malfoy's comment. “We need to pin it... Levicorpus!”
Malfoy fired at the same time. “Arresto Momentum!”
The two spells tangled mid-air, merged for half a second in a brilliant white flare and then detonated like a magical firework.
The trunk buckled, shook, and then burst open in a crack of violent magic that sent both of them flying from either side of the room, straight towards each other. Harry hit a shelf. Malfoy hit Harry once again. They collapsed in a heap, both having the air knocked out of them. Somewhere to their left, a box of biting marbles began gnashing loudly.
Harry groaned. “Please tell me the trunk is done.”
Malfoy, wheezing on top of him, muttered, “Potter, if I ever hear you count again, I swear... I will hex you into oblivion.”
Before Harry could respond, footsteps approached from the shop entrance. Robards’ voice echoed through the debris.
“POTTER! MALFOY! I got an alert of a massive magical energy surge. What in Merlin’s name happened?!” Robards and two Auror's who were following him stopped short as they lay witness to the absolute disastrous state of the shop.
Harry tried to sit up. “We… encountered resistance?”
Malfoy made a strangled noise. “We encountered Potter’s bloody brilliancy at fucking things up!”
DRACO’S POV:
Draco felt it all. Humiliation, pain and dust, as well as Potter’s elbow digging into his ribs. This was, quite possibly, the worst moment of Draco Malfoy’s life, and that included being nearly killed by a werewolf.
“Get off me,” Draco groaned, pushing at Potter's shoulder as their robes had somehow managed to intertwine with one another during all the chaos.
“You’re on top of me, you absolute twat,” Potter shot back while also trying to untangle himself.
Draco grimaced. “Trust me, Potter, if I had any control over this situation, the last place I’d be is anywhere near you.”
They scrambled apart, both wincing from the injuries they had accumulated and their robes had torn from the ordeal. Draco brushed off his sleeves, grimacing at the sight of dust and scorch marks. His once pristine robes looked like they had been dragged through a faulty Floo grate and then used to plug a leaking cauldron.
Perfect. Just absolutely, bloody perfect.
Robards surveyed the wrecked storeroom, eyes wide as saucers. “How... How did you manage to cause this level of destruction during a simple magical check?”
Potter pointed at Draco immediately. “He wouldn’t follow instructions!”
Draco choked. “Your instructions were vague at best-”
“They were clear!”
“They were utter rubbish!”
“You moved first!”
“You shouted numbers with no context!”
Robards pinched the bridge of his nose, looking moments away from hexing both of them. “Enough! Both of you. Outside. Now.”
Potter glared at Draco as they limped toward the exit. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you here.”
Draco glared right back. “Oh trust me, Potter, the feeling is mutual. I would rather swallow a doxy nest whole than be subjected to your leadership.”
Potter muttered something obscene under his breath.
Robards groaned again.
MIXED POV’S:
Once outside they were lectured like children.
“You’d think the two of you had grown up enough by now to at the very least act civil around each other!” Robards paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back as he tried to keep himself from absolutely exploding at the two young men. “Kingsley decided to pair the two of you out of careful selection. He believed you’d complement each other’s skills.”
Draco let out a scoff. Loud and deliberate, making it impossible not to hear. “I’m sure complementing each other is exactly what happened in there,” he muttered, eyes flickering toward the ruined storeroom. “If it hadn’t been for Potter-”
Potter's jaw tightened as he cut him off. “It wasn’t just me,” he said through gritted teeth. “You weren’t exactly following orders either.”
Robards didn’t pause. Even if he heard the exchange, he chose to ignore it. “This is a serious program, a serious responsibility. I expect both of you to-...” He rubbed his temples and let out a long, weary sigh. “...-abide by it. Now head back and wait for Kingsley’s orders. I’ll handle the rest here.”
The two of them nodded without looking at each other before Apparating back. Neither trusted themselves to speak without starting another argument.
As they walked toward the Ministry wings, Draco’s pride gnawed at him. A simple task, checking a shop for strange magical fluctuations, had descended into chaos. On his own, it would have been trivial. A walk in the park. But with Potter around, everything was amplified: his own tension, his impatience, his lingering guilt from past failures… all laid bare in the way Potter’s intense gaze never missed a thing.
Harry, on his end, couldn’t help but notice how Malfoy's jaw was set tight, how his robes hung at a careless angle (a stark difference from their first encounter in the morning), how that look of superiority wavered for just a second. That should have made him smug, triumphant even, but it didn’t. Instead, Harry felt a familiar, frustrating tug of… curiosity. Had Malfoy truly not changed since their school days? Was that even possible, after everything?
Neither of them spoke until they reached a quieter corridor, far from the busy bustle of other Ministry staff.
“Next time,” Harry said finally, voice low and clipped, “let’s try not to almost destroy the entire shop.”
Draco paused, glaring back at him. “Next time,” he said evenly, “try not to scream numbers like a maniac while I’m trying to calculate trajectories.”
“I was the lead... You should have followed my orders. I mean, genuinely, how bloody difficult could that be?”
Draco huffed as he picked up the pace slightly, wanting to get the disciplinary from Kingsley over with, as well as get as far away from Potter as possible. “Oh, of course, I’m sure you of all people would know what it means to follow orders and not make a mess of everything you do.”
Both felt each other's anger sizzle in the air around them as they neared the Auror department.
Potter went straight to his own office and unceremoniously slammed the door shut, making it very clear for anyone else to ‘stay out’. Considering Draco was the only other person currently there, it wasn't hard to know who exactly Potter didn’t want to be around.
“Fine.” Draco scoffed as he sat down outside of Potter’s office. There were a handful of Aurors with proper offices, while the rest made do with a scattering of cramped cubicles across the room.
It had been about half an hour of waiting when Draco could feel himself growing restless. A few Auror’s entered and left, taking very little notice or even commenting on the ex-Death Eater lounging casually in one of the chairs still looking like he had been through a storm and then some.
Draco had already scanned the room several times before he eventually directed his focus towards Potter’s office. From the place he was sitting, he could see Potter hunched over papers on his desk. The office had enough glass to make it feel less private and more like a snake cage to be ogled from. However, in Potter’s case, he had stacked a few boxes against some of the windows, giving him just a tiny bit more privacy. Draco suspected Potter had done so intentionally to hide away from all the trainees coming in there only to ogle at the wonder boy whenever they got the chance (as Draco had noticed by the number of times trainees had stopped to look whenever passing by).
Draco could still feel the anger radiating through the glass, he had managed to thoroughly piss Potter off on the first day meeting him in years. Somehow the feeling that crept over him at that notion was closely related to smugness, he realised.
He shook the feeling away, not wanting to linger on the pettiness of it all. After all, compared to Potter, Draco had actually changed over the years. He had matured a lot, no longer the little boy fuming at every mention of Potter’s name and wanting to prove he was way above that twat.
Well... At least that's what he had thought until the moment his eyes had met Potter’s and all hints at maturity evaporated from his body in mere seconds.
Old habits, Draco scoffed.
“Kingsley has summoned us.” Draco’s eyes shot up at the figure in front of him. He had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts that he hadn’t realised Potter had exited his office and was now looking down at him with dull, bored eyes, his voice monotone, as if he had decided to give up on arguing with Draco.
Somehow, that look really irked Draco to no end. Who was Potter kidding? Trying to be ‘oh, so holy’ and above everyone else.
“Hope you’re prepared to be reprimanded for your lack of leadership skills, Potter.” Draco spat out.
At that Draco saw hints of the all too familiar glare shine through Potter’s eyes as he, most likely, fought back the urge to hex him right there and then.
Draco stood and swept past Potter with a deliberate flourish, feeling considerably better about himself.
Yet, as they walked toward Kingsley’s office, Draco couldn’t help the flicker of unease that crawled up his spine. Potter, Kingsley’s most likely favourite Auror, would no doubt launch into a detailed report about Draco’s “performance,” and Kingsley would inevitably believe every word. Then Draco would be forced to resign from the program on the spot.
A small, treacherous part of him almost hoped for it. It would be easier to retreat back to the manor and quietly decay than to keep enduring the constant scowls from every corner of the Ministry, each one promising they’d hex him into oblivion if given half a chance. It wasn't like anyone actually honestly believed in the reconciliation initiative. Instead, it was something they had to begrudgingly agree to as the Ministry gave them no choice. Yet, Draco knew better. He knew this was merely a PR stunt to seem more including than they truly were.
And anything, absolutely anything, would be better than spending another minute in Potter’s company.
Alright so, Draco hadn’t exactly listened to anything Potter had said, but who could blame him? Potter was the absolute worst in Draco’s book, painfully overrated, and surrounded by people too dazzled by the whole “saved the world” business to ever question his appalling personality.
Sure, the sod had saved the wizarding world and all that, something Draco had been far more relieved about than he would ever admit. Yet none of that changed the fact that Potter had been an unbearable thorn in his side for his entire childhood, nor did it erase the memory of watching the wonder boy have everything handed to him without so much as lifting a finger. Always being glorified beyond words.
Before Draco’s irritation could ignite all over again, the door to Kingsley’s office opened before them.
The room was warm, filled with the scent of polished wood and faint, reassuring traces of cinnamon from a small, perpetually burning candle on his desk. Kingsley sat behind the desk, elbows resting on the polished surface, hands steepled, eyes watching them both like he already knew exactly what they were thinking.
“Potter. Malfoy,” he said, voice calm but carrying that undeniable weight of authority, “have a seat.”
They sat opposite Kingsley. Draco held himself rigid, hands clasped in his lap, while Potter settled in with a far more relaxed posture, clearly nowhere near as tense as Draco.
Kingsley leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly. “Now. About your first mission together.”
Draco stiffened. Here it comes.
He felt his lips press into a thin line as he imagined what Kingsley might say next. He had hoped they would be reassigned once it became obvious how poorly he and Potter worked together, but as the silence stretched on, Draco began to realise he might not be getting a new partner at all. He might simply be removed from the program.
“Despite… complications,” Kingsley said, allowing the pause to linger over both of them like a physical weight, “I have observed something important. Both of you acted decisively under pressure. Both of you adapted to unforeseen circumstances.”
Harry blinked.
Draco blinked.
“What?” Harry said, unable to hide the shock in his voice.
“I don’t think-” Draco started.
Kingsley held up a hand. “Let me finish. You may have disagreed on method, and yes... Your communication needs work, a lot of it... But you didn’t fail. You didn’t run. You both faced the situation.”
Draco’s brow twitched. “So… we’re not being punished?”
“Not in the way you expect,” Kingsley replied. “I’ve decided you will continue as partners. I believe the two of you... when you learn to temper your disagreements... complement each other’s strengths in a way few Aurors could manage.”
Harry felt his stomach twist. Partners? Again? He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, knowing from the determined look in Kingsley's eyes that he wouldn't budge. That meant more missions, more fieldwork, more Malfoy.
Draco, however, felt something entirely different. His first reaction was irritation. His second was an almost imperceptible spark of relief that startled even himself. He had spent so long preparing himself for the humiliation of telling Pansy he had failed and been thrown out of the program on his very first day that hearing the opposite left him momentarily at a loss. And although the prospect of continuing to work with Potter was miserable in its own right, he was, against all logic, relieved.
Kingsley’s eyes softened slightly. “I expect you two to communicate more effectively from here on out. Minor mistakes are acceptable. Careless ones are not. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry muttered automatically.
“Understood,” Draco echoed, though the word tasted sharper than necessary.
Kingsley leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk again. “You two are capable. I wouldn’t pair you if I didn’t believe that. You’re both talented. And… well,” he added, a small hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “I suspect there’s more potential in the two of you than either of you realizes.”
Harry's jaw tightened. Draco’s fingers twitched against the arms of his chair. Both of them understood that Kingsley was not speaking about magical potential alone. This was, after all, one of the ministry’s most ambitious attempts at public rehabilitation for any sympathizers or ex-Death Eaters.
“Dismissed,” Kingsley said.
They both rose, excused themselves and silently exited Kingsley’s office.
Outside the office, Draco let out a long, deliberate breath. “Well. That was… unexpected.” He muttered almost more to himself than anyone else.
Harry huffed, his shoulders stiff, and Draco assumed it had more to do with the news they had just received than the aches from the outing. “Unexpected yes, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m stuck with you again. I was certain he’d pair us with someone else.”
Draco let out a low, humourless chuckle. “Merlin help me… I was thinking the exact same thing.”
“Probably because no one in the Auror department is insane enough to be paired with you,” Potter said, shooting Draco a sharp glare before turning on his heel and striding away.
Somehow, that statement stung more than Draco cared to admit. Mostly because it was painfully true. No one would trust a Malfoy in a dire situation...not really. Which meant Kingsley had concluded that the only person capable of handling both a dangerous mission and a Malfoy at his side was, of course, Harry bloody Potter.
“How lucky for me that you’re absolutely mental then!” Draco shot back after the retreating figure.
Potter ignored the comment and shouted over his shoulder, “Don’t be late tomorrow, eight o’clock. Assuming you survive the aftermath of today, of course.”
Draco scoffed and strode off. It wasn’t until he reached home and caught his reflection in the mirror that he fully registered just how beaten-up he looked.
So much for keeping up appearances, Draco thought bitterly.