Chapter Text
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The warmth of the sea air settled over Draco’s pale skin as he walked purposefully down the narrow, cobblestone street. His eyes were fixed ahead on a designated target. A strange and unwelcome sense of familiarity crept beneath his skin, settling deep in his bones.
The briefing back at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been tense. The details surrounding the subject fit the profile of what the department was trained to handle: potential threat, suspected homicides, and sufficient evidence to warrant further pursuit. However, this case, or this subject, was different.
This one was completely off the books.
No official clearance. No paperwork. It was as if it didn’t exist, yet it very much did.
Desperate to finally plant his feet in the field, Draco should have felt ecstatic to be chosen for the mission. Instead, conflict weighed heavy on this chest. He refused to linger on it, though. The thing about being an Auror was that emotion had no place in the job description, no matter the case, and certainly no matter the person.
Careful to keep a generous distance, he paced himself in his attempts to remain unseen.
As he passed the window of a shop, set amongst the brightly colored buildings with picturesque greenery draped from the trellises and balconies above, he caught sight of his reflection, barely recognizing himself.
Under the pretenses of his discretion, disguising his distinct features was imperative. A disillusionment charm would have sufficed, but where was the fun in that? Instead, he opted for glamour charms. His usual signature platinum blonde hair had been transformed to a shade of honey brown that shone in the sunlight. A pair of black framed sunglasses covered his cool, gray eyes to keep his watchful stare hidden. He had foregone shaving the day before leaving a faint scruff on his face, making him appear more rugged than usual. As for his attire, he wore a black cotton shirt and dark trousers paired with comfortable trainers he had grown quite fond of.
For the first time in his life, Draco blended in with the crowd. As he trekked along the uneven pavement, he didn’t attract the typical glances of others who took notice of his genetically stark blonde hair. Although it did not completely hinder the female gaze.
Surely, his tall, muscular frame drew attention in itself, but maybe he had underestimated the change in his darkened hair color to compliment his physique. What was the saying? Blondes have more fun, but brunettes do it better? No matter the case, he was rather pleased with himself at the moment.
Up ahead, the subject he had been tracking for the better part of an hour stopped at one of the street vendor stands. He paused his pursuit, withdrawing his mobile to appear occupied. While he gave the impression of being distracted, behind his sunglasses he kept a keen eye focused on the individual.
Money had been exchanged for a scoop of ice cream served in a small cup. The subject savored the frozen treat with long, slow licks of their tongue. Draco’s jaw tightened at the sight.
Entirely unaware of the attention they had gained, the subject swept the pad of their thumb along the corner of their mouth, collecting a dab of melting ice cream before dragging it across their lips. The muscles in his neck pulled taut as his jaw clenched harder.
It seemed preposterous to notice such a thing. Ridiculous, really, to catalog such details as eating ice cream when assigned to track threats against society. Yet that was the nature of Auror work. Every detail mattered. It built a profile with various tabs, establishing appearance, behaviors, actions, transactions, etc. Each observation became another piece of the profile required to understand a target well enough to eventually bring them into custody.
As his person of interest proceeded to journey onward, with him in tow, they crossed an intersection and trudged toward the sandy beach ahead.
Dusk had begun to descend upon the coastal city that graced the Caribbean Sea. The golden hues of the sand paired with the calm, turquoise water were picturesque. Draco inhaled the scent of salt and sea as a humid breeze caressed his skin. He made a mental note to return to this lively, tropical destination when he wasn’t under the duress of unofficial Auror protocol.
A vibration came from his pocket, and he withdrew his mobile. His eyes still remained focused as his target took a seat on the sand. The melting ice cream ran over their hand, and they licked it away without worry, eliciting the same tense response from him as before. He quickly looked down at his phone to dismiss his erratic mind.
It still baffled him that he, a wizard with unthinkable magical capabilities, was at the mercy of a Muggle innovation to relay updates. Although, he had to admit Muggles were quite brilliant in some regards, including the evolution of the telephone. Its continuous efficiency to communicate with anyone, anywhere, at any time, was remarkable, but he digressed.
He pressed a few buttons and viewed the message on a tiny screen that relayed three pieces of information. The first: a location (hotel). The second: a three-digit number (room number). And third: the word “cleared”.
While cryptic in theory, it was anything but. Draco had been anticipating this notification from his cohort, who operated thorough surveillance from his hotel room for this mission.
Who was his cohort? Ron fucking Weasley.
It had been imperative, though he’d gladly argued otherwise, that Weasley accompany him on the mission. The phrase “two-man job” had been used, despite Draco’s complete confidence that he could have handled the assignment alone. Still, it was not a battle worth fighting. His options had been simple: partner with Weasley or spend the foreseeable future drowning beneath paperwork while his Auror badge withered on his desk. Draco chose the weasel.
To Weasley’s credit, he was not entirely useless. Draco would admit that much, though certainly not aloud. For their first mission working side by side, he had proven himself more competent than he had expected.
Weasley’s strengths as an Auror were identified with Muggle technology. He had managed to weave modern surveillance systems through both public networks and private security feeds. A skill that no one predicted him to have; yet he’d proven invaluable for the DMLE on more than one occasion, especially in this case.
Tapping on the buttons of his mobile, as he had been trained to do, he replied: En route.
He stowed away his device, making a final confirmation of the subject’s current status and location before turning on his heel to depart. His heart raced with adrenaline as he knew his next endeavor would be time sensitive. He needed to be in and out of the acquired destination without getting caught. Quickly retreating on foot to the nearest apparition point, he got to work.
Five minutes later, Draco found himself in a dark, small alcove, a rusted gate blocking the view from passersby. He stepped out onto the pedestrian street, making long strides toward a swanky, three-story boutique hotel.
Once inside, he noted the architectural beauty and the understated luxury the hotel had to offer. Terracotta stone tile floors flowed through the property, and tasteful, expensive decor furnished the interior. Beyond the common area, a sunlit courtyard housed a rectangular pool surrounded by white, plush lounge chairs and lush, tropical landscaping.
Why the hell wasn’t he staying here?! Draco scorned inwardly. Not that he had time to luxuriate in the confines of such an aesthetically pleasing abode. He barely had time to sleep, which had been a lack there of, making him currently irritable.
Letting his materialistic preferences roll off his back and out of his mind, he found the stairs to the guest rooms, ascending up them quickly.
With it being a rather small hotel gridlocked in the middle of the city, there weren’t many rooms making it easy for him to find the room he was looking for. As he stood at the door, he glanced around to make sure he wasn’t about to break the Statue of Secrecy.
All clear.
Draco scanned the wooden doorframe cautiously.
The room was warded, as he had expected. Entry would require careful precision and extensive skill to dismantle the security measures put in place.
Good thing he specialized in such magic.
He raised his left hand, palm facing outward, while his right gripped his wand. Under his breath, he uttered spells as he swished his wand in a repetitive motion. The door glowed and pulsed as layer after layer of the ward shed.
Dismantling wards was never his concern. Doing so without alerting their owner was the issue.
Within a minute, he cracked the wards and gained access to the room.
The door softly clicked closed behind him. Wand still drawn, he scanned the room with a revealing spell before he swept it with his eyes.
A damp towel hung in the bathroom, recently used. Sand-covered sandals had been kicked carelessly into the closet. The bed was unmade with the sheets tangled and hanging limply off the side.
There was also a scent.
A faint floral scent lingered in the air with subtle notes of vanilla. Draco’s movements faltered as it settled around him. He forced himself to move past it though, refusing to acknowledge what it did to him. Instead, he redirected his attention toward a small stack of books resting on the arm of an oversized chair. Draco picked up each one in turn, unfamiliar with the titles and authors.
Turning back toward the center of the room, he rifled through every drawer and possible hiding space for evidence. Anything that might help connect the dots. That was the entire purpose of accessing the subject’s room. However, he found nothing.
He placed his hands on his hips and exhaled sharply through his nose.
Reaching for his mobile, he typed: Negative. Location of subject? and hit send.
Thirty seconds passed before a response came.
Subject moving toward your position.
An idea sparked as his gaze flicked back to the chair in the corner.
Holding position. Will engage and apprehend. Standby, he replied.
Draco was well aware he was deviating from the script. Now was not the time for an ambush, but he saw an opportunity and would take it. His training had prepared him for this. It was now or never.
A final message came through: Copy.
He settled into the chair and crossed one ankle over his knee, positioning himself just out of sight from the room’s entrance. The anticipation coiled in his stomach each passing minute, tightening its hold.
He had prepared himself for a confrontation, for the inevitability of coming face to face with the subject. Never once had he imagined it would unfold like this.
Still, he waited. And as time stretched on, the certainty he held began to fray, giving way to a growing discomfort.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Twenty. Thirty.
The subject should have returned by now, but hadn’t. And what was more irritating was Weasley’s radio silence after his repeated requests for updates.
His knee bounced with impatience. An unease crept into his chest. The pads of his fingers drummed against the arm of the chair. He had enough.
Draco rose with a huff and typed: Aborting position.
He left the room, throwing open the door with more force than necessary. He walked briskly down the stairs to the lobby and out into the street. People still strolled about as the last trace of daylight fell below the horizon.
Agitation radiated throughout his body. He glanced at his mobile once more, his eyes checked to see if any missed calls or messages had come through. Nothing.
He slipped behind the same rusted gate from earlier and apparated to an alcove near his hotel. His accommodations weren’t ideal, although he couldn’t mope about that now.
He rushed through the main lobby and chose the stairs over the elevator. There wasn’t time. It was unlike Weasley to ignore his messages within reason.
He took the steps two at a time, hauling himself up until he reached the seventh floor. Quickly, he found the room adjacent to his. He knocked loudly with two quick thuds, followed by three in succession, and then one more for good measure. A mutual code designed to alert the person on the other side that it wasn’t turn-down service or housekeeping. When the door didn’t open, Draco repeated the series of knocks.
Nothing.
That wasn’t a good sign.
Draco glanced down the hall both ways before he withdrew his wand and whispered an unlocking charm on the door. A soft click followed, and he pushed it open, his wand still at the ready.
The room was dark except for the dozen glowing television monitors that floated above the tiny desk tucked next to the dresser. A surveillance station constructed by Weasley, the screens provided location tracking across the city. The setup was impressive, if you were amused by the sort of intricacies of Muggle technology.
Unexpectedly, all of the monitors turned dark at the same time. His nervous system alarmed his senses and activated his Auror stance. His sense of urgency and immediate draw to the screens had distracted him from his usual approach to sweeping the scene. He drew up his wand, ready to cast.
Instead, the screens flickered back on, with a figure illuminated in green monochrome. He stepped forward, and the figure moved when he did.
He was the one on the screen.
What the hell?
Before he could process the images of himself on the monitors, a lamp in the corner of the room clicked on. The light affected his vision, and he had to blink several times to adjust. What the glow of the light brought forth made him freeze.
Weasley was slumped over on the bed, his head hanging off, along with one of his arms dangling. His eyes were open and his pupils blown wide.
For one horrifying second, Draco thought he was too late. Had he been? The question lodged itself into his throat, turning it dry and tight, as if he could no longer swallow.
Draco started to move to check Weasley’s pulse, but froze before he reached the bed. His attention snapped instead to the corner of the room, focusing on a person he hadn’t noticed.
His back straightened. As if he were seeing a ghost for the first time, the room titled beneath his feet. His months of training deserted him in an instance.
Here, in Weasley’s shitty hotel room, she stood composed. “Hello, Malfoy,” her voice cooed.
Draco exhaled slowly and replied coldly, “Hello, Granger.”