"He's crazy!" said Edwin Travers. "Does he think he'll get away with it?"
Benjamin Burke shook his head in a commiserating manner. Head Auror Mulciber remained silent. The three men were walking along a chilly London street lit by artificial Muggle lights. It was a late, dark hour, but it was only now that they were finally heading home. Yaxley kept his faction in meetings for hours, scrapping plans that couldn't be salvaged with the defeat of his Muggle-born Education Act. It was all harder work than any of the three of them banked on when they'd been appointed to their cushy new Ministry jobs, so they went for a drink before they headed home.
Now, the three of them were trudging back to the Ministry to use the Floo, having sipped a few too many drinks to Apparate without risking Splinching. Mulciber could see his breath. He wanted to be home already, wrapped up in bed with a good book, not strutting past shops with pathetic homeless Muggles sprawled in the entrances. Their foul smells were pungent enough to pierce his drunken stupor.
"He's lucky Yaxley let him off, he is!" Travers went on. "Yaxley's the oldest out of the whole Inner Circle. You've got to be good to hold a position for that long. It means you never angered the Dark Lord. I'm sure he's cooking up a nasty revenge."
"Do you think it will be fine?" Burke asked. "Potter is the Dark Lord's student, after all."
"He's a half-breed," Travers sneered. "What could he do?"
There was a homeless Muggle sitting on a bench at the edge of a park, wrapped in a blanket. Mulciber wrinkled his nose. He just knew it was going to smell of piss and flees.
"Potter isn't weak though, is he?" Burke said tentatively.
"Aww, he's not so tough!" Travers slurred. "Mulciber already saved his arse once! Ain't that true?"
The man's alcohol-dimmed voice turned to a sycophantic whine. Mulciber took a deep breath, fighting the urge to cast a quick Imperius just to make the man stay quiet.
"I assisted him with Crouch. Once," Mulciber said. "We didn't fight. I just convinced them to go their separate ways."
"But you could've taken him," Travers said. "If you had to."
"Perhaps not on my own," Mulciber said. He hadn't been given his Head Auror position for his dueling, after all, so much as his craftiness. "But that's the thing. Potter angered Yaxley… And Yaxley never does things alone. Potter made a mistake that he'll be buried for, one way or another. Perhaps there's an empty spot next to his Mudblood mother."
The men laughed uproariously. They weren't the greatest drinking companions, considering they were suck-ups tugging at his coattails for favors, but Mulciber always appreciated that they knew when to laugh. In their presence, none of his jokes ever fell flat.
"Why do you reckon he did it?" Travers asked, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. It hadn't been that funny a joke, but they were drunk enough to treat it like comedy genius.
"How should I know?" Mulciber said smoothly. "I suppose, at the end of the day, he's still just a boy. Maybe he missed his parents."
Travers slapped his knee as another round of laughter escaped him and Burke.
Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Mulciber was beginning to feel a bit proud. That had been a good one. It was as he was delivering this metaphorical pat to his own back that the homeless man he'd noticed earlier uncoiled his blanket, and a partially-crushed soda can flew out. It struck Mulciber on the temple. The Head Auror disappeared the moment it touched his skin. By the time the other men looked back at him, they saw nothing but Mulciber walking beside them, still smiling self-indulgently.
"I've never met someone as funny as you!" said Travers, reaching out to slap him on the back.
The homeless 'Muggle' drew a wand from within his blanket, pressing its tip to his throat.
"Don't touch me," he said in a perfect imitation of Mulciber's baritone.
It sounded for all the world like it came from Mulciber, and the man's lips even moved in time with the words. Travers flinched dreadfully.
"Of course!" he said. "Didn't want to offend! Not at all!"
He stuck both his hands in front of his chest, holding the back of his knuckle.
"He wouldn't come after us, right?" Burke asked. "I mean, he wouldn't have the confidence to…"
The 'Muggle' couldn't help but smile.
"What could he do?" he said, speaking for Mulciber again. "He's just a boy, after all."
The two men laughed again. And when their boss excused himself, claiming he was sober enough to Apparate, they didn't dare to contradict him. He walked deeper into the park while they forged on, and when he passed out of sight, he simply disappeared.
The 'Muggle' stood, stretched, and Vanished the blanket he had been using before Disapparating into the night.
O-O-O
Mulciber first tried to Apparate, drunkenness be damned. But wherever he landed—a dark field somewhere in the countryside, with lit greenhouses on the horizon—was covered with Anti-Apparition Jinxes.
"What are these things?" he thrashed through leaves as big as his torso until he finally broke free of the last of them, stumbling onto the base of a grassy hill.
Mulciber fumbled with his coat, drawing out a small vial and downing it. Immediately, the drunken haze lifted from his brain. He'd pay a heavy price for that tomorrow— Detoxifying Potions, as effective as they were short-term, purged everything from your body over the next day. He'd be miserable tomorrow… But that was then. Right now, he needed his faculties.
Mulciber had his wand out and his feet underneath him by the time someone crested the hill. Spotting a limp, Mulciber's grip on his wand tightened.
"Welcome!" Harry said. "Did you know you can Apparate from the other side of this little hill? You're so close. Want to give it a try?"
"Harry, Pettigrew is dead. The rat was never reliable. You're not so crazy that you don't know where to draw the line. You can't blindly take your anger out on everyone he was friendly with."
"I didn't know the two of you were friendly," Harry said. "That explains a lot, though. Do you know how Pettigrew got into my home? Take a guess."
Mulciber breathed in deeply. "I don't know," he said. "The man was an Animagus. He probably just… slipped in when you weren't paying attention."
"Wrong," Harry said. "It was the Floo. I checked. But that's strange… My Floo was closed that night. The only people who can override that are Ministry officials, and only a handful at that."
"I'm the Head of the Auror office," Mulciber said. "This is news to me. Tell me everything, and I'll help you expose them. I can start tomorrow."
"You can start tonight," Harry said. "We both know who did it."
He limped down the hill. Mulciber's wand shot up.
"No closer," Mulciber said.
Harry didn't even slow down. Mulciber's hand started to shake.
"You tricked all of us earlier," Mulciber said. "Your plan worked perfectly. So why are we doing this?!"
"Oh!" Harry finally stopped, no more than five paces away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to think that was revenge. This is revenge."
Mulciber's instincts screamed at him that he needed to fight. So he did.
He'd never been a proper duelist, though. He hated fair fights. There was only one thing that allowed him to make a name for himself amongst the Death Eaters, and that was his desire for control.
He was only happy when he was in command of every factor around him. It was a trait that made him exceptionally gifted with one of the three Unforgiveable Curses. In the second war, there was no other Death Eater who had as many thralls within the Ministry. Mulciber was confident that his Imperius Curse was stronger than any other Death Eater's, beaten only by the Dark Lord himself.
The Imperius Curse was invisible, but Mulciber knew his casting hadn't failed. A vicious smile spread on his face as he waited for Harry's face to slacken.
"Kill yourself!" he commanded.
"No," Harry said.
The curse snapped. No, it already had, lasting less than a second. Mulciber felt his last hope sputter. He dropped to his knees.
"I did Pettigrew one favor!" he said. "It was nothing more than that! If you let me go, I'll do anything you want! I'll spoil Yaxley's plans! I'll be your mole inside his faction!"
"Anything?" Harry asked.
"Anything!"
"Then kill yourself," Harry said.
Mulciber froze.
"What's the delay? I thought you would do anything."
"Fuck you," Mulciber said. "You're playing with me."
"Guilty," Harry said.
He banished the man in front of him, sending Mulciber flying back among the long leaves. Mulciber staggered up, but he'd lost his wand.
"Just get it over with!" Mulciber had a bruise on his cheek from the landing. "You'll die for this, so you might as well get your money's worth! Yaxley will know it was you!"
"What was me?" Harry asked.
He tilted his head. Despite everything — the setting, the atmosphere, and their conversation so far — he sounded utterly innocent.
"My killing!" Mulciber shouted manically.
"But… you weren't killed. You really did well for yourself in life, you know? The Mulcibers are a family with good blood, but no money. You're almost as poor as the Weasleys. Now, you managed to secure a good Ministry job… But old habits, you know? They die hard."
"What are you talking about?" Mulciber demanded.
"You decided to sneak onto the Malfoy Family's ingredient farm. They're rich enough, after all, and Snape was gone, so they wouldn't miss anything. You could make a years-worth of wages if you just took a little bit to sell." Harry's voice was taking on a eulogic tone the longer he talked. "Alas, you picked your target badly. The field with the most defensive wards, surely that's where the most valuable ingredients are! That's what you thought. But when you tried to harvest them… Oh, it's just too horrible to speak about."
Mulciber had gone totally still, looking fearfully at the leaves around him.
"Where have you taken me?" he asked in a trembling voice.
Harry tapped his wand against his head. Opalescent domes appeared over his ears, completely covering them.
"It's almost like I can still hear his voice," Harry said sadly. "But of course, I can't. I can't hear anything."
Mulciber tried to make a run for it. He sprinted for the hill behind Harry. He wanted to reach the edge of the Anti-Apparition jinx. Harry swished his wand. The ground ruptured behind Mulciber. Something levitated into sight, long leafy hair and all.
It looked like a man with a fat build, but its bulbous stomach was nothing but a thick knot of roots. Its fingers and toes narrowed to the width of sewing thread at the tips, looking like what one might find when they pulled up potatoes. The plant opened bleary black eyes, blinked a couple of times, and opened its mouth.
Harry could hear nothing, not even his own breathing, the spell he used was so effective. But he could see what happened next. The mature Mandrake screamed. The sound made every leaf around it thrash and sway. Mulciber's eyes bulged. His whole skull jolted, blood spraying from both ears. He dropped onto his knees, his eyes rolling back in his skull. Blood began pouring from his nose, but he made no move to wipe it away.
The man was already dead.
Harry lowered the Mandrake back into the hole it had occupied, leaving the soil slightly disturbed. As soon as it was replanted, the roots ceased their screaming. Harry conjured a shovel, planting it halfway between Mulciber's body and the replanted Mandrake.
Then, he walked back the way he came, climbing the hill and Apparating home.
In a way, Mulciber hadn't been wrong that afternoon in the courtroom when Bellatrix called Harry in to ridicule him. Mulciber and his Aurors had treated Harry like the problem, despite having seen Bellatrix's behavior. It enraged Harry at the time.
But maybe it was just practical on their part! After all, half-breeds certainly were dangerous. Especially when you treated them like half-breeds over and over and over, turning your nose up at them and hiding behind double-standards. Reappearing on the front step of his home by Godric's hollow, Harry couldn't help but chuckle.
Seers weren't the only ones who could make self-fulfilling prophecies.
He walked inside, pushing open the door. This late, the one one in the living room was Fang, sleeping beside the couch. The dog opened his eyes halfway and wagged when he saw Harry.
Harry climbed the stairs. He nearly went to his bedroom out of habit, but his bed was still nothing but splinters. It's not like it was that hard to repair. He was just procrastinating. Fleur knew why, but she wasn't teasing him about it. After all, both of them were thrilled with the results of sharing a room.
When Harry reached the bedroom, he shed the thick coat he'd used to blend in as a Muggle, laying it over the back of a chair. Fleur wasn't in bed, but the light was on, and he could hear water being drawn for a shower. A flowing, satin bathrobe lay pooled in the doorway to the bathroom.
"I'm home," Harry said, stopping at the bathroom's entrance.
"I heard!" Fleur called over the sound of running water.
It was a suite-style bathroom with a long marble sink, toilet, and a shower that took up almost half the room. Harry couldn't help but notice a very thin, sheer set of bra and panties laying on the bathmat. Steam was filling the room, pouring out from behind the glass, where a silhouette was visible. Harry could make out every detail, down to the nubs at the tip of Fleur's bountiful breasts.
"It's a bit late for a shower, don't you think?" Harry asked.
"I could not help it! I knew you would need one when you got home."
"You waited until I would need one, then took one so I couldn't?"
Harry watched her silhouette sigh, down to the bounce of her breasts as her chest rose and fell.
"You are so clever until it comes to things like this." The glass slid back, Fleur Delacour leaning out with her platinum hair hanging in bunched strands, bright pink nipples standing out against her pale skin. "I was telling you to join me."
"Oh." Harry blinked, beginning to pull off his shirt. "I'm genuinely dirty, though. I picked up some kind of nasty smell from my disguise, and I think I got a bit of Mulciber's blood on my—"
"Then I will clean you," Fleur said impatiently, "so that I can get you dirty again after. Now, come 'ere!"
If her accent was bleeding out, this was serious. Harry stripped out of his pants.
"On my way," he said.
Fleur stepped back, allowing him into the shower. Harry did so, feeling the warm water cascade down his back. The shower door slid shut, and then she was on him.
Fleur was good to her word. She cleaned him just as she did leading up to their first time, her delicate hands taking the washcloth and wiping him down. Harry shut his eyes, sighing as he allowed the stress of the day to melt off of his shoulders. He couldn't tell what felt better— the warm reinvigorating water, or the soft touch of Fleur's fingertips.
The indecision didn't last long. Fleur's work took her behind him, and soon it wasn't just her fingers he was feeling.
Her breasts pressed against his back as she reached around him, stroking his abs.
Fleur giggled. "Do you feel something you like, Mon Amor?"
"You," he said.
"That bluntness of yours is quite hot, when you are not being dense." Feeling her breasts squishing against his body, combined with the views he'd gotten of her nude form, had brought his cock to full-mast. Fleur slipped the washcloth lower, moving it from his muscles to something equally hard. Harry felt warm, wet fabric wrap around his manhood, Fleur's fingers sliding it up and down.
"I heard it all from Susan," she whispered in his ear. "It is a great shame I could not be there today, but I can imagine their faces all the same. They are usually so smug. Today, however, they must have been livid. And that Mulciber man… Did he beg?"
"Profusely. But only at the end."
"That is how their kind works." Fleur's fingers twisted, adding a corkscrew motion to her fondling of his cock. "You did perfectly, Harry."
He turned his head to where her face was resting on his shoulder.
"And do I get a reward?" he asked.
"I will always be your reward," Fleur said. "Tonight and forever!"
It was an impossibly bold promise. They didn't know what tomorrow might bring, let alone what would become of them in months or years. But they weren't in the mood to be realistic. They'd resolved to fight back against a world gone mad. If they tried to be rational at the same time, their prospects were bound to drive them insane.
Much better to take solace in each other, bodies and all. At least that way, they knew they would have the will to keep fighting.
Harry kissed Fleur, the taste of her tongue mixing with the tang of the water. Their heads pushed back and forth as their lips mashed together. Fleur had both hands on the washcloth, twisting and driving it along his shaft. Harry's back tensed with pleasure. He wrapped a hand around her narrow waste, pulling her close.
Fleur's foot slid on top of his, stroking his toes. Harry managed to squeeze her ass, his fingers sinking in almost without stopping. She was even warmer than the hot water cascading over them.
Fleur gave a final twist, and Harry was forced to abandon their kiss, grunting deeply. His cock strained, then relaxed. Small white drops began falling from the lower hem of the washcloth.
Fleur unfolded it like a flag, revealing the white globs stuck onto its surface. She lifted it up and, looking at Harry from the corner of her eye, stuck out her tongue, licking the drops off one by one. Only when the last spot was gone did she toss the washcloth away.
"A good snack," she said, before eyeing him appraisingly. "You're looking quite clean now. What do you say? Is it time to get you dirty again?"
It wasn't long before the sound of more than running water was escaping the bathroom, echoing down the hall. And, behind a closed door…
…someone woke up.