This fic is a belated birthday gift for Luna

asr918 who gave me the following promptage: albino dolphins, a tear-off calendar, Buddha, the number 158.23, stale popcorn, 17 cats, and a jawbreaker. (Quite surprisingly evil, she is.)

Title: Ransoms
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 8,041
Warnings: Slight meanness toward cat ladies.
Summary: Draco and Harry are Aurors. Everything else is pretty much PWP. It's also pretty much non-canon and non-compliant and non-everything else, but it was fun as hell to write. Sorry for the lateness, Luna! Hope you like it.

Split into two parts because LJ hates me.

Ransoms

Harry wrinkled his nose at the overpowering smell of cat. Make that cats, plural. More cats than one human should be allowed to possess. The house was decorated in early-British Old Woman, with doilies covering every paisley surface that wasn’t already covered in felines.

“You say she has a son?” Draco asked dubiously, and looked down in distaste at a tabby that rubbed against his right leg. Harry readied his wand, in case his partner decided to give the animal a kick. The blond Auror restrained himself with visible effort.

“Yes. Apparently she turned into a cat lady later in life.”

Harry looked around, hoping for a clue this time. There had been a rash of kidnappings recently—family members of the wealthy. Though all of the victims had been recovered—sans ransoms—the statuses of the families (as well as the collective loss of wealth) was beginning to put pressure on the Ministry. Even though Potter and Malfoy were normally assigned darker cases, such as murders or the use of Unforgivables, Scrimgeour had finally buckled to pressure and assigned them. No doubt he secretly hoped they would fail, and blight the name of Harry Potter.

“See any clues?” he asked Draco hopefully.

“Beneath this feline army?” the blond drawled. Harry grinned. Most days it still surprised him that he’d grown to like the pointy-faced git. Their first four months as partners had been sheer hell, of course. They had fought nonstop, been suspended several times, threatened to quit (much to Scrimgeour’s delight), and had generally worked to rid one another of the other’s presence—until the night of Fenrir Greyback’s capture. Harry had, astoundingly, found himself disarmed and about to have his throat torn open by the werewolf when Draco (although he was still Malfoy, then) had hexed Greyback insensible. Draco had crowed for weeks about saving Harry Potter’s life. He had given interviews to every paper in the wizarding world. He had even created and worn an ostentatious badge that read, “I saved Harry Potter.”

Harry had wanted to gnash his teeth in frustration, but the fact remained that Draco really had saved his life. Harry had finally broken down one evening and thanked the bastard. The shocked look on the blond’s face had nearly been worth the torture of working with him. Oddly, that moment had changed things between them. They had settled into a decent working relationship that had grown, at least on Harry’s part, into an affection rivaled only by that he felt toward Ron and Hermione.

“I suppose we should get rid of these cats,” Harry said.

“Excellent,” said Draco, brandishing his wand. “I’ll send them to Greenland.”

Harry choked back a laugh, and put his hand on Draco’s wrist. “Stop it, you evil git. I’ll call Jack in the Magical Creature Regulation Department. Some of the cats might be part Kneazle, but we’ll let them sort it out.”

“Jack who?” Draco asked sharply, causing Harry to give him an odd look. “One of your special friends?”

“Shut up,” Harry said with a snort, although he wondered at Draco’s tone. The blond sounded almost jealous. He added teasingly, “You know you’re the only man for me, Malfoy. Your… oily Slytherinness… it turns me on.”

Draco smirked. “In your dreams, Potter. And I have never been, nor shall ever be, oily. Fine, call your boyfriend, but I’m at least confining the creatures to a single room.” Draco Levitated the cats and floated them into a nearby bedchamber, counting aloud as he did so.

“Seventeen,” said Harry when Draco finished. “Is that all? I felt sure there were more.”

“Seventeen, so far,” Draco said dryly. “The fat one looked about to erupt in kittens at any moment.”

“Let’s get out of here before that happens, eh?”

“That’s the first good idea you’ve had in… well, ever.”

Harry socked him.

Harry sat at his desk, scribbling their findings, or lack thereof, onto parchment while Draco perched in his usual spot—on the corner of Harry’s desk with his feet propped on the seat of a nearby chair. The blond had found a package of stale popcorn atop Harry’s cabinet and was eating it with a grimace of distaste.

“You know, Potter, that is the most hideous poster on the planet.”

Harry glanced at the poster behind his chair. It showed cavorting white dolphins leaping through blue waves while a fluttering banner overhead announced, “SEE THE ALBINO DOLPHINS AT THE AQUARIUM OF AQUATIC MAGIC!” The creatures noticed Harry’s attention and chattered happily. The poster had been on the wall when Harry had moved in, and he had never cared enough to remove it. When he sat at his desk, he couldn’t see it, anyway.

“You’ve mentioned that two dozen times, Malfoy.”

“Six dozen times,” Draco corrected.

“Maybe you’re spending too much time in my office,” Harry suggested. Draco ignored that.

“Hurry up with that, Potter. I’m starving. I shall perish if I don’t find decent sustenance soon.”

“You could help me write this report, you know,” Harry grumbled. “And don’t eat that popcorn. It’s been there for a week.”

“Malfoys don’t write. We dictate. No wonder this tastes awful.” He flung the package away, toward the not-so-general vicinity of the rubbish bin. “Do you have any chocolate?”

“No,” Harry lied. Draco fixed him with a look. Damn it, how the hell did he do that, anyway? Harry sighed and handed Draco a chocolate frog he’d been saving. Malfoy crowed as he unwrapped the confection. Harry fought back a grin and shook his head. The blond was not adorable, he told himself. Aloud he asked, “What day is today?”

Draco snorted and shifted around slightly. He began to rip pages from the tear-off calendar on Harry’s desk while munching happily on the chocolate.

“Honestly, Potter, how hard is it to tear the pages off?”

Harry didn’t know, as he had never done it. Draco always tore the pages off for him. If Draco was absent, the page stayed frozen on whatever date Draco had last sat upon Harry’s desk, as if time itself held its breath waiting for the blond to return. The thought disturbed Harry for a moment, but before he could pursue it, Kingsley Shacklebolt stuck his head in the door.

“Potter, I need to see you. Green Conference Room, ten minutes. Malfoy, don’t you have an office?”

Draco swiveled his head to look at Harry in feigned surprise. “Do I?”

Harry gestured with a thumb. “Down the hall. That room where you store your stolen office supplies.”

Draco sniffed with patrician snobbery. “I thought that was a storage closet.”

“Maybe you should seek out your ‘storage closet’ and attempt to do some of the work we pay you for?” Kingsley sighed. “Never mind. Just come to the damned meeting with Potter. He’ll tell you all about it, anyway.”

Draco looked at Harry smugly. Harry should have felt guilty, but it was true. Even if he and Malfoy were assigned to different cases, Harry always sought out the Slytherin. He had very few secrets from Draco. In truth, he admired Malfoy’s twisted mind, and used him for advice on nearly everything. Plus he just liked talking to the git. Not that he would ever to admit any of those things. Malfoy dropped gracefully off the desk.

“You have chocolate on your face,” Harry commented.

“Lick it off for me?” Draco asked seductively, leaning close as Harry stood up and rounded the desk.

“Of course, darling.” Harry obligingly leaned forward and trailed his tongue over the edge of Malfoy’s mouth, leaving as much saliva as possible in place of the chocolate. Draco shoved him away with a cry of horror as Harry laughed loudly.

“Gryffindor halfwit!” he bellowed and wiped his mouth with a sleeve. He followed Harry out, muttering.

Draco got even by shoving Harry into the nearest open office and spelling the door shut before hitting it with a complex locking spell. Perforce, Harry arrived late at the meeting with Shacklebolt. He muttered something about the loo, and shot Draco a vengeful look. Malfoy winked at him and grinned.

“All right,” Kingsley said. “Esmeralda Eastgate’s son refuses to pay her ransom. This has not happened with any of the previous kidnap victims.”

“Refuses to pay?” Harry asked blankly.

“He’s something of a shiftless bastard,” Kingsley said.

“Want me to change his mind?” Draco offered and caused a greenish light to slither from the tip of his wand ominously. It was a sign of how serious the case had become that Kingsley did not snarl at Malfoy. He almost seemed to consider it.

“I’ll pay it,” Harry said. Identical looks of horror met his gaze.

“No, you will not,” Draco said as Kingsley shook his head.

“No, Potter,” Kingsley said. “Eastgate is not your problem. We should have some funds in the—”

“We don’t,” Harry cut in. “We depleted the Unforeseen Emergency Fund when Bones and Levenger were stuck in Montreal.”

Shacklebolt swore, apparently not appreciating that little reminder.

“I have the money,” Harry said and shrugged.

“Which you will not waste on a fossilized cat collector whose ass-hat son—”

“Draco,” Harry snapped, “It’s my money.”

“And you are obviously too stupid to be trusted with it. I’ve told you before, if you let me have access to your account for six months—”

‘“I’ll be richer than Midas.’ Forget it, Draco. I have more Galleons now than I will ever need.”

Draco looked at Kingsley pleadingly. “You heard him. Can I have him declared incompetent? A stint with the Mind Healers at St. Mungo’s can only do him good.”

Kingsley buried his face in his hands. Harry sent a whispered Stinging Hex at Draco’s arse. The blond yelped and rubbed his wounded posterior while shooting a glare at Harry.

Shacklebolt spoke wearily. “Potter, do what you want. Use your funds, steal the funds, fake the funds, I don’t care. Just get to that damned ransom drop and find the bastard committing these crimes. Also, if a single word of this conversation gets back to Scrimgeour, I swear I’ll have you two scrubbing toilets in Antarctica for the next six months.”

“It’s good to know we can count on you, boss,” Draco said reverently and Kingsley stalked out without a word.

Harry grinned at Draco, victorious. He stopped grinning with a hiss of pain when they entered the corridor, since Draco had pinched him sharply.

“Did you just pinch my arse?” Harry demanded.

“That was for the Stinging Hex. But you do have a very pinchable arse, Potter,” Draco purred. “I thought it would be a bit firmer, actually, but it’s rather…” Harry felt a hand squeeze his arse cheek, and he spun on Malfoy in astonishment. “Soft,” Draco finished with a grin.

“You thought it would be firmer? How often do you think about my arse, Malfoy?”

Draco cast a Stinking Cloud on Harry’s head, and by the time he fought free of it, Malfoy had gone, although the blond’s laugh still rang in the corridor.

Harry was bored. They were extraordinarily early for the ransom drop, but it was better than sitting around the office doing paperwork. Well, maybe, Harry amended. They were currently in a Buddhist Temple, pretending to be faithful worshipers kneeling before the huge, smiling statue of Buddha. Actually, Harry was pretending to be a faithful worshiper. Malfoy was pretending to be a pain in the arse, and doing a fine job of it. He hissed at Harry.

“This is really going to screw up my rating,” Draco muttered for the sixth time. Harry decided he’d better acknowledge the irritating prat and get it over with.

“What rating?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth and bowed low again.

Malfoy prostrated himself next to Harry, following the lead of the faithful. “My APL rating, you pleb! It’s currently 158.23, and if it’s not straight at 160 by my next review… well, I’ll hurt someone. I will.”

Harry scanned the temple once more, but allowed part of his mind to attune to Malfoy’s words. APL rating? He gave Draco one of the looks that Draco hated. In fact, Draco called it “Idiot Gryffindor Look Number Eight.” It had the usual effect of making Draco glare at him hotly.

“Potter, I swear. Your Auror Performance Level, you bloody imbecile! Your level is currently 158.67, probably due to the fact that Shacklebolt liked your Christmas gift better than mine last year, but I shall rise above. Fear not.”

“Draco, have I mentioned yet today that you are completely insane?” Harry murmured.

“How can you not care about your APL score, Potter? The number affects your salary increase, you know.”

Harry stared at the blond. Sometimes Malfoy was completely unfathomable. Harry found himself grinning like an idiot from the sheer incomprehensibility of the man.

“Draco, you make more from interest in one week than you make during a month as an Auror. I know damn well you do this job only for fun. Why the hell are you obsessing over some stupid rating?”

Draco rolled his eyes and tossed his head slightly, causing a lock of silver-blond hair to tumble down over his forehead. Harry reached over and tucked it back under the black hood. They were supposed to be faithful Buddhists, most of which did not have hair of shining platinum. Draco seemed nonplussed by Harry’s action, as he actually stopped ranting.

It was a momentary respite. When Harry’s hand retreated, Malfoy snapped, “It’s the principal of the thing, Potter.” Malfoy was quiet for nearly two whole minutes after that, until he finally broke with a borderline whine. “Potter, I’m hungry. Do you have any food?”

Harry thought about slamming his head into the marble floor beneath the thin woven rug he knelt on. “Malfoy, I’ll buy you a seven course meal if you just shut the fuck up until this ransom is picked up. Okay?”

There was no response. Harry looked over curiously, to see Draco locking his lips with an imaginary key and tossing it over his shoulder. His expression was earnestly hopeful. Harry had to bite his lips—hard—to keep from laughing. His shoulders shook with silent chuckles, and he couldn’t meet the grey eyes. Damn it, but the Slytherin bastard was annoying. Cute, though. Sometimes he was very fucking cute. Although he probably should not be thinking of his deadly Auror partner as cute.

A hand reached out and touched his wrist. It felt strangely warm, especially on top of Harry’s contemplation of cuteness. Harry looked at Draco quickly, but the Slytherin’s eyes were on the Buddha. Harry snapped his gaze in that direction, instantly businesslike. Draco squeezed his wrist once more and let go. A line of monks had filed in from one side of the room, approaching the statue.

“This is it,” Harry murmured.

“Which one?” Draco asked. Harry tried to slide his wand out surreptitiously. The plan was to cast a Tracking Spell on anyone with a magical signature—the one nice thing about the drop being at a Muggle Temple. There should only be one person in the group with a magical aura. However, there were too many Muggles to cast the spell properly. If he cast a Detection Spell, the resulting glow would cause mass panic among the Muggles.

Draco, of course, did not care. “Magus Detectus!” he hissed, one second before Harry’s hand shot out to stop him. One of the monks was instantly surrounded by a purplish glow. “Got him!” Draco bellowed and leaped to his feet. The monk looked around in panic, just as the others began to react. Most stared in frozen shock at the glowing monk and the man leaping from the floor to attack. A few cried out and backed away, or stumbled.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Harry bellowed, scrambling to his feet after Draco. The pretend monk ducked the spell and dove for the statue. Draco was hot on his heels, although his fake prayer robes slowed his progress. The ransom money was tucked in behind Buddha’s right foot, and it was obvious the kidnaper was going to get there first. Fuck! They were going to have to send in Obliviators to alter the memories of everyone in the damned temple. Kingsley was going to crap wildebeest.

Harry winced. Draco was frothing mad. The man had snatched the money and Disapparated seconds before Draco would have caught him. Now the Muggles were running around like panicked sheep, and Harry had to call Shacklebolt after magically locking the doors to keep the Buddhists corralled. Harry feared that Malfoy’s shrieked invectives were frightening the Muggles even more than the scene they had witnessed.

He gripped Draco’s shoulders tightly and gave him a bit of a shake.

“Malfoy, calm down! I spelled one of the ransom Galleons.”

“That fucking, fucking, fuck—! What?”

Harry smiled. “I spelled one of the Galleons. I have a matching coin that’s a Portkey. It will take me straight to the ransom. And our kidnaper.”

Malfoy’s smile was a wonder to behold. Harry felt his heart take a curious detour from its usual rhythm. His hands grew suddenly clammy on Draco’s shoulders. The feeling was magnified when Draco said softly, “I could kiss you, Potter.”

Harry nearly choked. He fought the blush that threatened to overtake his face and fled to the familiar safety of humor. “In your dreams, Malfoy,” he said teasingly.

“What are we waiting for?” Draco demanded, shattering the spell.

“Obliviators. We can’t just leave these Muggles here—”

Draco Dispparated them. Harry glared at the Slytherin and tried to assess his surroundings. They were on a city rooftop, apparently.

“Malfoy, goddamn it! Where the hell are we?”

“It doesn’t matter. Get the damn coin out and Portkey us. Now, Potter! Now, now now! Our APL ratings hang in the balance!”

“We’re going to be so fired for this,” said Harry, but dug out pouch containing the Portkey. He made sure Malfoy had a tight grip on his arm, and shook the Portkey Galleon into his hand. The sickening sensation of spinning through space took him.

The Portkey deposited them in a trash-filled, deserted alley. Harry’s eyes searched every nook and cranny as he held his wand ready. Malfoy was far less hopeful. To his credit, he held his tongue, probably sensing that Harry was in the mood to hex someone’s bits off.

A short search produced the Galleon, gleaming atop the lid of a battered metal rubbish bin. Draco tossed the coin in the air and caught it before tucking it into a pocket.

“So. We’re dealing with a smarter than average criminal,” Draco said instead of insulting Harry’s plan. Harry tried not to feel grateful, but he was.

“He’s smart enough to detect a magical tracking spell and Port, at any rate. I suppose we’d better go break the news to Kingsley.

“I’ll let you tell him,” Draco said.

“You’re too generous.”

“You know it, Potter.”