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TRADE

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Chapter VI

From behind tinted windows all of London was bluish-purple; it was a bit surreal, like being in a music video or a Picasso painting. The world was tainted lavender: everything green was grey, and everything white was lilac. Draco stared out of the window intently, curling into the seat surrounding him and refusing to turn towards his brother beside him.

They were heading south at quite a fast clip -- Draco could tell by the landmarks they passed: the Arco in Swiss Cottage, the Marks and Sparks on Baker Street, the Dorchester on Park Lane, and he couldn't -- wouldn't -- ask what the fuck was going on. He couldn’t be the first to break, and so he sat stiffly on Julian's left, their bodies aligned perfectly, shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh, as though the backseat were too small to contain them instead of large enough for four.

Draco's neck ached from trying not to turn towards his right, and he found himself studying the driver's neck. He had jet-black hair, cropped sharply at the neckline and slicked back. Draco glanced at him only once when the car took a corner on two wheels, and their eyes met in the rear-view mirror. Draco bristled when the driver raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Aunt Bellatrix called on Mother last week." Firmly ensconced in the leather backseat beside Draco, Julian's tone was all conviviality. Draco made a non-committal noise, keeping his eyes towards the window and focussed on the world outside.

"She's just as mad as ever," Julian carried on blithely. "I didn't know she'd taken up with Lord Thomas Riddle; although when I think about it now, it seems quite fitting -- he's always been a nutter. They're the proverbial two peas in a pod, but it does beg the question -- what happened to Uncle Rodolphus?"

"She had him committed," Draco said matter-of-factly.

There was a brief pause before Julian began laughing, as though he thought Draco might be taking the piss, and then realised he wasn't.

Draco could feel the paroxysms shaking Julian beside him, and he bit the inside of his jaw to keep his council. He wasn't in a humorous mood -- he was -- he was fucking tetchy was what he was. He was smelly and sticky, and he wanted a fucking bath, and his brother was playing silly buggers. And Draco was humouring him because he was fucking worried that he'd lose Julian again otherwise. Beside him Julian seemed perfectly oblivious to Draco's anxiety, and Draco's right hand twitched. He set his hands on his thighs, splaying his fingers open.

"That's priceless," Julian chuckled. "The lunatics are running the asylum; bedlam and a plague of locusts can't be far behind, I have no doubt."

"Mother was quite distraught at the time." Draco let his tone convey his displeasure -- and he felt, rather than saw or heard, Julian stop laughing. There was a time and a place for everything. Laughing about family matters was fine when people weren't being horribly cryptic or being driven around London in dark sedans with tinted windows.

Draco desperately wanted to know what this was all about, but asking was bad. And foolish. Ask and ye shall receive.

Asking was inquiring -- it was wanting to know.

Draco didn't want to know. He did very well in his world by not asking too many questions. He had learned from his mother that you didn't have to ask a lot of questions as long as you asked the right ones -- besides, ignorance was highly underrated.

Draco breathed shallowly through his nose, doing what he could to keep his hold on whatever sort of control he had left. Mother had always said that he was the emotional twin, but he hoped to prove otherwise, and mentally he went through the possibilities: death, murder, the Inland Revenue, more death. Except that Julian wasn't -- Draco stopped himself before he could have such a foolish thought.

His brother worked undercover for MI-6 -- to think he didn't do horrible things every day of the week would be delusional. Draco tried to keep the delusion to a minimum, except during a crisis. Having a chair-hurtling row with Blaise was, indeed, a crisis, but Draco would handle it as soon as he came up with something. Which was entirely beside the point.

The point being that Julian had barely been home for a month, and he had hardly left 28 St Edmunds Terrace in that entire time. If his employers knew he was back in the country they would've come for him, which meant that there was something else -- or someone else -- after him. Them. That made Draco nervous, and Draco wasn't particularly keen on being nervous. It made him irritable and snappish, and he'd had such a lovely night with Harry. It would be a shame to ruin that with something dire, like hiding a corpse, but Julian was his brother, his twin, and -- there was no and.

Draco twitched when Julian's hand touched his forearm. "You didn't tell me that Queenie was expecting," Julian said conversationally.

Draco looked down at his brother's pale fingers against the sleeve of his chocolate coloured Prada jacket. There were faded scars on the back of Julian's hand, cutting across his index and middle fingers. "I'd forgotten," he said vaguely.

"Our cousin is expecting the next heir to the throne, and you forget to tell me?"

Julian's voice was calm and soothing; it grated Draco's nerves, and he very much wanted to shrug Julian's touch away. Instead, he licked his lower lip. "I never took you for a royalist."

"That is entirely beside the point," Julian said. "Queenie married Wills, that makes him family, and although I think he's a tremendously repressed, kinky tosser and not worthy of a Greengrass, that's no reason not to be happy for them."

Draco looked up at his twin. Julian's blue eyes were bright and sharp, like their mother's, and Draco wondered if he'd inherited his own grey eyes from his father. "When people disappear for a year, it's hard to remember everything they missed," he said in a clipped tone.

Julian's fingers tightened around Draco's forearm. "Do not blame me for something I had no control over," he rejoined with the same crisp diction.

Draco glanced down at Julian's hold on his arm. "I have every right to blame you," he said, yanking his arm away. "And everyone else blames you too."

Julian said nothing in his defence, which only irritated Draco more, and he turned back towards the window. They bickered; it was what they did, and if Julian wasn't participating then things were very bad.

Draco could feel his palms growing damp and his nerves fraying. His chest was tight, and his breathing was becoming something he had to think about. He tried to contain himself, because Malfoys didn't make scenes in front of the help, but he felt like Damocles -- just waiting for the sword to drop.

First Blaise, and now Julian.

They crossed the river, and for one brief, suspicious moment, Draco wondered if they were going to MI-6 headquarters at Vauxhall Cross. It was such an insane idea that it seemed perfectly in keeping with his brother's cryptic behaviour; Draco just couldn't take it anymore.

Julian was keeping something from him, deliberately, and Draco -- Draco didn't want to make any more small talk. "What am I doing here?" he asked the window.

"Are we having an existentialist discussion?" Julian's tone was extraordinarily droll, bordering on amused.

"Don't toy with me, Julian," Draco said flatly. There were things unfurling in Draco's stomach, in his blood. Tension, worry and fear were obliterating the calmness Draco had found with Harry the night before. He only realised he was back to clenching his fists when Julian's hand closed over his own.

"Don't," Julian said, trying to prise Draco's hand open.

"Don't what?" Draco hissed as they continued southward through Stockwell, clenching his fingers even tighter. "I have been fucking twin-napped without so much as a fucking explanation, and I have been very fucking calm thank you very much, so do not tell me what I can and cannot bloody well do."

Julian looked up from where he was trying to unclench Draco's fist. "Yes, I can tell by your colourful language that you're feeling extraordinarily calm. Careful or your hair will start to fall out again."

Draco exhaled a shaky breath through his nose -- one part of him wanted to throttle his brother, another part wanted to laugh at their twisted humour, and the third part felt they needed to change direction and head directly towards Heathrow and get the first plane to another country. One with no extradition laws and lots of beaches -- the Seychelles were lovely this time of year.

Julian gave up trying to unclench Draco's fist, and Draco felt a small victory. He had no idea where they were going, but when they had first got in the car, he had some crazed notion that they were going to Milton Keynes. He had no idea why he'd thought that, he just had. Milton Keynes was bland and staid, and it seemed the perfect cover for something criminal. Seamus and Cedric argued that it had the best indoor ski slope in the country, but skiing was not an indoor sport. Skiing was mountains and Gstaad and Aspen; it was not something you did in a shopping centre. In short, Draco hated Milton Keynes. Of course, everyone seemed to hate Milton Keynes, even if they'd never been there, and Draco wondered briefly if Harry hated it as well.

"How much do you know about what I do?" Julian's tone was very smooth and unobtrusive as though they were discussing the weather. Draco turned from the window and met his brother's eyes. He looked from Julian to the driver and back disapprovingly; Julian appeared unconcerned. "Tell me."

Draco's voice caught, and he cleared his throat. "Nothing -- if I can help it."

"Do try to be serious, Draco."

"What about him?" Draco cut his eyes towards the driver again. He couldn't understand why the people in his life were suddenly allowing themselves to talk so freely in public -- it was as though they had all caught some American, too-much-information virus.

"Don’t worry about him." Julian's tone was very straightforward, which only made the tension in Draco's stomach worse. He felt as though he were on that dreadful eyesore, the London Eye, and it was going entirely too fast.

"You understand that now that you've told me not to worry, I'll do nothing but." Draco scowled at his twin. He had spent most of his life learning how to read Julian, and the pinched smirk was not one of his favourite expressions.

Julian sighed as though he were much put-upon. "A Malfoy through and through -- never answer a question when you can go around it."

Draco opened his mouth to say something and instead let out a loud," Fucking hell!" when Julian slammed his hand on Draco's fist. "What the fuck are you doing?" he said, holding his hand close to his chest and rubbing it.

"You're too tense," Julian stated.

"I wonder why!" Draco shouted, feeling the last of his control collapsing around him. "What the fuck are you playing at?!" he yelled, attempting to backhand his brother.

Julian's hand flew up to stop Draco's assault, and Draco glowered at his brother, the heat flooding his cheeks as he tried to yank his arm away again.

"Have you ever heard of a man by the name of Milo Rambaldi?" Julian asked quietly.

"Who? What? Let me go," Draco struggled. "I don't know what the fuck the Americans did to you, but this isn't fucking funny, Julian."

"Rambaldi," Julian repeated, tightening his hold. "Do you know the surname?"

"No, does he work for the Italian Embassy?" Draco fruitlessly tried to extract himself from his brother's grip, to no avail.

That was the problem with having a brother who worked as a spy; Julian was always up-to-snuff with his martial arts and various brutalising techniques.

"Lazarey," Julian offered. "Have you heard of Adrian Lazarey?"

"No! No, no, no!" Draco rubbed his forearm when Julian finally released him, and it took him a moment to realise the car had stopped and the engine was off. "What the hell are you on about!" he shouted, feeling his brother was completely unhinged.

Julian tilted his head to the side and considered him for several seconds. "Hold onto that thought -- we're here."

Draco sat up and looked out of the front window: they were parked on a dingy street that seemed to go on forever, first with shops and then with houses. There was a butcher further up the street that seemed to be open, and directly across the street was an old man with greying dreadlocks selling incense.

Everything about the place was non-descript to the naked eye, as though the place existed simply to be forgettable, unless you had business there. Draco felt a sharp pain in his liver; he needed a drink.

"Where are we?" Draco said, turning towards his brother as the driver got out of the car and came around to open his door. The car shook as a train passed somewhere nearby.

Julian's smile was all teeth. "Brixton," he said pleasantly.

Draco made a noise of displeasure. Brixton was a lovely place for clubbing and drinking and going to gigs. Draco was a big fan of the Fridge and Z's Bar. Of course, Brixton was also extremely dangerous in certain parts, considering it was well known and loved by the criminal element. Draco reckoned that that criminal element tended to include spies who'd been hiding out with their mum.

Draco's stomach rolled, and for the first time he noticed the slight bulge in Julian's jacket. "You're not carrying –" he couldn't even finish the inquiry. Severus had drummed plausible deniability into them from an early age. If you didn't ask, you didn't know, and if you didn’t know -- well, you couldn't be blamed.

Judging by the gleam in his twin's eye, Draco was about to become privy to a lot of things he didn't want to know.

Draco's entire life was about being first, about being a leader. Being a twin had formed and honed his competitive streak into something almost lethal, and if his rivalry with his brother wasn't healthy, at least it was there, driving them both onward.

Draco had no greater motivator than his brother -- even Blaise couldn't rankle him the way Julian could. Draco trusted Julian implicitly because he was family -- but that didn't mean he trusted him blindly. Following Julian down a manky alley that smelled of piss and sick, Draco wondered if he was about to do something very bloody-minded.

Julian paused before an old, splintering wooden door with new locks and a tiny keypad.

"You have sixty seconds to explain yourself," Draco began as Julian keyed in several numbers, "before I set off to find the nearest tube station."

Julian's smile this time was even more enigmatic than normal; Draco was going to sock him, but he was distracted by the door opening. "It's reinforced with steel," Julian said pleasantly," and mind the step."

Draco wrinkled his nose as he prepared to step inside, but the inside of the building proved to be marginally nicer than the outside.

Draco had figured -- prayed -- that Julian was leading him to one of those ubiquitous, spy lairs where the outside belied the interior, and the inside was all meat hooks and shiny steel surfaces.

He wasn’t disappointed by the drab, musty storage facility interior of the building, but rather than smelling of alcohol or blood, it just smelled of mildew and damp. It wasn't hygienic or high-tech in the least, which was a bit distressing; however, there was another door, and a thin sliver of light peeked out from the bottom.

Julian stopped before the door and Draco frowned. "This is entirely too ominous," he said pointedly. "Stop being dramatic and get on with it."

Julian winked. "As you wish, brother dear."

The door opened quite abruptly, and Draco looked up into the drawn face of his Head of Security. "Kingsley?" he said, disbelief washing over him suddenly. "What the fuck -- Julian?"

"Keep going." Julian stepped aside with an arched eyebrow, and Kingsley stepped back to allow Draco passage.

The room Draco stepped into this time was markedly different from the room he'd left. It was cleaner and brighter, there was a white light hanging overhead, and the room smelled not of mildew and damp but of sulphur and alcohol and tea. The room was also furnished, if one counted a steel table in the middle of the room and two wooden chairs in the corner as proper furnishings.

There was a dark-haired man standing before the table with his back towards Draco; his body blocked part of Draco's view of the room. When he turned, holding a thick manila envelope, Draco took a step back, running directly into a body behind him.

"Neville?"

Draco was unable to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice, but it was nothing to the violent sensation that overtook him when his eyes drifted away from Neville.

Sitting slumped at the table, hair mussed, mouth covered in duct tape and bleeding profusely was the last person he'd expected to see.

"Harry."

What should have been a question was just a statement, and Draco's voice was so restrained that for a moment he didn't think he'd spoken -- until Harry looked up at him. Harry's glasses were folded innocently on the table before him, and Draco wondered arbitrarily if Harry could actually see him.

Harry's eyes were enormous, their green a garish contrast to the trickle of blood from underneath the duct tape; Harry's chair made a rattling noise, which pulled Draco out of the horrified stupor he'd fallen into.

There was a frenzy of motion and noise: Draco dashed over to the table and knocked Neville away. He tried to pull Harry out of his chair, only to find him thoroughly handcuffed to the table. Harry leaned into Draco's hands as he touched Harry's face and shoulders and tried to make sure he wasn't irrevocably harmed.

The tension in Draco’s body and mind twisted his perceptions until the world took on a green tinge and his rage took over. The table was too heavy to move and the cuffs were firmly secured, and Harry.

Oh, Harry.

Someone was shouting and cursing. There were papers flying everywhere; Draco -- Draco couldn't breath properly because his lungs were collapsing, but he had enough air to threaten everyone at the top of his lungs. Murder. Disembowelment. Fingernails dug out with spoons.

There were going to be murders.

Draco couldn't even begin to imagine what the hell Julian was doing or what could have driven him to do this to Harry. His brother and lover had never even met. Julian couldn't possibly have anything against Harry; the only person who did was Blaise.

Blaise.

This was all his doing.

He must've said something to Julian; Julian wouldn't do this randomly. He and Blaise had had a row and now Blaise was feeling vengeful. Well, now, that went both ways.

Draco was going to kill Blaise.

"Did Blaise put you up to this?" Draco seethed, putting himself in front of the table, between Julian, Kingsley and Harry. "This isn't fucking funny, Julian!"

"Draco, control yourself," Julian said, holding his hands up even as he took a step towards Draco. "Stop acting like someone with no breeding and no intelligence -- you don't know anything about this man."

"I didn't ask your opinion!" Draco thundered, unable to control himself despite the presence of Neville and Kingsley, and in his peripheral vision he caught Kingsley helping Neville to his feet. "You can't go around kidnapping my lovers just because Blaise doesn't approve."

Julian rolled his eyes. "Aren't we being self-indulgent today?"

"You fucking kidnapped me to drag me down here to show me that you've done a number on my fucking boyfriend -- what am I supposed to do?" Draco's voice was shrill, even to his own ears, and he crouched defensively as Julian took another step towards him.

He would fight for Harry -- clearly Blaise had done something sinister and underhanded, and quite possibly sexual, to convince Julian that Harry was unsuitable. Draco's mind swam with inappropriate images of his twin and his best mate, and he fought hard not to be sick.

"Don’t do this, Julian -- I don't know what Blaise said, but we can sort it out. You know that -- there's nothing we can't do." Draco could hear the pleading note in his voice, and he wasn't sure which was making him feel more violently ill -- Harry being mistreated or Blaise turning on him like a wronged lover.

Julian exhaled sharply through his nose. "Kingsley, Neville would you excuse my brother and I? We need to have a chat."

"Don’t order them about!" Draco interjected, even as Kingsley helped Neville towards the door. "They don't work for you!"

"Don't tell me you think they work for you?" Julian mocked as both men left. "You don’t really think I'd leave you on your own, do you?"

"Mother hired them," Draco protested vehemently.

"At my request."

Draco rubbed his head -- his right eye was twitching, and he could feel the vein in his temple throbbing. He had trusted them, and they had lied to him -- perhaps not directly, but they certainly hadn't been forthcoming.

What was the fucking world coming to? First Blaise, then Kingsley and Neville -- now his own fucking twin.

Everyone was sacked.

"Blaise put you up to this." Draco could only deal with one betrayal at a time. "You would never do this unless he'd asked."

"Don't be thick," Julian retorted. "Do you really think I would let any Tom, Dick or," Julian paused and raised a pale eyebrow, "Harry, shag my brother?"

"He is not shagging me."

"Well at least I have that comfort -- however, that's a matter of preference. Regardless, don't blame Blaise."

"Who else is at fault here?" Draco remonstrated, glancing over his shoulder distractedly when Harry made a muffled noise behind him. "We aren't fucking gangsters, Julian! I don't know how people do things in your line of business, but if you'd really been suspicious of Harry, you'd've said something ages ago!"

Julian made a dismissive motion with his hands. "Trying to get information from sources when your employers don't know you're in the country is a complicated process."

"Why is everything so fucking complicated with you?!" Draco seethed.

"Because I am a Malfoy, and we don't half-arse anything. Nevertheless, the fact remains that you don’t know this man. You know nothing about him." Julian repeating himself was never a good thing, and there was a tightness in his voice that hadn't been there before, but Draco couldn't bring himself to care.

This was going too far.

Allowances were made for family because they were family, but haphazard, vindictive abuse of lovers was not permissible. "I know this man as well as you can know anyone," Draco countered emphatically. "I know that he got that scar on his forehead from the car crash that killed his parents. I know that he supports Arsenal, even though they're shit. I know that he grew up in Islington and was raised by his godfather and his lover."

Julian didn't bat an eyelash. "So he didn't completely lie to you? That's lovely to know, but it might help if you saved your breath to cool your porridge." Julian looked around Draco's shoulder. "Well done, Mr. Potter, you've done quite the number on my brother -- or should I call you Mr. Black?"

Draco's stomach dropped into his feet. Julian's voice was toneless and dead as though he were reciting facts from a book -- or a file.

Draco shook his head, whatever it was that Julian was about to tell him, he didn't want to know. "Julian, I don't want to --

His brother spoke over his protests. "Draco, I'd like you to meet Harry James Potter. Born 31st of July 1980 to James Potter and Lily Evans, and yes, adopted by his godfather after some strange business with him being accused of killing Harry's parents -- he didn't mention that part, did he? I can understand that some sordid details are best left in the cupboard, but you changed your name too, Harry -- your records say you're Harry Black now. That's quite an ominous name, isn't it? Harry Black. It sounds like someone in charge of a crime syndicate."

"Julian," Draco could hear the desperation in his own voice, yet his brother continued his recitation as though they were preparing for school examinations; and Draco watched transfixed as Julian circled around the table towards Harry.

"Excellent footballer. Tried out for the Under 15s -- just like you, Draco, except for the Arsenal lark -- an ex-Rugby School pupil as well. Here's the best bit though -- he was recruited by Her Majesty's Secret Service in 1998."

"Harry's an accountant," Draco's rebuttal was all stubborn belief. "He launders money for organised crime."

"A money launderer? Him? Draco, don't be thick."

Julian's voice overflowed with contempt and insincerity, and Draco winced as Julian ripped the duct tape away from Harry's mouth. He wanted to move. He wanted to get to Harry and protect him; he wanted to pummel his brother and demand he stop lying, but his feet wouldn't move.

Julian's trademark sneer was firmly in place as he dropped the duct tape on the table. "Very well, Mr. Money Launderer, if you are who my brother seems to want you to be, then you can answer a very simple question for me. In 1999 the Inland Revenue passed IR35: Countering Avoidance in the Provision of Personal Services; its purpose was what exactly?"

"There's no such thing as IR35," Harry said curtly.

"Come now, Harry, we all have the same dodgy interests here," Julian said flippantly. "If the government is attempting to close the tax loopholes on money laundering through third-parties, surely you would want someone running an escort service to know all about it. Especially if he were buggering you, right?"

Harry glared at Julian before turning towards Draco; under Draco's inquisitive appraisal Harry's face went from pensive to resigned, but it was the defiant look in Harry's eyes that made Draco nauseous.

People were only defiant if they were trying to justify their actions.

"IR35 doesn't exist," Harry repeated obstinately.

"Are you calling me a liar, Mr. Potter?" The smugness in Julian's voice made Draco's head throb, and he turned away as Julian chastised Harry. "I would think someone who claimed to be a Certified Private Accountant would know loophole laws backward and forwards. Unless you're not who you claim to be, in which case, might I point out that people in glass houses really shouldn't fuck with the wrong family."

"Fuck off, Malfoy!" Harry spat.

Julian made a tsking noise. "Is that any way to treat a fellow agent?"

Draco's blood began to run cold. "It's not true," he said turning back to the sickening tableau before him. "Julian, I don't know what Blaise told you to get you to do this for him, but --"

"Draco, don’t listen to him," Harry pleaded.

"It's not true," Draco repeated to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel the heat from Harry wrapped around him in sleep. He could still smell Harry on his clothes. "Harry's an accountant. He works in the City. I admit he's got some questionable clients, but I run an escort service for fuckssake! That's not the most legitimate job ever."

"Draco, don't be simple minded," Julian said contemptuously. "He's a liar. Big Sister obviously sent him to find out about me. Clearly they know I'm home, although I'm a bit put out that they didn't throw me a party."

"It's the Americans," Draco persisted, unable to believe that he'd been deceived this way. "While you were in gaol they did something to do you. We'll get it taken care of, Julian. Just let Harry go, and we'll sort it out."

Draco rounded the table towards his brother. "Give me the keys," he said taking hold of Harry's wrist to release his handcuffs. He stumbled back when Julian pushed him away.

"Stop being an idiot, Draco, Jesus Christ! Are you going to believe this -- this person over me? I'm your brother. Do you think I would do this to hurt you? Use your brain for fuckssake!"

Julian's vitriolic censure made Draco's heart skip a beat, and he looked from Harry to Julian and then back again. He couldn't have been so stupid. It wasn't possible. "Harry, for Christ's sake, defend yourself. Tell my brother that he’s more out of his mind than usual, that his recent unfortunate incarceration and romantic entanglement has left him overly sensitive and paranoid."

Draco approached Harry again, careful this time of his words and his motions. If this wasn't Blaise's doing -- which Draco doubted -- then Julian was experiencing some sort of post-gaol trauma and needed to be humoured. And possibly hospitalised.

Draco couldn't be seen taking sides -- that would be extraordinarily bad. After all, Draco genuinely liked Harry; he fancied him something rotten. He couldn't even seem to keep from touching Harry and trying to clean up his bruised face. There were smears of Harry's blood on Draco's fingertips, but Julian was family.

"Don't make me sound as though I don't know what I'm on about!" Julian's condemnation gave Draco heartburn. "Do you really think this lying, deceitful nobody has your best interests at heart? Do you think he would kill for you?"

"I wouldn't need to," Harry retorted, "since you already have."

Draco's hand fell from Harry's face, and the room grew gravely quiet in the wake of Harry's outburst.

"It's true," Draco said stepping away. He took another step back as though Harry had some highly contagious virus, but his voice was dull and detached as though it came from someone else. "You do work for MI-6."

"MI-5," Julian corrected triumphantly. "Special Branch. They police the agents. You've heard of Big Sister watching you? He is Big Sister."

"You lied to me," Draco said softly. "I trusted you and you lied."

"Draco, it's not what you think -- I can explain --," Harry tried.

"DON'T LIE!" Draco shouted, his head aching with the force of his scream. He was filthy and dirty, and he'd let this person touch him. He'd believed him; he'd believed in him. He'd taken Harry's side.

He was going to be sick.

Harry visibly winced under the force of Draco's glower. "Fine, I lied," he admitted, "but it wasn't to hurt you. I fancy you; you have to know that -–"

"I don’t know anything." Draco's voice echoed from the corners of the room even though he'd barely raised his tone above a whisper.

Harry tried to shift himself and the chair closer towards Draco, but the cuffs just rattled. "Draco, you know I wouldn't hurt you; you know that. I care for you. That's not a lie, but what I do is complicated, and your brother -- he's been missing for ages. Special Branch thought he'd gone rogue!"

Draco's head spun, and he felt as though he'd just been in an enormous car wreck -- yet he couldn't stop himself from asking questions. Ignorance was bliss, but knowledge was power. If he had to know then he wanted to know everything. "And so they what -- sent you to find out what I knew?"

"Something like that."

"He was in gaol!" Draco shouted in Harry's face. "How the fuck could you not know that?! The fucking Americans had him in gaol, and your lot come sniffing around us? What kind of idiots run the SIS?! We asked you where he was -- my mother cried when you wouldn't tell us anything, how dare you!"

Draco could feel the bones in Harry's jaw shift when he hit him. It felt good, and easy. It was so easy. Too easy. "You lied to me!" he shouted over and over, feeling Harry's skin give under his fists.

He only stopped when Julian restrained him, gripping his biceps and pulling him away. Draco's breathing came fast and laboured, and he couldn't get any air. His chest was tight and he could feel his body cramping in odd places, like the small of his back.

He wondered if this was what it was like having a heart attack -- Poppy had warned him about too much stress.

"Ask him about your father."

It hurt Draco even to look at Harry, his face battered and bleeding, but he couldn't shut his ears off. "Shut up," he hissed. "There's nothing you can say that I want to hear."

Draco looked away when Julian backhanded Harry. "Don’t address my brother," Julian snapped.

There was the sound of someone spitting, and Draco wrinkled his nose. "Ask him about your father." Harry's voice was clearer now. "Ask him about Lazarey."

Draco turned and grabbed Julian's forearm as he was about to strike Harry again. "That's the second time today I've heard that name," he said narrowing his eyes. "Who is Lazarey?"

Draco's jaw tightened when Julian refused to meet his eyes. "Who is Lazarey -- tell me now," he squeezed Julian's wrist hard.

Julian gave Draco a defiant look but said nothing.

"He was a Soviet diplomat," Harry spoke into the silence. "A very wealthy one if I'm not mistaken. He used to live in London in the 70s, as I recall. He wasn't a diplomat then though of course, and he went by Malfoy -- Lucius -- which doesn't sound Russian in the slightest, but it sounds foreign so there you go."

Draco turned towards Harry incredulously, loosening his hold on Julian's wrist slightly. Harry's gaze was unwavering and focussed, even though his specs were still folded on the table before them.

Draco hadn't even realised how angry he was before, but now he missed it because the rage was gone and there was nothing there. It was as though he'd used up all his emotions and there was nothing left but a hollow man.

Harry was still talking. "As I recall he left the country rather abruptly in early 1980, which was a huge embarrassment for the Soviet embassy, but the idea of the nation being represented by a fanatical follower of Rambaldi was even worse."

"Who's this Rambaldi?" Draco interrupted.

"An ancient crackpot from the 15th Century." Harry's shrug was hampered by the restraints. "He's gone by a lot of names: Rambaldi, Voldemort, Grindlewald -- there are people who believe he was able to predict the future; they say he was a prophet and that he foretold great things, etc. etc. The chosen few, blah blah blah. End of times. All that stuff. His followers were -– are -- all devoted nutters."

Draco felt something twinge in the back of his mind, and when he looked over at his brother, Julian's face was white. "So Lazarey was a follower of Rambaldi?" Draco asked.

"Not just a follower -- but the follower of Rambaldi apparently," Harry carried on. "He was extraordinarily devout -- except, apparently, his wife didn't know it."

There was something very ugly coming –- Draco could feel it. He let go of Julian's wrist and moved towards Harry. He leaned forward until he could make out the tiny spatters of blood caught in the stubble on Harry's jaw and the tiny pores of his skin. "What happened to his wife?" Draco's tone was clipped and sharp; he enunciated every word perfectly.

Harry sighed. "You know what happened, Draco."

"Tell me anyway."

Harry's sigh this time was deeper and more pained. "Lazarey's -- Malfoy's -- wife got pregnant and thought it was the best thing ever. Malfoy, however, saw it as a sign from Rambaldi. He had neglected to mention to his wife that he was practically shooting blanks."

Draco could feel Harry's breath washing over him, and his eyes were drawn away from Harry's swollen features and towards a tiny bruise peeking out from underneath the red tee shirt Harry wore. He'd left that there. "Go on," he said absently. He didn't have to look at Harry to hear him. It wasn't as though he would ever see Harry after today -- he would make certain of that.

"It all came to head when Malfoy's wife found out about the prophecy."

"This is all bullshit," Julian jeered behind Draco. "You're not actually listening to his tripe, Draco, are you?"

Turning his head slightly, Draco gave his brother a piercing look over his shoulder. "Shut. Up."

Draco just caught the smug look on Harry's face, and he rolled his eyes. Only a spy, or a completely insane person, would look triumphant after having the snot beat out of him. It was a shame about the lying fuckwit thing, because clearly Harry was as mental as Julian; they could've made a brilliant team. "Tell me the rest, now," Draco ordered.

Harry's handcuffs rattled. "The prophecy wasn't anything spectacular, it simply talked about the child of a follower being extremely powerful and how the child might one day rule the world. Malfoy was delighted, but his wife disagreed. She said if he tried to come near the kid, she'd kill them both. Malfoy freaked out -- Rambaldi was very particular about children. Like I said -- he was a total crackpot."

Draco took a shuddering breath. "And Malfoy thought this prophesied child would be his, even if he was, as you say, shooting blanks?"

Harry shrugged again. "Who knows what Lucius Malfoy thought? He didn't doubt the kid was his though -- but I guess when you set your wife up in an escort service, have her followed all the time, and surround her with your comrades it makes it easier to sleep at night."

Draco rocked back on his heels. "You're lying."

"I don't really have a reason to lie; you know all about me now. Your brother on the other hand, well, he is the one who had your father killed; you might want to ask him about it. I heard he's the one who got all the money as well -- 800 million pounds -- if I'm not mistaken. Unless that's in euros."

Draco turned towards Julian. There was a resigned tightness to his features that made Draco's knees wobble. "You did it, didn't you?" he asked.

Julian's tone was icy. "I did what I had to do for my family."

"You killed our father." Draco was able to keep the disconsolate note out of his voice, and Julian blinked.

"He was a bastard," Julian said coolly. "Did you know that he threatened to take us away from Mother when she was still pregnant? Did you know he tried to keep her prisoner in her own home?" Julian's voice quavered as he struggled to contain himself. "He deserved what he got."

Something like disgust was crawling all over Draco's skin; he scratched the back of his neck sharply. "He gave you money? To what? Pay you off? To buy your blood?"

Julian looked away and spoke into the air. "He thought there was only one of us; he had no idea Mother had had twins. He wanted –- I have no idea; it doesn't matter now."

Draco's hands ached, and he looked down at them. His knuckles were swollen and bruised from where he'd pummelled Harry. There were tiny spatters of blood on the pale blue cuffs, which were peaking out from underneath his suit jacket. He was still wearing his fucking suit from work yesterday. He hadn't even had a bath or a meal. He needed tea and his mother -- and god, there was no one at the office.

He wondered briefly what time it was -- he felt impossibly knackered. He felt old.

"You haven't discussed him with Mother, have you?" Draco asked sharply.

"Don't be thick," Julian said disdainfully.

Draco made the connection. "Severus."

Julian moved his head fractionally. "As far as Mother is concerned Fath -- Lazarey has been dead for twenty-five years. I see no reason to trouble her now."

Draco just nodded. There was a ringing in his ears -- the sound of his entire world collapsing on his head. His father was a follower, a cult follower, not the leader his mother had always urged them to be. His brother had committed patricide; his lover had betrayed him. He'd lost his best mate, and his mother, oh god, his poor mother.

His life was a German opera; and his mother would've crucified him for feeling pity, but he couldn't help it.

He looked warily from Harry to Julian -- they both looked completely shattered. Harry's injuries were bleeding profusely, and Julian looked hunted; Draco couldn't bring himself to care.

He was stuck between a murderer and a liar. He needed air.

"I'm leaving," he said, turning sharply on his heel and walking away.

"Draco."

Julian and Harry called his name at the same time, and Draco paused at the ill-fitting door that had opened him up to so much horror. He couldn't turn around; he didn't have anything left for them.

"Don't kill him," he said to the door.

"Who said anything about killing him?" Julian was trying for nonchalant, and Draco had to give him credit because he was almost there, but his voice wavered at the end.

Draco wet his lips, and cleared his throat; his vocal cords were seizing up and didn’t want to work. "I know you want to," he said.

"What makes you think I'd do something so stupid?" Julian sounded curious instead of offended, and something inside Draco broke at the question. Part of not thinking too hard about what Julian did, was not thinking about whether or not he liked it, or if he was just born to do it.

Julian was a Malfoy; they had been taught that it was a given they would excel. Except that, now, Draco wasn't certain what being a Malfoy meant. Or maybe it meant the same thing it always had: family.

It was just a name -- it wasn't them.

"Because I want him dead," Draco said quietly, "and you’re my brother."

And with that, he left.

--Chapter VII—

Thought of the Day:
We only know what we are told – and for all we know it isn't even true.
-Tom Stoppard 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.'

+ Queenie Greengrass is the property of JKR, but

serialkarma gave her life.

+ Fantabulous, understanding betas by

ethrosdemon and

oxoniensis (who read it twice!). Remaining fuck-ups by me.

Soundtrack: Embrace 'One Big Family'; Radiohead 'Karma Police'; James Brown 'The Payback'

Current Mood: pleased
Current Music: The Reindeer Section 'You Are My Joy'

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

dinanimo.livejournal.com

First comment, scoooore. Off to read like a crazy person and comment again ;)

From:

dinanimo.livejournal.com

Oh, my God. That... you have combined the utter insanity of Alias with the slightly less insane Harry Potter. I am shocked, horrified, intrigued and freaking out. Also, I love you, and am currently planning our wedding.

Seriously. Thankyou. I will be waiting till next week. Gaaaah.

(no subject)

From:

hackthis.livejournal.com - Date: 2005-05-02 10:31 pm (UTC) - Expand

From:

d-copper.livejournal.com

Am totally lost, therefore I am going to have to beg for MORE so I can actually function properly.

How did Julian?? Why did Harry really? And Voldemort?? *dies from brain overload*

From:

Educated Black Person, Esq., A.A., B.A., MBA, Ph.D., RN, NAACP, AAA

Trade – Chapter VI

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