Your Fortnightly Drarry Story (Back by Popular Demand)

1. The Case of the Anonymous Post Sender

A/N The opening scene of the gym was inspired by a one shot I read and was what kick started my imagination for this story. I was going to delete the scene but it became too important to the story. I wanted to credit the initial inspiration (the overall stories are very different). Unfortunately I can't find it to credit the story/author but when I do, I'll add it. :(

Harry felt a great affinity with the Ministry of Magic gymnasium that was buried in the depths of the White Hall building near the Muggle parliament. It was a windowless gunmetal-grey room the size of a tennis court and had floor-to-ceiling smoked mirroring down one of the long walls. Yet, despite its size and the mirrors, the room always felt claustrophobic because of the low ceiling and even lower lighting, the stifling warmth and the greyness. The gym was filled with shiny charcoal-grey gym mats at one end; that was where the Aurors trained in close-quarter combat. The other end was filled with state-of-the-art black and stainless-steel gym equipment and weights. The airless room always smelt of eucalyptus and tea tree antibacterial spray that never quite covered the lingering odour of stale BO. Some of the other Aurors said it was like working out inside the cloak of a Dementor but Harry knew they didn't know what they were talking about (some of the newer Aurors had never even encountered a Dementor since they'd been banished from Azkaban).

Harry liked the windowless vastness and the claustrophobia and the greyness and the smell of the gym, mostly because it all kept the rest of the Ministry out of the grimness of the place and it was only the Aurors who braved it for their compulsory training. The gym was, in his humble opinion, only ruined by shitty tinned 80s' remixes that played though an equally shitty sound system, on loop.

Even then, funnily enough, Harry didn't mind. He liked his training and he liked the regulation daily workouts. In the latter, he could lose himself on the machines or in the weights and forget the traumas and stresses of the cases he worked. He liked the emptiness of the place, he liked the invisibility. When he was alone in the gym, he was no longer 'Harry Potter' – someone to be watched or ogled at, even after all this time – he could just be Harry, just some bloke who sweated and grunted like every other sod who worked out. For him, the gym, when it was empty, was the best space in the Ministry. Harry had a way of shutting down to just focus on his exercises and if he played his own music loud enough he could cut out the shitty 80s remixes too.

The one singular thing that always annoyed him was that the gym was invariably not empty. Not that Harry got that grumpy about sharing the space – indeed, he was about to train with Ron and Blaise but he knew they'd scarper as soon as their regulation half-hour was complete and he'd anticipated having the space to himself after that. No, the problem was that there was, invariably, always one rather pale and blond and well-toned Auror working out when Harry got there or he arrived shortly after Harry and he always stayed the entire time that Harry worked out. And he always intruded on Harry's peace (just by being there because they never spoke). It was the cold steely glaring, Harry thought ruefully, it had a way of ruining his mood in seconds. Invariably, Harry found himself working out in anger, pushing himself through his resentfulness.

On the particular Thursday evening in question, Harry frowned as he walked through the door into the gym ahead of Ron and Blaise because, once again, the gym wasn't empty; yes, Auror Draco Lucius Malfoy was already there and clearly well into his workout on one of the running machines nearly opposite the door.

Harry didn't miss that Blaise and Ron didn't even follow Harry into the gym. They took one look at the other occupant and then Harry and then looked at each other before Ron said, 'shall we go for a run outside, Blaise?'

Blaise nodded, failing to be nonchalant about the sudden change of plan, and said, 'sure, it'd be nice to get some fresh air.'

'Yeah,' huffed Ron, running a hand through his red hair, 'I'm fed up with being indoors all the time.'