For What Is Broken | Drarry

Chapter 5

Potter's summons came at the most inconvenient moment possible. Draco stared down at the image that had coalesced in the topmost glass face of the scheduling device he wore on his left wrist, kept safely tucked out of sight these last few days under the sleeve of his robes. The device had burned warm against his skin only moments ago, and he had all but abandoned the one customer browsing the shop so that he could duck into the back room and check Potter's message in private.

Three in the afternoon on a Wednesday, a quiet corner of Diagon Alley near where it diverged into Knockturn. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was half past two already, which gave Draco hardly any time to prepare. True, he had promised Potter he would come whenever and wherever he wanted, but Draco had expected at least a bit more notice than this. He didn't even know how long this little escapade of theirs was going to take. How was he supposed to slip out in the middle of his shift without raising Malcolm's suspicions?

Draco spent the better part of the next half hour concocting a suitable excuse for his sudden disappearance. A fake emergency with Pansy, he decided, was the safest bet. In all his years working with Malcolm, Draco had never requested a day off work, not for illness or personal reasons or to go on holiday. Surely, Malcolm wouldn't begrudge him these few hours.

It went about as well as could be hoped. Malcolm's bristly eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline at the request, but he let Draco go without too many questions once Draco framed it under the guise of wanting to respect Pansy's privacy.

The location that Potter had asked Draco to meet him was not all too far away. Draco could have apparated there easily enough, but he had six minutes to spare until Potter was expecting him, and in the interest of not seeming overeager, he decided to walk the distance, the streets becoming less and less crowded as he drew closer to the entrance to Knockturn Alley.

Potter was, as always, too conspicuous. In many ways, it couldn't be helped. He was the most famous wizard in Britain, after all, with an unfortunately eye-catching visage. The glasses, the green eyes, the scar—he drew attention everywhere he went, and especially here, where each street was more disreputable than the last.

He had at least had the sense to change out of his Auror robes before meeting Draco. He was dressed in much plainer black robes today, an unfortunate necessity, since the crimson really did complement his eyes in a striking way. But in Knockturn Alley, that uniform would stand out like a beacon.

He had arrived on time, Draco at least gave him credit for that, but he stood there waiting on the corner for Draco like an absolute pillock, in plain sight of any and all passersby. No sooner had Potter caught sight of him than Draco was grabbing hold of Potter's wrist and dragging him under the shadowed eve of the nearest shop, where they were at least semi-sheltered from the interested glances that Potter had already begun to attract.

"Want to cause a scene, do you?" Draco sniped, glancing around to make sure no one was watching them.

"I was just standing."

"You were attracting attention, is what you were doing."

"That's not my fault!" Potter insisted.

"It never is, is it?" Draco muttered. Potter opened his mouth to respond, eyebrows furrowed, but Draco cut him off before he could protest. "How many years have you been doing this job, and still you haven't learned an ounce of discretion?"

Potter shook off Draco's grip, taking a step back. Draco could see it for what it was—a deliberate effort to put space between them. "Covertly liaising with criminals isn't a standard part of my job."

From the look in his eyes, Draco couldn't be sure if Potter was referring to the black-market dealer they were looking for, or to Draco himself. Maybe it was a bit of both.