Summary: Harry Potter: Boyfriend-less Auror Extraordinaire and glorified…babysitter? Post Hogwarts, AU, Slash, DMHP

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor make any money from the characters created by J.K. Rowling.

Warning: Content and views expressed in this story may or may not be that of the author. This is a piece of fiction. If you find anything offensive due to morals or religious upbringing, keep it to yourself and discontinue reading this story. You are free to stop reading at any point. The choice is yours.

Harry Potter was a grown man of twenty-five thank you very much. He did not need this! Tossing the tabloid he'd been less than eager receive on his desk he took another disgusted look at it's (heaven help me) pulsing headlines.

While Tidilias Fortuna had risen in popularity quite quickly—much to the pleasure of it's maintainer, it was a constant annoyance for those whose unfortunate lives it touched.

Tidilias was a fellow auror, or auror-es if one got technical about it, and she spared no thought to Harry's state of mind when publishing her daily—he got the impression of hourly—tabloid. After all, she would argue, who other than the one and only Harry Potter did the gossiping community want to read about?

Had he been able to suggest other names…oh, some quidditch player or another, she would surely give him the look. You know, the one that tells you just what a moron you really are. So he didn't mention other names. Instead, he did his part in the process and simply let her write what she pleased without protest.

And then there were days like today…

Harry rubbed the almost permanent knot he'd developed at the base of his neck. Days like today, when he'd have asked, begged, Tidilias to exploit anyone but him. Anyone. And he'd do so without regret.

Instead, he rubbed the knot as he plunked down in his worn, yet comfy, chair. Knowing that what had been printed early that morning and was now in the distributing process was a load of horseshit was a little comfort. It did have it's amusing moments…at times. Tidilias and company had a think-tank with the sole purpose of Harry-reporting on active duty twenty-four seven. And when they wanted to leave the office to do a bit of honest journalism, Harry often found himself unsubtly stalked throughout the office. Which had to be down right bloody ass boring.

He'd be the first to admit he was less than interesting.

They could stalk him at his desk…doodling.

They could stalk him through the hallway.

The break room.

The bathroom…

Harry grimaced, they hadn't tried that yet…err…to his knowledge.

His eyes involuntarily flitted back down to the tabloid and it's pulsing headline. "Boy Who Lived to…" Oh yes, Tidi was utilizing the keep 'em waiting tactic "Shag blokes in dark gray cloaks?" He couldn't believe anyone of sane mind wouldn't cringe at such a thing.

While his sexual preference had caused a slight uproar five years ago when it became public knowledge (some guy just had to gloat that they'd been romantically propositioned by the boy who lived) it hadn't deterred any of his fans, which now had a broader range of admirers, all claiming to be the man or woman of his dreams.

But having your name associated with any nonsense at all was quite hard on one's peace of mind. Even more so when every day or so there was another shot of him with some guy and a headline pronouncing anonymous man to be Harry's one true love. The picture accompanying today's lovely headline was actually one of Harry and Micky Sloan, a fellow auror. They'd been in the break room, conversing over morning coffee and donuts when Tidilias had come in and snapped the picture.

Micky was a nice guy. Well built, healthy, with curly cinnamon hair, and completely straight. He was pretty sure the guy had designs on Hermione.

Thinking of the devil.

"Good morning Harry." Hermione called cheerfully as she entered their shared office. Her hair was clipped back, her face tinged pink. Harry wondered if she'd run all the way to the office. Her eyes sparkled brightly—he knew she'd finally gotten a good nights sleep…well, a rest if anything…bed partners and all, ahem—and he smiled up at her a good morning. Dropping her coat on the chair opposite him she glanced at the paper. "I see Tidi decided you and Sloan make quite the couple."

"Can't imagine why." Harry gave the tabloid a shove, sending it thumping into the trash, no longer interested. He looked up at his best friend, crooked grin in place. Hermione and him, they'd come a long way since their Hogwarts days. The Golden Trio had all gone through auror training after graduation. Harry had been offered the Defense Against the Dark Arts position after he'd finished, but had rejected it. Why exactly…he still wasn't quite sure. It just hadn't felt right. Ron had decided that Britain was too boring a place and had taken after Charlie and Bill. Half the year, if not longer, saw the gangly redhead gallivanting off around the world. His letters, as well as gifts, were quite legendary. After all, he was the brother of Fred and George. They were bound to rub off on him eventually, and eventually seemed to be the moment he was out and away from under the watchful eyes of Mrs. Weasley. And then there was Hermione. While she'd grown out of her awkward bushy-haired stage, while she'd worked her way out of the crush on Ron (and vice versa), Hermione never did grow out of her thirst for knowledge. Thus it had not surprised Harry when, during auror training, she had announced that she was also training to be a healer. Ever the overachiever, their Hermione…but, as a result, she was one of the top healers and even St. Mongo's had been hell bent on having her on their research staff. As it were, both Hermione and Harry had stayed with the Ministry.

Well, only after the change in management.

And speaking of management, it would probably be best for him to listen to Hermione as she spoke.

"Oh and congratulations on your last mission. Another success, I heard. And Dillon wants to see us stat."

"It went well. You still working on WizDNA and Magical Signature Database? That project is sure keeping you lot running." She nodded. "Almost done?" He asked.

"Yes. But there are so many hiccups and corruptions. Not only that but we've had trouble with misplaced signatures, lost ID tags." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I almost wish I was the only one working on it. Merlin knows Scottie has the IQ equivalent of Ron."

"Mind always in the gutter?"

"I don't think it ever leaves. Doesn't make for a very competent employee."

Harry laughed. But it was true. He'd heard, either from a ranting Hermione, or some other pissed off individual, that they'd lost a lot of the magical signatures they had collected. The database had been composed mostly of POW's after the war. Quite like muggle criminal databases. Only they used the magical signature, unique to each wand, Witch, and Wizard, instead of fingerprints which are easy to manipulate. DNA was also collected which, as far as Harry could tell, wasn't much different than the muggle method. He didn't really know too much about it, not being privy to the information, and Hermione signed to silence.

He knew that there was an investigation going on, after all the lost data was logged, it had been decided inside theft was the only logical conclusion.

"Our problems are far from over." Hermione's hand tried to cover a not-so-stifled yawn.

Harry leaned back in his chair, feeling rather smug. "Didn't you get enough sleep last night?"

The woman stifled another yawn, sending Harry the glare of death. "Oh shut up. He didn't stay."

"Chased him off did you?" He said in reference to Hermione's new boyfriend. Well, he wasn't really all that new anymore. Supposing that once you get past the six months mark, you've got to start weighing the idea that this person is indeed sticking.

"I'd tell you all about it, Harry, but my sexual life bores you." She tossed her empty Styrofoam cup into the trash as they exited.

Harry shrugged, in his opinion, five a.m. was a dastardly time to begin the day, but that didn't mean he wasn't up to a little verbal sparring with his best mate. "It doesn't bore me, I just can't seem to relate."

"Ah."

He didn't need to see the brunette to know an eyebrow had risen. "Oh get your head out of the gutter." Harry groaned. "I just meant sex in a relationship."

Hermione's red lips curved into a mocking smile. "Poor Harry, no relationships for you."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"I will."

Smirking Hermione raised that defined eyebrow to an indecent level. "How exactly?"

"I'll glue your ass to a broomstick and send it for a nice non-stop trip 'round London."

Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously. "You had better not so much as consider that. I'll hex your dick off—fair warning."

"Ah, well, my boyfriend would sure dislike that."

Brown eyes made a show of inspected the water-stained tiles of the ceiling, before meeting with laughing green. "What boyfriend."

Harry tried to look indignant. "I'll have one…someday. Once Tidi stops scaring them all away."

"Oh yes, blame it on Tidi. And how were things going between you and Micky?"

Harry paused, holding open their bosses door. He grinned, white teeth flashing. "Smashing, darling, completely smashing."

Their boss was a middle aged (and showing it) man by the name of Dillon Foreign. He liked things big and flashy, and his office décor was a testament to this. However, the man wasn't unreasonable, and had taken a liking to both Harry and Hermione—for reasons other than their accompanying last names. He was a fair man, and Harry was more than relieved that he'd been the one to get the job as Head of Defense.

Dillon greeted his aurors with a wave as he held a muggle telephone to his ear. And not the receiver piece either.

Harry had never taken Dillon to be an idiot, even though the man was indeed a pureblood, he was very knowledgeable in muggle custom and technology. So why was the man talking to the base of an old-style touch tone phone?

"Mhmm. I completely understand. Yes. Yes. Hmm…I suppose not. Yes, I do understand. No. No, we can't have you reinstated. Why? Well, you see…" He glanced up at his two aurors as they sat and held up a finger. "Yes, I know you work perfectly, but…listen phone…I'm sorry I…look, fine, I'll…I'll talk to you later. Yes, I'll try to have you reinstated. Okay, goodbye."

Dillon placed the phone down and pulled out his wand. With a flick of his wrist the annoying object was banished back down to muggle product services. He sighed. Only five o'clock and he was already dealing with, "Misfired spell. Packeridge aimed a strong personality charm at an assistant, hit the telephone. It wants to be put back to use."

"Ah." Was all he got from his top aurors as they made themselves more than comfortable on his plush leather couch.

"Well then. First, I wanted to congratulate you, Harry, on your team's success."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Aw, shucks boss. It was nut'in."

"Don't be a smart ass Potter."

"Yes sir."

Dillon nodded his head approvingly. "Now that we've got our morning underway, I want you two to sign off on this right here." He picked up the contracts and two pens heaving himself up, joints creaking slightly as he moved. He shoved paper and pen into waiting hands and made his was back to his chair.

The two signed.

"What is it?" Harry asked as he finished the not-so-neat scrawl of 'Potter' on the dotted line. The paper glowed faintly and, with a pop, disappeared.

Dillon settled himself down, fingering his wand lightly (out of their sight) as he said his next words carefully. "Your next mission."

Hermione's head jerked to attention. "Harry and I are going to work together? On a mission?" He nodded. "And you just had us sign bonding contracts, before you told us what it was." Her boss nodded once more. "Which makes me inclined to believe this is not an ordinary assignment, sir."

The heavy-set man murmured in agreement. "Always the bright one."

"What sort of assignment would have you tricking us into sighing contracts beforehand?" Harry asked.

"I resent that Harry. I did not trick you, you both neglected to read what you signed, which shows me the absolute trust you both have in me. I'm flattered, but I was also counting on that." His mouth pressed into a crease. "As to what would be bad enough I would have you sign binding contracts..." he turned away from them. "You may come in now."

Dillon inspected his aurors as the man entered, he was rather impressed as they remained seated upon seeing the creature (and yes, he knew that both Harry Potter and Hermione Granger considered this man a creature, he was contemplating the validity of such himself)looking just as stoic as he had earlier this morning.

It was commonly known that, what a Malfoy wants, a Malfoy gets. And this had turned out to be no exception.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me?" Hermione screeched.

Dillon cringed inwardly. This was not going to be easy on the woman.

Polyjuice, Harry thought. Merlin let it be polyjuice. POLYJUICE! It was really Micky, or Sean. There was no way in hell that Draco Malfoy was really standing in his boss's office. There was no way that he'd just signed a contract that had anything to do with the asshole in front of him.

"Granger, this is no joke. And no, Potter, I really am here. You can relieve that one brain cell of yours from the task of maintaining whatever mantra you happened to come up with. Feel free to rejoin those of us with an IQ above that of a common house-elf."

Harry blinked, staring into barred gray eyes. His body temperature dropped a few precious degrees, leaving him pale and cold. Damn it, Malfoy was a fucking prick who just had to show his not-so-ugly face when things were just starting to go right again. And here Harry had just started to believe there was a God.

He glanced at Hermione. They'd come so far.

How was it that someone could disappear for nearly half a decade, finally leaving everyone the hell alone, suddenly decide to show back up again?

He, for one, had not mourned the loss of Draco bloody Malfoy when the prat had dropped off the Earth's face all those years ago.

He hadn't worried over him.

Or given him a second thought since leaving Hogwarts. Had it not been publicized that the Mafoy heir had gone, he probably would never have noticed at all.

"Sit down Mr. Malfoy as I explain to them what is going on."

Hermione's dark brown eyes followed the man as he languidly seated himself. Maybe, she thought, Dillon had been drugged. Maybe he was under the Imperious curse. Maybe…

"Harry? Hermione? Are you two going to need another minute or so?"

Hermione shook herself out of her inner thoughts to glare at the man.

"They're shocked, Foreign, their little bitty brains can't cope with my presence." Draco sneered.

"Mr. Malfoy." Dillon said coldly. "You have enlisted my help. No, rather you demanded it. And you demanded the best. You demanded, by name, Mr. Harry Potter and Ms. Hermione Granger. Now, I know you know of their qualifications, you know that they are the best at what they do. Now let me tell you something. I will not stand by while you insult my Aurors in front of me. Kindly keep your mouth shut."

Harry's state of shock only deepened as the prat complied. No rude comebacks were uttered—a knowing silence filling the room.

"So what exactly is this mission?" Besides a trip to hell, Hermione clamped down as bitterness filled her mouth. It was thick, too thick. Merlin, she felt sick.

"Mr. Malfoy has been receiving threats."

"And this surprises you?" Harry asked, eyebrows rising questioningly.

"It wouldn't be surprising to find he has made enemies wherever he has been these past years." Hermione added.

"Perhaps, but we have reason to believe that these threats are coming from someone the Ministry has been keeping track of. Well, were, until they disappeared last August."

"They?" Harry hunched forward, his hands folding in his lap. "How serious do you think this is? It could be nothing more than a bunch of kids who want to mess around with a big bad wolf."

"Mr. Malfoy believes these threats to be of a more personal nature," He glanced at the unmoving blond, "as they are aimed at his children."

Silence accompanied the declaration. Hermione looked shocked. Dillon knew better than to delve into what exactly she might be thinking…or feeling…and Potter just looked disgusted. Almost smirking himself, Dillon coughed to hide his amusement. Potter's disgust, he could only imagine, was on multiple levels.

Could the floor just open up and swallow him? Harry pleaded with each and every one of the forces that be. Just thinking that there were mini-Malfoy's running around was enough to make him wretch. But aside from the mini-Malfoy's that had materialized in his conscience, Harry swallowed heavily. Threatening to harm children, using them, hurting them. People who could do that, he didn't believe they should even qualify as human, let alone, be given rights.

Green eyes met brown and Harry acknowledged their shared thoughts. He nodded slightly at Hermione's green-tinged skin. His question pointed, are you okay? She shook her head.

Were they ever okay? Harry doubted it. But, they'd have to take care of that later. This wasn't over yet.

"You…reproduced?" Harry managed, rather disgusted that even he couldn't keep the horror of it all from his voice.

"That is usually understood when one says they have children."

"But who…" Hermione started to ask what woman in their right mind would willingly give him a kid, let alone kids.

"That is not the matter at hand, Granger. My children are being threatened. And while I loath to think I've sunk so low as to need yours and Potters assistance, I have done it. To protect my children."

"I still can't really see why this concerns me or Hermione?" Harry looked to his boss.

Dillon pinched the bridge of his nose. Five forty-eight and he was losing his two best aurors to Malfoy for who knew how long. "There was an attempt on the youngest Malfoy's life.

"That is sick." Hermione, though Merlin knew she hated Malfoy, would never sink to attacking a child.

"Given Hermione is correct. I still do not see how this concerns us." Harry stated stubbornly, his arms crossing defensively as Malfoy sneered at him. God that man never changed.

"Mr. Malfoy came to me this morning, and you and Ms. Granger are to be in his service until the threat is neutralized and Mr. Malfoy believes the lives of his children safe."

"So this time line is…"

"Indefinite, yes." Dillon sighed at the twin looks of shock and betrayal he received. "Don't think I came to this decision lightly, you two. I am loosing my two best aurors as well. Who knows when you'll be returning to us."

"So what the fuck am I to do for the next eon, as Malfoy sits around trying to decide if his kids are safe from a vicious letter, while simultaneously making our lives a living hell?"

"You'll be doing whatever it is he says. I am no longer to be held responsible for you. Your wellbeing has been entrusted to Mr. Malfoy. Therefore, he needn't tell me anything." The twin looks of horror did not die, if anything they were now becoming bug-eyed and strained. He hoped they were both remembering to breath between blinks.

"Chocolate?" He held out a bar. "No?" He shrugged. "Here." He handed them two folders. "Review these. And pack up your things. As of noon today you will be residing at Mr. Malfoy's residence." He looked at them expectantly. They remained unresponsive. "Get out." He said kindly, even going so far as to push them out the door.

As it snapped closed, Dillon told the blond exactly where he should go. He'd never liked the Malfoy, agreed full heartedly with both Harry and Hermione and was sorrier beyond sorry that he'd had to bind them to Malfoy.

"You're a right bastard."

Draco looked over the man coolly, "I'll be back." Disappearing without a goodbye.

Dillon Foreign shook his head and groaned. "Too soon. Too soon."

Damn them all to hell.

Damn each and every D-named person! Damn all them with the last fucking name Malfoy as well—and while he was at it, damn them a few more times for the fucking hell of it.

Harry threw the file his boss had handed him a few short minutes ago onto his desk. It opened, the information—a nice collage of names and pictures—spilling out. He sat down with a huff and wondered just how many people he could damn to the depths of a fire laced pit. Would his influence as boy-who-lived stretch that far? Never mind. He'd make a list anyway.

He'd never been more upset in his life, Merlin how could this be happening. Malfoy! Bloody git. Why couldn't he just stay missing? He'd been happy, obviously if children had resulted. Why the fuck come back? Harry knew he wouldn't have, if placed in the situation.

But…

He urged the file and all its papers to spontaneously ignite—give him a pretty show full of dancing blue flame and ash and destruction. He'd cackle too, just for dramatic effect.

He was sorely disappointed. Instead he grabbed quill and paper and began to make that aforementioned list.

Damn Dean Thomas, Harry wrote the name in curving script, watching the letters form…he suddenly caught sight of a smirking and taunting picture. "Malfoy!" Harry hissed and made a mad grab for the paper on which was featured Draco Malfoy. Harry balled the paper in furry and tossed it towards the trash—missing.

Harry's hand gripped the quill once more. Damn Dolores Umbridge! Damn Dillon Foreign. Damn Dudley and Petunia Dursely. Damn Vernon Dursely too.

The quill tip paused. Who else did he know whose names started with a 'D'? He wracked his brain fruitlessly and instead turned to damning those who were unlucky enough to be called Malfoy.

Damn Draco Malfoy! Harry's quill snapped, spraying ink over his beautiful list.

Well then, he thought, he'd just continue the list mentally. Take that you stupid quill!

He reached for the folder and removed the remaining papers. He almost gagged at the miniature Draco that greeted him. Albeit this one was smiling and looking rather cute, it didn't matter though, he was a Malfoy! He was damned.

The moment passed where Harry felt a maniacal bout of cackling would have been rather appropriate.

He set aside Damien Malfoy's page, only to be assaulted by a female version of the former.

Ha ha! Harry wondered if he'd lost his mind all a sudden. Was he sadistic for wishing these kids, and Malfoy, would all take the nice trip to all seven hells? He'd spare no expense. Really, who could resist? But it didn't matter. Mind or no mind, Harry was damning Drackella Malfoy.

And Dorian Malfoy!

And Draconilla Malfoy!

Harry paused amongst all his damning. What the hell was Malfoy's problem? Why the fuck hadn't he just called them Draco One, Two, Three, and Four?

Perhaps he wasn't the sick one, after all. What maniac named there kids Drackella and Draconilla? That had all the telltale signs of a raving lunatic.

Maybe he'd provide Malfoy the name of a nice ward. One for inbred pureblood wizards so that he would feel at home.

Of course it wasn't the kids' fault their father had gone round the bend, Harry thought as a momentary tinge of guilt passed through him.

And therein he found he needed to curse Malfoy once more.

Poor Damien, Drackella, Dorian, and Draconilla, Harry thought. Their father really was off his silver-engraved rocker.

But it was because of them that he was being forced into this situation.

Damn. This was a never ending circle!

"Fuck me." Harry moaned.

"You'd hex me later." Hermione mumbled.

Harry glanced up. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"That's okay, you looked, err…deep in thought."

"Have you looked through this?" He gestured to the scattered contents of his folder.

Hermione nodded and sheepishly held up her own folder.

Harry's eyes alit with glee. "I so love you Hermione. I was thinking it. But…wow…"

Guilty as charged, Hermione blushed. "I got a little, um, overheated, while I ranted in the ladies room."

The folder, once a pristine manila, was now singed and blackened. Was that a trail of smoke he saw emanating from the left corner?

"Accidental burst of magic. You haven't had one of those in ages."

"I know. I think I'll kill Malfoy. I swear to Merlin, I'm going to make him pay for this."

Harry tried not to encourage this behavior. It wasn't healthy for Hermione—and he knew that she didn't want to have to undergo even one more hour therapy.

"We were both just getting back to normal." Hermione slumped, defeated, into her chair.

Harry glanced at his list, and knew he'd done more than regress. "I think, we should both just come to the conclusion that normal doesn't apply to us. Now, or ever."

"I have. That…" she sighed, her voice soft. "I'm just tired and we have to pack."

The two didn't talk as they packed their things. There wasn't much as they always had their belongings ready to go. Missions cropped up, and most of the time you hadn't the time to pop back home. It was more a re-organizing of the items, a way to pass time.

A knock broke through the silence.

Hermione, who was closer to the door, opened it and groaned.

"Ms. Granger, I see you are happy to see me."

"Thrilled."

Harry knew that voice and he fervently wished his office had a window. He was pretty sure that if it had, he'd be nothing more than a spot on the street below by now. That voice drove him into painful memories and he had to work hard to keep his walls, so carefully constructed, up.

"Mr. Potter. How nice it is to see you as well." Mr. Shower was an unpleasant man. He was also a psychiatrist. Enough said.

Two hours later, Hermione and Harry collapsed on their shared floral couch.

"I can't fucking believe he called Mr. Shower to give us a farewell session!"

"Cruel and unusual punishment. He's trying to show us he's boss." Harry groaned. It had become evident, quite soon, that Mr. Shower's pockets were laced with Malfoy coin.

"I am going to kill myself." Hermione moaned. Harry nodded in agreement before sitting up excitedly.

"What, what is it?"

Green eyes widened, hope filling them. "You are brilliant Hermione!"

"I am?" Hermione asked as Harry ran out of their office.

"Oh be a big boy, Harry."

"Are you implying that I'm acting childish?"

"Yes, yes you are!" Dillon Foreign was at his wits end. "Your fears are unfounded and not befitting a twenty-five year old auror."

"Oh wait! I've been mistaken, all these years. I've been living under the assumption that Malfoy really wanted to kill me when he pointed his wand and hissed off hexes that Merlin knows should have killed me. But, I was mistaken! He was just trying to give me a pedicure!"

"Now you are being nothing short of ridiculous." Foreign shuffled the papers in his hand. Back to front, front to back—looking anywhere but at the angry Harry Potter.

One he was more than familiar with.

As was every other auror in the British Ministry.

"I didn't mean it when I said I disliked your tie last Friday."

Dillon tried not to snicker. "You're forgiven. But you are still going."

"Please!"

"No."

"I'll beg."

"No."

"Work extra hours?"

"You already do. Now Harry…"

"I'll paint your fucking house!"

Foreign smiled. "Harry…" He was going to regret this. "Maybe he's changed." Oh yes, he regretted that.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY? He's changed. Fuck me, yeah he's changed. He's grown up, became everything his father wanted him to be and more. He's rich and powerful and he's got you under his thumb. Aside from that, however, it is only a slightly more impressive version of what I suffered with through school!" Perched on the edge of madness, Harry did not care that he was no longer being rational. "Possibly if I could just forget all those years…I could learn to like Malfoy." Harry thought for a moment. "Perhaps if I underwent a massive brain hemorrhage. No, not even that could make me agree to this!"

Dillon Foreign cocked his head to the side. "There isn't any need for agreeing Harry. You and Ms. Granger are going. I'm sorry if I gave you the false impression that either of you had a choice in the matter."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You would force us? Even if we hadn't idiotically signed those contracts?"

"If the case were not so critical, Harry, you know I'd rather keep both you and Hermione here—where you could continue with your current work. But as of six this morning, you and Ms. Granger are employed by Draco Malfoy. You will both be there to protect him and his children."

"Little spawns of hell that they are." Harry muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind. Tell me again why I have to do this?"

"Aside from the fact that you signed a binding contract?"

Harry cringed. "Yes!"

"Threats have been made as you were told this morning."

"So get a nice, beefy, body man."

"I've been told that the head Malfoy prefers his men lean."

Dillon snickered at his own joke as Harry gaped.

"Malfoy has specifically asked for Ms. Granger and you. Again, as you were told this morning."

"Asked?"

Dillon moved his head from side in a nonchalant manner. "Demanded. As you already know. Is there going to be a point to this, Harry?"

"That's the Malfoy we all love and know!" Harry smirked with mock enthusiasm, ignoring Dillon's question.

"Harry. I hope you've packed."

"He'll kill me." Harry stated.

"I doubt it."

"He will. It's Draco Fucking Malfoy! How do you know he isn't planning to kill me and Hermione? What assurances do you have?"

Dillon laced his fingers, leaning his form over the desk, he sighed, giving up. "Do you think that is a viable concern Harry?"

"Yes." Harry hissed, of course he thought it was a viable concern. The wanker had tried to kill him during their school days.

"Well then…" Dillon leaned back, his fingers forming a steeple, he caught Harry's eyes. "Would you prefer to be buried, or would you rather opt for cremation?"