Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. Belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, etc. and no copyright infringement is intended. Myfanwy and Daffyd of Little Britain are the creation of Matt Lucas and David Walliams, copyright BBC.

Author's Notes: Written pre-DH, so technically AU. Big thanks to my LJ friends starrysummer, silentauror and lauriegilbert for the help and beta work. This story is COMPLETED, but will be posted over a short period of time. No need to beg for further chapters or wonder when it will be done :D

There were certain things in life that were expected; the fall of the leaves in autumn, the screams of a child for its mother, the crackle of a roaring fire - and then of course, there was Harry Potter's inescapably bad luck.

There were the more obvious strokes against his luck in life, his early orphaning and the 17 year long Voldemort debacle, to name but a few. But as far as Harry was concerned, it wasn't life itself he was a loser in, no. It was more his love life in particular, or lack thereof.

His fascination with Cho Chang had ended almost as soon as their relationship had begun, and his subsequent month long almost-but-not-quite relationship with Ginny Weasley had convinced Harry that a relationship with anyone, especially women, was a bad idea until the whole Voldemort situation (and his raging hormones) was under control. And yet, somewhere between the calamity with Cho, the intense relationship with Ginny (which he had briefly revisited about halfway through the war, to the same messy end) and defeating Voldemort, Harry had developed a somewhat misguided interest in Draco Malfoy. Well, he'd developed a somewhat misguided interest in men in general, really. But Draco Malfoy was on the top of that list.

Now, six years later, though the world was blissfully Voldemort-free, Harry was not yet rid of his problem (though he had, at least, experimented with a few blokes), and was left with almost daily reminders of the object of his affection.

Former Death Eater arrested for possession of Dark materials, 2nd term in Azkaban may follow
By Draco Malfoy
Daily Prophet Staff

LONDON – Gregory Goyle Sr., former member of the Dark Lord Voldemort's inner circle, was arrested yesterday in London after Aurors found several illegal items in the man's London home.

The arrest comes hot on the heels of Mr. Goyle's release from Azkaban prison last June. Goyle served a four year term in prison after cutting a deal with prosecutors following the Dark Lord's defeat by the great Harry Potter six years ago.

Aurors used information from Goyle to indict and convict several other members of Voldemort's inner-circle, some of whom were responsible for the seizure of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the subsequent execution of several students.

Aurors are, at this time, not releasing information as to what items were found in Goyle's possession or what the Ministry intends to do with him. Mr. Goyle will be arraigned on Tuesday.

Harry groaned and set down that morning's issue of The Daily Prophet, pushing Draco Malfoy's smirking visage away as it simpered coyly from the mug credit that accompanied the front page article. The Slytherin had started working for the paper almost immediately after school's end, using his presence at the seizure of Hogwarts (dubbed Operation Sleeping Dragon by the media) and his knowledge of his father's former cronies to pen exclusive pieces that were emblazoned across the front pages of the Prophet for months after Voldemort's defeat. Pretty soon, Harry's former nemesis-turned-love-interest was the star reporter at the Prophet, known for blowing the whistle on corruption at the Ministry or in the Quidditch League when his Death Eater beat died down.

A year after starting work there, he used his family fortune to buy out the paper, becoming the youngest publisher in the Wizarding World. Draco, of course, played the humble millionaire and insisted on staying with the job that he started, staying a reporter, but still managed to keep the editor firmly under his thumb in terms of running the newspaper exactly the way he wanted. He put the vile Rita Skeeter out of a job and replaced The Prophet's exaggerated, tabloid style with a more sophisticated, hard news edge.

And, of course, he started an offshoot of the Prophet, The Wizard Herald that covered all the splashier headlines and supplemented the faction of Prophet readers who actually wanted to read a gossip rag every morning. Malfoy was a true businessman.

Harry, meanwhile, predictably entered Auror Academy after the Second Great War, finishing a record two years ahead of his fellow Operation Sleeping Dragon (OSD) survivors, and entered the workforce after only a year of training. The Ministry officials reckoned that taking down the greatest Dark Wizard of the age was enough training to chase after the occasional Dark wizard carrying a bit of contraband.

Whenever any former Death Eaters did pop up, however, it was Harry's job to take care of them. He was a senior officer on Kingsley Shacklebolt's Death Eater Taskforce, the DET for short. Heaving a great sigh and taking one last bite of his toast, Harry got up from the kitchen table and grabbed his briefcase. He'd better get to the office soon – there would be a lot of shit to deal with when he got there.

Harry swept out of the lift, walking toward Auror Headquarters with swift, confident strides. Walking into the office, he found his cubicle quickly and set down his briefcase and coffee, reaching over to his tack board to retrieve his messages.

"Harry, so nice of you to join us," a smug voice came up behind him and Harry turned, rolling his eyes at the speaker.

"Zacharias, good morning. Nice to see you, too," He intoned sarcastically.

"You're late, Potter."

"I am not," Harry huffed indignantly, checking his Muggle watch, which read 9:45 a.m.

"You are, considering all the shit we've been dealing with this morning. Prophet's got a story about Goyle on the front page this morning, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, is causing a bit of a problem."

"I know; I saw it." Harry sighed, taking a slug of his coffee.

"Yeah, well, we're fucked. No one was supposed to know we have him in custody, and now that bloody ponce Malfoy's telling the whole world we've arrested him."

"It's better than the truth," Harry offered.

Zacharias took his hands off his hips, gesturing angrily. "What? That we've taken him into protective custody? They shouldn't know we have him at all. So how the fuck did Malfoy find out?"

Harry shrugged. "He's got sources, I guess. Last I checked, he was sleeping with Morag, maybe she told him."

Zacharias shook his head. "Doesn't have the clearance. Only people who know about this are you, me and a few others from the DET. Must've had one of his rats sneaking around. Fuckin' reporters."

"Yeah, fuckin' reporters." Harry smiled weakly, trying to drum up a hatred of the media to match Zacharias's, but found himself at a loss. He actually didn't mind the new Prophet. Though they sometimes got their details wrong (which usually had more to do with the Ministry purposely releasing false information to throw the public off), The Prophet under Malfoy's ownership was, by far, a better paper. It refrained, for the most part, from printing outright gossip, and Harry was more than pleased not to find himself the subject of a front-page romance scandal, as he'd been prone to in the past. Even the Herald had been going easy on him of late, so Harry could hardly bear Malfoy and the papers any ill-will.

Harry busied himself with his messages, answering an invitation from Ron to join him and Hermione for dinner later in the week and confirming a meeting with Arthur, who'd been Minister of Magic ever since Rufus Scrimgeour had been assassinated at Bellatrix Lestrange's trial. Everything seemed to have worked out for everyone but him.

Hermione and Ron were having their third child in March, Arthur was using his influence to temper anti-Muggle bigotry in the Wizarding world and even Professor Lupin was happy, having been restored his position as DADA professor three years ago. This, after the harsh laws impeding werewolves from gaining steady employment were done away with (in large part due to Hermione's pestering her father-in-law until he had the laws changed). He had even found love with Professor Snape of all people, a development that had, in particular, made Harry rather unhappy about his chronically single state. When even Professor Snape could find love, and with a bloke to boot, it was obvious Harry had a problem. He seemed doomed to being a bachelor and it made him feel altogether sad and inadequate.

"Potter!"

Harry was jerked out of his reverie by Kinsley Shacklebolt's booming voice.

"Potter, Smith – I need you downtown now. Another body's been discovered. We don't know who it is, but we've a pretty good idea what we'll find," Shacklebolt intoned.

Kingsley gave them a curt nod before sweeping back to his office.

"Right," Harry said, standing and turning to Zacharias. "Let's go."

Zacharias and Harry arrived at the scene two minutes later by Apparition, popping into the middle of a dilapidated room, sparsely furnished and inhabited by dust motes that swirled about on the streams of light breaking through cracked and broken shutters.

"Ugh," Harry muttered under his breath, kicking at the carcass of a deceased rat. "Somebody really lived here?"

"Don't know," Zacharias answered with a shrug. "Kingsley said they'd found the body here. Didn't say it was the body's home."

"Nice." Harry looked at his surrounding disparagingly. It was even worse than the Shrieking Shack.

They moved into the next room, looking for the dead body. They found it in the corner, hidden by the shadows. The man lay, sprawled on his back, eyes staring blankly at the splintering ceiling above.

"Ugh, couldn't someone take care of that?" Zacharias said disgustedly, indicating the lifeless eyes. "Fuck, I hate being on body duty."

Harry shrugged and knelt beside the prone figure, drawing his wand from his side pocket and muttering a few incantations.

Zacharias had a mouth like a bloody sewer, but Harry was stuck with him as a partner and that was that. What Harry had once seen in him, he didn't know, but after making a drunken pass at him a year earlier and being horrifically rebuffed, Harry was over it. Thank God he was able to pass it off as a drunken mistake, blaming Zacharias' long, curly hair, which was just like a girl's, or so he'd said. Zacharias got a hair cut the next day, and had never mentioned Harry's proclivities, or what they may be, again.

"Looks like a simple Avada Kadavra," Harry declared a minute later. "And he must not have been expecting it, what with his eyes being open with shock and all. Must have known the person who did it."

"That sounds just like speculation to me. Who is he, anyway?"

"Theodore Nott," Harry pronounced, standing up. "He was our year, in Slytherin. Turned informant at the end of the war."

"Then it's another targeted killing?"

"Looks like." Harry sighed. He knew what this meant. "We have to go for Malfoy."

"That poufter? Why bother? He has enough bodyguards to protect him, and I'd rather not have to deal with the little wanker," Zacharias spat.

"Bodyguards or not, he's in serious danger. We can't leave him unprotected."

Zacharias threw him a look.

"What? I don't like it any more than you do, but you know what Kinglsey said…"

"Right, right – protecting the innocent, blah blah blah," Zacharias rolled his eyes. "Well, then let's take care of this bastard and go see the prat."

Harry nodded solemnly and shook his head. This was not going to be fun.

The Daily Prophet's offices were an interior designer's wet dream: everything was modern and minimalist, and a brand new computer sat at every desk (how someone had talked Malfoy into using computers, Harry didn't know). Malfoy must have increased the salary of every person working there when he bought the paper, because all the employees were dressed to the nines, and several women, including the receptionist, looked down their noses at Harry when he and Zacharias walked in. Harry scuffed his dirt-encrusted trainers on the recently buffed hardwood floors and pulled self-consciously at his poorly fitted smoking jacket. He really shouldn't have let Molly pick out his entire wardrobe. He looked like a used car salesman.

"Mr. Malfoy's office is this way, if you'll follow me, please," said the receptionist, who looked as if she hadn't eaten anything for a week and had recently been sucking on a lemon, her expression was so sour.

She led them past a sea of desks, arranged in an open plan style with offices lining the pit on three sides. All the offices had frosted glass floor to ceiling windows and equally transparent and frosted glass doors. It looked as though Malfoy was trying far too hard to pretend that everybody was equal, open and welcome anytime.

They finally came to Malfoy's office, undoubtedly the one with the best view, and Zacharias pushed his way in ahead of Harry, snarking at Malfoy before his feet crossed the threshold.

"So do all the star reporters get a cushy office, or just the ones who own the paper?"

"Well, hello to you too, Mr. Smith," Malfoy intoned, false enthusiasm dripping. "And Harry Potter! What a pleasure to see you both."

Harry hovered near the door, inclining his head in Malfoy's direction as a form of greeting, while Zacharias barrelled forward and plopped down in the chair that faced Malfoy's desk.

"Oh, likewise, Malfoy," Zacharias countered nastily.

"What brings you here? I'm afraid I'm working on deadline, so you'll have to make it quick."

"We do this in our own time, you nasty little -"

Harry cut him off, looking at Malfoy for the first time since they entered the office. "We need to take you into protective custody."

Malfoy returned his gaze, and Harry thought he felt his insides melt. "Absolutely not."

"You're in danger."

"I'm always in danger, you half-wit," Malfoy sneered. "What makes today different from any other day in the last six years? I'm just fine where I am, thank you."

Harry continued, having since moved to Malfoy's desk so he could keep Zacharias from opening his big mouth and saying something inappropriate. "Greg Goyle's been receiving death threats. And who knows what Theodore Nott received, not that it matters a whit to him seeing as he's dead."

Malfoy seemed surprised, but remained stoic. "Nott is dead? And I take it then that Goyle wasn't arrested."

"Nope, taken into protective custody. And that's off the record." Harry threw Malfoy a pointed look. Malfoy frowned and muttered something that sounded like "arse" under his breath. Harry continued. "Someone is targeting former Death Eater informants, and you're at the top of that list, Malfoy."

"I don't care," Malfoy retorted. "You're not taking me anywhere, nor will I have you dogging my steps every second. The press report about the press too, you know, and the last thing I need is to have my business splashed all over Page 4 of The Wizard Chronicle. In fact, your visit alone will raise a few eyebrows and, frankly, I'm sick of looking at your ugly clothing, Potter, so do leave."

Harry frowned and pulled Zacharias out of his chair and out of the office before he could say anything nasty.

The next day, Theodore Nott's obituary appeared on the front page of The Daily Prophet. Three nights later, Harry received an owl from Malfoy. It read:

Potter,

All right, you bloody win.

- Malfoy

P.S. Was attacked in my home tonight, in case that wasn't obvious.

Harry Floo-called Zacharias and Kingsley and they were at Malfoy's London flat within three minutes.

A house-elf greeted them at the door and led them through a posh entrance hall to an even posher living room. Whereas the Prophet's looks had been ultra modern and lacking in personality, Malfoy's home was all antique furniture, original wood floors and beautiful tapestries that screamed "a bachelor with extremely good taste and an excess of cash lives here."

As Harry seated himself on a silk upholstered love seat, he wondered if Malfoy had ever fooled around with anyone on it. The very thought made him flush all over and he crossed his legs artfully, just in case his train of thought veered any further off course. The last thing he wanted was his partner, boss and former arch rival seeing him with a hard on.

Said former arch rival-turned-object of Harry's affection waltzed in a minute later, dressed impeccably in crisp black trousers and a silk button-down plum-hued shirt, despite the fact that it was half four in the morning.

"Wow, Potter, why didn't you just bring along the entire department while you were at it?" Malfoy said as he surveyed the three men seated in his drawing room.

"You said you'd been attacked. I thought that warranted more than one Auror."

"It amazes me you were able to see beyond that annoying hero complex of yours. I expected you to come bursting through the doors, all by your little lonesome."

Kingsley cleared his throat and spoke. "As amusing as I find this banter, Mr. Malfoy, we're here on the very serious business of your being attacked. If you would, please sit down and give us the details of the incident."

Malfoy sat himself down on an armchair across from the other three men and crossed his hands over his chest smugly.

"I awoke when someone tried to get past the wards on my bedroom. I went to investigate, and before I could throw even a Stupefy in their direction, they had Apparated. That's it."

"You have separate wards on your bedroom?" Harry questioned, torn between amusement and morbid curiosity about what Malfoy could possibly get up to in his bedroom that warranted separate wards.

"Yes, Potter, I do," Malfoy smirked. "You know, one is most likely to be attacked while sleeping, so I've taken extra precautions."

Zacharias snorted derisively. "Sure it wasn't one of your lovers you scared off, Malfoy? I've heard you have plenty."

"Who I do or do not entertain in the privacy of my own bedroom is none of your business, Smith."

"Oooh, touchy!"

"Gentlemen!" Kingsley boomed. "Mr. Malfoy, did you see your would-be attacker?"

"No," Malfoy huffed. "It was dark and I didn't want to bring any unnecessary attention to myself by turning on the lights."

"Not a bad idea, Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley nodded sagely. "If you'd said a Lumos, you might have found yourself on the other end of an Avada Kedavra. And informing us right away was the right thing to do. Now, I believe Mr. Potter has some ideas about your protective duty." Kingsley nodded to Harry to take over.

"Oh, um, yes. We don't think it would be the best idea to keep you in London at one of our facilities. You're too high-profile and it would seem like the most obvious choice to keep you in Wizarding London."

"I don't like the sound of this," Malfoy frowned. "Get on with it."

Smith made a small sound in his throat that sounded to Harry like something halfway between a laugh and a snarl. Harry shot him a look and continued.

"We'll be taking you to an undisclosed location outside of the city. Only Zacharias, myself and Kingsley will know our location, so you'll be completely safe."

"Unless one of you is the one trying to kill me," Malfoy said dryly.

Zacharias looked like he was seriously considering it. Malfoy continued.

"And 'our' location? Who, may I ask, is going with me?"

Harry looked to Zacharias, who was gritting his teeth, and Kingsley, who had a small smile on his lips. It was obvious what he had to do.

"I am," he answered.

Malfoy simply rolled his eyes.

"A cottage, Potter? A Welsh cottage?" Malfoy flailed his arms about a bit and looked cross.

Harry had gathered a few things from home, gone back to Malfoy's flat and then they'd taken a Portkey to the safe house around five a.m. that morning. Now he was being subjected to an earful from his reluctant companion.

Malfoy continued his tirade. "We couldn't at least hole up in an abandoned castle or something? My family has quite a bit of property up north, and -"

Harry interrupted him: "The point is to keep you hidden, not give you a private holiday where any number of former Death Eaters can pay you a visit anytime. We need to be discreet."

"Well, it's certainly discreet. We'll need to use a bit of magic to spruce up the place, of course. Install some state-of-the-art features -"

"We're not using any magic."

"WHAT?!"

"What part of 'discreet' didn't you get?" Harry questioned, annoyed. Was Malfoy an idiot, or was he doing this just to annoy him? He sighed. "You and I have very distinctive magical signatures. It would take any half-way decent wizard about an hour to trace us."

"You're crazy! They've landed me with the loony Auror. I demand a replacement and another location."

"What? You want to spend the next few weeks with Zacharias? You may not like me, Malfoy, but I assure you that Smith will give you a much harder time of it than I would."

Malfoy huffed and surveyed his surroundings.

The cottage was quaint, set back away off the country road, smelled like slightly rotted cabbage and appeared to have been decorated by either Harry's old neighbour Mrs. Figg or by Delores Umbridge, if all the porcelain, ruffles and kitten motifs were anything to go by. There was one large living room/dining room combination with a kitchen behind it, and two small rooms and a bathroom upstairs.

"Can we at least spell the smell away?" Malfoy asked, apparently resigned to his situation.

"No, but we can open the windows and buy some air freshener at the supermarket this afternoon."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes to slits. "And how long are you going to keep me here?"

"As long as it takes Zacharias and Kingsley to figure out who's threatening your life." Harry shrugged. "Could be a few weeks, could be a few months."

"I am not living up some cosy gay fantasy of yours for a fewmonths Potter. I, unlike you, have a business to run."

Harry blushed, but managed to stomach the urge to jump behind the couch and hide by snarking back. "That's the beauty of your humble nature, Malfoy. You're still just a reporter, not the editor-in-chief, remember? You set everything up to look like everyone else was still in charge. So it looks like everyone else is in charge."

"Damn it."

"Look on the bright side, Malfoy. We have all the greatest Muggle amenities: television, DVD player, the internet."

Malfoy looked at Harry like he was a crazy person.

"You don't think we should use magic, but it's okay to use the internet?"

"That's the beautiful thing about bigoted pure blood wizards who are trying to kill you," Harry grinned. "They have no idea how to do an IP trace."

TBC...