sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-15 03:31 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-15 03:31 pm
Entry tags:
Wolves At The Door; HP/LPW crossover, G
Title: Wolves at the Door
Genre: Lord Peter/Harry Potter crossover of sorts.
Summary: When Auror Investigator Potter's hands are legally tied in the case of an Oxford professor accused of murder, the elegant and inquisitive Draco Malfoy is asked to investigate. Towing his faithful manservant Weasley along behind him, he leaves his comfortable flat in Sosh Alley to venture into the wilds of academia and determine whether Professor Lupin really is capable of murder during the full moon.
Warnings: None.
Notes: "In a way, I blame blythely for this, because it's the sort of idea she would usually come up with." That was the original note that came attached to this fic, which was never archived at Storyteller but was recovered in my post-Hack excavations. It's not complete, nor will it be completed; it's just a vignette, meant to entertain. Enjoy :)
First posted 4.20.2005
***
Draco Malfoy's flat was located on the stylish side of Sosh Alley, overlooking the vast green expanse of Unne Commons, and it had much to recommend it; high ceilings, tall windows, a splendid view, and rich furnishings in the art deco style -- the tasteful one, not the horribly common art deco found in tourist hotels and casinos.
The lord and master of the spacious flat was, of an early morning, inclined to be in the library, playing the antique harpsichord that Weasley had found and brought home for him a year or two ago. Weasley himself was seeing to the accounts with the housekeeper, keeping one ear cocked in case he should be needed, even though those days were pretty much long past.
Draco had suffered what the English, with their usual understatement, call "a bad knock" during the second war; was crucio'd within an inch of his life, in fact, while doing some skillful if rather reckless intelligence for the Order. He'd kept on, which everyone said was brave of him, until the war was over, and then promptly suffered a nervous collapse that kept him confined to a room in good old Grimmauld Place until Weasley finished his own mop-up assignments and came to fetch him. He didn't know how Weasley had wrangled the flat, considering how few people of really good society he knew in those days, but somehow he had.
Ron Weasley had also turned out to be a decent cook, an excellent judge of style, and an adept at running a household; Draco kept him on as an employee, and let him pay himself whatever he thought he was worth. During the war they'd got on all right once they were on the same side, and after they were established in the roles of master and manservant they got on even better. Draco was bossed within an inch of his life and Weasley was condescended to after the manner of these things.
He was playing Scarlatti, with less vigour than it deserved, when Weasley appeared in the doorway and announced that Harry Potter had come to see him, and was he at home?
Draco assented that he was, so long as Mr. Potter did not mind seeing him in his dressing-gown.
A few moments later, Harry strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking somewhat morose.
"Potter old chap. Have a seat," Draco said, waving at the divan near the harpsichord. "Have you had breakfast? Weasley can fix you up something, if you like."
"No, thanks," Harry replied. "Just come from breakfast with Dumbledore."
"Still creaking about, is he?"
"Spends most of his time at his club in Hogsmeade, sleeping under the guise of reading a newspaper. Professor Snape's taken over the running of the school, had you heard?"
"Yes, I was back for the Old Boys Quidditch match. You were missed, rather sorely."
"Ah, I was in Paris."
"Gadding about frivolously, no doubt."
"Less frivolously than you were, Malfoy. I was chasing down the Owl Post Strangler."
"Oh?" Draco asked, languidly. "It wasn't that English fellow you collared, then?"
Harry flushed a little. "No. But he'd done some other...less than upstanding things, so it's not as though we captured and interrogated an entirely innocent man."
"Show me ten innocent men in all the city," Draco murmured.
"What?"
"And you Muggle-raised!"
Harry looked obstinate. An advanced degree in Muggle Studies had put a lot of things in perspective for Draco, and also given him a ridiculously wide variety of literary quotations for any occasion. This often annoyed Harry, seeing as Draco still didn't look on Muggles as Quite Proper. Interesting to study, with some funny ideas, but not really Our Sort of People. And yet he could quote them more thoroughly than Harry himself.
"I take it you have not come by to taunt me in my apathy and relay your adventures in Paris?" Draco continued.
"Not exactly, no. You see, there's been some...upset."
Draco leaned forward. "Upset?"
"Yes, well, some attacks and one murder, at Oxford and in the surrounding areas. On the full moons."
"Werewolf?"
"That's what people are saying, but the only admitted werewolf in the area is..."
Draco let out a low whistle. "Jolly old Professor Lupin."
Harry nodded. "We're sure it isn't him, of course -- "
"I'm not. Always was an irresponsible blighter." Draco sighed at Harry's remonstrative look. "All right, I doubt he'd intentionally kill anyone, but you can't deny he hasn't exactly been forthright in the past."
"It doesn't matter, though! Black swears he's been locked up in his room for every full moon since last Christmas."
"Yes, well, Black," Draco said, even more contemptuously. Sirius Black was a distant cousin on his mother's side, and the requisite blot on the family 'scutcheon for his generation. Being comfirmedly unmarriageable and a bit of a scoundrel, he'd taken up rooms with Lupin when the Professor got his tenure at Oxford, and the two lived together in domestic bachelorhood that no woman, however hard they might try (and many had) could crack.
"So while I was in Paris where they jolly well knew I couldn't do anything, Creevey up and quodded him."
"Seems an easy enough solution; keep him in prison until the next full moon and when the attacks don't stop, you know it isn't the Professor."
"That's just the problem. They did stop. The full moon was two days ago."
Draco shook his head. "Looks rather grim for old Lupin, doesn't it."
"That's why I'm here."
"I'm not following, Potter."
"My hands are tied. There's only so much I can do as an Auror and it's legally impossible for me to conduct an investigation amongst Muggles while undercover; it just isn't allowed. The Muggle police refuse to do anything, and anything I do is only going to get Lupin into more trouble. I'm sure he didn't do it, Draco, but I can't prove it. I know you did some excellent work when Creevey botched the Stilton case -- "
"Any fool could see a teakettle of that low quality couldn't possibly have sat on the stove for that long without scorching and falling apart," Draco burst out, still aggrieved that Creevey had ignored his observations until after three people had nearly been poisoned.
"Which is why I want you to investigate it. On the quiet," Harry said. "You know how to ask questions and you're familiar with procedure and you lie like no-one I've met in my entire life. Besides, Weasley told me you're becoming a recluse again. Get you out in the open air a bit."
"Weasley needs to dock his pay for not keeping his mouth shut," Draco grumbled. "Harry, you have considered the idea that Lupin might have done it?"
"If that's what you find," Harry said stiffly, "We will follow the letter of the law."
"But you're certain it isn't him."
"I am."
"And not just because you're fond of him."
Harry frowned. "Well, I am, you know. He's been awfully good to me and Black's terribly attached to him. But it just doesn't make sense."
"Oh?"
"Listen, I'll leave you a copy of the case-file and you can decide for yourself. If you don't want to take it up, toss it in the fire and tell me to go to hell, but you'll be taking a hand in condemning an innocent man to Azkaban."
"All right, Potter, there's no need to preach to the choirboy." Draco held out a long-fingered, elegant hand to accept the file. "I'll take it, and I won't even look at the file first, how's that?"
"Thanks," Harry answered. "Shall I leave you to it, then?"
"Run along, Auror me lad, and play in London's great big sandbox. You'll hear from me if I need anything."
Harry took his leave and Draco leaned back in his chair, thumbing slowly through the report. After a while, he reached out and rang for Weasley. "I think we'll be driving to Oxford this afternoon; bring your camera, and a new parchment scroll labeled 'Lupin'," he said absently. "And call our friend Lovegood at the Prophet and ask her to send up a dossier of the newspaper articles on the attacks. Promise her dinner at the club and tell her I'd call and make love to her myself but I'm indisposed."
Weasley, with just a hint of a smile, departed to make the proper arrangements.
Genre: Lord Peter/Harry Potter crossover of sorts.
Summary: When Auror Investigator Potter's hands are legally tied in the case of an Oxford professor accused of murder, the elegant and inquisitive Draco Malfoy is asked to investigate. Towing his faithful manservant Weasley along behind him, he leaves his comfortable flat in Sosh Alley to venture into the wilds of academia and determine whether Professor Lupin really is capable of murder during the full moon.
Warnings: None.
Notes: "In a way, I blame blythely for this, because it's the sort of idea she would usually come up with." That was the original note that came attached to this fic, which was never archived at Storyteller but was recovered in my post-Hack excavations. It's not complete, nor will it be completed; it's just a vignette, meant to entertain. Enjoy :)
First posted 4.20.2005
***
Draco Malfoy's flat was located on the stylish side of Sosh Alley, overlooking the vast green expanse of Unne Commons, and it had much to recommend it; high ceilings, tall windows, a splendid view, and rich furnishings in the art deco style -- the tasteful one, not the horribly common art deco found in tourist hotels and casinos.
The lord and master of the spacious flat was, of an early morning, inclined to be in the library, playing the antique harpsichord that Weasley had found and brought home for him a year or two ago. Weasley himself was seeing to the accounts with the housekeeper, keeping one ear cocked in case he should be needed, even though those days were pretty much long past.
Draco had suffered what the English, with their usual understatement, call "a bad knock" during the second war; was crucio'd within an inch of his life, in fact, while doing some skillful if rather reckless intelligence for the Order. He'd kept on, which everyone said was brave of him, until the war was over, and then promptly suffered a nervous collapse that kept him confined to a room in good old Grimmauld Place until Weasley finished his own mop-up assignments and came to fetch him. He didn't know how Weasley had wrangled the flat, considering how few people of really good society he knew in those days, but somehow he had.
Ron Weasley had also turned out to be a decent cook, an excellent judge of style, and an adept at running a household; Draco kept him on as an employee, and let him pay himself whatever he thought he was worth. During the war they'd got on all right once they were on the same side, and after they were established in the roles of master and manservant they got on even better. Draco was bossed within an inch of his life and Weasley was condescended to after the manner of these things.
He was playing Scarlatti, with less vigour than it deserved, when Weasley appeared in the doorway and announced that Harry Potter had come to see him, and was he at home?
Draco assented that he was, so long as Mr. Potter did not mind seeing him in his dressing-gown.
A few moments later, Harry strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking somewhat morose.
"Potter old chap. Have a seat," Draco said, waving at the divan near the harpsichord. "Have you had breakfast? Weasley can fix you up something, if you like."
"No, thanks," Harry replied. "Just come from breakfast with Dumbledore."
"Still creaking about, is he?"
"Spends most of his time at his club in Hogsmeade, sleeping under the guise of reading a newspaper. Professor Snape's taken over the running of the school, had you heard?"
"Yes, I was back for the Old Boys Quidditch match. You were missed, rather sorely."
"Ah, I was in Paris."
"Gadding about frivolously, no doubt."
"Less frivolously than you were, Malfoy. I was chasing down the Owl Post Strangler."
"Oh?" Draco asked, languidly. "It wasn't that English fellow you collared, then?"
Harry flushed a little. "No. But he'd done some other...less than upstanding things, so it's not as though we captured and interrogated an entirely innocent man."
"Show me ten innocent men in all the city," Draco murmured.
"What?"
"And you Muggle-raised!"
Harry looked obstinate. An advanced degree in Muggle Studies had put a lot of things in perspective for Draco, and also given him a ridiculously wide variety of literary quotations for any occasion. This often annoyed Harry, seeing as Draco still didn't look on Muggles as Quite Proper. Interesting to study, with some funny ideas, but not really Our Sort of People. And yet he could quote them more thoroughly than Harry himself.
"I take it you have not come by to taunt me in my apathy and relay your adventures in Paris?" Draco continued.
"Not exactly, no. You see, there's been some...upset."
Draco leaned forward. "Upset?"
"Yes, well, some attacks and one murder, at Oxford and in the surrounding areas. On the full moons."
"Werewolf?"
"That's what people are saying, but the only admitted werewolf in the area is..."
Draco let out a low whistle. "Jolly old Professor Lupin."
Harry nodded. "We're sure it isn't him, of course -- "
"I'm not. Always was an irresponsible blighter." Draco sighed at Harry's remonstrative look. "All right, I doubt he'd intentionally kill anyone, but you can't deny he hasn't exactly been forthright in the past."
"It doesn't matter, though! Black swears he's been locked up in his room for every full moon since last Christmas."
"Yes, well, Black," Draco said, even more contemptuously. Sirius Black was a distant cousin on his mother's side, and the requisite blot on the family 'scutcheon for his generation. Being comfirmedly unmarriageable and a bit of a scoundrel, he'd taken up rooms with Lupin when the Professor got his tenure at Oxford, and the two lived together in domestic bachelorhood that no woman, however hard they might try (and many had) could crack.
"So while I was in Paris where they jolly well knew I couldn't do anything, Creevey up and quodded him."
"Seems an easy enough solution; keep him in prison until the next full moon and when the attacks don't stop, you know it isn't the Professor."
"That's just the problem. They did stop. The full moon was two days ago."
Draco shook his head. "Looks rather grim for old Lupin, doesn't it."
"That's why I'm here."
"I'm not following, Potter."
"My hands are tied. There's only so much I can do as an Auror and it's legally impossible for me to conduct an investigation amongst Muggles while undercover; it just isn't allowed. The Muggle police refuse to do anything, and anything I do is only going to get Lupin into more trouble. I'm sure he didn't do it, Draco, but I can't prove it. I know you did some excellent work when Creevey botched the Stilton case -- "
"Any fool could see a teakettle of that low quality couldn't possibly have sat on the stove for that long without scorching and falling apart," Draco burst out, still aggrieved that Creevey had ignored his observations until after three people had nearly been poisoned.
"Which is why I want you to investigate it. On the quiet," Harry said. "You know how to ask questions and you're familiar with procedure and you lie like no-one I've met in my entire life. Besides, Weasley told me you're becoming a recluse again. Get you out in the open air a bit."
"Weasley needs to dock his pay for not keeping his mouth shut," Draco grumbled. "Harry, you have considered the idea that Lupin might have done it?"
"If that's what you find," Harry said stiffly, "We will follow the letter of the law."
"But you're certain it isn't him."
"I am."
"And not just because you're fond of him."
Harry frowned. "Well, I am, you know. He's been awfully good to me and Black's terribly attached to him. But it just doesn't make sense."
"Oh?"
"Listen, I'll leave you a copy of the case-file and you can decide for yourself. If you don't want to take it up, toss it in the fire and tell me to go to hell, but you'll be taking a hand in condemning an innocent man to Azkaban."
"All right, Potter, there's no need to preach to the choirboy." Draco held out a long-fingered, elegant hand to accept the file. "I'll take it, and I won't even look at the file first, how's that?"
"Thanks," Harry answered. "Shall I leave you to it, then?"
"Run along, Auror me lad, and play in London's great big sandbox. You'll hear from me if I need anything."
Harry took his leave and Draco leaned back in his chair, thumbing slowly through the report. After a while, he reached out and rang for Weasley. "I think we'll be driving to Oxford this afternoon; bring your camera, and a new parchment scroll labeled 'Lupin'," he said absently. "And call our friend Lovegood at the Prophet and ask her to send up a dossier of the newspaper articles on the attacks. Promise her dinner at the club and tell her I'd call and make love to her myself but I'm indisposed."
Weasley, with just a hint of a smile, departed to make the proper arrangements.