A/N: For legal reasons, all recognizable characters and creative properties belong to JK Rowling. Also, trans women are women <3
Maybe I shouldn't be doing this, Harry thought.
He knew he'd get an earful from his boss, Laverne, but it bothered him that no one else cared enough to investigate the strange magical energy lingering near the abbey. According to Ministry records, the area had witnessed several time discrepancies in the last week. At least in Harry's mind, this raised the possibility that the Ministry had missed a few Time Turners when they were destroyed en masse, after the war. That was too dangerous a problem to be left unresolved.
He gave himself a minute to adjust after he landed. Portkey travel was always difficult, even more so than Apparation. Instead of using the magic within oneself, Portkey travel relied on the magic of an external source, leading to fairly common unstable landings.
Luckily, It was relatively easy to find the Portkey he needed, as the Ministry had thousands, all sorted numerically by coordinate. Harry patted his coat pocket, relieved when he felt a rusty set of keys inside—a Portkey back to the Ministry. Apparating into the Ministry became illegal in 2005. Doing so came with a hefty fine for offending wizards, even those partaking in field missions. The only way back to the Ministry was by Floo, foot, or Portkey. Harry was a good two hundred miles away from London, so returning on foot was well out of the question. With no Floo in sight, the Portkey was his saving grace of convenience.
The abbey ruins were vast and shrouded by foliage, seemingly untouched by man for many years. Harry stepped carefully and made his way over to the structure, mindful not to trip on any sleeping snakes. Even as a Parselmouth, Harry didn't think he'd be able to reason with a grumpy reptile startled out of slumber.
He stepped onto the foundation and marveled at the setting sun—it painted the cotton clouds with hues of orange and pink. Even as the work day for most wizards came to a close, Harry remained behind to tie up loose ends.
He then set up magical wards at the entry archway that would silently alert him if anyone—or anything—overstepped them. He did the same for every gap between the walls and every window unobstructed by brambles. There were several dozen rooms branching off from the entrance, so this process went on until nightfall.
I need a raise, Harry thought disparagingly, knowing that was highly unlikely.
He had been transferred to the archival branch of the Department of Mysteries, specifically because it didn't include as much field work. Harry had pretty much worked in every Ministry position possible, despite his lack of qualifications.
After the war, Harry worked as an Auror for ten years. He loved it, truth be told, but after taking a particularly nasty fall, propelled by two simultaneous Stupefies, his shoulder was never the same again.
Concerned for the Chosen One's safety, despite his protests, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement transferred him to a less physically demanding position. None of this would've happened if Harry were just another employee, of course. He would have just been told to suck it up and bear the pain. Now, the only painful aspect of working was the fact that it wasn't as an Auror.
Whether due to insubordination or plain carelessness, Harry rarely stayed at any one position for more than a year. Beast Taming was one of the more fun occupations he accumulated on his CV, but ultimately, he was transferred again when he accidently led a Kniffler into the finance Department of Magical Artifacts. It was total havoc.
After that, he was an Obliviator for a whopping five days. Until, of course, various reports of Muggles forgetting who they were came back to his supervisor.
There was also that one time he worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation and put in a transferral request two weeks before the 2009 Triwizard Tournament, refusing to be involved.
Even at the Portkey Office, one of the most uneventful departments, he was terminated after his boss caught him trying to make a two-way Portkey, unauthorized. Since Aurors and Investigators used Portkeys often to go on missions, they always needed a second one to return to the Ministry. Harry wanted to eliminate that need entirely, but his intentions went unrecognized.
Stopping himself from reminiscing, Harry snapped back to reality and surveyed his surroundings. The large crumbling room he stood in could hardly be classified as one, as it had no ceiling. Despite that, however, a bed of hay and dead leaves was situated in the center. There was also evidence of kindling—a previous fire that had been extinguished. He knelt down to hover a hand over it, expecting it to be warm, but it wasn't. Harry felt a pit forming in his stomach.
Not far away from where he stood, partially hidden in shadow, there was a slab of gray rock sitting askew from a hole in the ground. As Harry inched closer, he recognized a set of stone stairs leading down into pitch darkness. He lit his wand with a quick Lumos and descended below the ruins, finding himself at the entrance of a lengthy cobblestone dungeon.
Moonlight rained down from where the ceiling had caved in, but there was no debris scattered across the walking path. The air was hazy, but it wasn't caused by fog; Harry coughed, swatting away thin clouds of smoke.
He proceeded forward with caution and passed multiple iron-barred cells. Mid-way down the corridor, one of the cells seemed to behold the same feature he saw above ground: a makeshift bed of dried hay. He squinted in suspicion as he knelt down, feeling that the bed was faintly warm. Whomever had slept upon it was still lurking in the shadows, watching from afar. Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he found them. Or until they found him.
Hearing the shifting of cobblestone from down the hall, Harry darted out of the cell with his wand held at the ready. He advanced deeper into the dungeon, but at the very end, he found nothing. Nothing but a smoldering fire that spilled smoke into the air. He stamped out the orange cinders, suffocating them.
Weirdly enough, the same sound he heard reverberated off the walls once more. This time, the source was right above him. He looked up, and for a split second, he saw moonlight pour in.
He hit the ground several meters away from where the ceiling had collapsed, but he couldn't recall how he had gotten there. Surely, it would have taken him longer than half a second to reach where he was, on foot.
"I always knew you were reckless," scoffed a familiar voice, "but now I know you're just plain stupid."
Kneeling beside him was a wizard he hadn't seen in twenty years. He wore a tattered black suit stippled with tiny holes where the weave of cotton had split or worn out. It seemed to swallow his skinny frame and hang heavily from his shoulders. His face was weathered and sallow, and his eyes were framed with dark, cadavernous circles—like that of a corpse declared dead six years ago—one whose death left his widow with a massive inheritance.
"Malfoy?" Harry sputtered, stunned. "I thought you were dead. . ."
"Well, I'm not," Draco said matter-of-factly. "Surprise!" he cheered unenthusiastically.
Draco flashed a fake smile that fell effortlessly into a grimace, causing Harry to notice a set of sharp fangs protruding from where his canines should've been. He blinked in disbelief, but as his eyes found Draco's pointed ears, Harry knew he hadn't imagined it.
"You're a vampire," he concluded, uneasily.
"And you're a wanker," Draco barked. "What are you doing here?"
Harry glared at him but managed to remain professional. He stood up and brushed the dust from his trousers, "I came here to investigate a magical anomaly on behalf of the Department of Mysteries. I just didn't think it would be you. We've been getting alerts about time discrepancies in the area. Is there a Time Turner in your possession?"
Draco did not like feeling interrogated, even casually. He narrowed his gray eyes in fury, "No."
Harry seemed disappointed, not having anything of significance to bring back to the Ministry. Unless. . .
"You saved me . . ." Harry recalled, astonished yet skeptical, "but you were so fast that I didn't even see you. How is that possible?"
"Adrenaline?" Draco tried.
Harry wasn't buying it. He folded his arms and waited for the real answer.
"Worth a shot," Draco shrugged. He divulged the truth reluctantly, "It's the moonlight. It makes me stronger."
"Like with super speed?" Harry asked, cringing at how ridiculous it sounded.
"That's just how everyone else sees it," Draco scoffed, "but the truth is that I can make time move slower around me. Only when I'm under moonlight, though."
Harry's green eyes widened comically. No wonder there were discrepancies in the area. He backtracked, "Wait a second—you can slow time?"
"I wish I could speed it up to the point where you leave," growled Draco.
Out of everything Harry expected from this mission, a vampiric Draco Malfoy had not been on the list. Until the present moment, the idea hadn't even been in the realm of possibility. He was just as derisive as Harry remembered, but he looked not a day over twenty eight—which was weird, considering they were both a year away from forty.
"I need to take you back to the Ministry," Harry said sternly.
Draco immediately put distance between himself and the bold Gryffindor, anticipating a brawl, "But I'm not doing anything wrong!"
"Technically, you're trespassing," Harry corrected. "But I can overlook that if you agree to come with me. We can help you find a place to stay."
"I don't want your help," Draco declared stubbornly. "I'm doing just fine on my own."
Harry gestured back to the caved in ceiling, "It isn't safe for you to stay here. What if that collapses on you while you're sleeping?"
"Why do you care if I live or die? You thought I was dead, anyway," Draco said spitefully. His words were biting. "What difference does it make to you?"
It seemed that every emotion Harry ever neglected to feel rose to the surface in that moment.
"I went to your funeral!" he shouted, frustrated at the Slytherin's nihilistic attitude.
Draco's edges softened, and the knives in his voice dulled, "Why?"
"Because it felt wrong not to," Harry said sharply. "The point is, I would rather you not be dead."
Draco seemed bereft of words for a singular moment, until the corners of his lips curled into a scathing smirk, "Harry Potter and his savior complex never cease to be insufferable."
"What's wrong with wanting to make sure people don't die?" Harry challenged him to answer.
Draco glared, "The fact that it turns you into a nosy git." he thrusted his wrists before Harry, having done this before with the Aurors.
"I'm not going to cuff you, if you promise not to make an escape," Harry said. He was bluffing a little, as he didn't even own a set of cuffs. Draco didn't know that, though, and he seemed pleased enough to comply with the idea of not having his wrists bound.
With a pair of pliers, Harry took the rusty keys from his pocket and grabbed the Portkey in sync with Draco, though the latter was far less enthused about it.