Chapter Text
The battleline between good and evil runs through the heart of every man.
-Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
James's heart raced as he made his way towards the Auror Department, taking the now-familiar secret passages in order to avoid being seen. As far as the rest of the world knew, James had made it through the three years of Auror training only to decide the job wasn't for him. The Prophet had had a field day, gleefully speculating on the supposed rift in the family as James declined to work for his father and instead took up a post working for Uncle Bill as a Curse-Breaker. It was all a little ridiculous, as if his dad was the type that needed his kids to follow in his footsteps, but that was the Prophet in a nutshell. In the end, they'd done nothing to quell the rumours—if anything, they subtly played them up, knowing that separating James from the Aurors and his father would make it easier to do his job.
The one the rest of the world didn't know about.
He actually did work as a Curse-Breaker some of the time; not only for his cover, but because the Undercover Division had strict rules about spacing out assignments and he needed some way to pass the months while he waited for a new case that required his particular skill set. It had been four months since his last job and he was already itching to get back into the field. That last one had been difficult—anything to do with children always was—and he understood why his superiors were hesitant to send him out again so soon. James could admit it had fucked him up a bit, having to work with such vile humans, pretending to be one of them, knowing that innocent children were being trafficked and harmed while he did nothing to help them. Of course, he wasn't doing nothing, but his work always took time if he wanted to ensure they put away the person at the top and shut operations down for good. They'd got there, eventually, but it had been a devastating several months, and he'd all but lived on his Mind Healer's sofa in the aftermath.
But he'd been cleared six weeks ago and he'd been anxiously waiting ever since, eager to disappear into the skin of somebody else. He always got like this when he had to go too long between assignments. It was almost as if James didn't feel quite real when he was in his own skin. His Mind Healer would probably have something to say about that, too, if he was ever foolish enough to tell her. So he'd actually fist pumped this morning when he got the nondescript Ministry owl with his generic summons, knowing what it meant. Thankfully he lived alone and there was nobody to see his embarrassing celebration but, frankly, James wouldn't have cared if there had been. This was it. He had another case.
He made it to his supervisor's office without meeting another soul, knocking on her door in the standard pattern to let her know he'd arrived.
"Come in," Lowell called out, and James stepped hurriedly inside, closing the door behind him.
He took in the room with some surprise as he made his way over to one of the open chairs. Lowell was there, of course, as was Hayes, James's usual handler and Ministry contact while on assignment, and Dalton, the Deputy Head Auror who often oversaw these initial case meetings in place of the Head Auror. Which was why it was so surprising that James's dad was also in the room, flashing James a strained smile as James took a seat. The last time Harry had been at one of these meetings was for James's very first assignment. Whatever James was being asked to do, it was big, and his dad did not seem happy about it. A thrill of excitement raced down James's spine—he'd never really outgrown enjoying things his father disapproved of.
"I'm sure you're aware that we've called you here because we have your next assignment, should you agree to it," Lowell said, her eyes darting uncomfortably towards Harry.
James's eyebrows rose. "Agree to it? I don't usually get much of a choice."
"This case is a bit different," Deputy Head Dalton broke in after a long pause. "We believe that you'll be most effective as yourself—that is, you won't be utilising a disguise. Given this more unusual approach, some of us felt"—he gave his boss a pointed stare that James's dad resolutely ignored, making it clear who it was that had kicked up a fuss—"that it would be pertinent to offer you a choice, should you not feel comfortable moving forward."
"I see," James said neutrally. A part of him wanted to be pissed at his dad for interfering, and for the implication that he wasn't sure if James was up for the job. But they'd had this conversation early on in James's career, and James knew his dad respected his work. Harry had made an effort not to let his parental feelings unduly influence his oversight into James's job, which was part of the reason he'd delegated management of this division to Dalton in the first place. If he was stepping in now, it meant he was really worried, and James wasn't childish enough to dismiss that outright. His dad didn't get the Head Auror position because of his fame, no matter what the Prophet insinuated. If he was concerned, there was good reason for it. James wasn't sure how he felt about an assignment that didn't involve a disguise of some sort, but he couldn't deny he was intrigued. "So what's the job?"
Lowell passed him a heavy file, and James's eyes widened as he flipped open the cover to reveal a glossy photo of a very recognisable figure.
Draco Malfoy.
No wonder his dad was all tied up in knots.
The picture was from some gala or another, Malfoy dressed to the nines in the most expensive robes money could buy. He might have been the same age as James's dad, but he clearly took care of himself and his appearance; he looked fit as fuck in his midnight-blue robes, his chin-length blond hair perfectly styled and his white teeth gleaming in a shark-like smile as he sipped his champagne and posed for the camera. James hadn't ever actually met Malfoy, but he'd seen him enough in the papers and had heard plenty of unflattering things about him from his parents and the rest of his family growing up. Not to mention all the nasty rumours floating around the Ministry about him being involved in some very unsavoury activities. Allegedly. The Aurors had never been able to get anything to stick and certainly not for a lack of trying. Was Malfoy just that good, or were the Aurors showing their bias? James hadn't ever been sure.
"Draco Malfoy," Lowell said after James had a few moments to flip through the folder. "Filthy rich pure-blood aristocrat, philanthropist, and all-around pillar of the community according to the PR firm that's been spinning for him for the past twenty-five years." Lowell's disgusted expression made it clear what she thought about that. "Unofficially, we've got him linked to over half the criminal enterprise in Great Britain. Money-laundering, illegal potions creation and distribution, trafficking in class XXXX and XXXXX magical creatures, and several prositution and gambling dens on Knockturn and across the country, to name just a few. Unfortunately, he's smart—or he's managed to put people smarter than him on his payroll—and his connection to all of it is insubstantial at best. We know he's involved—in fact, we're rather certain he's at the top of it all—but we've been spinning our wheels like bloody Pygmy Puffs trying to get hard evidence that will stand up in court."
"And you want me to find it." It wasn't a question.
His dad nodded grimly. "We've had at least one active investigation on Malfoy running at any given time for the better part of twenty years, and we've yet to catch him with so much as a lapsed Apparition license. The Minister's not happy about dedicating resources to what she says is a lost cause. This undercover op is a last ditch effort before we're to close the books for good on the Malfoy case." It was clear that Harry wasn't happy about this decision, and he'd no doubt let the Minister know it. Which clearly hadn't gone well given the fact that he was even considering letting his oldest son get involved with this mess.
"All right, so what's my in? And why no alias? Won't it be a lot more difficult for me to gain his trust as the son of Harry Potter? Not exactly low profile."
"He just placed an advertisement in the Prophet—he's looking to hire a Curse-Breaker, one that will be reporting to him directly," Lowell replied. "Your cover already gives you the credentials, and since you actually have been trained as a Curse-Breaker in between your cases, it's the perfect way in."
"As you can see, it makes sense to keep your identity for your job qualifications alone," Dalton added. "But we could easily create a fake identity with a similar background if we needed. However, we have reason to believe that your being a Potter will only… sweeten the pot, as it were."
James's dad grimaced. "What Dalton means to say is that my childhood rivalry with Malfoy—not to mention our department's relentless attempts to bring him down—will make him unbearably curious about you. He's always been keen to get a leg up on me, and he's an arrogant son of a bitch. The thought of hiring my own son—the one who publicly refused to work for me—will be too tempting an opportunity to pass up."
James frowned; he wasn't any happier about it than his father was. He wouldn't have followed his father's footsteps in becoming an Auror if he couldn't handle occasionally being in his shadow, but there was a reason he'd been so keen to join the Undercover Division. Being hired for being Harry Potter's son was not James's idea of a good time, but good times weren't exactly in his job description. If it would help him do his job more effectively, he'd take all the advantages he could get.
"The Prophet has been playing up our supposed rift for the past three years, ever since I 'left' the Aurors," James mused slowly. "We'll want to make that even more pronounced. Not so much that it's obvious, but enough to help sell my disillusionment with the Ministry. If he's as smart as you think he is, he's going to be wary. Curiosity alone might not be enough."
"Yes, we've already sketched out a few possibilities here," Lowell replied. "We can't have you too eager to throw over your family or Malfoy will be suspicious, but you'll want to imply there's some strain there."
"Especially with me," his dad added unhappily. "Show him some cracks and he won't be able to resist trying to exploit them."
"All right," James said neutrally. Was Malfoy really that obsessed with his dad? From what he'd seen it was Harry who had been following Malfoy's every move, relentlessly trying to find evidence on him that might not even exist. "Have I sent in my application yet?"
Lowell shook her head. "Not yet, no. We've got it right here, but as we said, you have the option to turn this assignment down, so we're waiting for your go-ahead."
James paused and turned to look at his dad, who was staring at him with a resigned expression. "I didn't really think you'd turn it down," he said heavily. "But I had to give you the option. I know you're excellent at what you do, I'm not questioning that. But this assignment is different. You'll still be playing a role, but you'll also be yourself. It's going to be more personal, and it might mess with your head in different ways than you're used to. I'm not telling you not to take it, you're too much my son for that, but be careful, all right?"
A strange shiver of apprehension made its way down James's spine but he shook it off. He was a professional, dammit, and damned good at his job. He could do this.
"I will be," James said, and he meant it. His dad was only looking out for him, and it would do James good to remember that this assignment would have to be played differently than his others. He turned towards Lowell. "Send it off. I'm in."