Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love

Chapter 1: An Unsporting Attack

As a man of means, Draco Malfoy could have chosen to live a life of leisure, political meddling, and casual blackmail, like his father before him. However, his acquittal by the Wizengamot was accompanied by strong recommendations that young Mr. Malfoy strive for such laudable pursuits as the Common Good, Altruism, and Redemption in the Public Eye.

And so, after a few years of sowing his wild oats (and a great many curses) on the Continent, Draco had returned to London, where he made short work of the Auror training programme – three years down to one and a half, if you please – and joined that noble Office. Draco had been strategic in his choice of career, of course: being an Auror offered just enough heroics for positive coverage in the news and just enough Ministry-sanctioned murders to keep him interested in the job.

Draco was an excellent Auror – something about very nearly becoming a Dark wizard himself gave him rather useful insights into the minds of naughty wizards and witches. The problem with competence, however, was that it was rewarded with increasingly complex cases by the Head of the Auror Office, a certain Madam Nymphadora Tonks.

And so, our opening scene: a Monday morning, sometime in January. Amidst the greying cubicles of the Auror Office, Tonks was doling out the month's Class A assignments to her top Aurors like a vindictive Father Christmas.

"Montjoy – you're off to Hethpool. Three Muggle children found dead with their livers removed. That hag coven from Stow may have regrouped." A folder containing the case material was slapped onto Montjoy's desk.

"Buckley – suspected necromancy and other foul play, Isle of Man." Buckley accepted the proffered casefile with a grimace. "You're to take Humphreys with you. Mind you be a good mentor and don't traumatise her too much."

Tonks rounded the corner to the next cubicles. "Potter, Weasley – you're to continue with the vampires in the Dales, but if you don't make further headway, I will get personally involved. Half of Yorkshire will be sucked dry at this rate. Goggin – some idiot is experimenting with Transmogrifian Torture on Muggle prostitutes in Glenluce. I won't notice if you bring him in with a few missing appendages."

Tonks now came to a halt in front of Draco's desk. "Malfoy. Since you did so well with the Lanark Lunatic last week, I'll let you pick your poison."

Draco eyed Tonks guardedly – poison was unlikely to be an exaggeration. "What are my options?"

Tonks dropped two files onto Draco's desk. "Option one, a wizard accused of inappropriate acts with trolls – a real delight for the senses, that one. Or, option two – a request from the Minister for Auror protection of a high-profile target."

"Inappropriate acts?" repeated Draco, pulling the folders towards himself.

"I don't know about your tolerance level, but I've quite lost my appetite." Tonks jutted her chin towards the rightmost folder. "There are photographs for your edification."

Draco made the mistake of opening the troll folder. He closed it again with a strangled sound of disgust. "I'll take the protection assignment."

"Right-o," said Tonks, swiping the troll folder and its hideous contents from Draco's desk. "The troll-buggerer will go to Fernsby. Fernsby! Come here."

Fernsby emerged from a distant cubicle. Tonks slapped the folder into his chest. "You are off to Morpeth. I hear the North Sea is lovely this time of year."

If Fernsby had reservations about the loveliness of a January sojourn by the North Sea, he kept them to himself. Tonks was rarely worth arguing with.

"Progress reports on my desk by Monday morning," called Tonks to the office at large. A grumble of assent from the Aurors followed the request.