#not realizing he would have to spend the next twenty years dealing with corpse honey

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

House spinoff following Rachel in her early twenties where she's a consulting detective who solved the case of house's mysterious demise because she has hella daddy issues due to her mom being a revolving door (no shame get it cuddy) and lacking a constant male figure in her life and one of the first men to ever show a fatherly interest in her having ended up crashing his car into their living room so she's like mildly obsessed with house's death and eventually finds him in a log cabin in the woods raising bees or some shit

[megan0013]

harry potter: the kelly

draco/harry - 2,523 words - crime, romance, angst

your everyday auror story wherein draco and harry go undercover in a muggle gay club to catch a wizard murderer. and fall in love in the process. almost two chapters when the writer’s block kicked in and it was abandoned. 

part 2 (unfinished chapter)

Draco was, understandably, drained when he left the office later that night.

He’d wrapped up the Fitch case in record time and had personally delivered his report to Kingsly by EOB as promised. Then he’d made a quick run to the sandwich cart on the ground level before heading back to his office wherein he proceeded to pluck the Kelly reports out of his outraged partner’s hands. He rolled his eyes at Harry’s never-ending whining, kicked his heels up onto his desk, and began reading every single word of the lengthy report. Harry could bitch all he wanted about Draco’s sleuthing skills, but he hadn’t and never would claim his partner to be anything but thorough.

Around 6:30 pm Potter packed up his bag and left the office without a uttering a single word. Draco glanced at the clock before throwing the Muggle folder on the desk in front of him. He was two-thirds of the way through the file and had just gotten to the section dedicated to William Knight’s gruesome murder.

Just looking at the postmortem photographs brought bile into his throat. He may have been a Death Eater once and had been witness to more torture sessions than he cared to admit to, but he’d never seen anything like this. There were generally two types of Death Eaters: the methodical ones who tended to leave nice, clean corpses (his father belonged to this faction) and the impatient psychos who played too roughly and wound up killing their toys much too quickly (crazy Aunt Bella-T-Rex practically led this division). The sick fuck behind Knight’s murder lived on a completely different level. He took his time and enjoyed watching his victims die slowly and painfully.

When he couldn’t stand to look at the pictures anymore, Draco pushed away from his desk and quickly headed to the washroom to splash some cool water onto his face.  Once he’d pulled himself together he made his way back to his office and began flipping through the case file again. He finished reading through the reports around 9 pm and, after letting loose a satisfying yawn, gathered the files into his messenger bag so he could comb through them once more before bed.

With a flick of his wand Draco extinguished the lights and stepped out of the office, careful to place a Stinging Lock Jinx on the knob as he did so. He chuckled out loud as he pictured his partner trying to unlock the door the next morning only to receive a jolt of electricity for his efforts. That is, Draco thought as he strode through the department hallways, if Potter manages to get his lazy ass into the office before me for once. Which, in the year they’d been partners, had only happened twice and one of those times had been because Grimmauld Place was being fumigated and Mr. Gryffindor couldn’t bring himself to inconvenience any of his friends. He’d slept under his desk instead.

Draco frowned and absently pushed the button for the lift. Harry had looked so sweet and peaceful curled up under that desk that it had taken all of Draco’s restraint not to crawl under there and cuddle him. Of course, it didn’t take him long to snap out of what he could only describe as a psychotic episode and, once he’d come to his senses, Draco had been hideously disgusted by the sudden attack of the fluffies he’d just experienced. So, to prove to himself it had just been a gross lapse in judgment, he’d slammed his impossibly heavy bag down on top of the desk. His partner had automatically jolted awake, slamming his head against the hardwood desk in the process. Draco, now satisfied, had deemed his wake-up call a success and sauntered off to his own side of the office to start the day.

“Draco?”

Draco looked up to find one of his eldest friends staring at him curiously from within the lift.

“Pansy? What are you doing here?”

“I had some paperwork to file with the Department,” Pansy explained as she stepped to the side to allow Draco access to the lift. For the past six months Pansy had been working for the Chudley Cannons (as a longtime Falcons fan, Draco simply could not support his best friend’s career path) and had climbed the ranks from assistant to senior PR manager faster than anyone in Cannons history. Draco was almost sure her promotions were based on merit alone, but he wouldn’t put a well-strategized seduction past her. “Working late again?”

Draco nodded.

“As usual,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “Do you have plans for tonight? Or are you just going to take those files home and comb through them for the fourth time today like the loser you are?”

Sometimes he hated that she knew him so well.

“I’ll take your silence as confirmation,” Pansy said after Draco’s slight hesitation. “However, as your best friend, I can’t allow you to spend yet another night holed up at home. People will soon begin to think you’re a hermit and I just can’t be associated with a hermit. We’re going out. I’ll be at your place in exactly one half-hour.”

The doors pinged open and Pansy stepped out of the elevator before Draco could even utter a response. After a moment of stunned silence, he stepped out of the elevator himself and walked slowly to the floo network while trying to work out what had just happened. Pansy tended to ‘mind-fuck’ you into doing what she wanted. She would suddenly waltz into your personal space, call you out on all of your faults and insecurities (and perhaps call you a name or two), and then waltz back out again without giving you a chance to comprehend what had just happened much less fight off her demands.

When he reached the floo station, Draco grabbed a handful of powder and quickly threw it into the fireplace. Moments later he was stepping into the entrance of his flat. He made sure to dust off his robes and kicked off his shiny, black work loafers before stepping into his living room. It was spotless, as usual (he had one damn good house elf), and quickly padded into the kitchen to fix himself a quick bite to eat.

He had just finished eating when the doorbell rang.

“Libby!”

“Libby is on it, Master Draco!”

Draco leaned back against the granite island in the middle of his kitchen and smiled at the sound of his house elf’s voice. When his mother had first transferred Libby to his flat she’d been terrified of him and would only speak to him using frightened squeaks. He had already moved out of the Manor by the time she’d been originally hired so he had never met her before, but he was sure she’d heard plenty of horror stories from the other elves. He was, however, a grown man now and Libby quickly learned that he was above playing pranks or doling out punishments for amusement. They actually got along nicely now and Draco was quite happy for her company.

“Master Draco, Miss Pansy is here,” Libby presented as she marched through the swinging door with Pansy in tow. She smiled at Draco and then disappeared before he had a chance to thank her.

“Draco.” Pansy frowned at the state of Draco’s appearance. She was, of course, dressed in a tight little maroon number with a pair of black pumps so tall she almost stood at the same height as him. Her brown hair fell in waves around her shoulders. She looked gorgeous. “You’re not wearing that out tonight.”

“Of course not,” Draco agreed.

“Then why are you still in those rags?”

Draco looked down at the designer slacks and button-down he’d worn to work that day. He was, undoubtedly, the most well-dressed Auror in all of England. Maybe the World, even. “First of all, I don’t wear rags and you know it. Second, I don’t need you’re your help dressing me. I need your help Glamouring my hair and eye color.”

“But why?”

“I have a case.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Figures.”

“I’m going undercover as a bartender at The Grace Kelly.” At the look of recognition on Pansy’s face Draco asked, “You’ve heard of it?”

“Everyone’s heard of it, Draco,” Pansy scoffed. “Unless, of course, you’re a workaholic shut-in who’d rather spend his nights cuddled up to a case file than to a soft, warm body.” Then, without even pausing for a breath, she completely changed her topic of conversation, “Wait a minute. Are you going undercover as Harry Potter’s boyfriend?”

“I am not going undercover as Harry Potter’s boyfriend,” Draco told her flatly.

“Damn,” Pansy muttered in disappointment.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Sure,” Pansy said, eyeing him thoughtfully. “On one condition.”

Draco eyed her warily.

“You get no say in what I do.” Pansy leveled him with a challenging smirk. “I can cut and color to my little heart’s content and you are not able to look into a mirror until I’ve finished. Do we have a deal?”

“We most certainly do-” Draco started hotly and then, upon regaining his senses realized he’d have to agree to her demands or else, finished with, “-oo. We mostly certainly do. Have a deal, that is”

Pansy clapped her hands together and advanced upon him, grinning maniacally. “Excellent.”

It took twenty minutes for Pansy to decide her upon her preferred course of action and to then implement it. She began by enchanting his grey eyes hazel, knowing full well that the victim, er, enchanted, would only be able to see hazy blobs for at least a fifteen minutes after the spell was cast. That would give her time to cut his hair off and change the color without him wiggling about in an ill-fated attempt at catching a glance at himself in the mirror. After his eyes had been taken care of, she chopped his hair (which had fallen to his shoulders) to his chin and layered it so that it could be easily styled into a sexy shag. She then set to work on his hair color and, with a flick of her wand, transformed his platinum locks into a warm honey-blonde. Truth be told, she was rather proud of herself.

“The only permanent change is the length,” she told Draco as he studied his reflection in the large bathroom mirror. “I’ve set restrictions so that your eye and hair color will go back to normal in exactly eight hours.”

“You’re a genius Pans,” Draco told her with a grin, running his hand through his hair. He glanced over his shoulder at her and said, “I actually like the cut.”

“It’s just enough so that someone may look at you twice, but Potter should still know it’s you.” Pansy smiled and tossed Draco a pair of boot-cut jeans and a crisp white V-neck. “Put this on, Stud. I’ll be in the living room waiting for you.”

“Shall we apparate?” Draco asked as he waltzed out of his room five minutes later.

“We shall,” Pansy agreed. She pushed off the sofa and held her arm out for Draco to take. As the master of the house, Draco was able to freely apparate in and out of the flat without incident but the same couldn’t be said for Pansy. She would have to side-along with Draco. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“I know the area,” Draco told her. Pansy raised an inquisitive eyebrow to which Draco answered simply, “Google Maps.”

Chuckling, Pansy nodded her approval and a moment later they were standing in a back alley a block or so from The Kelly. They took a left onto Talbot and followed the street for a few minutes before the club came into full view. It was a large, nondescript building; nothing at all like he’d pictured. But, even at twenty-five past ten, the line was already wrapped around the side. Groaning, Draco started towards the end of the line only to have Pansy shake her head and nod towards the entrance.

“Parkinsons do not wait in lines,” she told him bluntly. “And neither do Malfoys.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but followed her to the front of the line anyway. The bouncer looked at the two of them curiously and gruffly asked what the hell they thought they were doing. Pansy, of course, glared at the rather large man and asked him if he knew who she was. He didn’t; but a bit of wandless magic made him believe he did.

“Sneaky wench,” Draco murmured as the bouncer stepped aside to allow them entry. Pansy shot him a smug look before dragging him over the threshold into the club.

Draco’s nose wrinkled almost immediately. The club, while not necessarily his cup of tea (he preferred posh martini bars wherein he could wow his peers with witty, witty banter), wasn’t quite the depraved picture his partner and Pansy had painted. Yes, there was quite a bit of acid and coke being passed around and, yes, he happened to notice a bit of debauchery being had in the corner booth, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t witnessed while strolling through the Slytherin common room at two in the morning.

Well… he thought with a slight shake of his head as he watched a gaggle of drag queens thread their way through the mass of club-goers and disappear behind the stage at the end of the room.

The problem, he decided upon checking out the queue at one of the bars, would be keeping watch while trying to suitably serve hundreds of inebriated young people. With a sigh, Draco continued to scan the club. There were three bars in total, two on the ground floor and one located in the second floor VIP. The second floor, he decided with a resolute nod, would be where he would station himself. He could watch the VIP area (two of the six victims had been enjoying the perks of the VIP bottle service on the night of their deaths) and keep an eye on the majority of the first floor, including the vast dance floor in front of the stage.

Draco pointed to the bar closest to them and shouted to Pansy over the blaring music, “Drink?”

Pansy nodded enthusiastically and let him pull her through the throng of people. Once at the bar a pair of men (dressed as woodland fairies, much to Pansy’s delight) vacated two fur-trimmed stools and Draco pounced on them before anyone else had the chance. They each ordered a Hendricks with a twist of lime and then spun around on the stools to watch the crowd as they awaited their drinks.

At least, from the looks of the people surrounding him, this operation would be interesting. Besides the two woodland fairies, there was a man in chaps and nothing else, a woman sporting pasties and body paint, and another woman covered from head to toe in glitter. If anything, he’d have to make sure he concentrated on the case and not on the clientele.