(A/N: I am indebted to an essay by Claire Jordan, on the Harry Potter Lexicon site, for the location of Spinner's End.
At long last, I have a new beta-reader. The estimable Bexis has agreed to review my prose, gently point out flaws, and offer suggestions. Any errors left over are still my own fault, alas.)
(Disclaimer: The only payment I get from writing this tale would be your comments. Certainly, nothing is subtracted from the Rowling estate.)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XXXXVI: No Escape From The Past
*
There were times - not many, but there were times - when Harry missed the Deathly Hallows.
In particular, if he'd still possessed the Stealth Cloak, it would be ever so much easier to infiltrate the Ministry on the sly. No longer an option now, of course. And even if Harry once again managed his hypercharged Notice-Me-Not charm, he feared it might be detected: Ministry security was still a bit higher than normal, and would be so until memories of the incident with Sabas Doukas had faded somewhat.
So Harry arrived at the Ministry on Monday evening, just at close of business, when the great majority of Ministry staff were trying to make their way to the Atrium, there to either Floo or Disapparate home. Harry had Transfigured his robes to be a bit threadbare, grubby, with oil stains here and there; he'd added a non-descript woolen cap. He'd rubbed a bit of dirt (not too much) on his face and hands; his glasses were removed and in his pocket. He kept his eyes down, focused on a coffee-stained and creased bit of parchment, and grumbled for all the world like a Maintenance worker who'd been given a repair job minutes before quitting time.
He received maybe two sympathetic glances, but everyone seemed too intent on getting home to their dinners to take much notice of him. Even the gate guard, who should have stopped him and weighed his wand at the very least, motioned him onward with a jerk of his thumb and a snort.
Once through the crowds, Harry gave a sigh of relief and relaxed a trifle. Worst part's over, he told his queasy stomach. The corridors to the lift were mostly empty; the lift itself, unoccupied. He relaxed a bit more.
The lift took him to the ninth floor, where Harry expected to find the office of the Senior Counsel to the Wizengamot likewise empty - the Senior Counsel having been made Minister, and there being no junior Counsels that he'd ever seen. He paused outside the door, slipped his glasses back in place, and walked inside.
There he was surprised to find Sheryl at her desk, sorting through a stack of reports, and consulting a couple of large leather-bound books in the process. She looked up as Harry entered. "Oh, hello, Harry. What brings you here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Harry grinned, though inside he was rapidly revising his plans. "I'd have thought you'd still be working alongside Hermione - I mean, the Minister - as an aide or something."
Sheryl shrugged. "Counsel's office still has things that need doing, even without a Counsel." She gestured at the books opened on her desk and added, "And I'm studying hard in the meantime. I think, if I can pass the examination, and with my clerking experience, I might be named Counsel. Not Senior Counsel, not right away, but still."
"Good luck, then… Actually, I was hoping to find Canby down here. Is he around?"
"I can let him know you're here." Sheryl scribbled a note on a small piece of parchment, which she folded into an airplane and launched out the door with her wand. "Don't know where he is… it may take a few minutes."
"I don't mind waiting." Harry leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest, and appeared to lose himself in thought. Sheryl returned to her parchmentwork, occasionally using her wand to re-sort the reports in front of her, prior to filing them away.
Harry waited a few moments, until he was sure that Sheryl's attention wasn't fully on him. Then he casually took a step towards the corner of the room, where a quill was poised attentively over a sheaf of parchments. He wished now that he'd paid more attention to Ted, when Ted had showed him the Supersensory Charm - but that had been two years ago, when he'd had the Elder Wand, and hadn't really needed to memorize incantations. Dammit.
He waited another few moments, confirming that Sheryl was engrossed in her work, then took another step towards the corner and cautiously craned his neck to read the top parchment.
"Looking for this?"
Harry's face jerked towards the door. Canby and Hermione stood there, side by side, with Hermione's Auror escort in the background. Harry had just a moment to register Canby's sorrowful Mister-Harry-how-could-you expression, before his gaze was trapped by Hermione's stern look. In her hand she held a large sheet of parchment filled with lines of text: obviously dictation.
She marched into the empty office that had been hers, motioning Harry to follow. When they were both inside, the desk between them, she whirled and demanded, "What do you think you're doing?"
"Hermione," he said urgently, "if that parchment is what I think it is, it could be very important. I put the Scribo charm on…"
"Don't tell me!" she angrily interrupted. "I can't read this, I can't know about this!" She slammed the parchment onto the desktop and struck it with her wand. Immediately, it began to smoulder and blacken, the edges glowing ember-red. Horrified, Harry made an abortive motion to stop her, pausing only when he remembered that the office door was open, and that Sheryl, Canby, and the Auror were all watching.
"You've put me in an impossible position, Harry," Hermione said in level, measured tones. "This could have been a serious violation of someone's right to privacy. Made worse by the fact that you misused Ministry-specific charms and resources - even though you aren't a Ministry employee. And made more awkward for me by the fact that we know each other."
"But Hermione," he tried to inject, "this was about…"
"Fortunately," she overrode him, "fortunately for all of us, no one has read this transcription since it was discovered, so no harm was truly done this time. But Harry, please." Her expression remained hard, but her voice softened slightly. "Please, you must see that I can't approve this cavalier abuse of Departmental resources… nor the violation of any individual's rights. Please don't let me catch you doing this again."
She waited a moment to hear what he might have to say, but Harry had turned sullenly mute. After a pause, the Minister of Magic gave Harry a curt nod of dismissal and, skirting around the desk, left the office and departed briskly down the corridor, Canby and the Auror trailing behind her. Sheryl, after giving Harry an unreadably neutral look, returned to her own work.
Harry remained standing in place, staring poleaxed at the burnt parchment that marked the spoiled outcome of his plan. He'd been so clever, arriving at the Leaky Cauldron upon receiving Ted's Patronus, and casting the Scribo charm on Draco without his noticing, as they ran into one another. With that charm at work, there'd been every chance Draco might have said something incriminating, something that would link Draco conclusively to Rose's poisoning. He couldn't believe Hermione would destroy such vital evidence! She wouldn't even let him tell her his ruse concerned Rose - which he'd have thought would be important to her!
"Canby was hurt, you know, Harry," came Sheryl's voice. She was hunched over her work, not looking at him through the door, but her disappointment was plain to hear. "He came in today and saw that the quill was writing, even though we don't have any prisoners in the holding cells, and he knew exactly what you'd done. I think it was the fact that you used a spell he taught you that hurt him the most."
"I never meant to…" he began, then fell silent. Any apologies were owed to Canby, really, not Sheryl. Though Harry still felt as though nobody understood how important this bit of parchment had been…
He suddenly peered more closely at the parchment. It had been charred and blackened, as though held too close to a fire - but Hermione hadn't set it on fire, as she could so easily have done. The edges were grey ash, but the main body of the page…
"Imperturbus!" he immediately cast, before the fragile page could be disturbed, or accidentally crumbled into dust. The main body of the page was still intact - and at the proper angle, the quill's glossy black ink was still visible against the charcoal black of the parchment!
Clever Hermione, he thought with a grin, as he dug into his pocket and brought out pencil and notebook. Of course, in front of witnesses, you said what the Minister of Magic had to say. You had to look like you wouldn't accept illegally gotten evidence, even to the point of looking like you destroyed it. But you left it for me to read. And you didn't tell me to stop what I was doing: you told me not to get caught!
Trying to balance haste and accuracy, Harry began copying the words on the blackened parchment. The Scribo charm showed Draco's location, as well as his words. Harry could wish for a date/time marker as well - and the other side of any conversation - but the charm wasn't designed to provide those. Ah well, he'd have to make do.
*
Hermione prepared her own breakfast at Enthalpy House the next morning, and ate it alone. Harry had spent his night at The Ossuary, which wasn't unusual… but he'd made no attempt to contact her during the day, which was unusual. She wondered if he were sulking; she felt a bit sorry she'd had to chastise him as she had. But he'd left her no choice, once he'd been found out: people had to see her as impartial. Doubly so, as the first Muggleborn Minister of Magic: Hermione had to be as Caesar's wife, with her actions above reproach, and seen to be above reproach.
She pushed aside her empty plate and reached for the morning post, hoping to divert herself before leaving for her office. The first item was, of course, the Daily Prophet. She opened it to see, on the front page, the story by Mina Mignot: New Minister Takes Ribbing in Stride. The story came complete with illustration: not the infamous photograph from le Moniteur Magique, but an "artist's interpretation" in soft pastels, with sketchy facial features and thankfully indistinct anatomical details.
I was expecting to see this last week, she mused as she rapidly scanned the text of the article. Ah, good, it does talk about my youth, not my Muggle parentage. I can live with that: I'll outgrow that kind of comment. Annnd… yes, it does mention Harry. Mm, my "closest supporter", very tactful.
Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a tiny stag Patronus, which circled the kitchen once before lighting on the table in front of her. "Dear Greek goddess," came the message in Harry's voice, "dinner tonight, my place? Sincerely, your boy toy."
Laughing, Hermione framed a reply in the affirmative, and sent it off via her own Patronus. Well, so much for Harry sulking. He must have been as amused by the Prophet as I was. Greatly cheered, she Banished the dirty dishes to the sink and prepared for another day at the Ministry.
*
Neville likewise saw the Tuesday Prophet, at the high table in the Hogwarts Great Hall. Unlike Hermione, he hadn't known Mignot's article was coming… but having seen it, he found he wasn't all that surprised. At first, he didn't read the article in great detail; rather, after taking in the artist's sketch, he cast his gaze across the assembled students at breakfast. Several pockets of students seemed downcast by the article - sixth and seventh year girls, mostly - but Neville was primarily interested in one particular trio of Gryffindors.
At the moment, Mr. Lupin was holding the newspaper gingerly: he was shaking his head in apparent resignation as he read the front page. Miss Weasley-Minor seemed on the verge of tears; Miss Weasley-Major had an arm wrapped around the younger girl's shoulders, comforting her. A crush, Neville supposed - certainly, by all the gossip of the castle's portraits and ghosts, there were crushes aplenty on the new substitute teacher - but Rose's would be a more awkward crush than the others. Neville pondered for a moment whether he should intervene… and if so, as Head of House or as a family friend.
He'd just about decided that it was better, all things considered, to stay aloof of Rose's personal issues, when another personal issue arrived via the morning owls. Neville took the letter proffered by the tiny owl, read it, and sighed resignedly… he supposed it was only to be expected.
Neville: I know you know how to reach Harry. I HAVE to talk to him. TODAY, lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. Tell him it's URGENT. - Ron.
*
"Urgent, you said?" Harry asked politely. He took a sip of butterbeer and waited for Ron to broach his subject. Once they'd settled whatever that was - though he had a very strong hunch what Ron's issue would be - Harry had his own reason for keeping this meeting.
"Yeah," Ron replied, and fell silent. He didn't drink, but kept his eyes fixed on Harry. You couldn't call it a stare, exactly, but it was just as unwavering.
After a minute, Harry broke the silence. "I'm bollocks at Legilimency, Ron."
Ron regarded Harry for another few moments, before extracting the Prophet from his pocket and tossing it onto the table. The paper had been folded to display the sketch of Harry and Hermione.
"Yeah, I saw that too," said Harry. "I also read the article, which I'll bet is more than most people have done." He raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
Ron scowled. "Skimmed it." He tapped one finger repeatedly on the sketch. "Hermione knew she'd be getting grief as Minister. That's not why I wanted to talk to you. I want to talk about this."
"'This' is an artist's interpretation of a faked photograph in a foreign newspaper," Harry said without heat. "What else is there to say about it?"
"The photo was taken in Greece, right? They may have faked some details, but you and Hermione were in Greece together when it was taken, right?"
"You know we were, Ron." Harry sighed, took another drink, and leaned back in his chair. "It was just after Hermione's Rebirthday Party… after the reporters told her she'd been elected, but before the Wizengamot could confirm it officially. It was her last chance to take a holiday for, well, years. Should she not have jumped at the chance?"
"The holiday's not the point, Harry. Greece isn't the point, Harry. You know what the point is, Harry!" Ron kept his voice low with an effort, but Harry could see his face turning red. Some things never changed.
"All right, Ron. Just remember, you brought this up." Harry downed his remaining butterbeer in a gulp and set the tankard down with a heavy clunk. "We went to Greece together, yes, as you already knew from the photo. Yes, we stayed at the same hostel." Both Harry's gaze and voice were perfectly level. "Same room." Pause, then more quietly, "Same bed."
Now Ron was definitely staring.
"Do you need more details?" Harry concluded, very quiet now. There was no trace of a threat in his attitude - but Gibraltar would have been no less immovable.
"No." Ron cleared his throat, hawked, and took a quick swallow. "No, I understand just fine, thanks." He said nothing more, and an awkward silence descended.
"Well. Okay, then." Harry canted his head. "I must say, you're taking this better than I expected."
"What's to take? The Boy Who Lived Again is having a go with the Minister of Magic. Quite the natural thing, really, if you think about it."
"Don't do this, Ron. Don't. It's not as though you're married to her anymore. You handed her the Decree Absolute yourself."
"And you didn't exactly let the grass grow under your feet, did you?" Ron hissed with unexpected venom.
Harry managed to stop himself before he reminded Ron about Felicia - he wasn't supposed to know about Felicia. Instead, he opted for a soft answer. "I've known her as long as you have," he said, almost gently. "Loved her as a friend since before our voices changed. Counted on her, right up to the day I died… and since. No, Ron, if anything, I think I let far too much grass grow. I was stupid for years, too many years - before and after I died - but not any more. So if you've got a problem seeing her with me, say so now."
Ron didn't reply, not immediately. He drank from his own butterbeer, looking off to the side… he no longer seemed able to meet Harry's eyes. He sighed heavily, took another drink, and pushed his tankard away. He leaned his elbows on the table and rubbed his brow, still not looking at Harry. Finally, he mumbled, "Yah, well… I reckon if I've got a problem seeing her with you, it's my problem, innit? Nothing 'ud change. You'd still be with her."
"I'm so glad you understand that." Harry reached out and squeezed Ron's shoulder; when Ron looked up, he gave Ron a wry smile. "Would it make you feel better if you gave me the standard If-you-ever-hurt-her-I'll-hurt-you-worse speech? Or shall we take that as said and move on?"
"Guh! Move on, move on." Ron bit into a sandwich, swallowed without chewing, and added, "Although I will hurt you."
"Right. Moving on." Harry motioned Ron closer as he drew his wand and silently cast Muffliato around their table. Even though there was little chance they'd be overheard in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry recalled all too painfully what had happened in the Hog's Head, during his fifth year, when he'd failed to take such precautions.
And despite the Muffliato, he still couldn't help lowering his voice. "Tell me what you know about Rose's 'illness'."
Ron was suddenly alert, no longer resentful but focused. "You know about…? Yeah, right, you would. Okay, then, it started with a note I got from Hermione, telling me that I was going to hear that Rosie was deathly ill, right? And that I was to act like it was true, but it wasn't. It was a plot. I'm guessing someone was threatening Rosie to get at Hermione?"
"Got it in one," Harry nodded. "The plot was to poison Rose and make the antidote conditional on Hermione's good behavior. They could tell the Minister to do anything, and she'd have to do it. We caught it before Rose could be dosed, but so far we haven't caught the ones responsible."
"Yet? But… I mean, Robards? The Aurors?"
"Hermione daren't use them. Why, would you believe it, Ron, there are people inside the Ministry she can't trust. Imagine that." Harry shrugged. "Which isn't to say she doesn't have her resources. And they're looking for the blackmailers… pursuing several leads, from what I can gather. And you know what else?"
Ron shook his head.
"We are going to beat them to it," Harry finished with a triumphant grin, and pulled out his notebook.
*
Hogsmeade. Same relationship as Sirius. Potter. Damn Potter.
Hogsmeade. I'll show them. I'll show them all.
Spinner's End, New Mills, Lancashire. Yeah, that'll have to be enough.
Post Office, Hogsmeade. I need an owl. Domestic delivery.
12 Grimmauld Place, London. Good morning, Mother.
12 Grimmauld Place, London. As I told you, I had some things to attend to. What do we have for breakfast?
12 Grimmauld Place, London. Let's just say I was working some of my contacts. I am still looking for gainful employment, after all.
12 Grimmauld Place, London. Nothing concrete yet, I'm afraid. Most people aren't exactly eager to hire an applicant with my résumé, shall we say. I'm going to need a good word from someone.
12 Grimmauld Place, London. As a matter of fact, I'm meeting with someone today. Don't worry, I shall be the soul of discretion.
12 Grimmauld Place, London. Oh, Mother, please. I can't speak for you, but I don't intend to live on half-blood charity for a day longer than necessary.
12 Grimmauld Place, London. Of course not. I would never say that to his face. Credit me with a little intelligence.
12 Grimmauld Place, London. Yes, well, don't forget, Potter's presence changes everything. I mean, who do you think the half-blood will favor…?
12 Grimmauld Place, London. It's all a question of timing. If…
12 Grimmauld Place, London. Mother, I don't want to know about your plans. And trust me when I say, you don't want to know about mine. If you'll excuse me?
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. Thank you for coming. I felt we needed to keep each other up to date. Join me in a pint?
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. You won't mind if I do, then.
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. From my end, everything's proceeding smoothly. The girl is still reporting to Pomfrey every five days.
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. I told you I've cultivated a source inside Hogwarts. And that reminds me, I'm going to need some more cash if we're to continue using her.
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. Good. That brings us to the main reason we're here. I'm running low on ingredients. Here's the list. I need you to arrange to get them for me.
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. Because they're illegal, they're expensive, and they aren't local. They have to be brought in. The iocaine from Australia, the lightning wort from…
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. Because we don't dare run short. If the girl dies, her value as a hostage is lost. Worse, it would put us at immediate risk. I'd have thought this was obvious.
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. I overestimated my stocks. Many of them had gone bad over the years. And… I suppose it won't hurt to tell you that I'm pursuing a project of my own as well.
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. You don't need to know.
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. It can't be traced back to you, so leave it. Just get me the supplies I need to further our plan. You're best situated to bring them in, and do it, shall we say, clandestinely. Now, what developments on your end?
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. I understand. But it's unfortunate. My straits are grown rather desperate.
The Crowned Hart, Godric's Hollow, Wales. All right, I'll be patient. I haven't much choice, have I? But I can't wait forever.
*
"That's all I could read of the transcript," said Harry. "Apart from some bits I left out, like when he was singing in the shower."
"Draco bloody Malfoy," breathed Ron. "You think he's the one poisoning my daughter?"
"Sounds like it, doesn't it? Mind you, none of this is proof. The ferret's careful not to name names out loud. We don't know who he's talking to, here at the Crowned Hart, and he never mentions Rose by name. But he does mention one ingredient that I know was in the poison sent to Rose: iocaine. The mere possession of which is enough to send him back to Azkaban, never mind anything else."
"So we need to prove he possesses it, and isn't only talking about it." Ron nodded sharply. "Right, then, I think a visit to Grimmauld Place is in order, don't you?"
Harry shook his head. "Not Grimmauld Place. Assuming Malfoy's the one who's… well, whoever's behind this, they've already shown they're careful about hiding their tracks. If it's Malfoy, he won't keep incriminating evidence where he's living. And… and besides, I'd rather not involve Ted and Andromeda if I can avoid it."
"Mmmph." Ron acknowledged Harry's reasoning with a grimace, and peered more closely at Harry's notebook. He pointed a finger at one line. "What's this, then? Spinner's End? I don't recognize it."
"Neither do I. I've never heard of it before… certainly not in relation to any Malfoy." Harry nodded approvingly. "Which would make it the perfect place for a Malfoy to be, wouldn't it, if he was breaking the law." He raised a hand as Ron started to get to his feet. "Of course, we don't want to be seen breaking the law either, Ron. If nothing else, it would reflect badly on Hermione."
Ron retook his seat reluctantly. "Well, then, what exactly do you suggest?"
"I suggest looking before we leap, that's all." Harry smiled. "As it turns out, my afternoon's free. Can you take the rest of the day off from work?"
*
"We should've brought food," grumbled Ron.
There's no Leviosa charm powerful enough, thought Harry, but he kept it to himself.
They'd found a spot where they could watch the house on Spinner's End in relative comfort, without being noticed. For good measure, Harry had Disillusioned them both. (He still hadn't managed to recreate the powerful Notice-Me-Not charm he'd used in Athens - not on command, anyway -- and in any case, it would've made it hard for them to converse.) Now they sat like hunters in a blind, waiting for the prey to return to the nest.
For the tenth time, Ron asked, "You're sure this is the right place?"
For the tenth time, Harry replied, "I'm sure." He debated with himself, then decided that explanations might forestall an eleventh time. "This is the only house on this street with any signs of magic. I can see the wards on this place, and they're pretty impressive. I can't tell what all of them do, but… let's just say it's a good thing we didn't decide to Apparate directly inside."
"You can see the wards?"
Harry shrugged. "Not see, really, but I can't describe it better than that. I'm beginning to wonder whether Dumbledore could… hold up." He craned forward, staring, as a figure materialized in front of the door of the house. "We've company."
It was Draco Malfoy, sure enough. He carried in one hand a bag of what appeared to be groceries; the other hand cradled two or three small boxes. Harry focused his magical senses, and was surprised to discover that the boxes themselves were individually warded. The wards kept him from sensing what was in the boxes, though the wards themselves were 'visible'. A careful plotter, right, he told himself savagely. Now what could be in those boxes that's so sensitive you don't even want to risk setting off the Ministry's detectors?
"Here we go, Ron," he murmured, as he dispelled Ron's Disillusion with a tap of his wand, "just as we rehearsed."
Ron nodded. He waited until Malfoy had opened the door - not using a key, he noted, but by waving his forearm in front of the knocker - and was on his way inside. Then he darted from their hiding place, arriving at the door just as it was about to close. One foot in the door kept it open, as he perfunctorily knocked on the jamb. "Hi there, got a minute?"
"You! Get out!" yelled Malfoy predictably, and just as predictably began to draw his wand. By doing so, however, he lost control of the door, and Ron easily used his superior size to force it open far enough to step inside.
"You're trespassing, Weasel," snarled Malfoy. His wand was out now, pointed at Ron's face.
"Call the Enforcers, then," Ron replied, much more casually than he felt. "Or hex me, in a house where there's not supposed to be any magic users." He took a step into the room, leaving the door open behind him. As Harry had told him, he kept his eyes moving around the room, taking in details that might later be available in an evidentiary Pensieve: the stuffed bookcases, the photograph on one wall, the long table on which rested a cauldron, beakers, ingredient bottles…
Malfoy stood motionless, considering his options, while the wand never left Ron's face. "I said get out," he finally growled. It confirmed Ron's suspicions: Malfoy very, very much wanted to avoid drawing the Ministry's attention to this place. As long as the door was open, breaching the house's extensive wards, Malfoy wouldn't try to use any dangerous spells.
Ron certainly hoped not.
He raised his empty hands, not in surrender, but to show his peaceable intentions. "I just thought we might have a little talk, that's all. Once we're done, I'll leave, honest."
"I've had enough of your 'little talks' to last me forever, Weasel." Slowly, never taking his eyes off Ron, Malfoy crouched to where he'd dropped his boxes and groceries to the floor. He began to collect them with one hand, the other hand keeping his wand trained on Ron.
"Oh, but we never talked about our children before, Malfoy. That's always an interesting topic, don't you think?"
Malfoy froze in place. After a long moment, he sneered, "What in Merlin's name makes you think that I care about your stupid spawn, Weasel? Other than the fact that there's one more redheaded mistake in the world?"
"Oh, Malfoy, how can you say you don't care? I felt sure my daughter interested you." Ron took another step. "You certainly seem to've been paying her attention."
"I have no idea what you're babbling about." Malfoy reached for the last box on the floor. As his fingers touched it, the box tumbled away. As it came to rest, the box opened and spilled its contents onto the floor - including a transparent packet of white powder.
Malfoy scrambled to collect the scattered contents, but the lone packet slid along the floor, seemingly of its own accord, staying just out of his reach. He made one more desperate lunge - then, as he realized what must be happening, he swept his wand across the room. "Cave Inimicum!" he cried, and his wand flashed red for an instant. Immediately, he followed up with "Homenum Revelio!"
Harry stumbled as his Disillusionment charm was abruptly cancelled. Damn, he complained silently, I didn't think Malfoy was powerful enough to do that. Right, no more mistakes, I can't afford 'em. Slowly he straightened, keeping one foot between Malfoy and the packet of powder… clearly ready to kick the packet away, even out the door, if Malfoy made a threatening move.
"Doctor Iocaine, I presume?" he said quietly. The two pure-blooded wizards probably wouldn't get the reference, but Harry couldn't help himself.
"Don't touch it, Harry," came a new voice. "Everyone stay where you are." Of a sudden, Dennis Creevey and Canby filled the doorway, looking very official: Dennis held his wand at the ready, while Canby held what was obviously a warrant.
"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement having detected the presence of an unlawful Class C substance," announced Dennis in a loud voice, "we are here under warrant to search these premises. All present are advised that anything they say may be used as evidence before the Wizengamot."
"Mister Harry must have thought MLE is full of idiots," added Canby critically.
Harry gave him a rueful smile and stepped away from the packet of iocaine. "Mister Harry thought MLE's hands were tied. I apologize."
"The Minister asked us for heightened magical sweeps for controlled substances… particularly iocaine, for some reason," replied Dennis with a perfectly straight face. "We would have knocked, but the door was already open. Mr. Malfoy, if you would please stand up slowly and step away from those boxes…? And please leave your wand on the floor. Thank you." He waited until Malfoy had backed away, then gestured for Canby to collect the goods.
None of them realized that Malfoy's retreat took him closer to the Potions worktable. Malfoy waited a moment, then edged slightly closer still.
Canby, in the meantime, was levitating the packet between his hands without touching it. He breathed smoke on the packet, and a fingerprint became visible on one side. "It is iocaine," he announced. "The finger mark is the same as…" He looked around, spotted Malfoy's wand on the floor, and bent over to breathe smoke upon it as well. "As the mark on this wand," he concluded grimly.
"That will do," Dennis nodded. "Draco Malfoy, I arrest you for the possession of…"
"NOOOOO!" Malfoy screamed, suddenly wild. "I'LL NEVER GO BACK THERE, DO YOU HEAR ME! I'D SOONER DIE!" With manic speed he reached both arms behind him, and brought them forward again - in each hand now a flask of potion, one milk-white, one blood-red.
Even as Dennis brought his wand to bear on Malfoy and began to cast a Full-Body Bind, Canby was moving to protect the innocent bystander, Ron. At the same moment, Harry, who was closest to Malfoy, leaped forward - drawing his wand as he did so - knowing there wasn't time to cast a spell - hoping to physically restrain Malfoy from whatever he was about to do -
But Malfoy proved too quick, as he dodged Dennis's spell and, with a high-pitched triumphant cackle, smashed the flasks together onto the floor just as Harry reached him.
And Harry's last thought was how much, in that moment, Draco resembled his Aunt Bellatrix.