Harry scanned the letter in his hands with a confused look on his face, before waving away the tawny brown barn owl that had delivered it. It was a message from Percy which was always an order, which really needed no response even if Harry had felt inclined to do so. He didn’t. They were supposed to do bodyguard work for the Ministry, and Percy specifically? They weren’t Magi, damnit, they were Aurors! Staying behind and playing defensive was the exact opposite of what they’d trained for. It didn’t matter to him how rare or special the Magi thought they were, a Minister qualified as worthy for their fucking time... one thing was certain. With the entire absence of a reason on WHY they had the duty, Draco was not going to like this. And speaking of Draco, the pale man walked in the door with a sort of detached manner, which worried Harry more then any of his sudden mood changes. When you did what they did if you ever lost focus you were dead, the last thing you see is a flash of green fight and a leering face. Like Draco had said, when Harry delved into his sources he did indeed hear some stories about Marcus Flint, even though they seemed very unlikely to be false as Draco had assumed. It seemed to take him a minute to register that Harry was there, and then that he was holding a letter. “What’s that?” he asked with absolutely no interest. Harry tossed him the letter, which he quickly read, and then tossed to the floor in disgust. He was even angrier then expected, and his eyes literally blazed as he randomly cursed for a few moments. “What in the blue hell is this!?” he snapped in a rage, stomping on the letter and balling his hands into fists. “Its fucking Magi work!” With a simple shrug, Harry tried to calm his lover down. “That’s what I thought, but I guess we don’t have a choice,” he said, “and its probably just some dumb attempt for Percy to psycho analyze us.” His words didn’t seem to have any calming affect whatsoever on Draco, and he wondered briefly if there was something new fueling the fire. Draco’s strange behavior lately was really beginning to concern him, and there would be serious problems if it began to interfere with work. But Draco knew better than to think that it was some attempt by the Ministry to get inside their heads, even though he had know doubts that it was something they would try in the future. Crabbes busted nose had raised a lot of eyebrows when they brought him in, as physical damage like that was unlikely when someone had been apprehended by a wizard of any kind, especially an Auror. Something else was wrong, and although he had absolutely no idea why, he knew it had something to do with that son of a bitch Marcus Flint. Over the last week and a half he’d managed to convince himself fully that Marcus was a delusional maniac, and that his calm demeanor was simply because whatever mental disorder that was grabbing him was a rare type. Salazar was dead, there was no brotherhood, there was no rebellion. There was just Marcus, who probably just wanted revenge on Draco and maybe even Harry. And it was Marcus’ face Draco saw as he ground the piece of parchment into the floor with his heel, twisted and contorted in pain as his foot stomped the life from it. And he knew the image would come to fruition, if Marcus was trying something... against him, or Harry.