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Chapter Thirteen—What Harry Potter Saw

“I want to come along.”

Draco froze in the doorway. Harry didn’t mind; he’d anticipated that might happen. Instead, he folded his arms and leaned against the wall, watching his lover’s back with interest. It was one thing for Draco to control his manners at table, in a private setting. What was he going to do when there was a chance that Harry would watch him in public?

Draco turned around with a tight smile on his lips. “It would be boring for you.”

“Really? How do you know that?” Harry widened his eyes and blinked innocently. “When your every movement streams with so much brilliance in ordinary situations? You must be at the height of that brilliance when you debate Muggleborns.”

Draco caught his lip between his teeth. He let it go immediately, but it was no use; Harry had seen. That one unguarded gesture told him more than anything else could have about how nervous Draco was.

“Harry,” he said, and then stopped. “Do you know who and what I’m going to debate today, or did you only know that I’m going to debate a Muggleborn?” he asked with exaggerated care.

Harry controlled the impulse to laugh at the way he spoke, as if his words were pieces of eggshell that he was gathering from the floor. “I don’t know,” he replied. “But are you saying that that would make a difference to your brilliance?” He smiled up at Draco with his eyes as limpid as he could make them. Yes, he’d only known about the debate at all because he’d overheard the house-elves talking, but that didn’t lessen his desire to go.

“I’m debating your friend Granger,” Draco said bluntly. “And we’ll be talking about inherited pure-blood privileges, house-elves among them.”

Harry felt the smile drop off his face. Whilst he was sure that Ron had told Hermione about his appearing in Draco’s company, that was different than her hearing it from him. And what would she feel if the first time she had seen him in a fortnight, he was next to her opponent in a debate, supporting a position that was repellent to her?

I’m not supporting his position, and if Hermione is smart, she’ll know that, he told himself. You can stand next to someone and not believe everything they believe.

But whilst Hermione might know that intellectually, he wondered if she would know it emotionally. If she would be able to separate her feelings against Draco from her feelings for Harry. Harry half-closed his eyes and exhaled. This was about the worst situation for making his friends and Draco get along that he could imagine.

But on the other hand, he wanted to know how much of Draco was real and how many of his beliefs he was ready to give up, in the way that Harry had challenged him to do before he would date him. And no way that Hermione and Draco could meet was likely to be good, considering that Hermione hated him and thought Harry was a fool for falling in love with him.

“I still want to go,” he said. “Unless you think that you want to back out of the debate because of who and what you’re debating.”

As he had known would happen, that taunt made Draco’s eyes narrow with a mixture of fury and indignation. “Of course not,” he snapped. “I agreed to this, and you’re not about to turn me aside from it.”

“Then neither can you do that to me,” Harry said, and stood tall and straight, his eyes never leaving Draco’s.

After long moments, Draco inclined his head and stretched out his arm for Harry to place his hand on. Harry looked calmly at him and walked towards the door instead, pushing it open. He thought he’d taken on enough feminine gestures for Draco’s sake. It was time that Draco really realized he was not a woman.

He could feel Draco staring at his back as they walked out of the Manor, and contentedly figured that was a good start.

*

Draco nearly messed up the Apparition into the debating arena, which would have been a bad start to the contest, since it would have given his enemies something to laugh at. He took a deep breath, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. Those who watched him were likely to think that he was simply summing up his thoughts and marshaling his arguments. He showed signs of exasperation so little that it wouldn’t be an immediate guess for anyone.

Except Harry.

Draco resisted the temptation to open one eye and glare sideways at Harry. It wouldn’t gain him anything, and might stall the part of the calming process that he had managed to go through.

Instead, he stood there until he heard the murmuring voices rise around him, and knew that meant Granger must have arrived. Then he opened his eyes, and if he was not perfectly calm and composed, a marble statue of a debater, that was not his fault.

The arena itself was a dazzling, two-story, glass-walled garden, like his own in the Manor. The roof was enchanted to reflect the outer weather instead of actually opening to the sky, and there were other differences; for one thing, the flowers didn’t have the dazzling depth and variety of color that Draco had carefully bred into his plants. The paths were also wider, and the “trunks” of several trees were meant as seats for the spectators.

Draco turned to face the center of the garden. In the place where his had a soaring tree with white branches reaching for the sky, this one had a central stage. Made of glass that faithfully reflected the greenery around it, the stage was hard to see unless one was looking closely. The chairs on it appeared to hover in midair. Everyone who regularly attended the debates knew how it was done, of course, but that was no reason not to show a suitable amount of appreciation.

The chair on the left was draped with silver and green cloth, and Draco rolled his eyes; the various Muggleborn organizations, who were in charge of arranging this particular debate, had never given up their death grip on the idea that Slytherin colors indicated a pure-blood family. He was glad they had chosen that particular chair, though. It was the more comfortable one.

Not that he would have let the discomfort enter his mind if they had given him the chair on the right, of course, he thought as he moved through the chattering spectators and the mass of reaching vines in the direction of the stage. But it was always pleasant when one’s opponents handed one the advantage.

The chair on the right had Granger’s trademark red cloth with the golden sunburst on it. Draco snorted quietly. Granger’s paying job was through the Ministry, and she only acted as “advisor” to the Valiant Friends, the group of Muggleborns and half-bloods who worked hard to change the basic laws of pure-blood society. But her advice controlled everything from the way they spent their money to their symbol, which Granger said represented the “new sunrise” overcoming the wizarding world.

Still, it didn’t do to underestimate their influence. The Valiant Friends were mostly war heroes, mostly Gryffindors, and had an aggressive way of recruiting the best of the students who came out of Hogwarts, even Slytherins, as long as they weren’t overly concerned about blood purity.

And since Harry has asked you to stop being so concerned about that, are you going to join them?

Draco shook his head with a frown. It was true that he could see surrendering that belief, and that he would not oppose some of the things the Valiant Friends had in mind for the wizarding world. But he would not give up his house-elves, and he would not assume that Granger knew better than he did, simply because she was militant.

“Malfoy.”

And there is Granger now. She had come up behind him, but Draco had known she was there all along; he would have paid attention only if he had sensed her wand being drawn. He turned around with a pleasant smile. “Granger,” he said. “Are you ready to try and persuade me again?” He laid a subtle emphasis on “again” that made her flush, though a moment later her face was pale.

“I want to know what you’ve done to Harry,” she said.

Direct. I must remember to stop being thrown by that. “I found out he was sending the letters to me,” Draco said. “I convinced him that it was foolishness to expect me to fall in love with Astoria, when he had revealed his personality in the writing, and that was what I was attracted to. We came back from Spain together, and since then he’s been staying in the Manor and indulging my attempts to seduce him.”

It was no more than the absolute truth, but Granger glared at him as though he had admitted to converting Harry to the service of the Dark Lord, and then called Harry over loudly. Harry had stood behind Draco, gaping at the arena, but he turned now. Draco took the chance to roll his eyes, once he could be sure that Harry wasn’t looking at him. He’s surely seen more impressive things, as an Auror and a recipient of the Order of Merlin. Does he have to show his naiveté every time he turns around?

But he knew that the same thing would undoubtedly keep happening. Whilst Harry had seen impressive sights, he hadn’t sought them out. Draco was wise enough now to drop his old perception that Harry liked attention and tried to make others give it to him.

I can look on it as the opportunity to introduce him to new and exciting things, he thought, and stepped up to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry as Granger glared at him.

“I didn’t tell you because I thought Ron would,” Harry said. “And because I wanted to talk to you both at the same time, in a few days.” He shot a sideways glance at Draco. “Once I understood more about my relationship with Draco, and whether it was likely to be permanent or not.”

“You still should have come to me,” Granger said, her voice cold and tight. “I told you this was foolishness from the beginning, Harry. Do you really think that you’ll stay with him when your political beliefs are so opposed?”

Harry flushed. “There are other reasons than being together because of compatible political beliefs,” he muttered.

“Such as sexual compatibility,” Draco murmured, into his ear but not so low that Granger couldn’t hear it, and watched in satisfaction as she ground her teeth. Harry flushed worse, but pushed Draco lightly in the shoulder, in a way that reassured him he appreciated the tease.

“I understand Harry’s infatuation.” Granger spoke quietly, but the sheer force of her words made up for it, and when he saw the steely light in her eyes, Draco lost his impulse to tease. This was a woman who would separate them if she could. “I’ve been there to see it grow from the beginning. And I know that he watched you from a distance and never tried to understand you, only his idealization of you.” She looked directly at Draco then, her gaze distant and disgusted at the same moment. “I would have thought that would infuriate you, Malfoy, since you’ve never been fooled by your own press.”

Draco put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pressed down, in part because he could feel Harry trying to move away from him. “I’ve been infuriated by many things in the last few days,” he said casually. “But most of them only made me more aware that I wanted Harry to belong to me.”

Harry spun around snarling. “I don’t belong to you!”

Draco narrowed his eyes and stepped back, lifting his hand from Harry’s shoulder before Harry could force it away. That may have been…a miscalculation. From what he could see of Granger’s face, she didn’t think so, or at best thought he had betrayed his real purpose in courting Harry all along. She would move as fast as she could to take advantage of that perception.

Draco saw no reason why he should allow her to. He had made a mistake, and traditionally Malfoys recovered from their mistakes and did not allow them to hurt them, rather than permit their enemies to take advantage of them.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Harry stiffened. He had started to spin towards Granger, but halted in an awkward pose, half-turned away. “What?”

“I said I was sorry,” Draco repeated, and had to work hard to keep his voice from sounding snappish. Yes, he was snappish at the moment, but he would lose Harry if he sounded the way. “I—I’m used to lovers who would only be too happy to be owned by me. I misspoke. I’m sorry.”

Harry turned fully back towards him and considered him with skeptical eyes. Granger stepped up behind Harry, whispering something urgent, but she was of less than no concern as long as Harry was still looking at Draco. When she did something to distract his attention, then Draco could worry.

Holding Harry’s gaze, he clenched his fingers into his palms and tried to remain calm. He had to act that way. Harry would want remorse, but too much anxiety would probably make him think that Draco was lying, and mainly anxious about losing control of him.

“I could see that happening,” Harry said at last. “And I could even take it as a compliment, because you’re less guarded around me than around the women you dated. I could take that as meaning that you trust me more.”

Draco didn’t smile yet, because Granger was plucking at Harry’s arm and whispering, “Harry, no!” and because he didn’t think Harry was finished.

“I don’t think I’ll take it as a compliment, though,” Harry said in a musing tone. “I’ll take it as a sign that you still have some arrogance to overcome.” He shrugged, a small thing that Draco wouldn’t have imagined him capable of, not after the big, expansive gestures he’d made so far whilst he stayed at the Manor. “I have my own share of it. I was arrogant to assume that I knew best what you wanted when I wrote those letters.”

“Harry,” said Granger, her voice frozen.

“It’s still my choice,” Harry said, turning and facing her. His voice was apologetic and his hand gentle as he touched her shoulder, which Draco hated, but he knew that he had received a second—maybe a third—chance, and he shouldn’t waste it by complaining too much about something that didn’t matter in the general scheme of things. “He’s not exactly what I expected, but I was stupid to think he would be. And he’s trying, Hermione. That makes a lot of difference. If he’d just assumed I would accept him no matter what and charged ahead, or not seen anything wrong with his claiming that I belonged to him, I would be more skeptical.”

“How many chances is too many?” Granger demanded, leaning close to Harry. Draco dug his fingernails into his palms again.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, and the edge of a wicked grin came over his face, which Draco immediately wished he was standing in front of him to see fully. “How many did you give Ron?”

“That’s different,” Granger said at once, as if she found the comparison offensive instead of reassuring, the way that Harry had obviously intended her to take it. “I knew why I loved him. And you don’t know why you love Malfoy, do you?” Her eyes shifted away from Harry’s face and to Draco’s, bright with loathing.

“No,” Harry said bluntly. “That’s one of the reasons I’m trying to know him better, so I can tell whether I was deluded or not.”

You weren’t. The words burned on Draco’s tongue, but he held them back. A moment later, he was proud of himself for doing so. After all, was this really any different than learning to coexist with other people in the wake of the war? His father might have done better during the years when Dumbledore was powerful if he had managed to hold back his words sometimes and act with more discretion.

What Harry wants from me fits in with what I want from myself, he thought slowly, wondering if the revelation would change before he reached the end of it. That’s another reason I might not mind so much. I want to be calm, aloof, controlled, and to possess a better reputation than my father. Harry would add to that reputation, yes, but that’s not the main reason I want him. I want to have the public power my father had and the passion, even the love, that Harry implies could be there.

And if Harry’s at my side, maybe he could prevent me doing something stupid with that power when I do accumulate it. My mother couldn’t prevent my father from doing that, because she agreed with him too much. Having someone who argues with you is essential.

“I think you were deluded,” Granger said, and her voice sank. To his astonishment, Draco caught the glint of tears in her eyes. He wondered suddenly how much of her opposition came from frustration and the desire to protect someone who seemed to be hurling himself into danger rather than hatred. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Harry. I can’t see any way for you to escape this without being hurt.”

Harry gave her a slow smile. “Then I am,” he said. He reached out and squeezed her hand. “It wouldn’t be the first time I was mistaken about who and what I wanted, Hermione. I survived that. I can survive this.”

Who else hurt him? Draco staggered with the force of his anger, his emotions changing as suddenly as Harry’s had the tendency to do. I want to know who it was.

Granger didn’t give him any clues, the way that Draco had hoped she would, by blurting out a name or sentimentally sharing a memory aloud with Potter. She squeezed his hand back and then dropped it. When she lifted her head, her eyes focused on Draco and her face had become stern and inflexible, the way that Draco was used to seeing it.

“House-elves remain slaves whether or not my friend’s love life goes wrong,” she said. “Are we holding this debate or aren’t we, Malfoy?”

Draco had to fight to keep from flushing a little, aware for the first time of the intense, interested gazes on him from the various people standing around the arena. It was the first time he had forgotten his audience in he didn’t know how long. “We’re holding it, of course,” he said, and then turned and mounted up to the stage, and the chair draped in Slytherin colors.

I can’t allow Harry to become my whole life, any more than I’ll become his.

But he did have a single vain thought that he decided could be permitted.

I hope he thinks I do well, and that he can hear every word of the debate.

*

Harry settled back into one of the rows of seats provided for the audience, and ignored the curious stares he was attracting. There was a muttering about why Harry Potter would attend one of these debates, and especially why he would seem to be caught between the representatives of the two sides, when everyone knew where his sympathies lay.

As a matter of fact, I’ve been at debates before, Harry thought to them smugly. Just not in any form that you could recognize.

Hermione sat in the chair covered with the sunburst cloth of the Valiant Friends, and stared hard at Malfoy. Harry looked, but couldn’t see any unusual hostility in her face, just the typical expression she wore when she was about to demolish someone she didn’t care for in an argument.

“Do you,” Hermione began in a soft, controlled voice that nevertheless carried to every corner of the arena thanks to the Sonorus Charm she’d cast, “really insist that half-bloods and Muggleborns are inferior to pure-bloods?”

“I haven’t insisted such a thing for years.” Draco looked bored, his arms resting casually on the arms of his chair instead of folded in his lap the way Hermione’s were. “I do believe that we come from different cultures, and that there are some traditions and institutions dominated by pure-bloods that should endure. But that’s a very long way from claiming that someone with my blood has more right to exist than someone with yours. I believe you’re trying to connect me with those claims made during the war with the Dark Lord, yes?” He yawned in Hermione’s face.

Hermione sat up straight. “His name was Voldemort,” she said. “Do you still fear saying it, even after all these years?”

“Yes,” Draco said, and his voice had flattened and deepened at the same time, something Harry hadn’t known was possible. From the slight frown that wrinkled Hermione’s forehead, she hadn’t expected it, either, and this was not a usual argument tactic. “You would, too, Granger, if he haunted all your nightmares and at one time branded his mark on your skin.” He touched his left arm and winced.

Harry was sure his mouth was hanging open. He worked to shut it quickly.

But, yes, this was a change of tactics. He couldn’t recall Draco ever mentioning something as personal as his nightmares in public before, and he usually made efforts to distract his opponents from the Dark Mark.

Is he only doing this because he wants to gain my trust? This could be as calculated as everything else that he’s done in the last few years. He could want to fool the watchers as well as me.

But then Harry shook his head. If he believed Draco valued his public reputation more than anything else, then he would have to accept that mentioning his nightmares was counterintuitive, because Draco had spent so much time avoiding any hint of weakness and covering up the ways he’d suffered from the war.

There has to be a point at which I start giving him some credit and stop suspecting him of manipulation, or I might as well walk away right here and now.

Even Hermione was taken aback, if the way she stared at Draco in silence was any indication. Then she shook her head, swallowed, and continued. “But you have made statements like that in the past. We have records of them.”

“In the past,” Draco said, his voice flattening again. “When I was a stupid child, oh yes. And have you never made a statement that you were ashamed of? One about Slytherins, perhaps?”

Hermione flushed. Harry blinked. Well, yes, she said plenty of things about them. So did I. But she wasn’t hunting them down and persecuting them.

On the other hand, Hermione had accused Draco of making “statements” about Muggleborns and half-bloods, which wasn’t the same thing as hunting them down and persecuting them. If one person could be distrusted because of words, the same standard should apply to the other. Harry leaned forwards, deeply interested now.

“Not ones that reflected themselves so openly in my actions,” Hermione said harshly.

“In the war,” Draco said, “I killed no one. I did what I could to resist the temptation to do so. I did torture people, but only at the direct order of the Dark Lord himself. I survived months with him living in my house. In light of that, I think any statements I made when I was a stupid adolescent should be seen as mild.” He leaned back in the chair, and Harry saw a faint sheen of sweat along his brow before he said abruptly, “And house-elves, Granger? Are you not yet willing to accept that they’re naturally servants and love serving?”

Hermione, effectively distracted, ripped into one of her blistering tirades about people who owned and used house-elves. Draco yawned frequently in her face, which only enraged her further.

Harry still listened and watched, but he knew what Draco said and did now was less important than what he had said and done a few minutes ago.

I don’t know that I can accept everything he said was due to the war and being young and stupid.

But I can give him the benefit of the doubt. I can do my best to trust him and try to find a new basis to rest my love on, now that I know he isn’t perfect.

Draco raised an eyebrow and began answering coolly when Hermione finished her latest speech. Harry wondered if he was the only one who noticed the faint tremor to his tone. Probably not, and Draco would have had to know that other enemies would sense his weakness.

And he had thought the shift in argument tactics worth making anyway.

I can, for example, Harry thought, warmth spreading through him, admire him for being brave.

Chapter 14.