Chapter Eight of 'Corybantes'- Movements and Revelations

[lomonaaeren]

Title: Corybantes (8/12)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, OC character death, profanity, sex, mentions of random fetishes and suicide. Ignores the DH epilogue.
Summary: A mysterious death has occurred at Draco Malfoy’s club, Corybantes, which specializes in using magic to make its clients’ deepest fantasies come true. As Auror Harry Potter investigates, he finds himself admiring Malfoy’s courage and determination in achieving success. Which could be a problem, as there’s a fairly large chance that Malfoy is the murderer.
Author’s Notes: Corybantes were servants of the goddess Cybele who worked themselves up into ecstatic trances with drumming and dancing. Though applying to a different kind of ecstasy, it seemed a fairly good name for Draco’s club. This story will be about ten or twelve chapters long.

Chapter One.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Eight—Movements and Revelations

Harry couldn’t allow himself to sit around brooding for long. There were too many reasons against it, he thought grimly as he began to throw everything he thought he would need for a private investigation into an Expanding and Shrinking Sack that he could put into a pocket.

First, Kingsley would tell Ron and Hermione that he had sacked Harry soon, and they would come over and try to act upset for him—while really watching over him to make sure that he took one of those precious “holidays” they made so much noise about. Harry might not have the chance to resume the investigation of Corybantes at all if he didn’t do it soon.

Second, Malfoy would hear about the change in Aurors and bar the club to Harry. No matter what his obsession with Harry might be, he wouldn’t feel it as strongly without Harry right there in front of him to remind him about it. No, he would work with the other Auror, who would be someone more rule-bound and less discreet. God knew how someone else’s blundering might upset Keatson’s murderer. Perhaps he would be threatened by it as he hadn’t been by the way that Harry chose to look into things.

And third, if Harry slowed down too much, for too long, he would start to think there was some truth in what Kingsley was saying.

Harry took a deep breath and clenched his hand into a fist. He knew he had promised Kingsley and his friends to take a holiday sometime in the future, but couldn’t they see that it was ridiculous to ask him to do that in the middle of a case? He had to solve this first, to see Keatson’s murderer tucked away comfortably in a Ministry holding cell or find incontrovertible evidence of suicide.

He had to. It was what he was made for, born for.

Harry knew, even as the words ran through his head, how other people would see them. They would look at him with pity and tell him that he was as obsessed as Malfoy, just with different things. They would smile at him and try to escort him to St. Mungo’s, the place where Malfoy and maybe Keatson’s murderer ought to go.

But Harry had a job to finish. No one called anyone else crazy when they worked hard at their jobs. Like Hermione, for example. She sometimes spent more time on legal cases than Harry did on investigations. Why didn’t people think she was mad?

Because she’s not you, Harry thought, as he dropped the pile of Keatson’s drawings into the sack and pulled it tight. Because she didn’t come through a ‘damaging’ childhood. She fought in the war the same as I did, but it doesn’t come back to that for anyone else. They think the war affected me differently than anyone else. They think I couldn’t deal with the death of my first partner. They think I’m so fragile.

Well, I’m not, and if I manage to solve this case even though Kingsley’s sacked me, maybe they’ll finally see that.

Harry yanked again on the sack, and finally realized it was shut. He sealed it with the spell, watched it shrink, and then tucked it into his pocket and turned towards the door.

As he did, the fireplace flared. Harry jerked to a stop with a curse. He was sure he had remembered to shut the Floo connection, but it seemed that he hadn’t.

“Mate?” Ron’s voice called. “I know you’re there. We have a few things to talk to you about.” His voice was filled with the gentleness Harry dreaded, the gentleness that said he couldn’t be trusted to make up his own mind or know what was best for him.

Harry ducked silently through his house to the door and took one more look around from the entrance to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything. No. He had all the potions and the spellbooks he could think of tucked into the sack already, and he had his wand and a set of robes that weren’t Auror robes but could pass for it in uncertain light, like the kind that filled Corybantes most of the time.

Shite, he just needed his wand most of the time. He was a powerful wizard, though most of the time Kingsley and his friends seemed to want to forget that.

“Mate?” Ron called again. Then he muttered something to Hermione, and the next moment, Harry heard the puff of displaced soot that meant Ron had come through the fireplace and was standing in his drawing room.

Harry pulled open the door and ducked out again. He felt sorry for his friends. He knew this would cause an argument that would be hard to repair.

But he had to do this.

*

Harry leaned against the red brick front of the Veterans’ Rehabilitation Center in Roof Alley and exhaled slowly. He had decided it was time to make a thorough reconnaissance of Corybantes, so that he would know where all the entrances of the building were and as many other secrets as he was capable of spotting from outside.

He was not at all prepared for what he had found.

He had assumed, without even thinking about it, that the entrance from Knockturn Alley and Roof Alley was the main one. It was the one Malfoy had told him to come to. Only now did Harry realize that Malfoy had probably done that, at least in part, to manipulate his perceptions. On other sides of the building, the scene he encountered could not be more different.

The entrance from Roof Alley resembled a gate into paradise, or at least the kind of paradise Harry remembered from Aunt Petunia’s pastel depictions of it on the walls. Stone pillars framed the gate, which was wound with vines and large, drooping flowers. Visible through the gate itself was a shimmering, level plain of green grass, dotted with cool, quiet ponds and scattered trees. The trees all had golden fruit shining through their leaves like small suns.

Harry squinted at it doubtfully. He didn’t think the gardens could be real; among other things, Corybantes occupied too small a space to contain all those trees and pools. And sure enough, when he focused his eyes just right in the way that Auror training had taught him, the illusion shimmered and vanished.

But the real entrance was still big, and he could see children playing quietly in one room down the corridor with the door half-open, and half a large, brilliant chamber with many windows where people with bent limbs and smoking heads—recovering from curses, Harry thought—circled weights around their heads or moved in synchronized patterns probably meant as physical therapy.

It all seemed so normal, Harry thought, half-incredulous. So…unthreatening. He knew, from what Leon had said, that Corybantes provided other services than just sex, but he wouldn’t have thought this was the same place at all if he didn’t know the location.

Which face was the real one?

Well, he doubted that he could learn that without actually venturing into Corybantes.

Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out the sack, and retrieved one of the waiting flasks of Polyjuice Potion. Not many people knew he had this, but Adela had been willing to brew it for him after he fetched some rare ingredients for her. Now Harry slipped in the hair of a witch who lived in a rural part of France and whom he’d helped several cases ago, and then drank it down, gagging. It still tasted horrible, and then he had to remain still as the twitches and ripples raced through him, altering his face and form into those of the French witch. The Disillusionment Charm he had cast on himself before he drank the potion at least prevented people from looking in his direction, however.

When he felt his face settle, Harry dropped the Charm and walked openly towards the shimmering entrance of Corybantes. He stepped up the first stairs and felt the softness of grass beneath his feet for a moment before someone moved to greet him. Harry shook his head in amazement. This was a wondrously complete illusion.

“Greetings, madam,” said the employee who bowed to him, a woman with the head of a greyhound and long wings spreading from her shoulders. Her mouth seemed to fall naturally into a smile, and Harry could see why they had chosen her to welcome newcomers. “I do not think you have been here before. What is your name and what are you looking for?”

Harry’s voice had a faint French accent to it, but he had expected that and didn’t let it rattle him. “My name is Marie Perrin,” he whispered, “and my mind, it is tattered and torn. I am looking for complete peace and quiet.”

The woman took his arm with a gentle hand and pulled him further into the club. “Of course, madam,” she said, and her voice had become warm and soothing. Harry might have relaxed into it, even knowing all he did, if he hadn’t kept his mind sharply focused on the case. “We can accommodate you. Come, tell me of your troubles. What have you suffered, and what remedy do you seek?”

Harry launched into his prepared story of a husband dying and a fortune collapsing, as well as the grief of losing kin in the war with Voldemort, while he looked carefully around the club. Behind the sumptuous illusions were stone walls, but, like the walls of Hogwarts, they were softened by tapestries and carvings that looked ancient. The light of the torches itself seemed soft, more filled with shadows than Harry thought it should be with the way the sconces were arranged. They walked on carpet gentler than the imaginary grass had been, and the woman guided him into a room with pale blue walls and windows that looked out on still more extensive, if equally enchanted, gardens. Harry felt a pulse of longing run through him. Yes, a place like this would be the place where he could relax.

He caught his wandering thoughts and stung himself with the whip of his own scorn. He had come prepared for the club’s seductions, and he was still falling into them. That just pointed to the fact that he should get Malfoy out of trouble and find the murderer as soon as possible. The longer he spent around Corybantes, the worse he became.

“My name is Cecile, Madam Perrin,” the woman said then, bringing Harry’s attention back to her. “I think we shall be able to fulfill your fantasies quite comfortably. However, every new client has an interview with the owner of the club first, so that he can ascertain if he can serve them.” And so he can make sure their fantasies aren’t dangerous, Harry thought. “Please allow me to fetch him.”

Harry gave a regal nod. “Of course, dear.”

“In the meantime,” Cecile said, turning and taking a silver tray from a slot in the wall where it seemed to simply appear, “please refresh yourself with a cordial. You look as if you’ve traveled a long way and you could use it.” She held out a crystalline glass to Harry, filled with a sparkling red drink.

Harry took the drink and smiled at her, but one sniff told him that the cordial contained a Calming Draught and a mild potion, which Adela Pole called the Babbler’s Delight, that would make him freely confess everything that crossed his mind. It was not Veritaserum, since it did not separate truth from lies, but it lowered the inhibitions in a similar way. Harry sat holding the cordial until Cecile left the room, then quietly Vanished the drink and lowered the glass to the table beside him.

He frowned, not sure what to think. So far, he had seen nothing suspicious in this side of the club, and he suspected that the employees and clients who came here had very little to do with the darker, wilder side where Keatson had perished. He wondered how different Malfoy’s behavior would be when he saw him.

He soon had a chance to find out. Malfoy came in with a rapid stride, which made Harry think for a moment that he was eager to be done with the tiresome old woman Marie Perrin seemed to be as soon as possible. Then Harry saw his eyes, and the look of eager curiosity in them, and the dignified way Malfoy leaned down to grasp his hand and kiss the back of it.

He’s interested in his clients, in all of them, Harry had time to think. He looks calm and collected and ready to help me—

Then Malfoy’s lips touched his skin, and Harry’s coherent thoughts vanished in the middle of a storm of ice. He couldn’t seem to stop shivering, and his mind drowned under the pressure of imagining what else those lips could be doing, how they could lay him down and ravish him if that was what Malfoy wanted. Harry shut his eyes and tried to diminish the light sheen of sweat on his brow.

Malfoy had seen it, if the slow way that he released Harry’s hand was any indication. “Madam Perrin,” he said, in a softer and more cheerful voice than he had ever used to talk to Harry in his own form. When Harry opened his eyes, he saw that Malfoy had pulled up one of the other chairs close to his couch and sat in it with his hands folded and his legs crossed, giving him a slow, serious, thoughtful gaze. “You have special needs, don’t you? You require more than the simple rooms and unbroken rest that you told Cecile about.”

“If I simply wanted unbroken rest, then I could go to St. Mungo’s,” Harry said tartly, striving to keep his mind on what he was doing. He hated the way he had reacted to Malfoy. It was something to be grateful to the Polyjuice for, though. As a woman, the signs of his arousal were much less noticeable. He folded his hands in his lap in imitation of Malfoy and stared steadily at him. “Yes, I want something else.”

“Will you share your fantasies with me?” Malfoy’s voice was a gentle, warm invitation. No doubt he expected “Madam Perrin” to simply break down and babble everything she had ever desired.

Meeting Malfoy’s eyes and seeing the warm depths of empathy there—this time, his only desire seemed to be to reach out to another human being—caused a second storm to overpower Harry. This one was of regret and longing, hitting him as keenly as sleet. He would never be able to confide in Malfoy the way his clients were invited to, even if he, miracle of miracles, managed to locate Keatson’s murderer and persuade Malfoy to accompany him to St. Mungo’s.

He couldn’t do it because it was against his nature. Harry couldn’t let someone—anyone—else that deeply and freely into his mind. It would mean talking about the things he dreamed of when his mind was defenseless, hazed with the potions that the Healers had given him to make him sleep or with exhaustion, and he dreamed exactly as if he was like everyone else and capable of behaving normally.

It wouldn’t work. He knew that he would watch Malfoy’s interest shrivel up and die if he confessed his ordinary, petty feelings and wishes. Or, worse, Malfoy would lean near with that interest and then—

Then Harry would have to trust Malfoy not to betray him, not to mock and laugh at the stupid little things he wanted. It was like trusting someone to reach into his chest and put their hands on his beating heart. Sure, they hadn’t squeezed down and crushed it yet, but they might at any time in the future.

Malfoy would probably take it as some special personal insult if he knew what Harry was thinking, but he shouldn’t. There was no one Harry trusted enough to lose control of himself in front of. Confessing his fantasies were just one more way of losing control.

“Madam Perrin?”

Harry swallowed and brought his eyes back to Malfoy’s. He realized that Malfoy was watching him with gentle, implacable patience, waiting for some kind of answer, and that Harry should have given one long since.

Except that he could barely remember the question. Except that the thought of the answers he had prepared for this disguise faded before the thought of his own urgent wishes, none of which would ever be gratified. That fact made Harry feel small and pathetic and infinitely sad, even as he tried to wrestle his mind back into the need to confront Malfoy head-on.

That had been the problem from the beginning of this case, he thought. He would never have left some decisions as long as he had were he treating it like any ordinary case. He would have investigated Keatson’s effects straight off, and noticed the drawings. He wouldn’t have fixed on Shadow as the sole suspect, and felt so disconcerted when the “clue” of her scale turned out to mean nothing. He would have talked to the clients whose pseudonyms Malfoy had given him, something he still hadn’t done. He would have—

Malfoy’s voice hissed as he spoke something, a word or two words in a spiky language that Harry didn’t know. The next moment, Harry felt as though someone had dumped scalding water on him. He sprang to his feet, whipping out his wand.

Thick liquid dripped off him, too heavy and full of odd mixtures of green and brown and red for scalding water. Harry spluttered and closed his eyes as it slipped past his face, then looked up at Malfoy.

Malfoy was leaning forwards, his lips parted, and his eyes so wide and dark that Harry seemed to see a bottomless pit behind them.

“Harry,” he breathed.

Harry’s hand flew to his face. Yes, the scar was on his forehead again, and his hair was wild and tangled. As strange as it seemed, this room apparently had a spell on it that enabled Malfoy to remove Polyjuice Potion when he wanted to.

Malfoy shook his head twice, as if dazed, then leaned back in his chair and gave Harry a bright, appraising glance. The bottomless pit had disappeared, at least for the moment. But he knew better than to think it had vanished altogether. Harry swallowed painfully. He had come here to talk to Malfoy in disguise so that he could see how Malfoy behaved when he didn’t know it was Harry. All he had done, instead, was throw Malfoy back into that obsessive mindset.

He had hurt him again, and that he hadn’t meant to was meaningless. He’d done it.

“Malfoy, I’m sorry,” he started.

“So you should be, for sneaking in like that,” Malfoy replied calmly. “Cecile will be distressed when I tell her that our latest client decided not to take advantage of all we could offer after all.” He leaned towards Harry as if pulled forwards by a wire and added, “Did you really believe that Shacklebolt assigning a new Auror to the case would make any difference to me? I’ve told you why I want you, and it’s not as an Auror.”

Harry could feel temptation tugging at him like a thick river. He could ask what Malfoy meant, or deny what he’d said and force him into a more passionate declaration. Either would mean that Harry became involved in the conversation, thinking once again of what he desired and deserved and couldn’t afford to lose.

None of that would help Malfoy. None of it would let him think about Malfoy in the way that he knew he needed to think after his conversation with Shadow.

“I didn’t come here to continue the investigation,” he said. Malfoy arched an eyebrow, his face and features taking on a subtle brightness that Harry knew he had to counteract before it could assume a definite form. “I mean, not exclusively,” he correct himself. “I’ve considered your behavior more closely, and—well, I think you need the help of the Mind-Healers at St. Mungo’s.”

He’d expected a hysterical denial. Malfoy studied him in silence for a moment, and, once, took a deep breath as if he’d considered shouting at Harry. Then he asked, “Why?”

“Look at the contrast between your behavior with me and your behavior with any other client,” Harry said, gesturing between them as if that would let him summon back the Malfoy who had come in calm and sane and balanced, focused on the business of the club and what Madam Perrin could add to it. “You change when you’re around me. You become unbalanced. You think of fulfilling my tiniest whim, and that’s not healthy. You should care more for yourself and for Corybantes as a business.”

“I think I know who has been telling tales,” Malfoy murmured, a thick amusement in the back of his voice. Harry opened his mouth to defend Shadow, and Malfoy plunged into the opening as smoothly as a shark into a school of fish. “In reality, I have been thinking more of myself than of you.”

Harry hesitated, staring at him. Had things changed that much in the day since he’d last seen Malfoy? It wasn’t impossible, he had to acknowledge. Some of his cases had evolved that fast. He managed a smile and said in the most encouraging tone he could use, “Really? What have you been thinking about?”

Malfoy rose to his feet and considered him—from a distance. He didn’t need to stalk closer, Harry thought in irritation. The sense of his presence pressed against Harry, shoved at him, and would probably have sent him sprawling if Malfoy had tried a little harder.

“I’ve thought about you, and the way I want to fulfill your fantasies,” Malfoy said. “Fulfilling your fantasies would add to the pleasure for me, Harry. It’s not the only source of pleasure, because I desperately want to fuck you.” Harry flushed and tried to ignore the way that it seemed Malfoy’s presence had grown heavier and hotter still. “But having you trust me means still more.” He folded his arms and nodded a little, as if he thought that should settle all of Harry’s questions.

“But what about Corybantes?” Harry demanded. “You can’t fuck me night and day and expect it to sustain itself as a business.”

A shadow passed across Malfoy’s face, but the smile that twisted his mouth was rueful, not bitter. “Leon already talked to me about that,” he said. “He pointed out the mistakes in the records since Keatson’s death. I haven’t been paying the kind of attention that I should to Corybantes. I will in the future, with Leon working at my side for the next few days to keep my focus where it should be .But when I’m not working on that, I see no reason I shouldn’t do as I like. You’re the one who thinks a job should occupy your entire life.” He paused, and his face shifted into a hungry expression Harry could have done without seeing. “But of course, since you’re on holiday now, that’s not true for you, either.”

“I think you need to be in St. Mungo’s,” Harry said, clawing his way back to a position from which he could speak to Malfoy as a superior. “Let me help you.”

“I think you need to be in my bedroom,” Malfoy said, and gave him another hungry look, which made Harry’s body tingle and his head ache. He wanted to be desired that way, but it was wrong for it to actually happen. “But not as a client of Corybantes. That won’t work. I’m not interested in you accepting my business, not right away. That can come later. I’m interested in you accepting me second, and yourself first.”

Harry clenched his fists in frustration. This had all failed, because he wasn’t clever enough to keep Malfoy from suspecting something.

“This should be about you,” he said. “Not me.”

“I told you the reason why it was about me,” Malfoy replied calmly, as if he had a point. “And you’re wrong, as it happens. It should be about both of us.” He paused and studied Harry, then added, “But it can’t be until you give in and accept your fantasies.”

Harry saw nothing for it but to walk past him and leave the club. Malfoy let him, only pivoting in place to watch him go. Harry could feel those eyes between his shoulder blades like the touch of a warm palm.

His mind filled with images again, and he was tempted to turn around and simply lay all his fears, all his insecurities, at Malfoy’s feet.

Then he shook his head and continued walking, head down as if he was plodding against a strong wind. He was feeling weak, and thinking about himself again. There were so many better things to think about.

And he would find a way to fix his mind on them before he returned to Corybantes.

Chapter Nine.

Comments

[ldydark1.livejournal.com]

Awwwwwww, poor Harry. I liked what Draco said to Harry.
They need to be together and soon!
Sensitive and thoughtful dialog, I liked how Draco got
rid of the Polyjuice and revealed Harry. Nice read!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

I wondered how many people would have some sympathy with Draco's position. There seems to be a general consensus that he's mad, but I don't mean him to be; he just can't always act in a balanced manner around Harry.

[i-claudia.livejournal.com]

Ooooh, what an excellent chapter! Each time you update I am pulled a little bit more into this world, into the world that Harry's created... you always do a wonderful job making your characters so real in their insecurities, vulnerabilities, and denials. Lovely work again!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

I like your distinction between this world and the world that Harry's created. To a large extent, everything that's happened since he began the case has happened because of his perceptions, rather than brute reality.

[(Anonymous)]

The other entrance revealed! This has had me wondering rom the beginning; I'm glad to read a description. The notion of a greyhound smiling is not as comforting for me as you portray it, though. But that's me.

Glad to see Draco attempting to sort Harry out, and that Harry's starting to realize that he's thinking of himself first. His reaction...will take time to reach the point of true self-consideration and ability to trust Draco. Taking time is a bit of an understatement, though, unless Draco somehow engineers an epiphany soon.

Can't wait for the next update! I'm sad this story is only 12 chapters, but I'm anxious to get Harry stabilized and the murder solved (I love how I consider Harry's well-being more important than the murder...)
-Jolene

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

I think greyhounds are probably elegant-looking and comforting to a certain segment of Draco's aristocratic patrons. And, of course, it would depend on the size of the teeth.

Harry is actually much closer to cracking than it might seem like, here. The crisis comes in the next chapter.

Hee! People seem to be divided on what the most important aspect of the plot is.

[daftfear.livejournal.com]

Aww poor Harry. It's ok for his fantasies to come true. *pats him* I think Harry needs St Mungo's more than Draco does, really. O_O Still not really, but yeah.

I also love Harry slipping away from Ron lol. XD And that if he sat and thought about it for too long, he might agree with Shacklebolt. Can't have that. No time to think things through. Very Gryffindor. XD

Can't wait for more! :D

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Harry thinks he's been in St. Mungo's (which he has) and he's cured now. Poor Harry.

Harry is closer to the edge of falling over than he knows- not just the edge of physical exhaustion, but that of denial.

And thank you!

[neji-chan.livejournal.com]

Harry’s response to vacation: investigate in private. Does he know he’s so predictable?

Being an Auror has sharpened his senses when it comes to people… as long as they aren’t close to him, it seems. He was wrong about Malfoy’s reaction to the change in Aurors and I think he was wrong about Ron and Hermione. They wouldn’t act upset about Kingsley’s decision, because they think it’s right. Maybe if he’d stayed and talk with them, he could have asked why nobody thinks Hermione’s mad when she works too long. Though nobody thinks he’s mad (at least, I don’t. And I don’t think Malfoy’s mad either), it’s the risk of going mad, with the way he’s been living, they are concerned about.

And third, if Harry slowed down too much, for too long, he would start to think there was some truth in what Kingsley was saying.

Which means that, deep down, he knows there’s truth in what Kingsley, and his friends, have been saying (or trying to say). Denial should be Harry’s middle name in this fic.

He had to. It was what he was made for, born for.

What the hell happened to him, to think so little of his self-worth outside his job? To think that nobody would be interested in his ordinary wishes (as if nobody has them too)? To be so distrustful? I loved this chapter, even if it let me with a hundred questions.

Which face was the real one?

I wonder why he has to pick one, instead of accepting both as real.

I’ve considered your behavior more closely, and—well, I think you need the help of the Mind-Healers at St. Mungo’s

This made me laugh. Oh, the irony.

Harry was more physically attracted to Draco than I thought. It seems like Harry’s on the verge of realise (or should I say recognise?) that everyone’s worry over him has a point. He needs a little push, one he can’t ignore. With only four chapters to go, it feels like this will end like The Long-Desired, with Harry on his way to recovery… if it ends well, that is. I’m a little curious about the truth of Keatson’s death, though I care more about Harry’s evolution.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

I doubt he thinks about it like that. He just sees it as his duty to go on investigating.

Harry was accurate in that Ron and Hermione would try to act upset, but would secretly approve. He doesn't want that. He wants sincere outrage and sympathy, because he thinks that he is right in the way he approaches the case.

Thank you for saying that! So many people saying Malfoy's mad have made me wonder about how I'm presenting the character. Really, it's Harry's viewpoint that's influencing how he comes across more than anything.

And yes, he does know the truth. It won't be long before he can't hide from that anymore.

Mostly, Harry endured a long series of hard cases in which he had to work alone (undercover) and had bad things happen to him (the death of his first partner, having his mind invaded, being tortured by Dark wizards etc.) His obsession is with self-control more than anything else, and he thinks that if he can't be the perfect Auror, if he betrays emotion- or loss of inhibition, which revealing his fantasies would involve- then other people will despise him. Because he would despise himself.

It's going to end happily, as in "both characters alive."

[nightshadow-t2.livejournal.com]

Harry, you have issues. But they make you so delightfully human that I just can't stop reading. I still can't believe he thought his disguise would distract Draco or that Draco would lose interest because he's no longer the Auror on the case.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

He actually hoped that Draco would lose interest because he thinks it would be better for Draco's mental balance if he did.

[xxminniexx.livejournal.com]

“I think you need to be in St. Mungo’s,” Harry said

“I think you need to be in my bedroom,”


:O Malfoy, you minx!

This was such a delightful chapter, I was squirming uncomfortably throughout the whole polyjuice scene.
The second entrance to Corybantes seems heavenly.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

Why uncomfortably?

[xxminniexx.livejournal.com]

It's probably just a personal thing, but I felt a really strong sort of empathy for the way Harry was masquerading as Madam Perrin- clearly not thinking straight, and not having thought his plan through properly. Harry's losing all control here- of his emotions, of the case... He blunders a bit in this chapter, and Draco's attentions are causing him to feel a confused mixture of denial and hope. He seems so much more vulnerable.

I actually blushed when his disguise was torn off him by Draco's spell. *_* And Draco's immediate transition from a professional Draco to the Draco seeing the apotheosis of his one foremost fantasy right there in the room with him again.

So I was "uncomfortable" but in the good sense. :) The best chapter yet.

[invincible-sum.livejournal.com]

“I think you need to be in my bedroom,”

*snicker* Wow, you're making Draco seem much less crazy now, and Harry seem even more disturbed ;) I feel quite sorry for H. - but at least he and D. will come together soon, judging by the chapter count (sniffle), unless you evilly leave us with an unhappy ending! His escape from Ron was both sad and amusing - for some reason, it reminded me of a child packing his knapsack and "running away from home." I suppose it's because H. was quickly running away from his problems and from the somewhat patronizing-feeling attempts of his boss and friends to help him, and also had to keep bucking himself up to do so. Good chapter!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

It's not going to be unhappy, I promise. Harry is going to have his epiphany in the next chapter, because he won't have much choice.

Harry is worried even more about the fact that he might agree with those attempts to convince him than the fact that they're patronizing.

Thank you!

[jtsbbsps-dk.livejournal.com]

ARGH!!!!! Harry FRUSTRATES me so! But he will see sense! *nods firmly*

Which face was the real one? ALL OF THEM ARE!!! *headdesks*

Damn, Harry is nearly cracking... Awesome chapter!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

We'll see!

And thank you!

[limonata8.livejournal.com]

Seems like Harry and Draco are having two different conversations. And I'm wondering if the compulsion for Harry to spill all to Draco is from being in Corybantes or just the temptation to let someone into his life and take a chance.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Harry hasn't encountered someone who's so forceful about being concerned for him. For a long time, Kingsley and Ron and Hermione backed away and let him do his own thing. And even now that Kingsley's put him off the case, it's not like they're chasing him down and forcing him to go to St. Mungo's or anything like that.

Plus, he thinks Draco has a much better chance of fulfilling his fantasies, and that's tempting to him, whether he likes to think it is or not.

[piratesmile331.livejournal.com]

Your Harry is a very, very sad man. I feel badly that he thinks so little of himself. I hope Draco can thaw him out. Soon.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Yes, I think you're right. But that won't last much longer.

[enchanted-jae.livejournal.com]

Poor Harry is so confused and conflicted.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Yes. But it all comes to a head in the next chapter.