lomonaaeren

Chapter Six.

Title: How Noble In Reason (7/9)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, background Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Flangst, a bit of sex, profanity. Ignores the epilogue.
Rating: mild R
Summary: The Head Auror thinks that there’s Voldemort-like magic in the cellars of Malfoy Manor. Harry agrees to investigate. The Head Auror thinks Harry should formally Court Draco Malfoy to get close enough. Harry doesn’t agree with this, but he doesn’t have a lot of choice.
Author’s Notes: This will be a short story, eight or nine chapters. In some chapters the angst is stronger than others, but it’s a light story for the most part. The title is a line from Hamlet.

Chapter One.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Seven—Ron Weasley Is Unexpectedly Insightful

Harry stood staring at the oven. This was the moment of truth. He had thought he could do this, but he hadn’t practiced in so long that it would serve him right if he couldn’t.

The timer that he’d created with a useful little spell Mrs. Weasley had told him about chimed again. Harry took a deep breath and eased the oven open, ducking from the blast of heated air that billowed into his face.

The tray of biscuits inside looked normal. Harry eyed them with concern, though, because they didn’t look exactly the same as the biscuits that Mrs. Weasley had showed him or the photographs published in the Daily Prophet’s new recipe page.

Then he shrugged and took them out of the oven. He would find out soon enough if they were good, because Draco would throw them back in Harry’s face if they weren’t. When he laid them on the counter—hastily casting a charm beneath them that would protect the counter from their heat—he thought they looked better. They were chocolate on the top, and chocolate most of the way through, too, except that the center of each one was filled with a delicate cream. The recipe pages had said that the cream would please the most refined palate.

Well, the ingredients were expensive enough, Harry thought, and cast a number of spells that would help the biscuits to preserve their shape through the journey to Malfoy Manor, while not forcing them to cool down before their time.

Then he picked up the letter that he had written to Draco yesterday, when no answer came to his latest one.

Dear Draco:

I know that you still might not believe me, but I wanted to give you these. I made them. I used a recipe from the Daily Prophet, and I’m not sure how it turned out because I didn’t want to taste them. (Because they were for you, not because I’m afraid they’re awful). Test them for poison if you like.

I hope you enjoy them.

Yours fervently,
Harry.

Harry chewed his lip and wondered what Draco would think, whether he would disdain the biscuits as not good enough or not believe Harry’s letter because they would be so good that he would assume a house-elf had to have baked them. Then Harry shrugged. He found Draco hard to fathom at this point; he didn’t even know whether Draco had kept silent this last time because he was upset, shocked, disgusted, or trying to decide what to do next. He would push forwards and do what he could to capture Draco’s attention without making himself obnoxious.

Besides…

Harry smiled. He wondered when and if Draco would realize what else he was doing, besides trying to send him gifts that would ensure Draco could trust him and relax around him.

The sixth gift in the Courting ritual was one that focused on memories, particularly any memories that were important or special to the person doing the Courting. The seventh one had to be a gift that the Courter had made with his own hands. Harry had fulfilled both of those without announcing it, because he didn’t want Draco to feel pressured either way, into letting him continue or making a declaration that would utterly break the Courting off.

Harry was trying to declare his intentions without pressing on Draco or forcing him to make a decision. It was hard, because his intentions could also be misunderstood. Maybe Draco would think of this as another lie.

But given that any pain he would suffer if Draco didn’t accept him was minor compared to what Draco had already suffered, Harry didn’t see that he had much reason to complain.

He picked up the tray of biscuits, stepped out of his kitchen, and checked the Apparition coordinates in his mind. Then he whirled around and reappeared on the path outside the gates of Malfoy Manor. He wasn’t surprised that he could get no closer. Draco had probably changed his wards after the evening that Harry embarrassed him, just in case.

Harry put the tray carefully on the ground and cast a few more charms, ones that would keep off flies and other insects, and sting anyone who tried to touch it without Draco’s permission except one of his house-elves. He stepped back and was smiling as he pounded jauntily on the iron gates with one fist.

He saw the doors of the distant house pop open. Harry tipped a salute towards them, though he doubted that anyone who stood there could see it, and then whirled around again and Apparated back home.

*

“He must be good.”

Harry glanced up in surprise. He had just finished his report on the Dublansky case—which barely qualified as a case, in Harry’s opinion, since the family’s teenage daughter had turned out to be behind everything for a lark—and he hadn’t heard Ron enter the office. There he was now, though, sitting on the edge of the desk and swinging his legs as he stared at Harry.

“What are you talking about?” Harry signed his name on the bottom of the report and stood up. “I have to take this to Binks. Walk with me.”

“My favorite journey,” Ron muttered, but followed Harry into the corridor without complaint. “Whoever you’re dating. You were smiling when you wrote that report, and you usually never do that.”

“Maybe I only do that when you’re not with me and interjecting all these little ‘corrections’ about what ‘really happened,’” Harry muttered.

There was a dangerous moment when he wasn’t sure that Ron was going to laugh at that, and then he did, hard enough to make a few of the other Aurors passing turn to stare. Harry leaned an arm against the wall and grinned at him. He was glad that the time during which Binks had split up their partnership was long enough past now that Ron could find it funny.

“I only did it once,” Ron said haughtily, straightening back up. “I’m glad now that I have a partner who understands that I get to be the hero.”

“You were always a hero,” Harry said. “That doesn’t mean you were a hero for plunging off the bridge that time when you were chasing Trevor Higgins.”

Ron looked torn between pleased and insulted, and finally compromised by exclaiming, “I was involved in the chase! I couldn’t be expected to notice the end of the bridge was coming up!”

“Yes, of course you couldn’t,” Harry said, and shook his head mock-sadly at their audience, who were leaning out of office doors now. Seven people snickered as one, and Ron’s face turned bright red.

“I couldn’t!” he said, still feigning indignation. “And anyway, Harry, if you want to talk about times when you got so involved in a case that you didn’t realize what else was going on around you, what about that time with Rebecca George and the blonde hair and the twenty spoons?”

Harry was about to retort, but Binks’s door banged open and he leaned out into the corridor, face so dark that most of the spectators melted back into their offices at once. “Potter!” he snapped. “Do you have that report?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, stepping forwards with a significant eyebrow raise at Ron, to indicate that they would talk later but shouldn’t try Binks’s patience by continuing the conversation right now. Ron nodded in resignation and loped off down the corridor. Binks always suspected them of trying to become partners again when they held conversations near his office, the bastard.

Harry stepped forwards and handed him the report. Binks accepted it, although he had to try twice because his reaching hand missed it the first time. His eyes were glued to Ron’s back.

“I don’t trust Weasley,” he muttered, so low that Harry didn’t think anyone else heard him. Harry was glad for that. He didn’t want to think what it might do to Ron’s reputation in the Department if anyone heard the Head Auror distrusted him. Most people would know it was a joke on Binks before it was anything else, but there were some who would try to use it against Ron.

Harry stared at Binks. “What, sir?” he asked, keeping his voice low, too, and hoping that the ferocity of his words would stab Binks and make him wake up.

It didn’t. Binks simply shook his head and said, “I don’t trust him. Always too cheerful all the time. I want you to watch him, Potter.”

“Sir,” Harry began, trying to control his trembling. “Ron’s a good Auror. He’s passed tests and temptations that have snared some of the others. I can’t—”

“I gave you an order, Potter,” Binks barked, and his eyes shifted back to Harry. “That’s your next assignment. Keep an eye on that so-called friend of yours. I want to find out where he goes and what he does, and who’s paying him to come in here and smile and laugh.”

“Well…you are, sir,” Harry said, unable to help himself.

Binks gave him a stern look that would have frozen Harry if it had come from an actually competent Head Auror who had shown that he wasn’t paranoid and cared for the welfare of the people working under him. As it was, Harry simply glared back, his hands in fists at his sides, and wondered how he had borne this for so long. Why had the Auror Department put up with a Wizengamot member’s relative being appointed simply because he was a Wizengamot member’s relative, for that matter?

Harry had more than a private reason now to fight back against Binks, and one not so tainted with guilt as the Courting, since he had gone along with that of his own free will and could have fought harder. This time, he was going to battle, and by the time he finished, he doubted that Binks would be Head Auror any longer.

Of course, he showed nothing of that on his face. He bowed and said, “Sir,” and then turned and walked down the corridor. He hadn’t actually said that he would spy on Ron, but Binks seemed to take it for granted that that was what would happen. Harry heard him walk back into his office.

Harry settled at his desk and drew out a new piece of parchment. He began to write all the facts he knew about Binks down on it, including who he was related to and the other people in the Department who would have made better Head Aurors than he did, and he got so absorbed that the knock on his door startled him into drawing his wand.

“Is it safe?” Ron asked in a voice of exaggerated fear, peering around as though he thought Binks might be lurking in the corners of Harry’s office.

“Safe,” Harry said with a nod. “But not for Binks. He wanted me to spy on you because you’re too cheerful and he thinks you might be a traitor to the Department.”

Ron stared at him, his jaw dropping. Harry waved his wand and carefully shut the office door with a spell just in case Ron exploded. Binks had to have some gossips in the Department who would delight in repeating anything Ron said to him just for the pleasure of seeing Ron get in trouble.

But Ron didn’t explode. He sat down on Harry’s desk again, cocked his head, and said, “He’s bloody mental, isn’t he?”

Harry nodded. “And I’m going to take him down.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Be careful with that, mate,” he said. Harry would have laughed, but there was a tone of genuine concern that made him listen to Ron. “I know a few other people have complained to the Wizengamot about him and tried to get him removed. One was sacked and one was split up from her partner and partnered with someone else, just like us. Yeah, your name might protect you, but you haven’t traded on it before, and that means not as many people would help you as if you always had.”

Harry cocked his head. He hadn’t known about that, but on the other hand, he couldn’t see that it mattered much. He was still going to act, and keep careful records of everything that happened between Binks and him, and he was still more protected than anyone else in the same position would be, because of his name and his parents’ private fortune. If he got sacked from being an Auror, it wasn’t the end of the world.

“I’ll remember that,” he said briefly, and started scribbling on his list again.

Ron sat in silence for a few minutes before he cleared his throat and made Harry look up again. “So,” he said, with an exaggerated leer. “We got sidetracked from the real topic of the conversation. That lucky bloke is making you smile and act more cheerful than you usually are. Aren’t you going to tell me who it is?”

Harry hesitated. He really didn’t think he could betray Draco’s trust anymore, and Ron would be so disbelieving if Harry simply gave his name that Harry would have to explain the whole situation if he wanted it to make sense.

“Someone who makes me happy,” he said. “But the situation’s really uncertain right now. He’s not sure he likes me. It’s tense. I’ll have to try harder to get him than I usually would. I’d prefer to keep it secret to protect his privacy, just in case this doesn’t work out.”

Ron nodded, then paused and stared at him so thoughtfully that Harry started to shift back and forth in his seat. “What?” he asked defensively. He was never sure if Ron was going to come out with praise or criticism when he looked like that.

“I reckon that’s one reason you’re so happy,” Ron said. “You can’t rest without a challenge. You’d probably get bored with someone who was just calm and pleasant all the time and didn’t make you chase them. And that’s not a problem,” he added hastily as Harry opened his mouth. “It just means that your relationship is different from lots of other people’s. Not mine and Hermione’s, though,” he said, with a reminiscent smile.

“That’s not really true,” Harry pointed out. “I’ve dated plenty of people who were happy and pleasant.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “And you’re not still with any of them. Antonio lasted the longest, and I think that was three months.” He reached out and clapped Harry’s shoulder while Harry was still trying to think of an exception to what Ron had said. “I’m happy for you, mate, if you’re happy. Wait to tell us the name. But just think about what I said. If you win the challenge, are you still going to want to be with him?”

Harry barely heard Ron go out. He put his head in his hands and stared down at the list of facts about Binks. He wished he was still purely angry, because at least that would give him the fuel to go on with this particular task.

What would happen if Draco agreed to the Courting and let Harry come back to him? Would that mean Harry got bored and broke up with him in a different way a few months later?

Harry wanted to say no, but then again, he’d never seen himself as someone who needed a continual challenge until Ron said it.

He sat still, brooding, until someone knocked on his door needing another report and he had to wake up and apply himself to his work. By the time that he had finished that, Harry had decided that he wasn’t going to worry too much about what would happen if or when Draco accepted him. After all, so far Draco hadn’t responded at all to Harry’s last two letters or his gift of biscuits. It was entirely possible Draco had chosen to cut off contact with him, maybe because he found Harry too persistent or irritating.

That would hurt Harry, but it wasn’t his choice.

*

“What the fuck was the meaning of those biscuits, Potter?”

Harry stared. When someone had knocked on the door of his house late at night, he’d been expecting Hermione, Ron, one of the other Weasleys, or, just possibly, a messenger from the Ministry saying that he was needed to work on an emergency case. He hadn’t realized that he would be confronting an angry Draco, who stalked across the threshold and slammed the door behind him while Harry was still trying to work spit back into his mouth.

Draco’s face was pale, his eyes incandescent with rage. He had his hands clenched as though he wanted to hit Harry. A quick check revealed that his wand was tucked under his shirt, but he didn’t reach for it yet. Harry was grateful. That gave him some room to figure out what he would do next.

“I meant them as a gift for you,” Harry said. “An apology, if you wanted to take it. You didn’t have to eat them if they were awful.”

Draco stared at him for so long that Harry envisioned steam rising from his ears as if he was on a Pepper-Up Potion. Then Draco strode up to him, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him until his teeth literally rattled.

“They’re also a Courting gift,” Draco said, from somewhere beyond the haze of shock. “Did you think I wouldn’t understand that? Why the fuck are you continuing to Court me?”

Harry ripped himself free. Draco ought to have understood this, at least. Harry had thought he was perfectly clear in his letters. “I wondered how long it would take you to pick up on that,” he said coolly. “The memory globe was what I said it was, a means for you to see me vulnerable, but also a Courting gift. The sixth gift in the Courting is supposed to be one based on memory. Remember?” he added, and had to admit that he liked the ability to say that right after he’d mentioned the memory globe. It was like a pun, which Hermione was always telling him he was no good at.

Draco stepped back and reached out to catch himself on the wall. He looked as though he’d fall over without the wall’s support, and Harry almost hoped he would. He rubbed his shoulders and glared at Draco. It was one thing to be upset, another to act as though he had a right to hurt someone else.

“You have no reason to continue the Courting,” Draco said at last. His face had gone so shuttered that Harry thought he’d have a hard time getting any other emotion out of him now.

“Yes, I do,” Harry said. “Two, in fact. I want to, and you haven’t told me that you want me to stop.”

Draco rubbed his hand as though he had punched Harry and it had hurt. “That’s still no reason,” he said. “Excuse me for not believing that your desires should matter to me, and for not believing that you’ll ever play by the rules.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry said. “Neither did you, with the lilies. But I want to finish the Courting, if you’ll let me.”

Draco shut his eyes and turned his head away. Harry waited some more. His throat was full of a sour stickiness, he realized, and he dreaded what Draco was going to say so strongly that he wished the moment would be over, not caring any longer whether it brought a negative or a positive answer.

Then he reconsidered that. He did in fact hope that the answer would be positive, very much.

“No one does this,” Draco whispered. “That’s not the way it works. People either end their relationships amid storms and shouting, or they drift quietly apart. No one I’ve ever dated has hurt me like this, and yet the ones who inflicted lesser wounds still weren’t stupid enough to think they deserved a second chance.”

Harry winced, but he managed to keep his voice light and steady. “Well,” he said. “You could look at it that way. You could also say that none of them were courageous enough to go after what they really wanted, and I am. I am going to continue the Courting if you don’t outright refuse.”

Draco opened his eyes again. They had emotions floating and flashing in them that Harry didn’t understand. Draco clenched his fists. “You don’t understand how hard this is for me,” he said, his voice fragile.

“Then explain.” Harry tried to make his tone soothing. “I want to understand you. I want to spend every day for the rest of my life learning you, if you’ll let me. But I can’t do that if I have to make assumptions. You can explain in your own words, and that’ll not only be more accurate but more welcome than my guesses.”

Draco, even though he looked pale and shaky, still found the resources for a sneer at him. “I shouldn’t have to take up the duty of explaining to you.”

“Then I’ll have to guess,” Harry said. “And I told you why I don’t want to do that. And you’d have to speak some words anyway, or at least shake your head, if you don’t want me to continue the Courting.”

“I don’t like being put on the spot,” Draco said, his voice like a dog’s with a mouthful of meat.

Harry just raised his eyebrow and waited. He saw no reason to repeat himself. His whole effort had been to get Draco here so that he would speak his decision—or for Draco to write him a letter that contained it. Harry had to admit he was a little hopeful, because it seemed Draco would have refused him at once if he was utterly opposed to what Harry wanted.

“Generous, real lovers would know not to put me on the spot like that,” Draco said.

Harry shook his head. “I’m not as generous or as real as I could have been, with the lies I told from the beginning.” It was getting easier now to admit he’d made a mistake. Harry supposed that was what living with guilt day in and day out for years would do to you. “That’s the reason I’m trying not to make assumptions now. Like I said, just speak one word or shake your head if you don’t want me to continue Courting you.”

Draco’s eyes clouded over with annoyance. Harry felt a moment’s pride that he could read him so well. Or it might be that Draco was simply being more open with Harry than he would with many other people.

If that was true, it was an honor, and Harry hoped that Draco knew he appreciated it.

“What one word could I speak that would end the Courting?” Draco demanded. “All of the possible sentences take more words than that.”

“Easy,” Harry said. “No. Speak the word ‘no’ now, and I’ll leave you alone.” He stepped back and waited again.

Draco pushed himself off the wall. “I came here because I wanted it to be real,” he said, stalking closer. “I wanted the fantasy to still be real, can you believe that? Even after you deceived me like that, hurt me like that—” his voice shook, and Harry knew that talking about his own pain was hard for him “—I still wanted to believe. So I accepted your bloody gifts and your bloody letters.”

Harry nodded. His heart was beating fast enough to be painful.

“That’s why I’m here,” Draco said, voice thick with bitterness. “That’s why I want you to back off, because the fantasy can’t be real and I know it, and yet some stupid fucking childish part of me still wants it.”

Harry took a breath that felt as if it was edged with knives. “So you want me to stop the Courting.”

“No!” Draco slapped his hands together. “I can’t call off the Courting because I want it too much! You’ll have to be the one who steps away. Don’t leave me the choice.”

Harry had a brief, dizzy temptation to giggle. Draco was making the choice to have Harry take his choices away.

But there was only so much that Harry was willing to do to make up for his mistake, and destroying both his hopes and Draco’s wasn’t one of those things. He shook his head slowly. “If I back off now, I’m not abiding by the rules of the Courting,” he said.

Draco stared at him. “But you’re doing what I ask.”

“If this is what you really want,” Harry said, “find the strength to do it yourself. I’m not going to have a lover so fragile that he can’t make his own decisions.”

Draco glared at him, his eyes such small slits Harry could no longer see their color. “Fragile,” he said, in a voice that made it worse than the profanity he’d spoken so far.

Harry lifted an eyebrow and nodded. He hoped that his strategy of insulting Draco deliberately would pay off.

“I’ll show you fragile,” Draco said softly. “Yes, continue the Courting. We’ll see how strong you really are.” He walked out the door without a glance back.

Harry licked his lips. He rather thought he had won that one.

Maybe.

But Draco not only hadn’t taken back his permission for Harry to continue Courting him but had actually encouraged him, and Harry was disposed to think of that as a victory.