The Fortunate Fall, 6/6- for twistedm
Dec. 6th, 2007 10:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lomonaaerenSorry for spammage, and look out below.
“Harry.” Raphael put his quill down carefully on his desk and steepled his fingers. “This is indeed a surprise, since the last time I saw you you chased me out of your home and humiliated me.”
Harry shrugged and took a seat in the chair across from Raphael. The last time he’d been here, the day they broke up, bile had burned on his tongue and memories inside his head. Now, he couldn’t feel anything but a calm acceptance of what had happened between him and Raphael. The memories were part of his life, neither more important nor less important than anything else that had happened. “This isn’t a pleasure visit,” he said, and Raphael’s lips closed tightly. “I came because I have a question that I can’t find the answer to.”
He waved his wand at the door, locking it, and ensuring that no one could eavesdrop from outside the office. When he turned around again, Raphael was sitting up at attention, and holding his own wand in a guard position. “Does this have something to do with the threats against the Minister’s life?” he asked.
Harry blinked at him in bemusement, then shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “Do I look like an Auror to you, Raph?”
“You look like someone who could have been an Auror to me. A damn good one. And you look like a waste of potential.” Raphael gave a lazy shrug. “But I know how much you hate to hear the truth, so forget I said anything.”
“I need to know about your twin brother Gabriel.”
Raphael’s face changed color so fast that Harry really would have been afraid he would faint if he weren’t already sitting down—and if he hadn’t known Raphael better than that. He might appear fragile, but Harry had known few people stronger. It was only a shame that so much of his strength relied on mastering the weaknesses of others and never letting them forget them.
Harry waited, keeping his posture lopsided, casual.
Finally, Raphael said in a low voice, “Blackmail, Harry? I never would have assumed you’d stoop to that.”
Harry shook his head. “No,” he said. “Two years ago, a wizard kidnapped Draco Malfoy and cursed him with an unknown spell.” That was as close a description of the scar as he’d give Raphael. Draco had agreed, after some persuasion, to let Harry try this tactic, but he hadn’t wanted anyone to know the specifics of his torment. Besides, if everything worked out as Harry hoped, Raphael would know what had happened to Draco soon, of Draco’s own free will. “Draco believes he did it in retaliation for some crime the Death Eaters committed, because Draco is one of the few Marked wizards still free of Azkaban. And he also has reason to believe that it was you.”
Raphael sat straight up, revulsion clearly visible on his face. “That’s ridiculous. I despise Malfoy, but I’ve never hurt a suspect in my custody.”
Harry kept his face straight and calm, his voice deep and steady. “He said he recognized your voice, the day you came to the garden. And when we investigated, we did find out that you had lost a brother to the Death Eaters. I wanted to make sure that you hadn’t—well, done something you might have regretted later.” He had come up with an explanation of his own why Raphael, if he scarred Draco, would not have publicized the fact. Drunk or crazed with grief, he could have acted, and then wished to undo the act. He was forever regretting the remarks he had made to Harry, which didn’t mean he wouldn’t make them again later. Or apologize for them aloud, for that mean.
The undeniable truth of that tried to hurt. Harry let the pain fall on him like frost, and melt away again. He had finally moved on from Raphael, and he no longer needed his approval, or to defend him to others so that Harry would feel like less of an arse for dating him.
Raphael stared at him searchingly. Then he sighed and sat back in his seat. “And you’ll just accept my word?” he asked. “Without Veritaserum? Without calling in Aurors and putting me under arrest?”
“I’ll accept your word.” One reason Raphael hadn’t simply pretended to like Harry’s lifestyle and demands for more intimacy in their relationship was his ability as a liar. He had absolutely none.
More silence. Raphael stared at the floor. When he began to talk, it was in such a fast and soft murmur that Harry had difficulty separating the words from one another.
“Mum found out she couldn’t have any more children after she had Gabriel and me. The thought of losing one of us terrified her. She always made us promise to watch out for each other. I can’t tell you how many scrapes we got out of because of that. We watched each other’s backs. We were friends as much as brothers, or brothers as close as friends.” The thin French accent that Harry usually didn’t notice at all crept into Raphael’s speech as he continued.
“Then Gabriel started becoming involved in Dark magic. He just laughed at me when I wouldn’t share it with him, and said that it was because I had too little talent to be a good vessel for anything Dark. And he was the more talented wizard, the stronger of us, the one who saved my life with magic while I saved his with physical strength.” Raphael closed his eyes and tilted his head back until the cords in his neck stood out. “I refused to follow him into the shadows, but I always regretted it and wondered if I should have, if only to show solidarity. He took advantage of that weakness and exploited it. I didn’t tell Mum and Dad until it was far too late.
“He—he went completely mad, at last. I think the Death Eaters he played around with were practicing demon-summoning.”
Harry sucked in his breath through his teeth. Ron had told him about a few of the demon-summoning cases the Aurors worked on. Even a slight rumor of that Darkest of the Dark Arts sent the Department of Magical Law Enforcement into full alert mode and utterly crushed the wizards who dared to hint at it.
“A demon took my brother.” Raphael’s hands clenched together until Harry expected to hear the snap of breaking bone. “I didn’t want to admit it. I tried to cover for him, even when he murdered a few children in the neighborhood near our house. And then he tried to kill me.
“I—I took care of him one last time. I killed him. It was the only thing that could give him peace. I was going to remove the Dark Mark from his arm, too, so he wouldn’t go down in history as a Death Eater, but the spell I’d used to kill Gabriel alerted the French Aurors.” Raphael laughed bitterly. “Funny how they sensed that and not the demon that ate my brother, huh?
“I Apparated out just in time. Gabriel was found dead and pronounced murdered by Death Eaters.
“It devastated my mother. And she couldn’t bear that anyone think she’d raised a son who died Dark; it was better, in her eyes, that everyone in Britain think she’d only had one child. She went to a great deal of trouble to remove Gabriel’s name from all the official records she could, even the magical ones.”
Harry nodded, now understanding why the book Draco had shown him only recorded Raphael’s birth.
“And then she found out I was bent, and realized that meant she wouldn’t get any grandchildren, either. Or, at least, none of her blood. And for Mum, blood has always been all-important.” Raphael forced a rusty chuckle and opened his eyes. They shone with tears. “Can you wonder at my defending her? She’s lost as much as I have. And, in some ways, what she lost matters more to her than Gabriel did to me. I’ve overcome his loss. She’ll hold it close to her heart like a stone until her dying day.”
Harry swallowed. It was difficult. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I’ll tell Draco that it wasn’t you who cursed him.” It meant that they still didn’t know who had cast the scarring spell, but for Harry, that was less important. They still stood a chance of discovering that particular truth someday. And if they never did, that didn’t make Draco’s life worthless. Harry gave a little nod and stood.
“Harry.”
He paused and glanced back. Raphael was leaning across his desk with his hand extended, palm up.
“I suppose,” he asked, in a level voice, “that you wouldn’t consider—getting back together with me?”
Harry felt a small smile lift his lips. Raphael had finally done what Harry had always wanted, and shared more of himself than was absolutely necessary for fucking or rough jokes on a date or disapproving of the way Harry had chosen to live his life. If he had done this while they were still dating, it would have sealed Harry to him for the foreseeable future, since it would have meant that Raphael was putting his precious masculinity at risk.
But now…
“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. That was a lie, but a small one; it wouldn’t cost him anything, and it might cushion reality for Raphael. “I’m together with Draco now. And I can’t imagine wanting to leave him.”
Raphael’s hand retracted, quickly. His face became lined as he nodded, and Harry braced himself for one final taunt when the Auror muttered, “Give him a message from me, then.”
“Which is?” Harry asked.
“Tell him he’s a damn lucky bastard,” Raphael said, and then turned away and stared ferociously down at his paperwork.
Harry let himself out quietly.
*
Draco carefully tied a black ribbon into his hair, and stepped back to admire the effect in the large mirror he’d recently added to the drawing room of his flat. He’d deliberately grown his hair long so that it could sweep his shoulders and look impressive when he tied it back, instead of looking, as Harry had teased him, like the tail of a rat doused with Hirsute Potion.
That was past now. His hair looked magnificent. His skin, now that he had spent some time in Harry’s garden—even if he had watched more than helped—had passed the peeling stage and the sunburned stage and settled into a healthy golden-bronze-alabaster glow. (Draco didn’t care if those colors seemed contradictory to fasten together; they were what he looked like). His eyes had lost more than half the wariness they’d had on the day Harry returned his wand. And his gray dress robes were, as ever, immaculately clean, carefully pressed, and complimentary to his face and form, courtesy of the Manor’s house-elves.
Draco had taken to spending more time with his parents lately. They didn’t always agree, but since Draco’s father could no longer make him want to cringe with a look and his mother’s tears didn’t call up his own, Draco found the time far more pleasant than he had during the last few years. And Narcissa was pleased to have him home more often, though she couldn’t understand why Draco had accepted, so quietly, that he’d have to wait to find his enemy and have the spell reversed.
A soft, sweet scent worked its way into his nostrils, announcing Harry’s presence. Draco turned away from the mirror to open the door, flashing himself a smile before he completely lost sight of his reflection.
He opened the door to find Harry standing there with another vase of angel flowers and a soppy smile. Draco accepted the vase and an equally soppy kiss on the cheek, murmured thanks and exclaimed over the flowers, and set the vase carefully on an end table next to the couch. The house-elf his parents had lent him appeared instantly to sprinkle some water into the potted soil.
“Shall we?” Draco asked, and held out his arm to Harry. They had made plans to dine in Hogsmeade tonight.
Harry didn’t move to take his arm. Draco glanced at him, puzzled, and found Harry blinking, as though he had just awakened from sleep.
Perhaps he fell from the ladder in the garden today and hit his head. Or perhaps he let Philip inject him with venom. Those were the kinds of things Harry was liable to get up to when Draco wasn’t there. Draco had been relieved to find out that he wasn’t just a helpless child for Harry to take care of; Harry needed quite a bit of care himself, since he seemed to assume that just because he was free of suspicion and resentment now, the rest of the world was agreeably free of danger.
“What’s wrong?” Draco asked.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Harry whispered. His eyes moved slowly across Draco’s face, no doubt noting that the only magic about him came from his wand and his robes.
Draco lifted his head. His head was beating very fast, and his vision wavered as if from hunger or dizziness when he met Harry’s eyes. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
The smile that crept across Harry’s lips then made Draco think he knew what an angel flower felt when it faced the sunset. Harry took Draco’s hand in his own and gently kissed all the knuckles. Then he leaned in and swept his mouth across Draco’s chin, lips, and cheek, ending with his scar. Draco put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, holding him in place for just a moment.
“Come on, then,” Harry whispered. “I can’t wait to show off my boyfriend. The other people in the Three Broomsticks are going to wish they were as lucky as I am.”
Draco nodded slightly, and held on to Harry as he Apparated them Side-Along to Hogsmeade. More than a few people turned to study their sudden appearance, or perhaps the aura of magical power that Harry never seemed to notice he projected about him. Draco saw the stares, the dropped jaws, the beginnings of sniggers or smiles.
He knew it would be even worse when Weasley and Granger came back from the Continent, as they were scheduled to do tomorrow.
He raised an eyebrow at the people staring at him and turned to walk into the Three Broomsticks, letting everyone in sight know that they were not Draco Malfoy, confident, powerful, self-knowing pure-blood wizard, and never would be, though if they observed closely enough, they might pick up some hints on aspiring towards his greatness.
Harry was close and warm at his side, chuckling with quiet joy; Draco knew that without even glancing at him.
Someday, he would find the wizard who had cursed him and make him remove the spell, Draco thought as he ducked through the door of the pub and then straightened to look everyone who stared at him in the eye. But it would have to be a matter of thorough investigative work and Slytherin cunning, not coincidence and seizing on the first victim who happened along.
And however long it took, however long he walked scarred or unscarred, he was perfectly confident that Harry would be at his side.
He held Madam Rosmerta’s astonished gaze, and smiled slightly. “A table for two, please,” he said.
“Harry.” Raphael put his quill down carefully on his desk and steepled his fingers. “This is indeed a surprise, since the last time I saw you you chased me out of your home and humiliated me.”
Harry shrugged and took a seat in the chair across from Raphael. The last time he’d been here, the day they broke up, bile had burned on his tongue and memories inside his head. Now, he couldn’t feel anything but a calm acceptance of what had happened between him and Raphael. The memories were part of his life, neither more important nor less important than anything else that had happened. “This isn’t a pleasure visit,” he said, and Raphael’s lips closed tightly. “I came because I have a question that I can’t find the answer to.”
He waved his wand at the door, locking it, and ensuring that no one could eavesdrop from outside the office. When he turned around again, Raphael was sitting up at attention, and holding his own wand in a guard position. “Does this have something to do with the threats against the Minister’s life?” he asked.
Harry blinked at him in bemusement, then shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “Do I look like an Auror to you, Raph?”
“You look like someone who could have been an Auror to me. A damn good one. And you look like a waste of potential.” Raphael gave a lazy shrug. “But I know how much you hate to hear the truth, so forget I said anything.”
“I need to know about your twin brother Gabriel.”
Raphael’s face changed color so fast that Harry really would have been afraid he would faint if he weren’t already sitting down—and if he hadn’t known Raphael better than that. He might appear fragile, but Harry had known few people stronger. It was only a shame that so much of his strength relied on mastering the weaknesses of others and never letting them forget them.
Harry waited, keeping his posture lopsided, casual.
Finally, Raphael said in a low voice, “Blackmail, Harry? I never would have assumed you’d stoop to that.”
Harry shook his head. “No,” he said. “Two years ago, a wizard kidnapped Draco Malfoy and cursed him with an unknown spell.” That was as close a description of the scar as he’d give Raphael. Draco had agreed, after some persuasion, to let Harry try this tactic, but he hadn’t wanted anyone to know the specifics of his torment. Besides, if everything worked out as Harry hoped, Raphael would know what had happened to Draco soon, of Draco’s own free will. “Draco believes he did it in retaliation for some crime the Death Eaters committed, because Draco is one of the few Marked wizards still free of Azkaban. And he also has reason to believe that it was you.”
Raphael sat straight up, revulsion clearly visible on his face. “That’s ridiculous. I despise Malfoy, but I’ve never hurt a suspect in my custody.”
Harry kept his face straight and calm, his voice deep and steady. “He said he recognized your voice, the day you came to the garden. And when we investigated, we did find out that you had lost a brother to the Death Eaters. I wanted to make sure that you hadn’t—well, done something you might have regretted later.” He had come up with an explanation of his own why Raphael, if he scarred Draco, would not have publicized the fact. Drunk or crazed with grief, he could have acted, and then wished to undo the act. He was forever regretting the remarks he had made to Harry, which didn’t mean he wouldn’t make them again later. Or apologize for them aloud, for that mean.
The undeniable truth of that tried to hurt. Harry let the pain fall on him like frost, and melt away again. He had finally moved on from Raphael, and he no longer needed his approval, or to defend him to others so that Harry would feel like less of an arse for dating him.
Raphael stared at him searchingly. Then he sighed and sat back in his seat. “And you’ll just accept my word?” he asked. “Without Veritaserum? Without calling in Aurors and putting me under arrest?”
“I’ll accept your word.” One reason Raphael hadn’t simply pretended to like Harry’s lifestyle and demands for more intimacy in their relationship was his ability as a liar. He had absolutely none.
More silence. Raphael stared at the floor. When he began to talk, it was in such a fast and soft murmur that Harry had difficulty separating the words from one another.
“Mum found out she couldn’t have any more children after she had Gabriel and me. The thought of losing one of us terrified her. She always made us promise to watch out for each other. I can’t tell you how many scrapes we got out of because of that. We watched each other’s backs. We were friends as much as brothers, or brothers as close as friends.” The thin French accent that Harry usually didn’t notice at all crept into Raphael’s speech as he continued.
“Then Gabriel started becoming involved in Dark magic. He just laughed at me when I wouldn’t share it with him, and said that it was because I had too little talent to be a good vessel for anything Dark. And he was the more talented wizard, the stronger of us, the one who saved my life with magic while I saved his with physical strength.” Raphael closed his eyes and tilted his head back until the cords in his neck stood out. “I refused to follow him into the shadows, but I always regretted it and wondered if I should have, if only to show solidarity. He took advantage of that weakness and exploited it. I didn’t tell Mum and Dad until it was far too late.
“He—he went completely mad, at last. I think the Death Eaters he played around with were practicing demon-summoning.”
Harry sucked in his breath through his teeth. Ron had told him about a few of the demon-summoning cases the Aurors worked on. Even a slight rumor of that Darkest of the Dark Arts sent the Department of Magical Law Enforcement into full alert mode and utterly crushed the wizards who dared to hint at it.
“A demon took my brother.” Raphael’s hands clenched together until Harry expected to hear the snap of breaking bone. “I didn’t want to admit it. I tried to cover for him, even when he murdered a few children in the neighborhood near our house. And then he tried to kill me.
“I—I took care of him one last time. I killed him. It was the only thing that could give him peace. I was going to remove the Dark Mark from his arm, too, so he wouldn’t go down in history as a Death Eater, but the spell I’d used to kill Gabriel alerted the French Aurors.” Raphael laughed bitterly. “Funny how they sensed that and not the demon that ate my brother, huh?
“I Apparated out just in time. Gabriel was found dead and pronounced murdered by Death Eaters.
“It devastated my mother. And she couldn’t bear that anyone think she’d raised a son who died Dark; it was better, in her eyes, that everyone in Britain think she’d only had one child. She went to a great deal of trouble to remove Gabriel’s name from all the official records she could, even the magical ones.”
Harry nodded, now understanding why the book Draco had shown him only recorded Raphael’s birth.
“And then she found out I was bent, and realized that meant she wouldn’t get any grandchildren, either. Or, at least, none of her blood. And for Mum, blood has always been all-important.” Raphael forced a rusty chuckle and opened his eyes. They shone with tears. “Can you wonder at my defending her? She’s lost as much as I have. And, in some ways, what she lost matters more to her than Gabriel did to me. I’ve overcome his loss. She’ll hold it close to her heart like a stone until her dying day.”
Harry swallowed. It was difficult. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I’ll tell Draco that it wasn’t you who cursed him.” It meant that they still didn’t know who had cast the scarring spell, but for Harry, that was less important. They still stood a chance of discovering that particular truth someday. And if they never did, that didn’t make Draco’s life worthless. Harry gave a little nod and stood.
“Harry.”
He paused and glanced back. Raphael was leaning across his desk with his hand extended, palm up.
“I suppose,” he asked, in a level voice, “that you wouldn’t consider—getting back together with me?”
Harry felt a small smile lift his lips. Raphael had finally done what Harry had always wanted, and shared more of himself than was absolutely necessary for fucking or rough jokes on a date or disapproving of the way Harry had chosen to live his life. If he had done this while they were still dating, it would have sealed Harry to him for the foreseeable future, since it would have meant that Raphael was putting his precious masculinity at risk.
But now…
“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. That was a lie, but a small one; it wouldn’t cost him anything, and it might cushion reality for Raphael. “I’m together with Draco now. And I can’t imagine wanting to leave him.”
Raphael’s hand retracted, quickly. His face became lined as he nodded, and Harry braced himself for one final taunt when the Auror muttered, “Give him a message from me, then.”
“Which is?” Harry asked.
“Tell him he’s a damn lucky bastard,” Raphael said, and then turned away and stared ferociously down at his paperwork.
Harry let himself out quietly.
*
Draco carefully tied a black ribbon into his hair, and stepped back to admire the effect in the large mirror he’d recently added to the drawing room of his flat. He’d deliberately grown his hair long so that it could sweep his shoulders and look impressive when he tied it back, instead of looking, as Harry had teased him, like the tail of a rat doused with Hirsute Potion.
That was past now. His hair looked magnificent. His skin, now that he had spent some time in Harry’s garden—even if he had watched more than helped—had passed the peeling stage and the sunburned stage and settled into a healthy golden-bronze-alabaster glow. (Draco didn’t care if those colors seemed contradictory to fasten together; they were what he looked like). His eyes had lost more than half the wariness they’d had on the day Harry returned his wand. And his gray dress robes were, as ever, immaculately clean, carefully pressed, and complimentary to his face and form, courtesy of the Manor’s house-elves.
Draco had taken to spending more time with his parents lately. They didn’t always agree, but since Draco’s father could no longer make him want to cringe with a look and his mother’s tears didn’t call up his own, Draco found the time far more pleasant than he had during the last few years. And Narcissa was pleased to have him home more often, though she couldn’t understand why Draco had accepted, so quietly, that he’d have to wait to find his enemy and have the spell reversed.
A soft, sweet scent worked its way into his nostrils, announcing Harry’s presence. Draco turned away from the mirror to open the door, flashing himself a smile before he completely lost sight of his reflection.
He opened the door to find Harry standing there with another vase of angel flowers and a soppy smile. Draco accepted the vase and an equally soppy kiss on the cheek, murmured thanks and exclaimed over the flowers, and set the vase carefully on an end table next to the couch. The house-elf his parents had lent him appeared instantly to sprinkle some water into the potted soil.
“Shall we?” Draco asked, and held out his arm to Harry. They had made plans to dine in Hogsmeade tonight.
Harry didn’t move to take his arm. Draco glanced at him, puzzled, and found Harry blinking, as though he had just awakened from sleep.
Perhaps he fell from the ladder in the garden today and hit his head. Or perhaps he let Philip inject him with venom. Those were the kinds of things Harry was liable to get up to when Draco wasn’t there. Draco had been relieved to find out that he wasn’t just a helpless child for Harry to take care of; Harry needed quite a bit of care himself, since he seemed to assume that just because he was free of suspicion and resentment now, the rest of the world was agreeably free of danger.
“What’s wrong?” Draco asked.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Harry whispered. His eyes moved slowly across Draco’s face, no doubt noting that the only magic about him came from his wand and his robes.
Draco lifted his head. His head was beating very fast, and his vision wavered as if from hunger or dizziness when he met Harry’s eyes. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
The smile that crept across Harry’s lips then made Draco think he knew what an angel flower felt when it faced the sunset. Harry took Draco’s hand in his own and gently kissed all the knuckles. Then he leaned in and swept his mouth across Draco’s chin, lips, and cheek, ending with his scar. Draco put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, holding him in place for just a moment.
“Come on, then,” Harry whispered. “I can’t wait to show off my boyfriend. The other people in the Three Broomsticks are going to wish they were as lucky as I am.”
Draco nodded slightly, and held on to Harry as he Apparated them Side-Along to Hogsmeade. More than a few people turned to study their sudden appearance, or perhaps the aura of magical power that Harry never seemed to notice he projected about him. Draco saw the stares, the dropped jaws, the beginnings of sniggers or smiles.
He knew it would be even worse when Weasley and Granger came back from the Continent, as they were scheduled to do tomorrow.
He raised an eyebrow at the people staring at him and turned to walk into the Three Broomsticks, letting everyone in sight know that they were not Draco Malfoy, confident, powerful, self-knowing pure-blood wizard, and never would be, though if they observed closely enough, they might pick up some hints on aspiring towards his greatness.
Harry was close and warm at his side, chuckling with quiet joy; Draco knew that without even glancing at him.
Someday, he would find the wizard who had cursed him and make him remove the spell, Draco thought as he ducked through the door of the pub and then straightened to look everyone who stared at him in the eye. But it would have to be a matter of thorough investigative work and Slytherin cunning, not coincidence and seizing on the first victim who happened along.
And however long it took, however long he walked scarred or unscarred, he was perfectly confident that Harry would be at his side.
He held Madam Rosmerta’s astonished gaze, and smiled slightly. “A table for two, please,” he said.
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Date: 2007-12-07 04:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-10 12:16 am (UTC)