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lomonaaerenThird part of a long one-shot. Don't start reading here.
Harry stepped out into the gardens again, and grinned at the sky. There was already fire circling there, the Winged Flame Charms he had cast out the window of his room. He stretched his hands up to them, and they came down, flying around him like plumed serpents, brushing against and nuzzling his fingers, before they took flight back to the higher regions of the air.
“What are those?”
Harry spun around. Malfoy had just stepped out of the Manor and stood with his eyes locked on the Winged Flame Charms as if he had never seen them before. Well, Harry had to concede generously, he might not have. The Aurors had invented the charms, and for the most part, they kept such spells to themselves. If criminals learned how to cast them, then the Aurors could face an important disadvantage in battle.
“Winged Flame Charms,” Harry said. “I thought it would be useful to have fire that would stay off the ground and wouldn’t burn anything unless you commanded it to.”
Malfoy shot him a quick glance, and then turned his head and looked back at the flames. They were hovering at the moment, a blurring around them that Harry could only compare to the wings of hummingbirds. Then the blurring turned backwards, and the flames shot across the gardens and hovered again at the far edge.
“They look dangerous,” Malfoy said neutrally.
Harry shrugged a little. “I suppose they could be,” he said, attempting to convey that he’d never thought about it before. Really, he was getting a bit tired of the doubt implied in Malfoy’s voice. He had done all he could to give him some non-dangerous fire, and he had expressed faith in him last night. Malfoy might need stronger expressions than that, maybe. Harry couldn’t give them until he saw more than just potential in the way Malfoy used his magic. “And I want you to choose what you’re going to do with them. Just something other than letting them fly around in circles.”
Malfoy exhaled slowly, still not taking his eyes from the fires. “How can I control them when you cast them?”
“Do you want to take control of them from me?” Harry asked, delighted. That was a challenge that wizards working with a wand might balk at. “That would work, and it would show a mixture of delicacy and strength, because I can refuse to let your magic affect mine.”
Malfoy frowned. “No, you can’t.”
“When it comes to something mental,” Harry countered softly, “I can. And I think when it comes to something magical, it’s the same way. It was different with the stone walls and the water,” he added, anticipating Malfoy’s next objection. “Those weren’t magical other than the means they had of getting onto your grounds. Once I cast the spell, it was done. But these fires are different, the way they fly and the way they don’t burn anything solid.”
Malfoy spent a few more moments biting his lip, and then inclined his head and held out his hands towards the Winged Flames. Harry didn’t think he needed the hand gesture and might well have to learn how to function without it, but he kept silent for now. He edged out of the way, too. Just because he was resistant to Malfoy’s power on some levels was no reason to get fried in case he was wrong about how impervious he was on the magical level.
Malfoy’s hands clenched, and his fingers scrubbed minute windows, from the motions they made. Then he exhaled harder than he had so far, and something seemed to shoot out of him, something thick and wriggling. Harry could barely trace its passage through the air, but that made it all the better. It was fast enough to overtake the nearest Winged Flame Charm and grab it, wrenching it sideways.
And then things got interesting.
Harry shuddered as he felt the wrenching at the core of his being—his magical core, maybe. He fell to one knee and grabbed onto the grass. Otherwise, he thought, the shudders might fling him off the planet.
Malfoy watched him. “You’re immune to my magic seizing control of yours, are you?” he murmured, barely loud enough for Harry to hear.
Harry grinned at him, and fought back.
Malfoy jumped as the shudders turned back on him. Now he must be the one who felt as though he stood in the middle of an earthquake shaking the ground, Harry thought, and if some of Harry’s satisfaction was mean and petty…well, sometimes it was hard not to be that way, around Malfoy.
Even if Malfoy had also shown Harry depths of character and personality that Harry had never known he had.
For a long moment, they struggled, the Winged Flame Charms swinging back and forth above them like tiny red chandeliers. Then Harry knew he had lost, because the charms descended around him and the flames whispered along his skin again, but this time they had real heat behind them.
Malfoy panted at him, eyes wide and bright. “Are you going to say that you’re immune now?” he asked.
Harry shook his head, and held his eyes. Malfoy’s brightness vanished; he half-hunched his head, as though he was trying to turn Harry’s gaze away. “What?” he snapped.
Harry extended his hands. The flames were all around him, ringing his neck, outlining his hands, covering his fingers with red-and-gold gloves. “Did you notice what’s going on?” he asked.
Malfoy jerked his head again. “I would have noticed if you had seized control of them back from me, Potter.”
Harry sighed. “I know that,” he said, and wondered if Malfoy’s snappishness would ease at all. “But you’re surrounding me with the fire, and not burning me. You’ve finally achieved the level of control that you couldn’t when you were trying to hang me.”
Malfoy jumped back, his eyes wide, and the flames promptly flickered and burned out. Harry nodded. That was another mark of his control, although Malfoy might not think so. The charms were dependent on the will of their caster, and they went out when Malfoy, and not Harry, turned his attention away from them.
For a moment, they stood, locked eye to eye and with Malfoy still panting. Then he turned and ran into the house.
Harry frowned thoughtfully after him. He would have thought Malfoy more triumphant in the face of a victory he’d struggled so hard for. Unless he didn’t understand how remarkable it was, but Harry didn’t think he had to worry about Malfoy undervaluing himself.
Really?
Harry was still in a thoughtful frame of mind when he went back to the house and found lunch waiting in his rooms. He wanted to talk to Malfoy, but it would have to wait. The strangeness in the garden this morning and their conversation last night were enough to overwhelm anybody.
Except him, maybe, but Harry had to admit that he had less sensitivity to strangeness left after the war.
*
Draco sat on his bed with his hands huddled around his head.
Even he didn’t understand why he had run away rather than stand there and let Potter heap praise on him. Hadn’t that been one of his dearest hopes when he was in Hogwarts? To hear Potter acknowledge that he was better?
But he wasn’t in Hogwarts any more, and hadn’t been for a long time.
Draco rolled over, and his magic plumped the pillow he was lying on before he really knew that he desired it. Draco shut his eyes and sighed. In some ways, it was very nice to have power like this, and he understood better than before why he had wished for it.
In other ways, it didn’t help at all.
He had won Potter’s regard, but it wasn’t the power itself that did it, or the situation of being helpless, which Draco had thought it was at first. He did it almost accidentally, by controlling his magic. Potter had helped him with that, but he didn’t have contempt for Draco because of it.
Draco rubbed his forehead. He liked the way Potter looked at him, but he didn’t want to become dependent on it. And he was afraid that he could, which was why he had run away from him in the garden.
He sighed and stood up. He would gain nothing by hiding here, and he thought he could manage a meal in one of the Manor’s kitchens or dining rooms without running into Potter. That meant he could go and eat, and stop acting like a child.
And I’ll greet Potter like a normal person if I meet him on the way.
That almost made him hope that he would meet Potter on the way, but he never did. He had probably decided to take lunch in his rooms. The house-elves would assume that Potter going there meant that, anyway, and would gratify his wishes.
The coward, Draco thought, and ate delicate slivers of perfectly-cooked chicken in among the leaves of his salad with self-righteousness that tasted nearly as good as the salad did.
*
“But what are you doing there?”
Harry hung his head off the bed and grinned at Hermione, whose bewildered face hung in the fire. “Curse-breaking.”
“I thought you said what Malfoy was suffering from wasn’t precisely a curse?” Hermione sounded as though the broken pieces of the tale were all scattered on a table in front of her, and it depended on her to reassemble them and so save the world.
Harry rolled his head, making Hermione roll, too, a dizzy motion along the side of the bed. Then he decided it was too dizzy, and sat up. “Not precisely. But it’s good enough to treat it that way. Just something he has to learn to get control of, instead of reject or break.”
“Oh.” Hermione paused, and rubbed at her forehead the way she did on the rare occasions when he managed to baffle her. “If you’re sure that you know what’s going on and approve, Harry…”
“Yes,” Harry said firmly. “I chose this, and Malfoy’s been a lot better than I expected. We’re getting along really well, in fact.”
“Really?” Hermione apparently had to add this new piece to her puzzle, and by her expression, it wasn’t a corner piece. “I can’t imagine—what do you find to talk about? Or do you just stick to discussion of his magic and his problems with it?”
“Last night it was Voldemort.”
Hermione paused again, then said, “I give up. Well, just stay safe, Harry, and I’m glad that you let us know where you were and that it’s going well. Remember that Victoire’s birthday party is next weekend.”
Harry nodded. “Thanks for the reminder,” he said, although it was the second one Hermione had delivered. “Tell Ron again that I’m sorry for leaving him in the lurch in Auror training.”
“He could see that you weren’t happy,” Hermione said gently. “Who knows, he might not stay himself. Sometimes he talks about helping George out in the joke shop like it’s the best thing in the world.”
“Yes, but if it was his job, would it be fun anymore?” Harry pondered.
Hermione met his eyes, and they exchanged one glance filled with Knowledge of Ron, before Hermione waved to him and shut the Floo connection. Harry sat up and focused his thoughts back where they belonged, on Malfoy.
He had already mastered the fire, which Harry had assumed would be a difficult challenge, certainly enough to last him the whole of today. What else was next? Harry knew what his list said, but he was minded to go beyond it. Asking Malfoy to handle wind might be a logical step, since that way he would have experience with all the elemental forces, but those weren’t the kinds of spells that Malfoy cast on a daily basis.
Harry nodded. Yes, he thought it best if Malfoy used spells that would open doors and summon objects and boil water—all of the things that wizards used household charms for. Well, maybe not boiling water, not for a Malfoy, but Harry doubted it was much fun to be left without Alohomora and Summoning Charms when you’d known they existed for your entire life.
Satisfied, Harry turned to write a letter to Andromeda. She had wanted to know how Malfoy was getting along; well, Harry would tell her. And caution her that it might be for the best if she didn’t bring Teddy with her, not at first. Harry trusted Malfoy, but Teddy had gone into a stage lately where he was easily frightened.
*
“I hope you don’t mind, but your Aunt Andromeda is coming over for dinner tomorrow.”
Draco dropped his spoon, which he had been handling carefully with invisible tendrils of magic by thinking about how nice it was not to have to feed himself, and stared at Potter in shock. Potter smiled back at him and continued eating his own soup, garbanzo done to perfection by a house-elf in Draco’s kitchen that his mother had purchased from a Spanish family.
“What?” Draco said at last, because he was incapable of anything more eloquent.
“I invited your Aunt Andromeda to dinner,” Potter repeated, and then lifted his eyebrows. “What’s the matter, Malfoy, did your magic grow wax in your ears this morning?”
Draco laid his spoon, which he had picked back up, down on the edge of his plate and smiled at Potter. “Can you explain to me why you thought that it was perfectly fine for you to do that without informing me?” he asked.
“I’d told you already that she’d probably be coming over, and that she was forceful enough not to be denied,” Potter said. He spoke slowly, with a suspicious kindness, that made Draco want to hurl something at his head. Luckily, the only objects nearby were the bowl full of soup and the spoon, and the first one would ruin Draco’s dinner and the second one wasn’t heavy enough, so they both stayed firmly in place. “I didn’t think it mattered which day I decided on, and she agreed. That’s the real sticking point, whether she would agree to come, not whether you would.” He took another swallow and gave the soup an approving look.
“Have you considered that I might have excellent reason not to meet another one of my aunts?” Draco kept his voice low, but his chair shoved back from his chair despite himself. His magic was trying to make it easier for him to march around the table and shake Potter with his hands, if that was what he wanted.
“Another—oh, right, Bellatrix.” Potter laid aside his plate and gave Draco a sympathetic glance. “Well, I’ve had an awful aunt, too. I understand. But I promise that Andromeda is really nothing like Bellatrix. If she was, I don’t think I’d be able to stand her, either.”
“My aunt didn’t torture you in the name of making you learn Occlumency,” Draco snapped, picking up his spoon again. Apparently, the owl was flown, and Draco wasn’t so ill-bred as to send his own owl after Potter’s in order to retract the invitation. “What reason do you have to resent her?”
“That she killed my godfather.”
Potter was paying an attention to his soup that was too fierce for it, no matter how good it was. Draco paused, then set his spoon aside again. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Potter shrugged. “You couldn’t be expected to remember. And I meant what I said. Andromeda is nothing like Bellatrix, even if she looks a little like her. When you’re able to meet Teddy, you’ll like him.”
Draco frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be able to meet my cousin?”
To his private relief, that made Potter look up at him and grin. “He’s shy right now. And anything he doesn’t understand frightens him further. I thought we could work on Summoning objects tomorrow. Andromeda would be impressed if you could do it correctly. But it would probably make Teddy jump to see things zooming around without a wand.”
“You think I can master Summoning Charms that fast.” Draco tapped his spoon against the edge of the plate, heard the hideous chiming, and made himself stop. He had never much liked this china, but his mother had insisted on using it, and he had kept it in memory of her when the Ministry reparations had meant he had to sell off most of the other sets.
“You’ve done everything else in a day,” Potter said, and once again he was back to that intensity that he seemed to assume at odd times. “Yes, I think you can do it.”
Draco looked away and cleared his throat. “Well,” he said. “Good, then. I hope I can impress my aunt.”
He looked back in time to see Potter toasting him with the glass of Firewhisky that he had requested with dinner, and which the house-elves had supplied with speed that made Draco wonder what Potter had been drinking alone in his bedroom on other nights. “I do, too,” Potter said, when he’d swallowed. “Because I like her, but Merlin, the way she guards Teddy.”
Draco cocked his head. “Who’s going to stay with him when she comes over tomorrow, then?”
“Oh, she trusts Ron and Hermione well enough to ask them the favor for as long as an evening,” said Potter easily.
That only made Draco feel as though someone had jammed a poker up his arse. A poker that was on fire, no less. His aunt trusted a Weasley and a Muggleborn more than him. And perhaps she would have been right to do that when their families still had reason for being estranged, but he was determined to show her, now, that she should give the bonds of blood more consideration.
“I knew I could get you to agree,” Potter said, and offered him another toast.
*
Harry winced as another glass bowl crashed against the shut door from the kitchens. Malfoy’s brow creased, and the doors flew open. The second bowl that was coming shot through them and whirred into the wall at high speed, like a drunken wasp. Harry flicked his wand and cast Reparo before the shards could hit the ground.
That did nothing to improve Malfoy’s temper, of course.
“Why is this harder than crumbling a stone wall?” he snarled, spinning towards Harry and tapping his foot on the floor. They were in the dining room where Malfoy obviously hoped to serve Andromeda dinner that night, and several other hastily-repaired pieces of glassware and crockery sat on the nearby table. “That’s advanced magic. This is a bloody fourth-year spell, and I can’t manage it!”
“Language,” Harry said, raising a finger.
An invisible rope tightened around his neck a moment later, and he chuckled before it could take his breath. “Just trying to prepare you for Andromeda’s visit,” he said. “It’s the kind of thing she’ll take notice of.”
Malfoy slumped back against the wall and folded his arms. His hair stirred for a moment as though someone was stroking it. He’d probably wished for comfort, and his magic moved to provide it without his even realizing it, Harry thought. Yes, Malfoy’s power could be a gift and blessing—if he could learn to control it. “Answer the question, Potter.”
“Because your magic is actually better at stronger, more brutal things than delicacy now,” Harry said. And then he rolled his eyes. “You know that, Malfoy. You know that the spells that correspond to more precise wandwork are going to take you longer. And the incantation for the Summoning Charm is simple, but the wand movement is pretty spectacular.”
“To a fourth-year,” Malfoy said, and glared at him. “How long did it take you to master that charm you used in the Tournament against the dragon, anyway?”
“Almost too long,” Harry said. “And we still have a few hours until dinner. I think you can do this.”
“How?” Malfoy stared at the table again. “By repairing my mother’s good china half-a-dozen times?”
“If that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes.” Harry took a step towards him and touched the air above his shoulder. He thought it might be a bad idea to touch Malfoy physically right now, with the magic swirling above him. “You can do this. I have faith in you.”
Malfoy stared at him hard enough to make Harry flush. “That’s a worse idea than walking into the Forest and facing the Dark Lord unarmed,” he said at last.
“I wasn’t unarmed then, either,” Harry said lightly. “I had the power of faith.” He thought mentioning the Resurrection Stone right now couldn’t do much good.
Malfoy laughed, and then clapped a hand over his mouth and flickered his eyes downwards suspiciously. Harry dared to pat his shoulder this time. “Don’t worry, I’ll never tell anyone that you found something the Chosen One said funny,” he said.
“Wanker,” Malfoy said, but there was no heat behind his voice this time. His eyes fixed on Harry’s hand instead, on his shoulder. Harry followed his gaze, and then met it.
Malfoy’s eyes were half-lidded, his hair ruffling as from the touch of a stroking hand again. He leaned in and took Harry’s hand off his shoulder himself, without waiting for Harry to do it. His voice was low as he said, “You shouldn’t touch me like that in front of my aunt. She’ll get the wrong idea.”
“How about the right one?” Harry said the words without meaning to, just knowing that they were the right ones to say, the way that mentioning Voldemort in front of Malfoy a few nights ago had been the right thing to do.
Malfoy stared at him. Then he held up a hand, and Harry stepped back, half-fearing that a cup would come smashing into his head.
Instead, the doors into the dining room shut. Then Harry heard the rushing motion of a piece of cutlery being Summoned. He swallowed, but didn’t take his eyes off Malfoy’s to turn around and watch, although this was the kind of thing they had been trying to achieve all morning.
“Watch,” Malfoy whispered, and that either broke the spell or gave Harry permission, he wasn’t sure which, so he could turn around and watch.
The doors into the dining room opened. A stream of forks and spoons and knives came through, as tame as though they were working for Mrs. Weasley, and settled into complicated arrays in front of three chairs. Plates followed them, and delicate saucers, and different kinds of bowls for different courses. Harry had no idea what half of them were called, but he was sure that the way they settled into position in front of the chairs was correct down to a nicety on all points of pure-blood etiquette.
“We’re having duck,” Malfoy whispered against Harry’s ear. “Do you like that?”
“I like everything I’ve tried here,” Harry said, and dared to turn around and let his hand glance off Malfoy’s shoulder in passing. “Shall we firecall Andromeda and tell her that we’re ready for company?”
*
Of course, Draco had to veto Potter’s idea about immediately firecalling. He wasn’t dressed, and neither was Potter, and he was sure that his aunt would descend on the house in full Black glory, since she could hardly claim glory of any sort from her married name.
That’s the sort of remark that shouldn’t pass your lips this evening.
Immediately, Draco felt a little tightening in the back of his throat, and was sure that he couldn’t say an uncomplimentary word about his aunt’s Muggle husband. He smiled. He was beginning to appreciate the advantages of the magic the snake had gifted him with.
Potter had rolled his eyes, but gone away to dress, and come back in formal robes that made Draco give him a slow look before he could stop himself. They were dark green with golden buttons, and a discreet black edging at the end of the sleeves that seemed as if Potter were accompanied by small black swirls of lightning whenever he moved his hands. Draco asked him why he hadn’t worn them before, and got an eye-roll in return and no answer.
Because it should be obvious. Because he hates wearing them, and he hoped that nothing would happen here to make him do it.
That made Draco feel a particular, powerful tingling in the back of his throat, and he licked his lips before he could stop himself. That Potter hated the robes but had brought them along and worn them anyway because he thought he might need to…
It was another sign that Potter was doing things for Draco he didn’t have to do, things that most people wouldn’t.
Draco turned away before it could overwhelm him and stood stiffly facing the door of the dining room as it opened and his elves escorted his aunt in.
He was glad that Potter had prepared him. Andromeda Black Tonks really did look a lot like Bellatrix Black Lestrange, and Draco would have started back without warning. But Andromeda wore a glinting dark blue gown that Bellatrix never would have, because his mad aunt hadn’t known what fashion was, and she walked with a delicate, mincing step that reminded Draco comfortably of his mother. He bowed to her and held out his arm to escort her to her seat at the table.
Andromeda watched him with disconcerting frankness as he did it, and that wasn’t like either of her sisters, Draco thought. Bellatrix would have looked for signs of disloyalty to the Dark Lord, and his mother for warnings that he might embarrass the family. Andromeda just looked as if she might judge him for himself.
“Didn’t you grow up the handsome one,” she murmured, barely loudly enough for Draco to hear.
Draco flushed, and coughed. From the glance that crossed his like a sword, he was fairly sure that Potter had heard.
But Potter didn’t laugh. He only drew back his own chair and stood behind it, solemnly waiting until Draco had seated Andromeda.
Draco wondered, in passing, where he had learned those formal manners. Perhaps from Andromeda herself, or perhaps that was the kind of thing they taught in Auror training these days.
“Thank you, nephew,” Andromeda said, arranging the folds of her skirt around her and glancing at the table. Because Draco was looking for it, he found the flicker of quiet approval deep in her eyes before she turned and smiled at him. “What are we having today?”
“The first course is tomato bisque,” Draco said, and decided that he could venture a small joke, since his own formal robes were a dark grey. “It shouldn’t cause anyone fear for their clothes even if it spills.”
Andromeda stared at him, and Draco held his breath. But it must have been a stare of incredulity rather than offense, because the next moment, she had tilted her head back and begun to laugh, and the laughter showered on Draco like sweet rain. He relaxed and smiled at his aunt, seeing now why Potter wanted to spend time around her.
The meal sped through the courses: soup, duck, a delicate selection of fresh fruits delicately arranged, and a dessert that mostly consisted of lemon cream with small chocolate-covered nuts placed discreetly in the middle. Draco had wondered how the last would go over, since he had no idea if Andromeda liked lemon, but her face relaxed as she ate, and she was soon talking to him about his mother, about his little cousin Teddy, about the planned alterations she was making to her house and gardens now that she had a baby living with her. Safer and more neutral topics than Draco had thought existed, all of them.
And he was so focused on his aunt and behaving well in front of her that his magic didn’t act up once. What he wanted right now was quiet, and so it gave that to him.
When she had eaten the last bit of the lemon cream, Andromeda leaned forwards and stretched out her hand, slender and with shining dark nails, to rest on Draco’s cheek. Draco went still and eyed her. He’d been in the middle of a sentence about Teddy; he wondered now if he had said something offensive without meaning to.
“I hope that you can come and see your little cousin soon,” Andromeda told him softly. “I’ve been told by people whom I trust that it’s not safe yet.” She glanced over at Potter, who, Draco realized, hadn’t said one word during dinner. “But when you can, I would be happy to have you know him.”
Not offensive, then. Draco inclined his head, while his heart bounded and surged. Instead, he would get to meet a child that Andromeda and Potter between them had to protect pretty well, maybe even get to watch him grow up. “Thank you, Aunt Andromeda.”
“I like the sound of that,” Andromeda said, and smiled at him. “I never had anyone to call me that before.” She stood up and collected Potter with her eyes at the same time. Or maybe that was the manners Draco was becoming increasingly convinced Andromeda had been the one to drill into Potter. “Will both of you walk me out?”
Potter came over to take Andromeda’s left arm, while Draco was on the right. Andromeda admired the portraits and statues they passed, and then turned around when they came to the front door and pressed both their hands.
“I had a wonderful evening,” she said. “Harry, don’t forget that you’re going to visit us on Wednesday. And don’t forget that you’re going to come with him, Draco.” She nodded to him, a regal motion that made Draco’s chest swell, and she walked out the door without a farewell, before Draco could even make the effusive speech of gratitude for the invitation that he could feel welling up in him.
Potter waited until the door closed behind Andromeda before springing off the ground and clasping his fists together as he howled. Draco started back. Hadn’t this been what Potter wanted to happen?
But Potter grabbed his arms and shook him back and forth, grinning. “Do you realize how long it was before she would even invite me over with any regularity? She protects Teddy so…fiercely. I can understand why, but for her to approve of you that way, it’s wonderful. And your magic can behave itself! You can control it!” He let Draco go and ran across the corridor to pound his fist into the marble wall and hoot like a house-elf, ignoring the way the portraits hissed at him.
Draco stared at him again. Then he crossed the corridor to come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, fingers almost overlapping Potter’s collarbone. Potter turned around, mouth full of reassurances. “I think that you’re going to do fine. We’ll go out somewhere tomorrow, Diagon Alley or something like that, and test the way that your magic works around other people, but I really think that you can do this—”
Draco had to shut him up. Or he was grateful. Either way, it was something he could think of only one way to express.
He kissed Potter.
Potter blinked once, his mind apparently scrambling along trying to keep up with what Draco had done, and then kissed him back.
Potter’s mouth was searching and sweet, his fingers strong as they dug into Draco’s neck and shoulders and hair, looking for a handhold. Draco broke free briefly to redirect Potter’s fingers onto his nape, where they couldn’t do much damage, and then he returned to the kiss.
It only grew stronger as time went on, and Draco couldn’t remember kissing someone this long before without needing air or getting bored. The portraits had gone silent in shock. He and Potter had slid to the floor at some point, and now Potter knelt over him, insistently touching Draco’s hip but not going any lower than that, and biting at his chin every few seconds, too.
Draco pulled back at last, and rested his hands on Potter’s chest. Potter seemed to understand what that meant, and grinned at Draco, laying his head on Draco’s chest so that Draco had to look at his face mostly upside-down.
“I don’t—understand,” Draco whispered. “I don’t understand how you wanted to kiss me back.”
“You’ve achieved great things,” Potter promptly said. “I don’t think anyone else could have got control over their magic back that fast. I would have been in denial all over the place, or throwing up and sick with fear. You’re a lot more admirable than I thought you were, and you’re a lot more—I don’t know, grown-up, too.”
“It’s hard not to grow up when your father dies and you’re left to handle things,” Draco said, and trained some of Potter’s curlier hair to grow around his fingers.
“I wouldn’t know,” Potter said, but he went on speaking before Draco could apologize for accidentally emphasizing Potter’s orphanhood. “And you listened to me, and you didn’t blow up at me, and you put up with some pretty awful things from other people before this, too. I wouldn’t blame you if you just wanted to stay behind your wards and sulk for the rest of your life. That you didn’t is…wonderful.”
“You were the one who brought me out of it,” Draco whispered, and lifted Potter, pulling him by his grip in his hair, until Potter’s head was in his lap. “Who else would have had the patience to let me almost hang them and burn them to death?”
Potter just grinned at him, and then moved in for another kiss.
*
“You can do this.”
Harry kept his voice low and encouraging. It had stopped being an effort to do that with Draco about a week ago, he thought. In fact, he wasn’t sure that he’d had any problem with it after he’d read his mind.
Draco, his face locked into graven lines, nodded and walked on. His hands were trembling. Harry found one and held it, ignoring the stares that people gave him. It was hard to tell who was staring because of who Draco was and who was staring because of how close they seemed, anyway.
“I don’t like the way they look at me,” Draco hissed at him.
“I know. Just keep walking.”
They’d walked the whole length of Diagon Alley once, and they were on their way back through now. Harry could feel the subtle tremble of Draco’s magic around him. It was hard to describe, but he’d learned to sense it, rather like seeing a small hidden animal out of the corner of his eye and then keeping track of it even though he had to move his head at times. Just keep walking, keep your eyes ahead, and it worked, Harry thought.
And so far, Draco had restrained his magic despite the stares, someone throwing rubbing at him, and more than one person calling him by his last name in sharply peremptory tones. It was the last one that was the hardest for him to resist, maybe because he hated being ordered around. Harry had wanted to turn and shout at those people that there was a right way and a wrong way to talk to Draco Malfoy, and they’d crossed the line.
But then, they didn’t know Draco like he did. And Harry had had to work to keep his hand off his own wand several times.
Now they were in the middle of their walk back. Harry started to relax. Maybe they would make this all the way through, and—
Something exploded sharply against Harry’s back, and from the way Draco staggered, a similar blow had hit him at the same moment. He whipped around with his hand rising and his fingers crooking like claws, and Harry saw a figure start to lift from a group of laughing wizards in response.
Harry reached out and let his hand hover just above Draco’s arm. He didn’t dare touch him. Draco had to be able to control himself when Harry wasn’t around, when people might confront him or laugh in ways that Harry couldn’t protect him from. “He’s not worth it,” Harry hissed. It was more rubbish, he thought, feeling the wet seep and smelling the strong scent of rotting vegetables from the middle of his back. “Remember that. Your ability to move around and do what you want is much more important.”
Draco paused with his head turned, as if he was sniffing the smell of the vegetables more than listening to Harry. Then he flipped his fingers open, and the rising wizard dropped down. Draco turned away and spoke in a voice to Harry that people inside the shops as well as outside them could hear. “I find myself with little taste for this kind of company, Harry. Let’s go back to the Manor.”
And that was worth it, Harry thought, worth everything, as he nodded soberly in agreement and tried not to laugh at the gapes directed their way. Anyone who might think he was only out with Draco for a Ministry-ordered walk or because of some other effort to appeal to the public had been disappointed.
“I agree, Draco,” he said, and took Draco’s arm in the moment before Draco wandlessly Apparated them back to the gates of the Manor. Harry staggered as they came out of the Apparition, the way he always did, and then burst out laughing, his head bent, his hands on his knees. It had never occurred to him to worry about what Draco’s magic would do when they were in flight through the small black place that Apparition occupied, he thought dizzily. Well, compared to being hanged by the neck, it seemed a small threat.
“What?” Draco snapped, crowding close, and pulling Harry up to face level with a jerk on his arm.
Harry blinked at him, remembered that Draco still had a reason to think that someone laughing near him could be laughing at him, and let his fingers rest on Draco’s cheek for a second. Then the giggles took over again. “Their faces!” he said.
It took a second, but Draco broke into a tentative smile. “They did rather look as though a Crup shat on their cloaks, didn’t they?” he agreed.
Harry kissed him, and that both gave them something more pleasant to do with their mouths, broken by the occasional chuckle. And even better, Draco pinned Harry back against the wall by the gates and kissed him long and slow, tongue licking in and out between his teeth.
It was wonderful. Harry staggered into the Manor more supported by Draco than supporting him, and Draco’s smile was long and low and lizard-like.
But a very beautiful lizard, Harry thought giddily.
*
“Teddy, this is your cousin Draco.”
Andromeda had already said that, Draco thought, and it appeared to have affected his young cousin not at all. He just looked out from behind Andromeda’s legs at Harry and Draco, shook his head, and ducked back again.
Draco closed his eyes when he felt the flutter of power rise in him, and breathed out slowly. Yes, his magic might be able to make Teddy like him. A child that young wasn’t likely to have the defenses against magic that changed the mind which Harry had.
But that was only the impulse of a moment. It wasn’t what he wanted, not at all. What he wanted was Andromeda’s approval, and Harry’s, and for Teddy to be comfortable around him.
The power subsided. Draco nodded and opened his eyes. That had turned out to be the key to controlling a surprisingly large portion of his magic: thinking about two things he wanted and deciding that the long-term, future one the magic couldn’t help him with was more important.
And there was another thing he could do to at least acquire Teddy’s attention, though Draco had to admit it might be impossible to end this first visit with him and Teddy being best friends.
“Teddy, watch,” he said, and waited until the small, fascinated head had popped around Andromeda’s legs again before stretching out his hand, shutting his eyes, and concentrating the magic down into a tiny point. Produce something worthy of a child’s attention, something better than any toy he’s ever played with.
The magic shoved, and Draco shivered. Doing something small and precise like that always shook him more than simply spreading it across the sky in sloppy strokes, as if he was having to cope with the magic going through a keyhole instead of an open door.
When he opened his eyes, he was disconcerted to see a small, white plush dog on the palm of his hand. He had assumed that he would create something more wonderful, and he held it out to Teddy with some misgivings. Teddy had plenty of dolls and plush animals already, if the wide drawing room in Andromeda’s house was any indication.
But the dog turned its head and focused on Teddy, and then gave a little bark and leaped off Draco’s hand. It ran up to Teddy, wagging its tail and sticking out a fuzzy pink tongue to lick his hand. Teddy goggled, then giggled and picked it up, spinning it around.
“It’s a dog!” he told Andromeda, in case she might have missed that.
Andromeda blinked, and looked at Draco with more than the cool expression of encouragement she’d maintained since Harry and Draco came here to visit Teddy. “I assume that this is a pet that won’t have to be fed or given water? Or walked?”
“Oh, it can be walked,” Draco said, lounging back on the couch and watching as the dog ran around Teddy and barked gently at him. “But yes, none of the other things are necessary. And it’ll be able to speak. And respond to Teddy, grow with him, not limited by its enchantments as so many of the toys are.” He spoke with confidence now, his magic moving inside him to give him the answers. Yes, this was what he had made, and while it was a toy, it was far more complicated than anything sold in the shops, nothing that money could buy.
Andromeda regarded him continuously for so long that Draco started to think that was the worst thing he could have done, instead of the best. But then she smiled like a sunrise breaking and said, “Well, Teddy, that’s a very generous gift from your Cousin Draco. Are you going to thank him?”
Teddy looked up, the puppy in his arms, and smiled. “Thank you, Cousin Draco,” he said, before dashing into another room. The dog leaped out of his grip and ran right beside him, barking in a way that Draco was fairly sure Andromeda could enchant quiet, if she wanted to.
He caught a glimpse of Harry smiling from the corner of his eye, and turned his head to him. Harry leaned over and kissed him right in front of Andromeda, in response.
Andromeda spent a moment with a quiet face, as if deciding how to react to that, and then said, “Quite right. I didn’t bring out the biscuits,” and went into the kitchen.
Draco lounged back on the couch and shut his eyes. Harry laid his hand in Draco’s, and Draco felt a lazy, passing wish that Harry would tell him what he was thinking.
Harry murmured, “I think I’m going to like this job of curse-breaking for people instead of catching criminals. And coming to the Manor at night. As long as you want me around, of course.”
It was a future, Draco thought, as he stretched over to kiss Harry in response. One that his magic couldn’t compel, because he knew that Harry was immune to all effects that might resemble Imperius.
A free future.
God, that sounds good.
The End.
Harry stepped out into the gardens again, and grinned at the sky. There was already fire circling there, the Winged Flame Charms he had cast out the window of his room. He stretched his hands up to them, and they came down, flying around him like plumed serpents, brushing against and nuzzling his fingers, before they took flight back to the higher regions of the air.
“What are those?”
Harry spun around. Malfoy had just stepped out of the Manor and stood with his eyes locked on the Winged Flame Charms as if he had never seen them before. Well, Harry had to concede generously, he might not have. The Aurors had invented the charms, and for the most part, they kept such spells to themselves. If criminals learned how to cast them, then the Aurors could face an important disadvantage in battle.
“Winged Flame Charms,” Harry said. “I thought it would be useful to have fire that would stay off the ground and wouldn’t burn anything unless you commanded it to.”
Malfoy shot him a quick glance, and then turned his head and looked back at the flames. They were hovering at the moment, a blurring around them that Harry could only compare to the wings of hummingbirds. Then the blurring turned backwards, and the flames shot across the gardens and hovered again at the far edge.
“They look dangerous,” Malfoy said neutrally.
Harry shrugged a little. “I suppose they could be,” he said, attempting to convey that he’d never thought about it before. Really, he was getting a bit tired of the doubt implied in Malfoy’s voice. He had done all he could to give him some non-dangerous fire, and he had expressed faith in him last night. Malfoy might need stronger expressions than that, maybe. Harry couldn’t give them until he saw more than just potential in the way Malfoy used his magic. “And I want you to choose what you’re going to do with them. Just something other than letting them fly around in circles.”
Malfoy exhaled slowly, still not taking his eyes from the fires. “How can I control them when you cast them?”
“Do you want to take control of them from me?” Harry asked, delighted. That was a challenge that wizards working with a wand might balk at. “That would work, and it would show a mixture of delicacy and strength, because I can refuse to let your magic affect mine.”
Malfoy frowned. “No, you can’t.”
“When it comes to something mental,” Harry countered softly, “I can. And I think when it comes to something magical, it’s the same way. It was different with the stone walls and the water,” he added, anticipating Malfoy’s next objection. “Those weren’t magical other than the means they had of getting onto your grounds. Once I cast the spell, it was done. But these fires are different, the way they fly and the way they don’t burn anything solid.”
Malfoy spent a few more moments biting his lip, and then inclined his head and held out his hands towards the Winged Flames. Harry didn’t think he needed the hand gesture and might well have to learn how to function without it, but he kept silent for now. He edged out of the way, too. Just because he was resistant to Malfoy’s power on some levels was no reason to get fried in case he was wrong about how impervious he was on the magical level.
Malfoy’s hands clenched, and his fingers scrubbed minute windows, from the motions they made. Then he exhaled harder than he had so far, and something seemed to shoot out of him, something thick and wriggling. Harry could barely trace its passage through the air, but that made it all the better. It was fast enough to overtake the nearest Winged Flame Charm and grab it, wrenching it sideways.
And then things got interesting.
Harry shuddered as he felt the wrenching at the core of his being—his magical core, maybe. He fell to one knee and grabbed onto the grass. Otherwise, he thought, the shudders might fling him off the planet.
Malfoy watched him. “You’re immune to my magic seizing control of yours, are you?” he murmured, barely loud enough for Harry to hear.
Harry grinned at him, and fought back.
Malfoy jumped as the shudders turned back on him. Now he must be the one who felt as though he stood in the middle of an earthquake shaking the ground, Harry thought, and if some of Harry’s satisfaction was mean and petty…well, sometimes it was hard not to be that way, around Malfoy.
Even if Malfoy had also shown Harry depths of character and personality that Harry had never known he had.
For a long moment, they struggled, the Winged Flame Charms swinging back and forth above them like tiny red chandeliers. Then Harry knew he had lost, because the charms descended around him and the flames whispered along his skin again, but this time they had real heat behind them.
Malfoy panted at him, eyes wide and bright. “Are you going to say that you’re immune now?” he asked.
Harry shook his head, and held his eyes. Malfoy’s brightness vanished; he half-hunched his head, as though he was trying to turn Harry’s gaze away. “What?” he snapped.
Harry extended his hands. The flames were all around him, ringing his neck, outlining his hands, covering his fingers with red-and-gold gloves. “Did you notice what’s going on?” he asked.
Malfoy jerked his head again. “I would have noticed if you had seized control of them back from me, Potter.”
Harry sighed. “I know that,” he said, and wondered if Malfoy’s snappishness would ease at all. “But you’re surrounding me with the fire, and not burning me. You’ve finally achieved the level of control that you couldn’t when you were trying to hang me.”
Malfoy jumped back, his eyes wide, and the flames promptly flickered and burned out. Harry nodded. That was another mark of his control, although Malfoy might not think so. The charms were dependent on the will of their caster, and they went out when Malfoy, and not Harry, turned his attention away from them.
For a moment, they stood, locked eye to eye and with Malfoy still panting. Then he turned and ran into the house.
Harry frowned thoughtfully after him. He would have thought Malfoy more triumphant in the face of a victory he’d struggled so hard for. Unless he didn’t understand how remarkable it was, but Harry didn’t think he had to worry about Malfoy undervaluing himself.
Really?
Harry was still in a thoughtful frame of mind when he went back to the house and found lunch waiting in his rooms. He wanted to talk to Malfoy, but it would have to wait. The strangeness in the garden this morning and their conversation last night were enough to overwhelm anybody.
Except him, maybe, but Harry had to admit that he had less sensitivity to strangeness left after the war.
*
Draco sat on his bed with his hands huddled around his head.
Even he didn’t understand why he had run away rather than stand there and let Potter heap praise on him. Hadn’t that been one of his dearest hopes when he was in Hogwarts? To hear Potter acknowledge that he was better?
But he wasn’t in Hogwarts any more, and hadn’t been for a long time.
Draco rolled over, and his magic plumped the pillow he was lying on before he really knew that he desired it. Draco shut his eyes and sighed. In some ways, it was very nice to have power like this, and he understood better than before why he had wished for it.
In other ways, it didn’t help at all.
He had won Potter’s regard, but it wasn’t the power itself that did it, or the situation of being helpless, which Draco had thought it was at first. He did it almost accidentally, by controlling his magic. Potter had helped him with that, but he didn’t have contempt for Draco because of it.
Draco rubbed his forehead. He liked the way Potter looked at him, but he didn’t want to become dependent on it. And he was afraid that he could, which was why he had run away from him in the garden.
He sighed and stood up. He would gain nothing by hiding here, and he thought he could manage a meal in one of the Manor’s kitchens or dining rooms without running into Potter. That meant he could go and eat, and stop acting like a child.
And I’ll greet Potter like a normal person if I meet him on the way.
That almost made him hope that he would meet Potter on the way, but he never did. He had probably decided to take lunch in his rooms. The house-elves would assume that Potter going there meant that, anyway, and would gratify his wishes.
The coward, Draco thought, and ate delicate slivers of perfectly-cooked chicken in among the leaves of his salad with self-righteousness that tasted nearly as good as the salad did.
*
“But what are you doing there?”
Harry hung his head off the bed and grinned at Hermione, whose bewildered face hung in the fire. “Curse-breaking.”
“I thought you said what Malfoy was suffering from wasn’t precisely a curse?” Hermione sounded as though the broken pieces of the tale were all scattered on a table in front of her, and it depended on her to reassemble them and so save the world.
Harry rolled his head, making Hermione roll, too, a dizzy motion along the side of the bed. Then he decided it was too dizzy, and sat up. “Not precisely. But it’s good enough to treat it that way. Just something he has to learn to get control of, instead of reject or break.”
“Oh.” Hermione paused, and rubbed at her forehead the way she did on the rare occasions when he managed to baffle her. “If you’re sure that you know what’s going on and approve, Harry…”
“Yes,” Harry said firmly. “I chose this, and Malfoy’s been a lot better than I expected. We’re getting along really well, in fact.”
“Really?” Hermione apparently had to add this new piece to her puzzle, and by her expression, it wasn’t a corner piece. “I can’t imagine—what do you find to talk about? Or do you just stick to discussion of his magic and his problems with it?”
“Last night it was Voldemort.”
Hermione paused again, then said, “I give up. Well, just stay safe, Harry, and I’m glad that you let us know where you were and that it’s going well. Remember that Victoire’s birthday party is next weekend.”
Harry nodded. “Thanks for the reminder,” he said, although it was the second one Hermione had delivered. “Tell Ron again that I’m sorry for leaving him in the lurch in Auror training.”
“He could see that you weren’t happy,” Hermione said gently. “Who knows, he might not stay himself. Sometimes he talks about helping George out in the joke shop like it’s the best thing in the world.”
“Yes, but if it was his job, would it be fun anymore?” Harry pondered.
Hermione met his eyes, and they exchanged one glance filled with Knowledge of Ron, before Hermione waved to him and shut the Floo connection. Harry sat up and focused his thoughts back where they belonged, on Malfoy.
He had already mastered the fire, which Harry had assumed would be a difficult challenge, certainly enough to last him the whole of today. What else was next? Harry knew what his list said, but he was minded to go beyond it. Asking Malfoy to handle wind might be a logical step, since that way he would have experience with all the elemental forces, but those weren’t the kinds of spells that Malfoy cast on a daily basis.
Harry nodded. Yes, he thought it best if Malfoy used spells that would open doors and summon objects and boil water—all of the things that wizards used household charms for. Well, maybe not boiling water, not for a Malfoy, but Harry doubted it was much fun to be left without Alohomora and Summoning Charms when you’d known they existed for your entire life.
Satisfied, Harry turned to write a letter to Andromeda. She had wanted to know how Malfoy was getting along; well, Harry would tell her. And caution her that it might be for the best if she didn’t bring Teddy with her, not at first. Harry trusted Malfoy, but Teddy had gone into a stage lately where he was easily frightened.
*
“I hope you don’t mind, but your Aunt Andromeda is coming over for dinner tomorrow.”
Draco dropped his spoon, which he had been handling carefully with invisible tendrils of magic by thinking about how nice it was not to have to feed himself, and stared at Potter in shock. Potter smiled back at him and continued eating his own soup, garbanzo done to perfection by a house-elf in Draco’s kitchen that his mother had purchased from a Spanish family.
“What?” Draco said at last, because he was incapable of anything more eloquent.
“I invited your Aunt Andromeda to dinner,” Potter repeated, and then lifted his eyebrows. “What’s the matter, Malfoy, did your magic grow wax in your ears this morning?”
Draco laid his spoon, which he had picked back up, down on the edge of his plate and smiled at Potter. “Can you explain to me why you thought that it was perfectly fine for you to do that without informing me?” he asked.
“I’d told you already that she’d probably be coming over, and that she was forceful enough not to be denied,” Potter said. He spoke slowly, with a suspicious kindness, that made Draco want to hurl something at his head. Luckily, the only objects nearby were the bowl full of soup and the spoon, and the first one would ruin Draco’s dinner and the second one wasn’t heavy enough, so they both stayed firmly in place. “I didn’t think it mattered which day I decided on, and she agreed. That’s the real sticking point, whether she would agree to come, not whether you would.” He took another swallow and gave the soup an approving look.
“Have you considered that I might have excellent reason not to meet another one of my aunts?” Draco kept his voice low, but his chair shoved back from his chair despite himself. His magic was trying to make it easier for him to march around the table and shake Potter with his hands, if that was what he wanted.
“Another—oh, right, Bellatrix.” Potter laid aside his plate and gave Draco a sympathetic glance. “Well, I’ve had an awful aunt, too. I understand. But I promise that Andromeda is really nothing like Bellatrix. If she was, I don’t think I’d be able to stand her, either.”
“My aunt didn’t torture you in the name of making you learn Occlumency,” Draco snapped, picking up his spoon again. Apparently, the owl was flown, and Draco wasn’t so ill-bred as to send his own owl after Potter’s in order to retract the invitation. “What reason do you have to resent her?”
“That she killed my godfather.”
Potter was paying an attention to his soup that was too fierce for it, no matter how good it was. Draco paused, then set his spoon aside again. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Potter shrugged. “You couldn’t be expected to remember. And I meant what I said. Andromeda is nothing like Bellatrix, even if she looks a little like her. When you’re able to meet Teddy, you’ll like him.”
Draco frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be able to meet my cousin?”
To his private relief, that made Potter look up at him and grin. “He’s shy right now. And anything he doesn’t understand frightens him further. I thought we could work on Summoning objects tomorrow. Andromeda would be impressed if you could do it correctly. But it would probably make Teddy jump to see things zooming around without a wand.”
“You think I can master Summoning Charms that fast.” Draco tapped his spoon against the edge of the plate, heard the hideous chiming, and made himself stop. He had never much liked this china, but his mother had insisted on using it, and he had kept it in memory of her when the Ministry reparations had meant he had to sell off most of the other sets.
“You’ve done everything else in a day,” Potter said, and once again he was back to that intensity that he seemed to assume at odd times. “Yes, I think you can do it.”
Draco looked away and cleared his throat. “Well,” he said. “Good, then. I hope I can impress my aunt.”
He looked back in time to see Potter toasting him with the glass of Firewhisky that he had requested with dinner, and which the house-elves had supplied with speed that made Draco wonder what Potter had been drinking alone in his bedroom on other nights. “I do, too,” Potter said, when he’d swallowed. “Because I like her, but Merlin, the way she guards Teddy.”
Draco cocked his head. “Who’s going to stay with him when she comes over tomorrow, then?”
“Oh, she trusts Ron and Hermione well enough to ask them the favor for as long as an evening,” said Potter easily.
That only made Draco feel as though someone had jammed a poker up his arse. A poker that was on fire, no less. His aunt trusted a Weasley and a Muggleborn more than him. And perhaps she would have been right to do that when their families still had reason for being estranged, but he was determined to show her, now, that she should give the bonds of blood more consideration.
“I knew I could get you to agree,” Potter said, and offered him another toast.
*
Harry winced as another glass bowl crashed against the shut door from the kitchens. Malfoy’s brow creased, and the doors flew open. The second bowl that was coming shot through them and whirred into the wall at high speed, like a drunken wasp. Harry flicked his wand and cast Reparo before the shards could hit the ground.
That did nothing to improve Malfoy’s temper, of course.
“Why is this harder than crumbling a stone wall?” he snarled, spinning towards Harry and tapping his foot on the floor. They were in the dining room where Malfoy obviously hoped to serve Andromeda dinner that night, and several other hastily-repaired pieces of glassware and crockery sat on the nearby table. “That’s advanced magic. This is a bloody fourth-year spell, and I can’t manage it!”
“Language,” Harry said, raising a finger.
An invisible rope tightened around his neck a moment later, and he chuckled before it could take his breath. “Just trying to prepare you for Andromeda’s visit,” he said. “It’s the kind of thing she’ll take notice of.”
Malfoy slumped back against the wall and folded his arms. His hair stirred for a moment as though someone was stroking it. He’d probably wished for comfort, and his magic moved to provide it without his even realizing it, Harry thought. Yes, Malfoy’s power could be a gift and blessing—if he could learn to control it. “Answer the question, Potter.”
“Because your magic is actually better at stronger, more brutal things than delicacy now,” Harry said. And then he rolled his eyes. “You know that, Malfoy. You know that the spells that correspond to more precise wandwork are going to take you longer. And the incantation for the Summoning Charm is simple, but the wand movement is pretty spectacular.”
“To a fourth-year,” Malfoy said, and glared at him. “How long did it take you to master that charm you used in the Tournament against the dragon, anyway?”
“Almost too long,” Harry said. “And we still have a few hours until dinner. I think you can do this.”
“How?” Malfoy stared at the table again. “By repairing my mother’s good china half-a-dozen times?”
“If that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes.” Harry took a step towards him and touched the air above his shoulder. He thought it might be a bad idea to touch Malfoy physically right now, with the magic swirling above him. “You can do this. I have faith in you.”
Malfoy stared at him hard enough to make Harry flush. “That’s a worse idea than walking into the Forest and facing the Dark Lord unarmed,” he said at last.
“I wasn’t unarmed then, either,” Harry said lightly. “I had the power of faith.” He thought mentioning the Resurrection Stone right now couldn’t do much good.
Malfoy laughed, and then clapped a hand over his mouth and flickered his eyes downwards suspiciously. Harry dared to pat his shoulder this time. “Don’t worry, I’ll never tell anyone that you found something the Chosen One said funny,” he said.
“Wanker,” Malfoy said, but there was no heat behind his voice this time. His eyes fixed on Harry’s hand instead, on his shoulder. Harry followed his gaze, and then met it.
Malfoy’s eyes were half-lidded, his hair ruffling as from the touch of a stroking hand again. He leaned in and took Harry’s hand off his shoulder himself, without waiting for Harry to do it. His voice was low as he said, “You shouldn’t touch me like that in front of my aunt. She’ll get the wrong idea.”
“How about the right one?” Harry said the words without meaning to, just knowing that they were the right ones to say, the way that mentioning Voldemort in front of Malfoy a few nights ago had been the right thing to do.
Malfoy stared at him. Then he held up a hand, and Harry stepped back, half-fearing that a cup would come smashing into his head.
Instead, the doors into the dining room shut. Then Harry heard the rushing motion of a piece of cutlery being Summoned. He swallowed, but didn’t take his eyes off Malfoy’s to turn around and watch, although this was the kind of thing they had been trying to achieve all morning.
“Watch,” Malfoy whispered, and that either broke the spell or gave Harry permission, he wasn’t sure which, so he could turn around and watch.
The doors into the dining room opened. A stream of forks and spoons and knives came through, as tame as though they were working for Mrs. Weasley, and settled into complicated arrays in front of three chairs. Plates followed them, and delicate saucers, and different kinds of bowls for different courses. Harry had no idea what half of them were called, but he was sure that the way they settled into position in front of the chairs was correct down to a nicety on all points of pure-blood etiquette.
“We’re having duck,” Malfoy whispered against Harry’s ear. “Do you like that?”
“I like everything I’ve tried here,” Harry said, and dared to turn around and let his hand glance off Malfoy’s shoulder in passing. “Shall we firecall Andromeda and tell her that we’re ready for company?”
*
Of course, Draco had to veto Potter’s idea about immediately firecalling. He wasn’t dressed, and neither was Potter, and he was sure that his aunt would descend on the house in full Black glory, since she could hardly claim glory of any sort from her married name.
That’s the sort of remark that shouldn’t pass your lips this evening.
Immediately, Draco felt a little tightening in the back of his throat, and was sure that he couldn’t say an uncomplimentary word about his aunt’s Muggle husband. He smiled. He was beginning to appreciate the advantages of the magic the snake had gifted him with.
Potter had rolled his eyes, but gone away to dress, and come back in formal robes that made Draco give him a slow look before he could stop himself. They were dark green with golden buttons, and a discreet black edging at the end of the sleeves that seemed as if Potter were accompanied by small black swirls of lightning whenever he moved his hands. Draco asked him why he hadn’t worn them before, and got an eye-roll in return and no answer.
Because it should be obvious. Because he hates wearing them, and he hoped that nothing would happen here to make him do it.
That made Draco feel a particular, powerful tingling in the back of his throat, and he licked his lips before he could stop himself. That Potter hated the robes but had brought them along and worn them anyway because he thought he might need to…
It was another sign that Potter was doing things for Draco he didn’t have to do, things that most people wouldn’t.
Draco turned away before it could overwhelm him and stood stiffly facing the door of the dining room as it opened and his elves escorted his aunt in.
He was glad that Potter had prepared him. Andromeda Black Tonks really did look a lot like Bellatrix Black Lestrange, and Draco would have started back without warning. But Andromeda wore a glinting dark blue gown that Bellatrix never would have, because his mad aunt hadn’t known what fashion was, and she walked with a delicate, mincing step that reminded Draco comfortably of his mother. He bowed to her and held out his arm to escort her to her seat at the table.
Andromeda watched him with disconcerting frankness as he did it, and that wasn’t like either of her sisters, Draco thought. Bellatrix would have looked for signs of disloyalty to the Dark Lord, and his mother for warnings that he might embarrass the family. Andromeda just looked as if she might judge him for himself.
“Didn’t you grow up the handsome one,” she murmured, barely loudly enough for Draco to hear.
Draco flushed, and coughed. From the glance that crossed his like a sword, he was fairly sure that Potter had heard.
But Potter didn’t laugh. He only drew back his own chair and stood behind it, solemnly waiting until Draco had seated Andromeda.
Draco wondered, in passing, where he had learned those formal manners. Perhaps from Andromeda herself, or perhaps that was the kind of thing they taught in Auror training these days.
“Thank you, nephew,” Andromeda said, arranging the folds of her skirt around her and glancing at the table. Because Draco was looking for it, he found the flicker of quiet approval deep in her eyes before she turned and smiled at him. “What are we having today?”
“The first course is tomato bisque,” Draco said, and decided that he could venture a small joke, since his own formal robes were a dark grey. “It shouldn’t cause anyone fear for their clothes even if it spills.”
Andromeda stared at him, and Draco held his breath. But it must have been a stare of incredulity rather than offense, because the next moment, she had tilted her head back and begun to laugh, and the laughter showered on Draco like sweet rain. He relaxed and smiled at his aunt, seeing now why Potter wanted to spend time around her.
The meal sped through the courses: soup, duck, a delicate selection of fresh fruits delicately arranged, and a dessert that mostly consisted of lemon cream with small chocolate-covered nuts placed discreetly in the middle. Draco had wondered how the last would go over, since he had no idea if Andromeda liked lemon, but her face relaxed as she ate, and she was soon talking to him about his mother, about his little cousin Teddy, about the planned alterations she was making to her house and gardens now that she had a baby living with her. Safer and more neutral topics than Draco had thought existed, all of them.
And he was so focused on his aunt and behaving well in front of her that his magic didn’t act up once. What he wanted right now was quiet, and so it gave that to him.
When she had eaten the last bit of the lemon cream, Andromeda leaned forwards and stretched out her hand, slender and with shining dark nails, to rest on Draco’s cheek. Draco went still and eyed her. He’d been in the middle of a sentence about Teddy; he wondered now if he had said something offensive without meaning to.
“I hope that you can come and see your little cousin soon,” Andromeda told him softly. “I’ve been told by people whom I trust that it’s not safe yet.” She glanced over at Potter, who, Draco realized, hadn’t said one word during dinner. “But when you can, I would be happy to have you know him.”
Not offensive, then. Draco inclined his head, while his heart bounded and surged. Instead, he would get to meet a child that Andromeda and Potter between them had to protect pretty well, maybe even get to watch him grow up. “Thank you, Aunt Andromeda.”
“I like the sound of that,” Andromeda said, and smiled at him. “I never had anyone to call me that before.” She stood up and collected Potter with her eyes at the same time. Or maybe that was the manners Draco was becoming increasingly convinced Andromeda had been the one to drill into Potter. “Will both of you walk me out?”
Potter came over to take Andromeda’s left arm, while Draco was on the right. Andromeda admired the portraits and statues they passed, and then turned around when they came to the front door and pressed both their hands.
“I had a wonderful evening,” she said. “Harry, don’t forget that you’re going to visit us on Wednesday. And don’t forget that you’re going to come with him, Draco.” She nodded to him, a regal motion that made Draco’s chest swell, and she walked out the door without a farewell, before Draco could even make the effusive speech of gratitude for the invitation that he could feel welling up in him.
Potter waited until the door closed behind Andromeda before springing off the ground and clasping his fists together as he howled. Draco started back. Hadn’t this been what Potter wanted to happen?
But Potter grabbed his arms and shook him back and forth, grinning. “Do you realize how long it was before she would even invite me over with any regularity? She protects Teddy so…fiercely. I can understand why, but for her to approve of you that way, it’s wonderful. And your magic can behave itself! You can control it!” He let Draco go and ran across the corridor to pound his fist into the marble wall and hoot like a house-elf, ignoring the way the portraits hissed at him.
Draco stared at him again. Then he crossed the corridor to come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, fingers almost overlapping Potter’s collarbone. Potter turned around, mouth full of reassurances. “I think that you’re going to do fine. We’ll go out somewhere tomorrow, Diagon Alley or something like that, and test the way that your magic works around other people, but I really think that you can do this—”
Draco had to shut him up. Or he was grateful. Either way, it was something he could think of only one way to express.
He kissed Potter.
Potter blinked once, his mind apparently scrambling along trying to keep up with what Draco had done, and then kissed him back.
Potter’s mouth was searching and sweet, his fingers strong as they dug into Draco’s neck and shoulders and hair, looking for a handhold. Draco broke free briefly to redirect Potter’s fingers onto his nape, where they couldn’t do much damage, and then he returned to the kiss.
It only grew stronger as time went on, and Draco couldn’t remember kissing someone this long before without needing air or getting bored. The portraits had gone silent in shock. He and Potter had slid to the floor at some point, and now Potter knelt over him, insistently touching Draco’s hip but not going any lower than that, and biting at his chin every few seconds, too.
Draco pulled back at last, and rested his hands on Potter’s chest. Potter seemed to understand what that meant, and grinned at Draco, laying his head on Draco’s chest so that Draco had to look at his face mostly upside-down.
“I don’t—understand,” Draco whispered. “I don’t understand how you wanted to kiss me back.”
“You’ve achieved great things,” Potter promptly said. “I don’t think anyone else could have got control over their magic back that fast. I would have been in denial all over the place, or throwing up and sick with fear. You’re a lot more admirable than I thought you were, and you’re a lot more—I don’t know, grown-up, too.”
“It’s hard not to grow up when your father dies and you’re left to handle things,” Draco said, and trained some of Potter’s curlier hair to grow around his fingers.
“I wouldn’t know,” Potter said, but he went on speaking before Draco could apologize for accidentally emphasizing Potter’s orphanhood. “And you listened to me, and you didn’t blow up at me, and you put up with some pretty awful things from other people before this, too. I wouldn’t blame you if you just wanted to stay behind your wards and sulk for the rest of your life. That you didn’t is…wonderful.”
“You were the one who brought me out of it,” Draco whispered, and lifted Potter, pulling him by his grip in his hair, until Potter’s head was in his lap. “Who else would have had the patience to let me almost hang them and burn them to death?”
Potter just grinned at him, and then moved in for another kiss.
*
“You can do this.”
Harry kept his voice low and encouraging. It had stopped being an effort to do that with Draco about a week ago, he thought. In fact, he wasn’t sure that he’d had any problem with it after he’d read his mind.
Draco, his face locked into graven lines, nodded and walked on. His hands were trembling. Harry found one and held it, ignoring the stares that people gave him. It was hard to tell who was staring because of who Draco was and who was staring because of how close they seemed, anyway.
“I don’t like the way they look at me,” Draco hissed at him.
“I know. Just keep walking.”
They’d walked the whole length of Diagon Alley once, and they were on their way back through now. Harry could feel the subtle tremble of Draco’s magic around him. It was hard to describe, but he’d learned to sense it, rather like seeing a small hidden animal out of the corner of his eye and then keeping track of it even though he had to move his head at times. Just keep walking, keep your eyes ahead, and it worked, Harry thought.
And so far, Draco had restrained his magic despite the stares, someone throwing rubbing at him, and more than one person calling him by his last name in sharply peremptory tones. It was the last one that was the hardest for him to resist, maybe because he hated being ordered around. Harry had wanted to turn and shout at those people that there was a right way and a wrong way to talk to Draco Malfoy, and they’d crossed the line.
But then, they didn’t know Draco like he did. And Harry had had to work to keep his hand off his own wand several times.
Now they were in the middle of their walk back. Harry started to relax. Maybe they would make this all the way through, and—
Something exploded sharply against Harry’s back, and from the way Draco staggered, a similar blow had hit him at the same moment. He whipped around with his hand rising and his fingers crooking like claws, and Harry saw a figure start to lift from a group of laughing wizards in response.
Harry reached out and let his hand hover just above Draco’s arm. He didn’t dare touch him. Draco had to be able to control himself when Harry wasn’t around, when people might confront him or laugh in ways that Harry couldn’t protect him from. “He’s not worth it,” Harry hissed. It was more rubbish, he thought, feeling the wet seep and smelling the strong scent of rotting vegetables from the middle of his back. “Remember that. Your ability to move around and do what you want is much more important.”
Draco paused with his head turned, as if he was sniffing the smell of the vegetables more than listening to Harry. Then he flipped his fingers open, and the rising wizard dropped down. Draco turned away and spoke in a voice to Harry that people inside the shops as well as outside them could hear. “I find myself with little taste for this kind of company, Harry. Let’s go back to the Manor.”
And that was worth it, Harry thought, worth everything, as he nodded soberly in agreement and tried not to laugh at the gapes directed their way. Anyone who might think he was only out with Draco for a Ministry-ordered walk or because of some other effort to appeal to the public had been disappointed.
“I agree, Draco,” he said, and took Draco’s arm in the moment before Draco wandlessly Apparated them back to the gates of the Manor. Harry staggered as they came out of the Apparition, the way he always did, and then burst out laughing, his head bent, his hands on his knees. It had never occurred to him to worry about what Draco’s magic would do when they were in flight through the small black place that Apparition occupied, he thought dizzily. Well, compared to being hanged by the neck, it seemed a small threat.
“What?” Draco snapped, crowding close, and pulling Harry up to face level with a jerk on his arm.
Harry blinked at him, remembered that Draco still had a reason to think that someone laughing near him could be laughing at him, and let his fingers rest on Draco’s cheek for a second. Then the giggles took over again. “Their faces!” he said.
It took a second, but Draco broke into a tentative smile. “They did rather look as though a Crup shat on their cloaks, didn’t they?” he agreed.
Harry kissed him, and that both gave them something more pleasant to do with their mouths, broken by the occasional chuckle. And even better, Draco pinned Harry back against the wall by the gates and kissed him long and slow, tongue licking in and out between his teeth.
It was wonderful. Harry staggered into the Manor more supported by Draco than supporting him, and Draco’s smile was long and low and lizard-like.
But a very beautiful lizard, Harry thought giddily.
*
“Teddy, this is your cousin Draco.”
Andromeda had already said that, Draco thought, and it appeared to have affected his young cousin not at all. He just looked out from behind Andromeda’s legs at Harry and Draco, shook his head, and ducked back again.
Draco closed his eyes when he felt the flutter of power rise in him, and breathed out slowly. Yes, his magic might be able to make Teddy like him. A child that young wasn’t likely to have the defenses against magic that changed the mind which Harry had.
But that was only the impulse of a moment. It wasn’t what he wanted, not at all. What he wanted was Andromeda’s approval, and Harry’s, and for Teddy to be comfortable around him.
The power subsided. Draco nodded and opened his eyes. That had turned out to be the key to controlling a surprisingly large portion of his magic: thinking about two things he wanted and deciding that the long-term, future one the magic couldn’t help him with was more important.
And there was another thing he could do to at least acquire Teddy’s attention, though Draco had to admit it might be impossible to end this first visit with him and Teddy being best friends.
“Teddy, watch,” he said, and waited until the small, fascinated head had popped around Andromeda’s legs again before stretching out his hand, shutting his eyes, and concentrating the magic down into a tiny point. Produce something worthy of a child’s attention, something better than any toy he’s ever played with.
The magic shoved, and Draco shivered. Doing something small and precise like that always shook him more than simply spreading it across the sky in sloppy strokes, as if he was having to cope with the magic going through a keyhole instead of an open door.
When he opened his eyes, he was disconcerted to see a small, white plush dog on the palm of his hand. He had assumed that he would create something more wonderful, and he held it out to Teddy with some misgivings. Teddy had plenty of dolls and plush animals already, if the wide drawing room in Andromeda’s house was any indication.
But the dog turned its head and focused on Teddy, and then gave a little bark and leaped off Draco’s hand. It ran up to Teddy, wagging its tail and sticking out a fuzzy pink tongue to lick his hand. Teddy goggled, then giggled and picked it up, spinning it around.
“It’s a dog!” he told Andromeda, in case she might have missed that.
Andromeda blinked, and looked at Draco with more than the cool expression of encouragement she’d maintained since Harry and Draco came here to visit Teddy. “I assume that this is a pet that won’t have to be fed or given water? Or walked?”
“Oh, it can be walked,” Draco said, lounging back on the couch and watching as the dog ran around Teddy and barked gently at him. “But yes, none of the other things are necessary. And it’ll be able to speak. And respond to Teddy, grow with him, not limited by its enchantments as so many of the toys are.” He spoke with confidence now, his magic moving inside him to give him the answers. Yes, this was what he had made, and while it was a toy, it was far more complicated than anything sold in the shops, nothing that money could buy.
Andromeda regarded him continuously for so long that Draco started to think that was the worst thing he could have done, instead of the best. But then she smiled like a sunrise breaking and said, “Well, Teddy, that’s a very generous gift from your Cousin Draco. Are you going to thank him?”
Teddy looked up, the puppy in his arms, and smiled. “Thank you, Cousin Draco,” he said, before dashing into another room. The dog leaped out of his grip and ran right beside him, barking in a way that Draco was fairly sure Andromeda could enchant quiet, if she wanted to.
He caught a glimpse of Harry smiling from the corner of his eye, and turned his head to him. Harry leaned over and kissed him right in front of Andromeda, in response.
Andromeda spent a moment with a quiet face, as if deciding how to react to that, and then said, “Quite right. I didn’t bring out the biscuits,” and went into the kitchen.
Draco lounged back on the couch and shut his eyes. Harry laid his hand in Draco’s, and Draco felt a lazy, passing wish that Harry would tell him what he was thinking.
Harry murmured, “I think I’m going to like this job of curse-breaking for people instead of catching criminals. And coming to the Manor at night. As long as you want me around, of course.”
It was a future, Draco thought, as he stretched over to kiss Harry in response. One that his magic couldn’t compel, because he knew that Harry was immune to all effects that might resemble Imperius.
A free future.
God, that sounds good.
The End.
no subject
Date: 2012-07-12 11:50 pm (UTC)