lomonaaeren | Chapter Eight of 'An Alchemical Discontent'- Strategizing

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Chapter Eight—Strategizing

“You’re all right.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Harry felt ridiculous for saying them, and he bit his lip in vexation. But he had worried about Draco after he went home yesterday, and wondered if he would show up this morning to find him with something worse than a limp.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, and if he hadn’t been cradling his left arm against his side, seemingly to soothe a wrenched shoulder, Harry would have been contented by his apparent invulnerability. “Of course I’m all right,” he said, and stepped back fluidly, inviting Harry up the stairs that led to his private rooms. “I’m always all right. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

Harry smiled, and he knew there was an anxious tinge to the smile, and he didn’t care. He waited until they’d left the staircase to speak again; he didn’t want Draco to pretend to be distracted by taking his next step. “Draco,” he said. “I’m worried about you. Look. What exactly did you offer to your creditor, to win free from your debts to Nott?”

Draco looked past Harry’s shoulder, his eyes distant. His voice was light and teasing. “Concerned, Harry?”

“Yes, damn it, I am,” said Harry, and stepped up in front of Draco whilst the other man was still gaping at him, apparently unsure of how to react. Harry found himself putting his hands on Draco’s shoulders, drawing him near, trying to use his eyes to dig past Draco’s blank face and read the thoughts written on the surface of his mind. “Whatever it is,” he said, “for whatever reason you let this person hurt you, it’s not worth it. Please, tell me. We’ll work out a different way to pay off the debts.”

Draco curved his mouth into something that was probably meant to be a sneer, but he wasn’t actually very good at that when Harry was this close. Harry could feel too much of the shudder of his breathing, could feel the way his muscles quivered and jumped as if he were a cornered unicorn. “Along with coming up with a way to keep the Desire potion legal, challenge Diggory and Nott, and free ourselves from accusations of murder?” he muttered.

“Yes. All of it.” Harry leaned closer, passionately needing Draco to believe in their ability to do this as much as he did. It was the strongest emotion he’d felt in years, or at least the strongest emotion that wasn’t distress and guilt. “We can do so much,” he breathed, his lips practically in Draco’s hair. “As you said, you’re Draco Malfoy—master potions-brewer, artist, stubborn and determined enough to make a career of your own even without your parents’ support, which anyone looking at you a few years ago would have thought was impossible. And I’m Harry Potter—stubborn and slow and ignorant of politics, but gifted with a political name that can be a powerful weapon. Not to mention a killer reputation.” He smiled, and did his best not to squeeze down so hard on Draco’s shoulders that he would hurt the other man. “We’ve just got to work together.”

He leaned nearer again, unable to help himself, and delicately smelled the scent clinging to the back of Draco’s neck. He smelled like Potions ingredients. It made Harry think of the moment when Draco had changed Theodore Nott’s fool’s saffron into lavender petals, so smooth, so perfect.

“Please?” he said.

*

Draco experienced a great wave of longing to just fall forwards and into the sanctuary waiting for him.

Harry Potter’s arms. Who could have ever imagined that I’d find sanctuary there?

But there were all sorts of reasons why he couldn’t, and he doubted that Harry would have understood half of them if Draco had tried to explain. Draco didn’t want to tell him about Daphne, for one thing. He didn’t want to see the look of disappointment that would come over Harry’s face, shortly followed by disgust, when he understood exactly what sort of “trade” Draco had made.

And he didn’t want any kind of romance—which Harry was swiftly steering them towards—until Harry was off the potion. Giving in and letting Harry control everything was not something Draco could stand, despite his liking for jealous, powerful partners. He refused to share his bed with half a person.

Besides, he quite liked the notion that Harry would chase after him as long as he didn’t know what was wrong. Would he become standoffish and cool again the moment he had Draco? Probably, if the cordial, fond, amicable way he referred to most of his past relationships was real. Harry wouldn’t quite care if he broke up with Draco, because the potion wouldn’t let him care.

And, too, pursuing a romance at the same time as they were trying to save the Desire potion didn’t appeal to Draco. Later, when the immediate moment of danger was past, then… but not right now.

He raised his head, and defeated the longing, and fixed Harry with a cold, sharp gaze that made Harry take a step back and assume a wounded look. Well, let him. Draco said calmly, “What I’ve chosen to do with this creditor is my own business. And it needn’t prevent us from working together to save the Desire potion—unless Granger has managed to convince you that it should be illegal.”

Harry huffed, and Draco was gratified to see a flare of temper shine in his eyes. But it died out in the next moment, of course, and Harry said with exquisite courtesy, “No. But she has convinced me that we need to be polite and submissive, not act like defiant rebels, in front of the committee.”

Draco smiled. “Of course. I never intended any less.”

“Then what strategies should we pursue for keeping the potion safe?” Harry let his half-folded arms fall back to his sides and assumed a polite, expectant expression.

Draco turned away to keep from snarling a curse, and picked up a piece of parchment on which he’d written most of his ideas. Harry wouldn’t understand why he was so upset, and Draco was sure that he didn’t have the words to explain. “These are my initial ideas,” he said. “Have a look at them and see what you think.”

Harry took the parchment calmly from his hand, and surveyed it calmly, and in general did everything so damn calmly that Draco was tempted to throw a curse at him just to see if he would take boils calmly, too. Draco soothed himself by watching the expressions that appeared on Harry’s face, though, as he scanned over the list of considerations Draco had set out and how they might arrange to take advantage of those considerations. His eyes narrowed or widened, his mouth worked as he bit at the inside of his cheek, and once his nostrils flared. Draco wondered if he was clamping down on a smile.

He could be so handsome—so wonderful, really. I wonder if I’ll get away with hinting to him that I’d like him off this potion, or if I’ll have to say it outright? But saying it outright at the moment will just drive him away. I wonder—

“I like three of these ideas,” Harry said suddenly, making Draco jump. That jolted the strained arm Daphne had left him, and he grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. His skin warmed when he saw that Harry followed each movement he made attentively, but he pretended not to notice. “I think we can use them.”

“Only three?” Draco pretended to be indignant. There were over twenty ideas on that list. Of course, some of them were more far-fetched than others.

“Contrary to what you seem to think, I do not have extensive political connections in the Ministry,” said Harry dryly. “Nor can I go into the Ministry and hypnotize everyone who might be on the committee with the power of my name. We don’t know who’s going to be on the committee, remember.” He rapped the parchment, making it rattle. “And we definitely can’t count on their thanking us for getting rid of Umbridge.”

Draco pouted a bit. He liked number nineteen. “Leave off your scolding,” he said. “What ideas are the ones you like, then?”

“The first one,” Harry said, leaning against the wall near the window that let owls in, “about emphasizing the difficulty of the brewing process. This isn’t a potion that anyone can make from scratch, and I think we should tell the committee that.”

“You want to release a recipe to them, don’t you?” Draco asked suspiciously. He’d thought about emphasizing the enormous amount of magic involved, not the fairly common ingredients, but that wasn’t enough for Harry Potter, Gryffindor and Savior of the Wizarding World, who hated to keep a secret.

“I do.” Harry met his gaze calmly, and held up a hand when Draco started to protest. “It will reassure them that we mean no harm. There’s nothing in that potion that is poisonous on its own. The ingredients aren’t all that uncommon. And telling the committee about the potion isn’t like releasing the recipe to the public and every rival brewer.”

“Unless someone just accidentally happens to let the details leak outside the room where we talk about it,” Draco muttered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“We can’t count on that happening, either.” A small steel edge had come into Harry’s voice. “I say we trust them, Draco. The more honest we can be, the more submissive we can act, the better.”

“You like that, too,” Draco said.

Harry laughed a little. “Well, yes.” He shrugged with his palms spread, as if inviting Draco to gaze upon the spectacle of Gryffindor idiocy and marvel.

“What was the second idea you liked?” Draco doubted he could talk Harry out of giving the recipe to the committee, and he would probably have to be resigned to it. But at least he could pretend the idea didn’t exist, if he just talked about something else.

Harry tapped the parchment hard again. “Number five. The one where we both take Veritaserum?” he said, when Draco deliberately blanked his expression.

“That, Potter,” said Draco, “was a joke.”

*

Harry raised his eyebrows. He failed to see why Draco would put any ideas on the list as a joke.

“We’re supposed to achieve absolute honesty with them, if we can,” he said. Draco’s face still continued to darken, so Harry relented. “What about just me taking Veritaserum when we talk to them? Will that satisfy your paranoia?”

Draco dragged his hand through his hair, then winced. That movement had also jolted his sore shoulder. Harry quelled the urge to reach out and wrap his arms around the other man again, or cast healing spells until he found every injury this unknown creditor had inflicted and healed them. Draco had said that he didn’t need help. Harry had to respect his privacy.

No matter how much it hurts.

“I don’t want anyone to take Veritaserum,” Draco said in a tight voice. “Do you know how much you revealed to Shacklebolt when you blindly accepted his proposal, Harry? He could have asked anything. And there’s no saying the committee will confine its questions to acceptable topics, either. They might possibly ignore the opportunity to interrogate me, but there’ll be a fan of yours in the room. You have to know that. Or maybe an opponent. Or maybe just someone looking for a story to sell to the Daily Prophet for a few Galleons. You have to be more guarded with your tongue.”

Harry folded his arms and took a few deep breaths, fighting down on the impulse to kick something. Luckily, as it always did now, the rage drained away before it could fully form, leaving him clear-headed and able to think. “I just think we should be honest with them. The Veritaserum would reassure them we’re being honest.”

“So would Unbreakable Vows,” Draco said. “And you don’t see me jumping at the chance to take one of those.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Harry said, beginning to feel a little nettled. “I can. Or I can take Veritaserum.”

“And I said no.” Draco’s face was closed off.

Harry studied him for a moment, frowning. Draco seemed to have a severe lack of faith in the world. Maybe it wasn’t a surprise, considering he’d mostly been associating with people like Cordelia Nott and black-market brewers, but still.

“They may suggest it,” he warned. “We may look like we’re not cooperating with them if we refuse it—“

“Which we still have a legal right to do.” Draco leaned forwards. “Guard your tongue, Potter, or I’ll insist on our being called in separately.”

Harry glared at him. Again the anger went away before it could become fierce. This time, he was almost disinclined to let it. “You’re such a Slytherin, Malfoy,” he said, but without much heat.

“Yes. And this time, that’s what’s going to contribute to our survival, considering you have the political instincts of a hummingbird high on sugar.” Draco folded his arms and took a step away from him. Again, he winced when he moved his left arm, and again, Harry couldn’t quite conceal his glance of concern, and again, Draco ignored it. “What do you think of the thirteenth idea? I assume that that’s the other one you like.”

Harry felt a brief flutter of warmth in his chest. It was, of course, ridiculous to feel so good about someone else knowing him, but he did.

“Yes, I like the idea of creating our own sense of the regulations we’ll accept, and sneaking those regulations in as suggestions,” he said. “But I find it hard to believe the committee won’t notice we’re doing it, however much I like it.”

“That’s why we need to be subtle, Potter,” Draco said, and then shot him a considering glance. “Do you know that word?” he asked in a bright voice. “I realize that it’s probably not in your vocabulary, and probably hasn’t been since before we left Hogwarts.” He leaned nearer and lowered his voice. “Basically, it means that we don’t want them to know what we’re doing.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Harry replied, but he couldn’t help laughing, and that released some of the pent-up anger at Draco and his anxiety at facing the committee, both. He cocked his head. “Explain to me how manipulating them into imposing some regulations and not others fits with the policy of absolute honesty we’re pursuing otherwise.”

“That you’re pursuing otherwise.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. His heart hammered in his chest and stuttered and leaped as if he were on a broom. Really, this was odd. His emotions changed so often around Draco, which wasn’t restful, but he didn’t want it to stop. He was starting to wonder if this was the reason that he hated being away from the other man now, because he had got used to the crazy things his feelings did around him. “We work together, Draco, or it won’t work.”

Draco gave him one of his own open-palmed shrugs and a very nice smile, which Harry could wish wasn’t quite so close to a sneer. “What can I say? I’m a Slytherin. Absolute honesty isn’t in my vocabulary. I’ll be honest about the recipe and most of our selling practices. You can’t really require much more of me than that. If you could, then I would have agreed to the idea of using Veritaserum.”

Harry sighed. He was being hopelessly naïve to hope that he’d get perfect agreement out of Draco, and he knew it. “Just don’t mess up too badly, all right?”

“I do not ‘mess up,’” Draco said. “My plans fail with a kind of spectacular brilliance, like a star going nova, or they come off perfectly.”

“No stars going nova,” Harry reiterated firmly. “We should decide now what we’re going to say, and approximately how we’re going to say it, and what regulations on the potion’s existence and sale we’ll be willing to accept.”

“Approximately?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Is that a hint of a shadow of a doubt on the bold Gryffindor self-righteousness that I hear? Do you actually acknowledge that the conversation might differ from the perfect caricature of it you’re carrying around in your head?”

“I’ve found it much easier to accept that other people are right, these past few years,” Harry said, with an open, friendly smile that he hoped would allay any fears about his honesty Draco might have had.

Strangely, the reference to the potion made Draco’s face shut down, and he gave Harry a curt nod and reclaimed his parchment, tossing it behind him and seizing a new sheet. “Let’s make a list of the regulations, shall we?”

They had a productive morning together, but without the camaraderie and joking there’d been earlier. Every time Harry tried to resurrect it, he received a chilly, aloof stare, and then Draco turned his head and looked in another direction, as if he couldn’t be bothered with Harry’s plebeian friendliness.

I don’t get it, Harry thought, in some bewilderment. I’d think he would be delighted about the potion. It ensures that I’m not quite as much of a prat to him as I was in school. I can actually consider other people’s feelings now.

Of course, Draco had told him that he thought Harry’s guilt over Ginny was misguided, but he hadn’t mentioned it much since then. Surely that meant he hadn’t clung to those feelings?

Maybe something else I said or did antagonized him.

Harry swore a silent vow to be more gentle and considerate in the future.

Draco made a certain point about what exactly the committee would be looking for, his eyebrow sarcastically raised, and Harry felt his heartbeat quicken and a light heat work its way into his cheeks from his chest.

If I can. Damn. I’ve never met someone who inspires me to go beyond my boundaries and push theirs like this.

*

Harry had finally gone home, and Draco was pacing back and forth in the middle of his rooms, highly energized. They had a plan, and it was a good one, and a workable one. When they went to face the committee tomorrow, Draco was confident they would triumph.

But he was irritated, stung and whiplashed by irritation, by Harry’s mention of the potion, and by the effects of the potion he could see, restricting everything from Harry’s small, common reactions to his grand gestures.

If I like him so much even in his subdued state, what would I find him to be like when he’s free of it?

A memory flooded Draco’s mind, of Harry Potter, clad in the scarlet of the Gryffindor Seeker, staring at him as they rolled along, broom to broom and knee to knee, chasing the Snitch over Hogwarts. The intensity in those eyes had meant nothing to him at the time; it had caused only frustration that Potter wouldn’t lie down and die already. But now Draco found his breath coming short and a distinct, interested stirring in his pants. He pressed a hand over his crotch and smiled wryly at nothing.

Yes, if he shows even a fraction of that when he’s off the potion, then I want him off it. Maybe I should start dropping hints. He’s too polite now to press further when I draw back and look disgusted.

Absently, he called Patty and ordered lunch. He could have made it himself—Harry’s visit had only taken an hour-and-a-half—but he didn’t want to. He preferred to pace and think about how infuriating Harry Potter was, effortlessly, after all these years.

The lunch was a sandwich and fish soup, of what kind Draco didn’t know and didn’t care to know; it wasn’t a Malfoy’s province to know such things. He inhaled it, and picked up the thick sandwich, munching steadily through a blend of chicken and the house-elves’ unique sauce that made him close his eyes in pleasure.

Then he bit into the cheese.

Chains of agony immediately stretched from his stomach up his arms. Draco’s hands spasmed open, and he dropped the sandwich to the plate. He was gasping, tears standing in his eyes, his mouth distended, but he couldn’t make a sound.

A memory sprang into his head. It had been lurking behind a modified version of the Memory Charm, Draco thought dazedly, in the moment before the pain became too great. Daphne had told him that she had placed a spell on him that would react when he ate something with milk in it, but then she had made him forget that part of their conversation—until the moment when she wanted him to remember it.

Draco’s heart sped up. And it continued speeding, beating so fast that Draco knew it wasn’t natural. The pain increased, too; his back arched like a bow and his neck stretched almost to the point of breaking, and still he couldn’t scream.

And then the crushing pain centered in his chest, and he knew with sudden and painful clarity that he was having a heart attack.

He closed his eyes and concentrated with all his might on thinking Help! Help! As I am an heir of the Malfoy line, help me!

There came a whirl and a squeaking, and then a flow of cool magic struck his chest and centered around his heart. Some of the pain eased, and his heartbeat began to slow. Draco opened his eyes, making a little gasping sound, and met Patty’s terrified eyes. Her hands never stopped moving, never stopped channeling house-elf magic into his body.

The Malfoys had arranged some centuries ago to create a spell that would let their house-elves know at once if they were in trouble, even if they couldn’t call out verbally, as long as they formed a certain sentence in their mind and the house-elves had been in the same room within the past hour. Despite more centuries of experimentation, they hadn’t managed to make the spell more powerful than that—a fact Lucius had always deplored.

At the moment, Draco didn’t care. He threw his arms around Patty and held tight. She petted his hair with trembling fingers, whilst her other hand kept working. Draco knew his pulse was back at normal levels now, and he could even speak.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“Master Draco should go to St. Mungo’s!” Patty said in alarm. “Master Draco should—“

But she broke off and started casting again, because the very name of St. Mungo’s had sent a deep shaft of pain into Draco’s chest, under his ribs. He gritted his teeth and folded his arms around his torso. The pain eased off again, but it took several minutes this time, and Patty’s face was strained by the end of it.

“No,” Draco whispered. “I can’t. I’m involved in the middle of a scandal, with all public eyes on me. If I went to—to that place, there would be too many rumors.” He knew Daphne must have added something to her spell to make it react at the mention of St. Mungo’s, which was terrifying, but he didn’t care. Probably, if he went under a Healer’s care, something even worse would happen.

“Master Draco is in trouble,” Patty moaned, wringing her hands. “Master Draco should have help.”

Unbidden, an image of Harry flashed before Draco’s inner eye, and he grimaced. Harry sounded like the one person who could help him—

But to do that, he would have to hear about Daphne, and Draco could never tell him.

“I know, Patty,” he said absently. “I know.”

Chapter Nine.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From: (Anonymous)

Oh dear! That evil, evil woman!

Draco has to ask for Harry's help! He really fears his judgement and losing his respect, does he?

The discussion between both men, before, was captivating, as always. I also loved Harry's tender concern for Draco. He needs it!

"Draco turned his head and looked in another direction, as if (she) couldn’t be bothered with Harry’s plebeian friendliness."

Should it be he instead of she?

Nimue

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Chapter Eight of 'An Alchemical Discontent'- Strategizing

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