lomonaaeren

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Chapter Nine—Insanity

Harry chuckled as he studied the pictures on the front page of the Daily Prophet. He knew Draco had been disappointed that they hadn’t been there during the first full day of Draco’s dating “Brian,” but he had consoled Brian—and himself—with mutters about the Prophet’s not having the ability to cover a birthday party that took place so late in the evening, when most of the reporters were worn out from a day of spying.

He had his wish now.

The largest photograph was, of course, of Draco and Brian kissing in the middle of Diagon Alley, looking properly lascivious whilst they did it. The headline above the picture screamed, DRACO MALFOY—GAY?

Harry rolled his eyes and took another bite of the warm, buttery toast Kreacher had prepared for him. “If they don’t know yet, good luck to them in finding out,” he muttered.

The article beneath the picture was as full of reactions as, surely, even Draco could have hoped for. There were onlookers to the kiss quoted, as being full of “shock’ and “horror.” There were statements from “Mr. Malfoy’s schoolmates,” about how they had always suspected Draco Malfoy of being a ponce. There were “regretfully, no comments from Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, who could not be reached as of this morning.”

Harry read down a few lines, and then nearly snorted crumbs out his nose. They’d interviewed Ron, either because someone at the Prophet had remembered the feud between the Weasley and Malfoy families, or because he’d simply happened to be nearby when the reporter was looking about for a quote.

“Yeah, I can’t say it’s a surprise,” Ron Weasley, an Auror in the Ministry, said flatly. “I always did suspect there was something—off—about Malfoy in school. No one could be that disgusting naturally. Who knew he’d turn out a shirt-lifter, though?”

Harry blinked and took a swallow of tea so fast it burned his throat. Then he set down the cup and wrung his hand for a moment.

He felt—odd.

Of course, it was probably just from the collision of his two worlds, which were normally kept so separate that Harry never had to worry. He moved in pure-blood circles most of the time, since they were primarily the ones who had the money for Metamorphosis and the likelihood to hear of the business from their friends. That had been why he hadn’t known about Malfoy’s Machineries beyond a vague notion that such a business existed; middle-class wizards, the ones without house-elves, were Draco’s best customers.

Ron commenting on Malfoy! And on you, though he doesn’t know it! That’s funny, right?

Harry shook his head briskly and rose to his feet, calling for Kreacher to dispose of the remaining tea and toast. He had a few errands to run before he changed back into Brian and met Draco for lunch.

He hoped his stomach would stop jumping before then. He would never be able to concentrate properly on irritating Draco’s parents if it didn’t.

*

“One hundred,” Draco said idly.

His mother’s hands tightened around the book she was reading, but she didn’t look up.

Draco leaned against the large window at the back of his house, one hand over his eyes as he studied the line of the glittering ward strung across the gardens (and across the roofs and walls of the entire manor, though he of course he couldn’t see that from this angle). Yet another owl, the hundred and first, was fluttering in holding a smoking Howler in its talons. The moment it hit the ward, it pinwheeled, squawking, and hit the ground with a thump. The birds had recovered and flown away each time, but the Howlers remained on the ground, bursting into harmless chatter that no one behind the ward could hear. The house-elves kept Apparating in with frightened squeaks and cleaning away the ripped bits of envelope and the minor fires that the smoke from the Howlers had started.

“One hundred and two,” Draco said, as a great horned owl struggled futilely to stay aloft.

There came a sharp crack. Draco turned around with one of his concerned masks pasted over his face. “Mother, are you all right?” he asked. “Surely you didn’t crack the spine of the book?” Narcissa had slammed the book, which Draco had reason to know was a rare one—he had gone out of his way to procure it for his mother when she had said she was interested in Greek culture—down on her lap.

“I cannot comprehend how you can make a joke of it,” Narcissa said, low-voiced, trying to catch his eyes in that gaze she’d hooked him with yesterday. But this time, it didn’t have the same effect on Draco. He’d seen the first real results of his campaign this morning, when his parents went rigid and silent over the Daily Prophet article, and he was feeling too cheerful and superior to let their disapproval hurt. “I could understand if you had tired of Lucius’s high-handedness and wished to stage a rebellion. I can understand getting that friend of yours, Blaise, to help you. I can understand your getting drunk one night and swearing an unfortunate vow that compels you to do this. I cannot—I will not understand how you can bear to treat this as a joke.”

Draco smiled a little. “Tell me, Mother, if you had really and truly loved Father but your parents hadn’t approved of him, wouldn’t you have had the strength to bear a few Howlers? Even to laugh at them, knowing they couldn’t touch what lay between you and the man you loved?” He gave the word “man” a little extra emphasis just to see what Narcissa would do with it.

His mother stared at him. Then she said, “There was never a chance that Mother and Father would not approve of Lucius. He was wealthy and pure-blooded.”

“But what if they had?” Draco pressed. “After all, being wealthy and pure-blooded doesn’t guarantee one’s good qualities. Great-Uncle Quintus was dreadful.”

“The situation did not arise.” His mother stood and gathered her skirts around her. She did take the book carefully back to its shelves, Draco was grateful to see. She was not yet irritated enough with him to start mistreating his gifts. “Lucius was all that my parents could have wished for me.”

Was? Draco thought, but he was more interested in pursuing his own battle than his mother’s past for right now. “But if it had happened?” he asked. “If, say, Grandfather Black hadn’t taken to Lucius for whatever reason, and had forbidden you to marry him?”

Narcissa turned around in the doorway. Her face was white and tense, her eyes sharp as the sapphire Draco had picked out for Brian yesterday. That was the part of the article that had affected his mother most, Draco knew, the mention of his buying the ring. She could dismiss the kiss as a publicity stunt, but a gift that expensive was meant for people who mattered.

“I was responsible with my heart,” Narcissa said. “I took care not to fall in love with anyone whom my parents would have deemed unsuitable.”

Draco blinked and stared at her for a moment. “And you think I should have done the same?” he asked.

“Of course.” Narcissa folded her arms. “Neither your father nor I looked forwards to depriving you of the Manor and our approbation, Draco. I have dreamed for some years now of meeting your bride.”

“I don’t think hearts can be controlled in that way,” Draco said. “And I don’t know one person my age who thinks it, either.”

He had spoken the truth, so far as he knew, and a truth that he thought his mother had long ago acknowledged. He did not expect her head to bow, and a light behind her eyes to extinguish.

She turned and left the library without another word.

Draco glanced back at the ward, frowning a little, and then cursed as he watched yet another Howler drop. He’d lost count.

*

Harry looked up at Malfoy Manor, and shook his head. The house seemed far more impressive in daylight than it had at night. He wondered if part of that was his memories of the short time he, Ron, and Hermione had been held captive here during the war, but then discounted it. No, he hadn’t been here long enough to form any trauma.

Hermione, now…

Harry shivered as he walked up the long gravel path to the front doors, past gardens that obviously knew it was summer. How would she feel if she knew he was working with Draco Malfoy to alienate his parents? Would she be pleased that social harm was striking at the Malfoy parents’ pride, their most valued possession, or would she stare at Harry with betrayed eyes and ask how he could help anyone from that family?

Enough! Harry told himself, and the thoughts thinned like morning mist before the sun and vanished. You are in a strange mood today. He looked down at the sapphire ring glittering on his hand, and smiled as he remembered the ceremonious care with which Draco had slid it onto his finger yesterday. You know that you can’t tell her anything about this life anyway, not with the way she reacted to your using glamours during your last year at Hogwarts. Hermione had actually cried when she couldn’t persuade Harry out of disguising himself for simple trips to Hogsmeade; she had thought Harry should outface the press and force them to accept him for who he was, a simple man who had no desire to play hero. She hadn’t understood that Harry had no strength left for that kind of battle.

So she’ll never know, and she’ll never be hurt. And neither will Draco, considering the fun he had with you yesterday.

Harry slowed to a stop in front of the immense doors and knocked briskly. A house-elf opened them up at once and stared at him, then began wringing its hands.

Harry recognized that sign from Dobby when he’d tried to tell Harry what he could about the Malfoys in second year, as well as from Kreacher when he’d accidentally burned the toast. “Let me guess,” he said, in Brian’s husky voice. “You’ve been told by Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy not to let me in, but Master Draco Malfoy said you were to do it.”

“The good visitor understands!” the elf wailed, bowing his head into his arms. “And Mips is so bad!”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Harry said. Hermione had never persuaded him to free Kreacher, because Kreacher seemed genuinely happy to stay and serve Harry after the war, but she had made him more attentive to the feelings of house-elves. Harry knelt so he and Mips were eye-to-eye. “If you could tell Master Draco I’m here, I’d be more than happy to wait outside until he comes to fetch me—“

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Harry couldn’t help it; his heart beat a little faster when he heard that voice. He stood, making it a swift, casual movement that nevertheless showed his chest and forearms to best advantage. He knew from Draco’s slightly narrowed eyes that the other man had noticed. He responded by strolling towards Harry down the staircase that loomed not far back from the doors, letting his robes swirl around him and show, not disguise, the action of his lean, strong legs.

Harry felt a throb of want coil through him like a hot wire. He didn’t show that, of course. Brian wouldn’t, in a competition/dance/half-relationship like this, and Harry would not betray feelings that could draw him deeper into emotional intimacy than Draco was willing to go.

You’re not Harry, remember? You’re Brian, here.

“I would hate to come between you and your parents, Draco,” Brian said, running a hand through his hair so that it stood up more disreputably than ever and making sure the sapphire ring flashed in the sunlight coming into the gardens. Draco’s eyes followed the flash, distracting his attention from Brian’s face in the moment it took him to settle his expression into an appropriate leer. “Though I might not object to coming in front of them.”

*

Draco felt himself smile without his conscious volition.

God, he felt so alive when he was near Brian, and it wasn’t only the sexual tension that wavered up and down like a wildfire fanned by the wind between them. Part of it came from not knowing exactly what this man would say or do next, when Draco had been around most people in his social circle long enough to predict exactly that. And part of it came from the pulse of magical strength that Brian kept thoughtfully shielded, but which flashed now and then with blinding power, like that damn ring.

Don’t let him control you. If you do end up falling—and after some very interesting dreams the night before Draco had let the possibility have a corner of his mind to play in—then it must be mutual.

He stepped forwards, past a squeaking, bowing Mips, to catch Brian’s hand. He bent and pressed a kiss to the back of the other man’s knuckles. Only if someone was standing next to Draco and staring over his shoulder could they have seen the tip of his tongue darting out and lightly scraping Brian’s skin.

Brian’s breath caught in a most satisfactory manner. Draco lifted his head and studied the blue, blue eyes. Lust was there, yes, but held down and forcibly muzzled. He smiled and let his fingertips trail down Brian’s wrist before he faced in the direction of the dining room.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Brian, and offered his arm, elbow crooked, just as Draco had offered Brian his arm for the birthday party. Draco rested his hand lightly on the other man’s, and together they proceeded down the corridor to the dining room, which Draco did not remember being so long.

He found himself taking longer strides than normal, inflating his lungs as if to catch more of a breath of air. Was that just an attempt not to feel overwhelmed by Brian’s magical aura, or did having this man at his side make Draco really feel he could take on the world? Perhaps both. Draco certainly knew he had never felt so invigorated, so refreshed, so eager.

“Have either of your parents done anything else unexpected?” Brian asked, directly into Draco’s ear, in that mid-level voice that was actually softer than a whisper.

“My mother seems to believe that I should have chosen who I fell in love with more carefully,” Draco said, and took the chance to skim his hand down the back of Brian’s neck. “She actually believes that one can control one’s heart. If I had fallen in love with a woman whom they deemed unsuitable, I would have evidently been expected to give her up.”

Brian chuckled. “Hence this deception, which will give you, in the end, the freedom to marry whom you want to marry.”

“You believe that a goal?” Draco breathed back. The door to the dining room was in sight. Narcissa and Lucius would just be sitting down to lunch. It was a routine that Lucius never varied, except on the odd day when he had to attend a Ministry function in the morning.

“Of course.” Brian halted for a moment and stared at him. “You have told me that your father will take you back someday, when you have amassed enough power and money to make him beg. That means that you do intend to join the Malfoy family again. And that means continuing the line with an heir.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. He had not said that specifically to the Manager of Metamorphosis at their meeting, but it was not a hard thing to extrapolate from the information he’d given.

“Of course,” he said, and Brian smiled at him and swept on.

Draco followed, keeping his frown to himself. Why was he so unsettled by the words Brian had spoken? Discussed openly between them or not, they were only a natural path for Brian’s mind to tend down, he told himself again.

Perhaps, he decided as Brian threw the dining room doors open and led in Draco as if they had just both earned Orders of Merlin, I am not used to hearing someone who fits so well with me speak as if he were strictly temporary. Certainly none of the men or women Draco dated before had ever done it, even the ones who knew they didn’t stand a chance of getting his parents to accept them.

This is another place he could have an advantage over me, if I let him.

Careful, Draco. He is temptation itself, but he could too easily be a rival instead of a lover.

*

Brian savored the looks on Lucius and Narcissa’s faces as he and Draco walked in. It was clear Draco had not told them Brian was coming, and they looked now as if the Muggle Prime Minister had appeared in the middle of their drawing room and demanded to know why they weren’t paying their taxes.

Then Lucius recovered himself, and scowled. Narcissa looked down at her lap and began pulling her fine linen napkin to pieces.

Lucius it shall be, then. Brian focused most of his attention on him as he bent a little and kissed Draco’s ear. It was an affectionate gesture, of course, but more than the kiss he and Draco had shared in front of his parents, it was a protective gesture. And Lucius wouldn’t take kindly to seeing his son in the protection of another male. It would inspire him to think all sorts of horrible things about Draco’s masculinity.

And that made him underestimate Draco all the more, and brought him one step closer to cracking. Certainly the way that all the blood left his face made the cracking seem imminent. Brian smiled cheerfully at Lucius, then turned and bowed to Narcissa. She was flicking her eyes between him and her husband, and on her face was no expression at all.

“Lovely to see you again, Mrs. Malfoy,” he said. “I wanted to thank you again for the dance the other night. I can’t recall having a more graceful partner.” On cue, Draco’s elbow dug into his ribs. Brian paused and looked at him consideringly. “A more graceful female partner, I meant, of course,” he said, and gave a winning smile.

“Who told you,” Lucius said in a low, rough voice, “that you were welcome in my home?”

“Oh, I didn’t think I was,” Brian said. “I thought I was welcome in Draco’s home. Unless he lives elsewhere, of course, in an even more magnificent manor house, and just lets this one to you. In which case I am heartily sorry for intruding on you, and very vexed that Draco didn’t tell me the truth.” He turned around and frowned at Draco. “Very vexed, do you hear me?”

Draco’s shoulders shook, once. Brian could tell that he was working hard not to sob with laughter. He looked up, now, and shook his head slightly, making his blond hair tumble around his face like the sculpted curls of a marble statue. “This is my home, yes,” he said. “But I did tell you not to expect the best of receptions from my parents.”

“Ah, yes.” Brian sighed gustily as he looked at Lucius. “I suppose you can’t get along with me for the space of even one lunch?”

Lucius firmed his lips in a thin line, obviously already regretting his outburst. Then he nodded once and looked away. Brian saw one hand tremble slightly, as if he was reaching for his wand, but he didn’t actually take it out. More probably, he wanted a distraction from the intolerable situation in front of him. Of course, picking up the Daily Prophet just now would give him anything but that, Brian thought with a small smile.

“We never did get to start the conversation I intended to start the other night, Mr. Montgomery,” said Narcissa in a suddenly bright, cheerful voice. Brian looked at her, and thus gave up to Draco the right to draw out a chair for him. Brian sat down with a brush of his hand over Draco’s shoulder, not taking his eyes from Narcissa all the while. “I am curious about your past. You are obviously accomplished in pure-blood manners, and yet I’ve never seen you in any of the social circles we frequent.”

Brian chuckled companionably, and took Draco’s hand under the table. He gave it a questioning squeeze, and Draco squeezed hard back. He was all right with letting Brian take the lead, for now. “I’m afraid that my study of your culture has been more theory than practice so far, Mrs. Malfoy. I’ve read so many books I can’t even remember all their titles, and I’ve been to parties as an uninvited guest.” He grinned as Narcissa looked scandalized. “And of course, since I met Draco, I’ve been keeping out of the spotlight in hopes of not attracting attention to him.” He gave Draco a tender look. “I can’t say how glad I am that all the feigning’s done.”

Draco gave him a small, amused smile; only the two of them would understand the joke in that sentence. His fingers turned, lightly trailing across Brian’s palm. Brian caught his breath.

Damn, the smallest touch from him affects me.

Narcissa had asked another question, though, which gave him an excuse for turning his attention away from Draco. “But surely, so accomplished you are, so handsome, I should have seen you somewhere before?” Another linen napkin had appeared next to her plate; Brian wondered idly if it was the result of a house-elf’s silent appearance or a convenient spell. She spread this napkin smoothly across her lap.

Brian shook his head regretfully. “Thank you for the compliment, but my life has been so varied that it’s unlikely.” Narcissa’s eyes narrowed slightly; she would know that Brian was hinting at how restricted the Malfoys’ movements had been since the war. They could still host parties and attend them, they still attended Ministry functions and did their exotic shopping, but they had their finger less on the pulse of Britain than they had had before the war, and evidently Narcissa realized it. “I’ve acted in Muggle theater, taken lessons in several different obsessions before they ceased being obsessions, and in general lived my life like a normal wizard. I never knew there was anything extraordinary about me until Draco—“

The food appeared on the Malfoy parents’ plates, just as had happened at Hogwarts. A moment later, full plates and glasses appeared for Draco and Brian, as well. Draco squeezed his hand, indicating he had asked the house-elves to provide this. Brian smiled and kept speaking to Narcissa without missing a beat.

“—showed me there was. I’ve polished my accomplishments up for him.” He winked. “And done a thing or two about my looks, too. Though not as much as he did for me yesterday.” Guilelessly, he held up the ring. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Narcissa muttered a strangled compliment. Lucius was completely silent, and Brian looked at him to gauge his reaction.

He was in time to see the Malfoy patriarch lowering his wand to his lap, and to trace the line of sight along which he’d been pointing it. It had been aimed directly at the salad of fresh vegetables on Draco’s plate, out of which he was about to take a bite.

Seething—and Brian could do that, because he wasn’t someone to hide his anger—Brian seized Draco’s wrist and shook his head when Draco stared at him, tossing his head in the direction of Lucius. Draco understood in a moment, his eyes turning as cold as the moon through rain.

“Do you mind,” he asked, putting his fork down and leaning forwards, “telling me what exactly that spell you just cast on my food does, Father?”

Brian rejoiced at the anger in his voice. He’s my equal in so many ways. In this, too.

And just to give Lucius the discomfort of facing the two of them united, Brian turned around and sent a scowl of his own at the end of the table.

Chapter 10.