Chapter Ten of 'Changing of the Guard'- Changing Minds, Changing Faces

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Chapter Ten—Changing Minds, Changing Faces

Draco had already moved his wand in a subtle pattern that should detect poison or harmful magic in his food, even though he was apparently keeping his complete attention focused on Lucius. Brian was enough guard for the moment, and Draco was curious to know what spell his father would have thought worth the risk.

A moment later, he laughed.

Brian turned towards him, bristling, and shifting so that he put his body as a shield between Lucius and Draco, Draco noticed. “Are you well?” he asked in a low voice.

What was he in his former life? A bodyguard? Brian’s biography for Metamorphosis had not mentioned anything like that, but Draco was coming to accept that Brian’s biography had, well, lied. He put the suspicions away for later; they weren’t appropriate for the luncheon table, and besides, he was too amused at the moment to seriously consider them.

He leaned around Brian and addressed his father. “An impotence spell? Really, Father, did you think that would stop me?”

Lucius’s eyes were the color of the stone in the ancient dungeons of the Manor, which Draco’s grandfather Abraxas had been the last one to make regular use of. He clenched his hand on his wand, fingers moving like worms.

Draco studied him in silence, aware of anxiety coming from both Brian and Narcissa. Brian’s was more open than his mother’s. Of course, he had no reason to think that hiding the emotion would benefit him at the moment.

Does he think it at other times?

Draco pushed the thought away impatiently. Fascinating as the mystery of Brian was, he couldn’t attend to it right now. Far more important was understanding why his father had done this.

“Why?” he said quietly.

Lucius abandoned the silence and severe posture he’d adopted, perhaps because he could see it wasn’t gaining him anything. He folded his hands in front of him, letting his wand fall to his lap, and gave Draco a patient smile.

“You and I both know that this is a pose,” he said softly. “That you are what I raised you to be. That you are angry at me and acting out your anger the only way you know how, by pretending to be gay.”

Draco felt a light frisson of nervousness. By accident, his father had almost guessed the truth. But he allowed none of that to show on his face; outwardly he was all solemn, serious attention, tempered by the amusement Lucius’s choice of spell had caused him. Brian touched his shoulder for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, apparently deciding that he could mimic Draco’s calm so long as there was no immediate danger. Draco spared a flick of a thought for how marvelously they managed to communicate when silent, the two of them. It had taken his parents years to develop that ease.

“Relationships between men can never be as deep and passionate as those between men and women,” Lucius said. “There is no weight of tradition behind them, no rites and ceremonies to mark the passing years, and most importantly, no future—no children. It is lust that ties you to Mr. Montgomery, and only that.” He flicked his eyes sideways at Brian the way he might look at a crushed ant, to be sure it was dead. “He told me so himself. Without the ability to—ah—perform in the bedchamber, what you call a love affair will fall apart.” He nodded, as though gesturing to an invisible audience. “I know.”

Draco bit his lip. He clenched a hand under the table. He blinked for a moment at his mother, who was as pale and stern as a pillar of salt.

It was no use. He burst out laughing.

Lucius drew back in his chair like a serpent who had suddenly realized the piping notes were just shrill music after all. Draco opened his mouth to say something, and realized he couldn’t, not yet. He put his head down on his arm and wheezed. It was one of the most undignified things he had ever done, laughing at his parents like this, but the extent of Lucius’s refusal to understand sat in his belly like a Tickling Spell and wouldn’t be dislodged.

Brian hovered above him the whole time, hand stroking Draco’s hair now and then, body obviously still interposed as a protection in case Lucius decided to try something else. Draco smiled a little as the laughter began to subside. They would be having a talk after lunch was done, and he knew exactly what questions he wanted to ask.

Finally, he lifted his head and said, “I hate to disappoint you, Father, but it’s not only passion that binds us together. You once again have mistaken humor for reality—not surprising, as your sense of humor is not one of your many virtues.”

Lucius had decided to freeze. Not a single expression crossed his face; not a single gesture disturbed the straight lines of his robes.

“I’m in love with Brian,” Draco said, and flung an arm around Brian’s shoulders, a gesture he never would have made ordinarily. (Well, yes, if he was drunk and with Blaise, but that was Blaise). Brian went a little stiff with the strangeness of it, but relaxed a moment later and even leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder, kissing his neck. “Love can’t be defeated with an impotency spell.” Draco let his smile fade and arched an eyebrow. “But Brian, as you have seen, loves me back, and he’s loyal and protective. I would advise you not to try that again, if you value your pride and body intact.”

Brian lifted his head, apparently wanting to add something to the conversation. Draco glanced at him encouragingly. It would be a hilarious threat, he was certain, as all Brian’s interactions with his father were hilarious.

But Brian said nothing. He stared at Lucius, and then he removed one of the shields that he’d tightly wrapped around his incredible magical power.

Draco gasped. The room had suddenly filled with a heavy, overwhelming pressure, like the kind that built up right before a mighty summer storm. Draco could remember casting the sky uneasy glances when a storm like that blew up whilst he was playing Quidditch, and turning his broomstick back to the Manor, although spells would have allowed him to continue playing in the rain. One simply didn’t quarrel with clouds like that.

And one didn’t quarrel with the way that Brian focused the magic to a narrow beam on Lucius, either, until Draco saw his father’s hair lift and stir in a wind that no one else felt.

Draco was panting, his hands digging into his knee and Brian’s shoulders, respectively. He had never heard of magic this strong, never realized that someone could create an effect like that without a wand or a word. Oh, one heard about bouts of accidental magic, and the magic of a love sacrifice like the one Potter’s mother had made to save him, but the wild, chaotic nature of that magic was as proverbial as its strength. The most frightening thing Brian had going for him was his finesse, his ability to channel the power that must be straining at his shields to get out—especially with the shields as tight as they had been every time he’d been in Draco’s presence. He hadn’t even let them down when they had sex, Draco realized.

He was panting for a different reason at that thought.

Lucius might have stupid notions about what relationships between men actually entailed, but he was wise enough to retreat when he had dignity to lose by remaining on the battlefield. He rose, never taking his stare from Brian, and then turned and walked away from the table, leaving his visibly untouched food. His entire manner said that he did not care to eat in the presence of plebeians.

It might even have been convincing, Draco thought, if only Brian had not stuck his tongue out at Lucius’s back.

And then the shield coiled around Brian’s power again, with a snap like a curtain descending on a stage, and he turned about and tapped his wand on Draco’s plate. The cursed salad vanished. Brian smiled at Draco, then at Narcissa. “Is there a chance of having the house-elves fetch you more food?” he asked.

His voice was pleasant, calm, normal, as if nothing had happened.

And that brought Draco’s feelings of desire and wonder and amusement at his father’s expense to a crashing halt. He nodded, and called for a house-elf. One came at once and replaced the food in front of him with something more suitable.

He picked up his fork and returned to eating. His mother seemed intent on remaining where she was, but she ate without speaking. Brian did the same, as if his sole plan was his hearty enjoyment of the meal—the fresh salad, followed by a chicken lightly breaded and covered with a sauce of several wild herbs.

Draco’s mind, meanwhile, was buzzing anxiously. Yes, Brian’s finesse was incredible. So was his power. He was everything that the Manager of Metamorphosis had promised Draco, and more. Draco had no fears about Brian’s ability to fulfill the task demanded of him, difficult though it might prove to be.

But it simply made no sense. Someone with that kind of power could have made his living anywhere, doing anything. Sure, he didn’t have to be rich, but in that case he could have devoted himself to the good of the poor and made a sterling reputation. And with Brian’s protective instincts, that seemed a natural thing to do.

Wizards this powerful didn’t come out of nowhere. They were known, by name if not by sight, and Draco should have heard of Brian Montgomery long before this. He knew the names of the two most powerful wizards in England now—or perhaps one should say the two most powerful witches, given that they were both female—and no one he’d met had given him the notion there was a third.

Something was very, very wrong here, and Draco couldn’t discount the notion that Brian had come to trick him, perhaps ensure Draco was disowned in accordance with some other plan. He would have to be more careful than ever.

Luckily, suspicion was a good infatuation-killer.

*

Harry found himself resurfacing abruptly out of Brian. Narcissa had not asked him any more of her polite, fencing questions, had gravely accepted his bow over her hand, and had departed the moment the meal was done. And then Draco had taken him into the library to share the delicious chocolate dessert the elves had provided with a glass of brandy.

But something was wrong.

Draco no longer met his eyes quite as steadily as he had, and there was a heaviness in the back of his voice, lilting until now. Harry frowned a little as he spooned up the chocolate and curled his tongue around it. Draco gave the lascivious gesture no more than a glance before he leaned back in his chair, sipped his brandy, and began an interrogation.

“Some of the questions my mother asked you are very good ones,” he said. “And we should come up with answers to them in case they’re ever asked in the future.” He smiled a little, and it would have convinced Harry if not for the shadows behind his eyes. “Or maybe the truth, if that would distress my parents more. So. Where do you live? There are some quarters that would absolutely scandalize my father.”

He’s suspicious. I don’t know why, but I know he is. Harry crossed his legs, Brian’s legs, and gave Brian’s charming smile. He would have liked to go over his behavior at lunch in his mind and see what had tilted the balance in Draco’s estimation of him, but he had to keep his attention focused on their contest of wits to have a hope of winning it. “Worse than any quarter that might scandalize your father,” he replied. “I live in Muggle London.” And that was actually true, given the location of Grimmauld Place.

Draco only blinked like a lizard, and then added a smile a moment later. I’m not perfect, Harry thought, since I obviously made a stupid mistake, but neither is he. I wonder if his mother would notice the way he’s slipping? “And why would you choose to live there? It’s far from most employment you’d find.”

Harry grinned. “It’s close to the theater,” he said. “There are times it’s absolutely necessary for me to see a play, or I’d go nutters. And of course, if I want to conduct business with wizards who wouldn’t be seen dead in Muggle London, or order yet another book on pure-blood culture that I haven’t read, there are always owls.”

“Hmm,” Draco said. “And since you know so much about our culture, you’ve never thought of moving into it and making a name for yourself?”

“Theory before practice, so far.” Harry spread his hands. “Maybe, once this month is over, or however long you need me for, I’ll make sure that I get into more of your circles.” Then he laughed as if in recollection and picked up another forkful of chocolate. “Assuming that anyone will have me, when they’ll all know my sexuality.”

Draco went a little stiff, the way his father had, gazing at him. Harry gazed back and wondered if he knew how much he and Lucius really looked alike.

“Someone like you could go anywhere,” Draco said. “Even with your sexuality. There are people to whom other things matter more. The way you smile. The way you joke even as you retain the most impeccable manners. The way you make love.” His voice softened on the last words, and he produced a sultry, secret smile that took Harry in for an instant. But then he said, “Surely that would be a more entertaining life than disposing of hexes?” and the instant was past.

“I mentioned that I don’t have much ambition, right?” Harry laughed aloud at the look that appeared on Draco’s face at that, though he hadn’t meant to. “Believe me, it’s frustrated enough people before you. One of my friends—well, more of an acquaintance now, we quarreled too often—got on me about that when I refused to become a professional actor. ‘But think of all the money you could earn,’ went his refrain. ‘The fame.’” Harry gave a shudder that had nothing of deceit about it. “And I told him I didn’t want that, and he couldn’t understand why. Why should I have to produce a reason for not wanting strangers knocking on my door day and night and madwomen flinging their knickers at me, screaming that they love me? It’s strange that it’s the people who don’t want to be famous who need to defend themselves, not the ones who insist being known is everything.”

*

Draco wanted to snarl. Every single question he probed with was met and turned away, in the fashion of a duelist. Brian’s eyes were gleaming with challenge, in a way that said he knew exactly what Draco was doing.

And Draco was discovering that someone as determined as he was, as clever as he was, as good a liar, was not such delightful company after all. Brian should have betrayed something by now, beyond the strength of his magic. Something in his airy answers must be fabricated. Draco longed to produce a startled expression, a flinch, a sudden darkening in his face.

Nothing, and nothing, and nothing. Brian sat there eating chocolate and not even attempting to protest the sharpness and directness of the questions. In fact, Draco had the distinct impression that he was being humored.

He hated that impression.

He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. Time to take a different tack, and test just how much control he might actually have over Brian’s emotions, since he seemed to have none over his mind. “Here is the first great division I’ve found between us,” he said. “Blood status is nothing to me anymore, we both seem to have much the same background, I think we’re close to the same age…” He let his voice trail off invitingly, but Brian only nodded for him to continue. He even had an excuse, as his mouth was full. Draco waited an extra moment to speak, to be sure none of his exasperation would show. “I am ambitious, however. You’ve already heard about the power I intend to accumulate, and you know a little of how I intend to do it. I would need someone by my side who believed in the same things I did, who could be a support to me whilst I did them.”

“And I wish you good luck in finding her,” Brian said amiably. “Or him, I suppose, if you want to irritate your parents even more after I’m gone.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve been matched with men who didn’t match me. It’s fun for a time, but it always burns out. You’re right to say that you need someone who can keep the relationship blazing with you.” He winked. “Me and you, we’re a different sort of fire.”

Draco felt the seductive warmth that had attacked him several times before around Brian try to take over his mind again. He shook it off. But the desire was still there, when he thought about the taste of Brian’s skin beneath his tongue and the way that powerful body had thrust into him and how Brian’s humor had followed them into the bedchamber.

That is another advantage if I win and make him more interested in uniting with me than serving whatever goal he came here with, Draco thought. I’ll have someone I desperately want, and I can satiate that lust in safety.

For now, though…no.

And as Brian didn’t think Draco considered him important, it might be well to reject the sexual tension between them for a time and see what happened. How much would Brian miss it?

“I hope I’ll find him or her as well,” Draco said. “In fact, there are a few people I have my eye on once I’ve finished getting myself disowned.”

Brian blinked, and for a moment, just a moment, the brilliant blue eyes were flawed like cracked glass. Ha! Draco thought. That warmth swept through him again. Just knowing Brian was jealous, even if he wouldn’t openly betray it, comforted Draco. Or had he been merely startled?

It’s comforting all the same, Draco told himself firmly.

“Oh,” Brian said. He looked into his glass. “Are you sure that many women will have you after you’ve apparently announced your orientation to all and sundry?”

“There are pure-blood women who would marry a pig if it had enough money,” Draco said firmly, and changed the subject. “We should discuss the next place you’re going to be seen with me. Annoying my parents in their own home is all very well, but I don’t think my father will be taken by surprise again. After today, he’ll have to treat our relationship as a serious threat.”

Brian nodded slowly. “Do you think we’ll get invitations to parties at all? Should we go to one you’re invited to and display ourselves?” He was already grinning again, Draco thought, in a mixture of disgust and admiration. “Or would it be better to go out to restaurants and the like and encourage the press to find us?”

Draco smiled a little himself. “A mixture of the two,” he said. “I was invited two weeks ago to a party set for tomorrow, at Clothilde Castle. A midsummer festival, supposedly, but actually an excuse to meet and mingle and stare. The invitation hasn’t been rescinded yet. Let’s go there. And the day after that, we’ll go out for lunch in Haut Alley. There are some restaurants there that are simply splendid, both in the food and in the chance of being noticed.”

“Will we be in any physical danger the way we turned out to be in Diagon?” The smile dropped off Brian’s face. “I want to be prepared. Your father—“ He shook his head. “An impotence curse is rather childish, but there may be people who would do more. And they’ll have a chance to see us coming, and to prepare.”

“Not much danger in Haut Alley,” Draco responded. He fought off the warmth again and reminded himself that this was a business arrangement, and maybe an assassination opportunity, too, for whoever Brian really served. “The height of expression there is a cold stare. But at the party? Among pure-bloods who bear each other grudges from the war and earlier, going back a hundred years, and in a castle warded against the Ministry’s detection of any spells? Oh, yes.”

“I’ll be prepared, then.” Brian stood and drained his glass. “I should be going. I promised a friend that I’d meet her this afternoon.”

“Do your friends know about this?” Draco asked, gesturing around the room, but meaning more than that, and ready to pounce on any insufficient answer.

Brian was too smart to pretend he didn’t know what Draco was talking about. However, he only smiled and said, “They’d have to be blind and deaf not to by now, wouldn’t they?”

Draco let him go, with only a small kiss on the back of the hand. Brian didn’t seem to take this amiss, and waved cheerfully as he walked out the doors of the Manor. Draco stared after him, and let his fingers curl white-knuckled behind his back, since there was no one to see.

He was jealous. I know he was.

Then Draco turned and strode rapidly towards his bedroom. Sitting down, he wrote a long letter to the Ministry, taking on the name of an obscure pure-blood witch whom Draco happened to know had lost most of her fortune in the war. However, she’d been so unimportant to both sides that the request shouldn’t ring any alarms. The witch, in the letter, tearfully described an infant son lost thirty years ago, perhaps found again, and asked for the birth records of anyone who would be his age now.

It was a preliminary step. A basic step. And perhaps a useless one, Draco admitted to himself, as he watched his owl winging out of sight. Brian’s parents had moved so often that his birth records might be missing or destroyed or lodged safely in another country, and finding no wizard by the name of Brian Montgomery on record would not prove that one did not exist.

But it was a step Draco needed to take, for his own peace of mind.

*

Harry sighed and leaned against the door of his closet, stretching the kinks out of his back. Draco might think his chairs encouraged an upright posture, but they were bloody uncomfortable to sit on for hours.

An owl tapped at his window, and Harry went idly to open it. Hermione had said she’d write to let him know when they decided on a name for their child. Or it might be George, asking if Harry wanted to come visit the joke shop, or Mrs. Weasley asking him to dinner.

It was a plain envelope instead, bearing only his name. Harry eyed it curiously. He had a ward he’d perfected a long time since to exclude any and all fan post, based on the spell’s reading of certain words through the paper, such as “autograph.” This must be an extraordinary letter to have made it through the wards. It could not have anything to do with Metamorphosis or the Charity; any letters addressed to the manager of either organization went automatically to the headquarters of the organization instead.

He stuck his thumbnail beneath the unornamented seal and opened it.

Mr. Potter:

I recognized you the moment you made a spectacle of yourself in my home today. I was near enough to you in the Forbidden Forest that terrible day to feel the magic returning to your body, and there is only one wizard in Britain who possesses power of your caliber. Add to that your looks and the scar on your forehead, and the game was easy to win. I am only amazed that my son has not yet reached the same conclusion I have.

You will meet me in Diagon Alley in two hours, so we might discuss together your reasons for pulling off this charade, and what is to keep me from telling Draco the truth. If you do not meet me in two hours’ time, I shall simply walk down the corridor that separates our wings of the house.

The letter dropped from Harry’s numb fingers. He did not see the Narcissa Malfoy at the end. He didn’t need to.

Chapter Eleven.

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At the moment, at least, Narcissa has no intention of playing matchmaker between her son and someone who wants to deceive him.