lomonaaeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lomonaaeren) wrote2008-04-09 02:14 pm
lomonaaeren) wrote2008-04-09 02:14 pm
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Chapter Fifteen of 'Changing of the Guard'- A Maze of Reactions
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Fifteen—A Maze of Reactions
Draco did not know how long he sat there with his eyes closed, his fingers clenched around the crumpled page. Enough time to memorize the feeling of crushed paper, at least, and the oddly sharp ridges it made where it pressed against his skin.
Then he opened his eyes. Rini had departed, perhaps wary of how Draco would treat the messenger who had brought the bad news. Draco glared at the far fireplace through a haze of rage, his panting shaking him like a bellows.
He knew what he had to do, but he knew he could not remain in the library to do it.
Carefully, he smoothed out the page he’d torn from the book. Then he lifted his wand and cast a spell that would make the glue in the book’s binding “remember” that this piece of paper was supposed to be part of it. He watched as the page settled back into place, severely wrinkled but no longer torn. Draco nodded, feeling a fragile satisfaction likewise settle over his rage. He would leave no signs that would tell his parents how sharply this revelation had affected him. He would not show weakness.
Ah, but you showed weakness to Potter, didn’t you? He knows how damn grateful you were for Brian sucking you off and staying with you through it, instead of withdrawing emotionally the way he seemed to when you had that first bout of sex.
Potter has had his cock up your arse.
Draco half-shut his eyes and shook his head a little. No, he could not and would not think such thoughts until he was in the privacy of his own room. He could not change the past; he could not cause himself to have never shown his vulnerabilities to Potter. He could only prevent further, future exposures.
Carefully, he walked down the upstairs corridors, heading for his bedroom. He glanced down the stairs a few times. It would be his fate, he was certain, that his father would be walking up and down the entrance hall beneath him, engaged in pondering business matters, or that Narcissa would have decided to head outside to the gardens because the house-elves were not caring for them properly.
But no one else appeared. Draco was able to step into his bedroom and shut the door behind him with no one giving him a single curious glance.
He locked the door. He set up wards that would both warn him of anyone else’s approach and conceal the noise he intended to make and the magic he intended to unleash from casual observation. He worked coolly, his eyes shut, enjoying the way that his mind moved smoothly over the plans that would protect him. There were some precautions he had not forgotten to take, some ways in which he was still the careful, clever Slytherin he’d always thought himself.
Then he whirled and flung a fiery curse at the opposite wall.
The curses were coming so fast after that that Draco lost his ability to distinguish one from the other. He was screaming most of the time, a raw, wordless sound, and the rest of it growling under his breath or moaning in a sound compounded of both rage and pain. He watched his walls partially melt, the wood catch fire, and important knickknacks of ivory and porcelain fly to dust. He didn’t care. Magic could come later and repair it, repair all of it.
Magic would never be able to repair his shattered pride, or save him from the embarrassment that seared through him when he thought of Potter, laughing smugly to himself in his London house, cherishing the memories of how he had fucked Draco Malfoy.
And how Draco Malfoy had let him, had practically begged for it from the moment when he saw “Brian” in his dress robes.
He looked so much like himself. The scar was a little different, the eyes blue, but it was him. How in the world could I let myself be attracted to someone who looked like him?
Draco ranged up and down his room, only now and then flinging a spell. His racing thoughts had taken over from his desire to throw magic and watch other things suffer as he was suffering.
Why did he do it? Revenge, obviously. What other motive could he have for sleeping with me?
But that simple argument slammed into a number of other questions, which would have to be answered if Draco was to understand the role Potter had suddenly assumed in his life. How had Potter become the Brian Montgomery Draco had chosen at Metamorphosis? He certainly couldn’t have known ahead of time that Draco would pick a person so like him. And how had the Manager received a picture of Potter looking like that in the first place, and the lying life history that seemed to make sense, to explain so much of the way Brian thought and reacted?
And why had Potter done things that would win him no revenge whatsoever, like sucking Draco? Fucking him was one thing; Draco knew plenty of people, even gay men, who assumed that the man getting fucked was no better than a woman held down and raped, that he had no power. He could imagine Potter wanting to do that to him just so he could laugh about it later with his cronies and fans. But kneeling down? Taking Draco’s cock into his mouth? Letting Draco fuck him, as he had been doing, even if it was a different orifice?
There was no answer to that, either.
And if Potter’s main goal had been concealing himself in order to play a long game on Draco, then why had he shown his magic so openly and easily in the dining room a few days ago, when he’d come for lunch? Why had he seemed genuinely angry that Lucius had tried to put the impotence curse on Draco’s food? Hell, laughing at Draco as he struggled with that curse would have afforded him great amusement. And all he would have had to do was simply not mention to Draco that he’d seen Lucius casting a spell at his salad. Draco himself had not noticed his father’s wand, carefully concealed under the table.
And—
Where had Potter learned to act, for God’s sake? The Potter Draco knew in school had blushed violently red when telling a lie. Where had he learned to act and think like a Slytherin? How he had learned the pure-blood dances as well as “Brian” had? There really was evidence of long study there; Potter hadn’t simply acquired a few rudiments of cultural knowledge and then attempted to pass himself off as an expert.
Draco supposed he could say that Potter would put his all into the preparation of a practical joke, even to the extent of learning about pure-blood culture and making himself a wonderful dancer. Why not say that, if he had already decided that Potter had dressed himself up as a non-existent half-blood wizard in order to get back at Draco?
But that still failed to mesh with the fact that Potter had apparently managed to change his essential nature in order to plot this vengeance. Draco could imagine Potter wanting to do that; who wouldn’t want to have the superior qualities of pure-blood culture, like the superior emotional control? He just didn’t think it was possible. Potter was Gryffindor to the core. He’d try and try, but he’d make a mistake, and in a setting like the drawing rooms and dining rooms of the pure-blood social circles he’d chosen to enter, there was no room for a mistake.
There had been mistakes made, Draco thought, remembering Potter’s show of magic, and the way he’d reacted to the insults of the fat wizard in Diagon Alley, and the openness of his magic and mind whilst he’d sucked Draco. But those were the mistakes he would expect of someone wrestling with a Gryffindor nature under a Slytherin mask—mistakes of passion and outraged principle. The most important point was that Potter shouldn’t have been able to get to the point of making them at all if his Gryffindor nature was the only one he had.
So he has something else. He has the ability to lie. He has the ability to act. He has the ability to fool you—
Draco felt his head come up, his eyes widening. He felt as if he were looking at himself from a distance, observing his expressions the way he might a stranger’s. He could imagine exactly what his face looked like at the moment.
He’s fooled everyone. Remember all those rumors that he’s become a recluse who can’t even leave the house? Remember those rumors that he defeated Voldemort with luck alone, and his mother’s love? Some people said they felt his magic after the battle, that it was powerful, but they got scoffed at. After all, everyone knew Potter wasn’t a prodigy, that in fact he was rather weak and pathetic for the station fate had granted him.
Draco swore softly. This time, he didn’t send a curse at the wall. He was too involved in working out the implications of the “knowledge” which “everyone” possessed about Potter.
He’s planned this for years, hasn’t he? He spread those rumors to enable him to move around more easily. People will underestimate him, and assume that any powerful young wizard who appears on the scene certainly couldn’t be Harry Potter. I didn’t think about him once, even though I knew Brian was about my age.
The admiration mixed with Draco’s rage and his puzzlement, adding yet another confusing element to the maze of his emotions.
How much else has been planned? What else has he learned? He’s a different person than I assumed he was. He slipped around me, but he shouldn’t have had a chance at that kind of pretense at all, and I know he did. And if our relationship had remained strictly a business relationship, I wonder if he would have slipped?
Draco didn’t think so. He prided himself on judging some things accurately, and if he had misread Potter in every particular, then he should give up trying to understand him at all. He would therefore assume that the connection which had flourished between him and Potter as their magic and emotions poured across the gap between their minds was real. Draco had felt the passion, the delight, the need to give himself that Potter was feeling, and that had been one reason it felt so much better than the physically satisfying but still distant fucking he’d had from Brian.
Draco clenched his fists. So part of him is real. Part of him is the man I don’t want to give up.
But which part?
Another corridor of possible reactions and responses opened up in front of him. Before, there had been two: turning Potter’s trick back on him and taking vengeance, given the knowledge of his true identity Draco now possessed, or feigning ignorance for a bit longer whilst he used “Brian” to further his goals. Either way, Draco knew it could not be an open reaction. He had Lucius to defy, and for that, he needed Brian’s help. This charade could not simply stop, no matter how outraged Draco was about it.
Now there was a third possible course, harder and more complex than the others, but perhaps more worth it. And really, the difficulty and complexity just made it engage Draco the more. This was how he had felt when he saw the untapped market Malfoy’s Machineries could occupy. There were things to do, barriers he could honestly trust himself against, rather than having to pretend they didn’t exist because of the codes of polite society.
Figure out which parts of Harry Potter are worth it. Figure out what really makes him think and react and respond, and then make him yours, the way you wanted Brian to be. You still felt that way even as you doubted more and more that Brian was real. And Draco had started doubting that when he realized how little mark Brian had left on the world in any recognizable shape; it was one reason he had asked Rini to look at the face the inhabitant of Brian’s house was wearing. Now you know there’s a real person there, one you never managed to win over, one who managed to fool you for a damn long time—a few days is a damn long time, given your brain—one who’s managed to fool everyone around him for at least ten years. Draco could not remember when he had first begun to hear the rumors that Potter was weak and skittish, but it had been an accepted truth by the time they were twenty. Think of having such a partner, sharing so many of your strengths but also possessing several you don’t have.
Draco thought about it.
And he nearly fainted with the wave of excitement, lust, joy, and eagerness to court and possess and have and share which washed over him.
He clenched his fists and, for the first time since he had entered the room, sat down, taking a chair near the hearth. He started the fire going with a wave of his wand and then propped his chin on one hand, once again subduing the racing emotions so he could think about what this course might mean, if he decided to pursue it.
It would mean he would permanently appear gay in many people’s eyes, since he would be sharing his life with another man even after he had broken free from Lucius’s control. He either could not marry, or he could not marry right away. His sexual orientation would come to seem carved in stone, rather than the clever ploy Draco had eventually intended to have it seen as.
Did he want to get married? Was continuing the Malfoy line more important than finding a partner who suited him perfectly?
If Potter could ever be persuaded to suit him, of course. Draco still needed to discover his motive for disguising himself. If it was petty vengeance, then he was confident he could destroy that and introduce Potter to the greater joys of partnership; he had already done so on the sexual front. If it was because Potter acquired much-needed Galleons by working for Metamorphosis, then Draco could promise financial support in return for Potter’s emotional and mental support.
And if it’s something more complex, which it is probably is? Potter would not develop this mask and this system of rumors for any small goal, though maybe it’s a goal that only makes sense to him.
Draco nodded slowly. That would be another problem, convincing Potter to abandon something which mattered deeply to him in favor of openness. Perhaps the solution was not to convince him to abandon all of it. Draco could use an ally who knew about masks, and ways to create them. Potter could remain disguised to a good portion of the world, if he wanted.
But Draco would demand emotional honesty from Potter towards him, and he would demand that Potter appear in public at his side as Harry Potter. If Draco would run risks with all the intense prejudices towards homosexuality in his real identity, he damn well wanted Potter to do the same thing.
So you’ll be courting him at the same time as you’re not letting him know you know and seeking his help against Lucius. You’ll have to decide whether you want to get married, or whether this liaison will be permanent.
Draco decided he couldn’t answer that last question yet, because he didn’t know how much of the true metal Potter contained, and how much was deception, fantasy, delusion. When he did know, then he would also know whether he wanted to lean his strength on Potter forever or not.
What else must you do?
Discover the truth about Potter, of course. Learn what he had been up to in the last ten years. Probe the memories of people who really knew him, or people who might have observed some of the truth but had not put the pieces together.
Draco grimaced at the thought of contacting Weasley and Granger. It was a temptation, because they must know the most, but he shook his head after he’d considered it for some minutes. They sill distrusted Draco too much, and they would at once tell Potter about the contact, which would undermine Draco’s plans entirely.
Unless…
Draco sat up.
He used a mask to get close to me. What if I used a mask to get close to him?
I can’t give them any hint I might be a press reporter, or they’ll shut tighter than Mother’s mouth when she sees a Niffler. But if I can play the person desperately, and truly, interested in Harry…if I can take my true emotions and write only false words…
There was merit in the secret admirer idea, Draco thought. Still, he put it aside for now. He would have to work it out perfectly before he tried it, as it was likely the least whiff of something off would send the Weasleys retreating wildly.
What else?
Draco nearly chuckled aloud at the next thought. I’ll have to show myself off, of course, to convince Potter he’ll be getting the best of the bargain if he stays with me. He still thinks this won’t be permanent. I’ll wager anything that’s why he wanted to be left alone with Pansy last night: to plan some way to get out of this. He knows he’s too close. That magical exchange we had, the words I spoke, must have worried him.
So. Draco would layer two deceptions—that he did not know Potter’s true identity, and that he was “innocently” showing off—on top of the truth, and possibly three deceptions if he chose the secret admirer idea. Meanwhile, Potter would be flaunting his disguise, trying to get Draco to see and make decisions about “Brian,” not about him, and probably trying to lessen the instances of his true personality breaking through his mask.
It was a game so complex and so tangled Draco could hardly stand the thought of it.
I cannot wait to begin.
He took down the wards and called the house-elves to repair the damage he’d done to his room. He didn’t feel like repairing it himself; his mind was whirling along too fast for mere action with his wand to be satisfying.
One of the elves edged gingerly into the room, holding out a letter. It had come with an owl whilst he was inaccessible, Draco judged from the creature’s squeaking. It would be Brian’s letter, of course. Potter’s.
How much of them is really the same person? The looks are different, but I know the intelligence, the magic, the knowledge of pure-blood culture, are Potter’s.
He opened it and scanned the writing, smiling a little, willing to see deception in the dots above the i’s. Potter/Brian expressed concern over the formation of Lucius’s organization and told Draco he could meet him at two, either in Malfoy Manor or at a small pub he knew a few turns off Diagon Alley, called the Dragon’s Head.
Draco held back the mischievous impulse to suggest they meet at Brian’s house. After all, Potter had seen where Draco lived; Draco should get the chance to see where his lover lived.
But said suggestion would only panic Potter now, and Draco had no interest in that. He gave a quick agreement to the pub and took the letter to the Manor’s owlery himself. As he watched the bird wing away, another surge of anger made his muscles tighten.
He fooled me. How dare he pretend to enjoy the sex, to like and understand me? How dare he pretend to be gay?
Draco drew a deep breath, and reminded himself that the pretense was probably less than he thought—probably less even than Potter thought. Besides, he simply didn’t have the time to be angry. There was so much to do.
*
Harry peered thoughtfully into the mirror. He’d had to conquer a brief impulse to show up at the pub as himself and let Draco discover the truth that way. As Pansy had said, it would be the swiftest end to the relationship between them.
He shook his head, knowing it was only Narcissa’s letter which even had him considering the plan.
Mr. Potter:
Reports of what you and my son did at Clothilde Castle have reached me. You continue to entice him to fall in love with you despite my ultimatum. It is clear that I cannot trust you. Therefore, I have shortened my timeline. You will leave him a week from now, or I will reveal the truth to him the following day.
I will not help you in this.
Narcissa Malfoy.
Harry loosed a short, hard breath and ran a hand across his scalp. It messed up his hair, of course. That was such a Harry gesture, the kind of thing a schoolboy would do. One reason Harry hated his own personality was because of how childish it was. He still had unsophisticated thoughts. He still made mistakes. It was the Harry Potter in him that had been responsible for his mistakes with Draco, not the Brian.
If he could vanish into Brian and cease to exist as himself, he would, happily.
But even that was not a true solution. Ron and Hermione and the other Weasleys would miss the mask he had constructed for them. Harry would miss being able to become the other people he had created through Metamorphosis.
But if you were really Brian, really subsumed, then you would have Brian’s likes and dislikes, argued a tiny voice Harry did not hear often, the voice of ultimate temptation. You wouldn’t remember Ron and Hermione’s need, or your need to become other personas.
Harry turned slowly towards the hidden cupboard on the other side of the room, opposite from the closet full of robes. He spoke the soft words that unlocked the cupboard, words his friends would never guess. They probably thought he’d choose one of their names, or his parents’. Voldemort’s and Nagini’s would be unexpected.
Harry knew both of those would have destroyed him if they could.
And in this cupboard lay the thing that could destroy him, if he ever found his own existence intolerable.
Harry lifted out the shining bowl, which looked like a Pensieve constructed of dark stone. Inside it lay shifting black water, apparently, though it was as thick and reflective as the surface of liquid memories. Harry stroked the sides of the bowl and stared at it.
One book he’d found hidden in the bedroom belonging to Sirius’s mother had described a process by which a person who created a disguise could become that disguise. It required the use of glamours, Transfiguration, a potion, and this—a Dark magical artifact, a Pensieve that swallowed memories, which the user had to construct with his own wand.
Harry’s hands tightened subtly on the sides of the bowl.
If he used the spell and the potion and this artifact in combination, Harry Potter would cease to exist. His memories would become those of the persona he chose, and so would his body. There would be no going back.
Harry took a deep breath and set the reverse Pensieve carefully on its shelf, then shut the cupboard again. His parents’ names locked it. Harry thought he could do them that much honor, because each time he turned away from the cupboard, he had chosen to remain Harry Potter for a little while longer.
Harry knew what Hermione would say if she knew about the Pensive. But it was healthier, Harry thought, than to have nothing like that around the house at all. Each time he looked at it, he withdrew from it, because the dark Pensieve reminded him of what he could be losing. It was rather like an alcoholic keeping one bottle of wine around as a test of his strength, or a suicidal person trusting himself with a knife.
The promise of escape was there, but Harry was ninety percent sure he would not take it.
He shook his head, and started to become Brian, leaving the problems of Harry Potter far behind. Brian had problems of his own, sure, but he knew how to handle them.
Chapter 16.
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