Chapter Twenty-One of "Changing of the Guard"- The State of the Art

[lomonaaeren]

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Chapter Twenty-One—The State of the Art

They settled the details gradually. Both Harry and Draco would attend the meeting of the rebels tomorrow, and make sure that word of Draco’s presence among dissidents reached Lucius, though only after the meeting itself was over, so as not to threaten the safety of those involved. Among other things, Draco would meet with Nusante and arrange to fund more plays, or different projects that might promote the message that homosexuality was normal, even beautiful. And Draco would alert his contacts and sympathetic friends in his own circle to be alert for possible Counterstrike activities.

And Harry would remain disguised.

Draco stared at him when he said that he had to stay Brian Montgomery, then smiled and adopted a falsely reasonable tone. “But you must know that you could propel the rebellion much faster if you went as Harry Potter,” he said, his hand smoothing up and down Harry’s chest. He seemed addicted to touching the skin there, and though Harry thought it was strange, he was also glad. The continuation of one tender gesture would make it easier for him to become accustomed to it quickly, and thus immune to it altogether. “Some people would support it just because of who you are. We’d get positive coverage along with negative. There would be talk about the appeal of the rebellion spanning generations, because they do think of us as part of a different generation than people like Nusante, who were children during the war—“

Harry simply shook his head. “I told you I have a reason for the lies I’ve built up to surround my true identity,” he said.

“Yes?” Draco’s face flushed and shone. He even leaned forwards, as if he thought he might be let in on the secret right this moment. Harry did his best not to look at the other man with pity. He saw through all my lies just a few moments ago. How can he mistake me so badly now?

Of course, Draco had no idea about Metamorphosis at all, which gave Harry an enormous advantage over him. And Harry intended to see to it that he never learned.

“Well,” said Harry, “why did you think I would appear in public by your side as long as that secret still obtains?”

Draco sucked in a harsh breath and was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You’re gay. You’ve never admitted your orientation aloud to the public, so you must be afraid of the backlash it would cause.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, because the recital of bare facts was not like Draco.

“Why won’t you support this rebellion as yourself?” Draco again stared into his eyes. Harry wondered what in the world he expected to find there. “From a distance, if not under your own face and name at first. It would make things easier for you in the end as well as for me and Nusante’s circle.”

Harry shrugged. “I know that,” he said. “But I have no particular desire to ever come out. I hope this succeeds, because you’ve exposed yourself to accusations and hatred already, and someone like Nusante could never be happy as long as he hides. I can.”

Draco’s gaze grew piercing again. Harry returned it tranquilly. He was already building another personality he could show to Draco, drawing back from the dangerous intimacy the emotional connection had caused them. Because their minds and emotions were no longer joined, Harry didn’t have to be sure that Draco would catch him in a lie. He could create a seemingly compliant, sullen, complex Harry Potter persona who already had all his traits Draco knew about, as well as the iron strength that would enable him to carry out the break from Draco. The real, weak Harry Potter was safely buried once again.

And whenever Harry suffered a qualm or a wish that things could be different, that he could actually step up to Draco’s side and accept whatever came, he reminded himself of how anxious and hurt he’d been during the few moments when Draco had access to the crumbling fragments of himself. No. He was not that person right now. He was the Harry who could coldly evaluate the situation and do what was necessary.

It was a sacrifice, oh yes, but there was nothing heroic about it this time. That ought to give Harry the necessary distance from the few remaining parts of himself.

“The Potter I knew back in school would have had more courage than this,” said Draco at last, his voice soft, his face constrained and brooding.

“The Potter you knew back in school isn’t the one here in this bed with you,” said Harry, his voice cool. “Now, I would suggest simply accepting what I’m willing to give you. Attempt to trumpet my name from the rooftops and I’ll Obliviate you.”

Draco reared back, his face flushing again, and this time not with excitement. “You fucker,” he hissed.

Yes, that’s this Harry.

“You know I won’t do that,” Draco went on.

Harry held his gaze for a moment longer, then dipped his head. Draco would remember the moment before the submission later, when Harry had betrayed him, but for right now the apology was important. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, and managed to make it sound sullen but sincere. “Still resentful that you found me out so easily, I suppose.”

For a few tense moments, Draco lay regarding him like a coiled snake. Then he nodded, though his mouth didn’t smooth out into a smile. “It was inevitable. You’re not a natural actor, you know.”

Harry simply shrugged, whilst inside his buried self shrieked with mad laughter. As long as he’s looking in that direction, he’s never going to find anything out. It’s the persona of Brian I played badly, not every part in general.

“And I won’t betray you,” Draco said, kissing him on the cheek this time. “We’ll wait until the moment when we can announce that Draco Malfoy was dating Harry Potter under their noses all along. And then—what a reaction, Harry!” His voice turned soft with enthusiasm. “Can’t you just see it?”

Oh, yes. Draco might make that announcement later if he would, though Harry doubted he’d publicly choose to display how easily he’d been fooled. Harry would by then have the protection of his wards and his lies bound around him, and he’d have managed to subdue what he felt for Draco. The pounding of his heart and the sweat creeping along the nape of his neck, beneath his hair, told him of the panic and the pain he was keeping at bay, the yearning to collapse into Draco’s arms which he had to counter with hard practicality.

“I can,” he said, and then put his arms around Draco and gave him a long kiss good-bye, a little too wet, a little too strong, to begin sowing the suspicions that would tear them apart.

*

Draco lay still when Harry had left, his eyes closed. He knew something had happened between the first passionate moments when he’d been so certain he’d make Harry his and the time Harry left, once again expertly donning Brian’s face before he passed the door. But he had no idea what it might have been.

Some treading close to Harry’s buried secret? But Draco could not imagine that Harry would have created an elaborate edifice of lies simply to conceal a lack of courage. Someone that afraid wouldn’t have been able to leave his house. And Draco had seen that Harry still possessed nerve, and daring, and the ability to act quickly under curses.

Somehow Harry had lost confidence in himself whilst retaining enough confidence to become an actor and join in a wizarding community where he stood a good chance of being recognized for his magic and even date an old enemy. Draco had no idea how both things could be true at once, but he was sure they were, and sure they were connected, and sure that he could discover said connection in the end.

His mind lingered on certain memories of the time they’d just spent together, and Draco let them come. Sometimes he thought best like this, when he could put together random insights and snippets of conversation and let them form their own associations. At the moment, his mind best liked the sight of Harry’s wrist as he flicked his wand to Transfigure the color of his eyes, the angles of his face, and that stupid scar. Over and over again Draco watched the motion dance across the back of his eyelids, before he began to wonder what was special about it. His memory itself was balked, certain the motion was important, but unable to go further.

Yes, it resembled the Seeker’s catch Draco had seen Harry use before the Aurors left. But it was more than that. It was…

But no matter how Draco reached out for the association, it wouldn’t come, so he began listing adjectives to describe the motion instead. Confident, in that paradoxical way. Reminiscent of wanking, though Draco had never seen Harry do that. Strong. Practiced—

Draco’s eyes flew open. Yes, that it was it, practiced. Harry had quite often applied the Transfiguration spells to his eyes and face, then. How long had he been Brian? How many times had he changed his face and then slipped out of his house to walk among and socialize with the oblivious wizarding community?

Strange that his persona had crumbled the first time he’d tried it in intimate contact.

Draco smirked a little. Maybe it’s not that Harry’s a terrible actor. Maybe he just can’t resist me.

Satisfied that he had solved the little puzzle of that wrist motion, Draco sat up and opened his eyes briskly. He had a damage campaign to run, on two sides—persuading his father that his support for the rebellion of young artists was sincere and deep, and persuading his friends that this movement could benefit them too.

*

Mrs. Malfoy:

Your son now knows my real identity, but we have a problem on our hands. He wants to keep dating me. Your revealing that you know could only make him a little angrier than he already was at me for fooling him.

Of course, I am still sensible of the fact that you don’t want him dating me at all. I’ve come up with a plan that should snap me free of him inside the deadline you’ve proposed. Draco is seventy-five percent pure pride, and he’s persuaded that we share a deep and intimate connection. I’m going to pretend to cheat on him, and then let him catch me at it. That will cause an enormous wound to his pride and shatter his vision of me. It should be enough. I doubt he’ll ever mention my name in your hearing again, or at least it will be only to affix a curse to the end of it.

You’ve probably realized by now that the pathetic act I played in front of you was a lie. Therefore, you may ask, and with good reason, why you should trust me now. If you test the parchment of this letter, you’ll find that it’s Flourish and Blott’s Lie-Proof variety, often used for the more competitive exams in the Ministry. Everything I write now is true, and you would have seen the scrawled and stricken-out words if it wasn’t. Take all the time you need to research the properties of this parchment; I only ask that you reply to me on the same kind.

Harry Potter.

Harry signed with a flourish. His name, at the moment, didn’t belong to him; it belonged to the persona who had composed this letter, the tough, cold, committed man who’d lain in bed with Draco those last few moments. Harry could come close to admiring that name when he knew it wasn’t a weakling who bore it.

When he’d sent the letter off by owl, he stood in front of the mirror and critically examined his eyes, using various color charms to switch them to brown, then to gray, and then to hazel. Hazel it would be for his disguise tomorrow, he decided; it was a light, pleasing color, as unlike the intense shades of his or Brian’s eyes as possible, and Draco must not stand a chance of guessing that Harry was in the same room with him.

Even though “Brian” would apparently be standing him up, and would arrive late, flushed, and sweaty, with vague excuses for his behavior. Draco would wonder where he had been. Harry would refuse to answer, and become peeved if Draco persisted in his questioning. That would be the first trail laid down that Draco could follow to discover Harry’s supposed infidelity to him.

But because Harry did want to help the rebellion a little if he could and keep an eye on the meeting in case they were raided by Counterstrike or the Aurors, he would be on the stage itself.

Or Elizabeth Gouldier, bisexual half-blood woman living in the Muggle world and passionate supporter of all kinds of sexual freedom, would be.

Harry hummed under his breath as he selected and then discarded several different sets of robes. The persona of Elizabeth was emerging in his mind, and her tastes in clothing developed even as she did. Harry finally settled on a set of plain, sandy robes that would suit Elizabeth’s preference for straightforward dealing. He put them on and faced the mirror again.

Four softly chanted spells later, and Harry’s body wavered as his center of gravity shifted. The skin of his chest puckered and stretched, fat flowing into newly created hollows just above his ribs, and he had breasts. His hair turned softer and finer, wispy black strands with the consistency and texture of Draco’s, and dropped into a style that covered his scar. Elizabeth’s features were broader than Harry’s, less attractive, except for her mouth, which Harry had sculpted into a thick pair of lips so red it looked as if she were wearing Muggle cosmetics.

Harry smiled at his new reflection and swung into the series of spells that would lighten and lift his voice, widen his hips, strengthen his thighs. His groin he left untouched, but a complicated charm ensured that it would look perfectly smooth and flat to anyone who insisted on looking, and that most people wouldn’t be all that interested in paying attention, anyway. Harry was confident with the spells that grew his breasts when he passed as a woman—men had nipples and the remnants of mammary glands, too—but the complicated Transfiguration that would change his inner organs and genitals was one he’d never mastered, given everything else he had to study. He could remain woman above and man below, and as long as he took care with his clothing and the way he moved, he had no trouble.

Besides, what did people see when they looked at a woman or a man? Most times, not the person. They saw the way the man or woman moved, talked, gestured, sat; the lifting and lowering of eyes; the ingrained caution that women showed when alone in the presence of a strong man or walking after dark. Give them what they expected, imitate well, and people were usually more satisfied with the surface than the real thing.

Harry ought to know.

He felt a dizzy rush of exhilaration that was partially an emotion Elizabeth would feel, but also partially his own. How could he ever give this up? This was art; it was haven and refuge; it was pleasure and home.

And Draco, like anyone else, would want to set boundaries on it. He would be horrified, or disgusted, or worried, like Hermione, that Harry was losing himself; or, if he wasn’t, he would still insist that Harry adopt a certain personality at certain times, rather than whatever personality suited the occasion. Would he really want to take hundreds of people to bed, or a man capable of containing hundreds of people? Harry didn’t think so. Draco probably wouldn’t have been happy if he’d known there were three versions of Harry Potter in bed with him that afternoon, the weak one and the open one that enjoyed their emotional connection and the cold one that had begun the first steps in rejecting him.

It wasn’t something Harry could see himself giving up. He would lose not just a source of income if he closed Metamorphosis, but the keenest joy in his life.

And then he laughed, and stopped being any version of Harry Potter, and turned into Elizabeth.

*

Draco sat down cautiously on one chair in the circle of thirty or thirty-five within the old manor house. A quick Vanishing spell got rid of most of the dust, at last; a muttered Reparo took care of the chair’s tendency to creak alarmingly beneath him.

He hadn’t managed to persuade Pansy to come with him, but she had agreed, reluctantly, to attend the next pro-gay play or project that Draco managed to argue Nusante into. She didn’t have much reason to support this cause as a cause, Draco considered. On the other hand, Draco was her friend, and she had to consider that relaxing standards in pure-blood society would benefit her, too, in the future, enabling her to meet more openly with her Muggle lover.

If she can see that, and she’s not even gay, why can’t Harry? Sure, he wants to hide now, but he’ll want what we could have together as partners more.

Speaking of which, where was Harry? Draco glanced around the room twice, and still couldn’t see him, only chattering young witches and wizards who wore robes in deliberately outrageous colors and gave the cobbled-together platform in the front of the room that would serve as a stage covert glances. Harry had better not have stood him up. Draco would come to events like these if they would benefit him in the long run, but not alone, particularly not when the Prophet had made such a big story of his love affair with Brian.

A witch stepped onto the stage, smiling out at the crowd. Draco gave her an uninterested glance. She wasn’t someone he found attractive; the unfortunate cow had been born with lips too large and breasts smaller than Draco liked to feel pressing against his chest when he fucked a woman. And she wore robes not at all flattering to her figure. Draco had little patience with lesbians who didn’t know how to dress. How did they expect to catch the eye of a pure-blood woman accustomed to beauty if they did that?

“Good afternoon,” the woman began in a ringing voice, which, for all its lightness—she had a rather good soprano—managed to fill up the room. “My name is Elizabeth Gouldier, and I’m a backer of this new movement.” Her hazel eyes flashed as she looked around the room, her head swinging wildly, and Draco had no doubt her enthusiasm was unfeigned. “I’ve been waiting for something like this for a long, long time. If you’ll sit down, then I’ll tell you how we can manage to keep from getting overwhelmed in the first few weeks.”

People scrambled generally to settle into their chairs. Draco looked around again, and this time couldn’t help the frown that twisted his lips, though he blanked his face immediately afterwards. No, Harry wasn’t there. Well, perhaps he had encountered some importuning from his friends to spend the afternoon with them. He would hardly have been able to explain that he was expected as Draco Malfoy’s date at a secret rally for the rebellion.

Draco smiled at the image that presented itself to him, but his amusement damped into irritation quickly when he realized exactly how easily Harry could have avoided a situation like that—if he had been willing to come out as himself and take a public stand at Draco’s side.

Gouldier said, “Thank you. Now, I’ve lived most of the last ten years in the Muggle world, and paid some attention to how gay and lesbian Muggles conducted their affairs.” She paused to share in the laugh that went around the room. “An unfortunate choice of words, perhaps,” she continued. “But there’s a variety of tactics they used, and which we also can.”

Draco looked over his shoulder. No door opening there; no Harry staggering in to apologize for his lateness. Draco curled his fingers into his palms, and wondered if Harry had perhaps been caught by someone who recognized his disguise and wanted to show him exactly what they thought of men who kissed other men in the middle of Diagon Alley.

The horrified, outraged coverage of Nusante’s play in the Daily Prophet, which had pleased Draco because it had made his father stare at him with burning eyes all morning, suddenly seemed dangerous.

Gouldier was talking about marches and protests, literature and pamphlets and ways to teach people that being gay wasn’t vastly different from the more “conventional” sexual practices that many wizards indulged in. Draco didn’t pay much attention. He would only contribute money for now, anyway, since he could get all the notoriety he needed for doing so and not as much danger. Worry and anger, alternating and mixing together, consumed him, as he wondered what might have befallen Harry.

He had forgotten the bad part of dating someone he genuinely liked and was attracted to: it left him vulnerable to sudden and unexpected blows from any direction.

Gouldier talked for nearly half-an-hour, finishing to applause that rang like her voice. She bowed and slipped from the stage, and Nusante stood to talk about the ways in which artists could contribute to the movement. Draco clenched the sides of the chair to keep himself sitting still. It wouldn’t look good if he stood now and walked away from the man he was sponsoring, but God damn it, he wanted to know where Harry was.

The door of the room opened at last, perhaps a quarter of the way into Nusante’s speech, and Harry hurried in in his Brian disguise, flashing embarrassed smiles at everyone who turned to stare. He pulled the door quietly shut and flopped down in the seat next to Draco, panting. His hair was mussed, and there was a flush on his cheeks, as if he had been flying. Draco stirred restlessly. He hadn’t thought Harry would risk it, not when Brian wasn’t known as a flyer and Harry Potter was supposedly staying inside his house. Did he fly often? Draco didn’t know, and he wanted to.

More than that, though, he wanted Harry to take that stupid disguise off. He hadn’t anticipated how much seeing his lover with blue eyes would bother him, after Harry had worn green ones when they’d talked with partial honesty yesterday.

“Where have you been?” he hissed into Harry’s ear.

Harry blinked and gave Draco a startled look, as though he couldn’t comprehend his lateness would have been a problem. Then he flushed, looked at his hands, and muttered, “Out.” He rearranged the collar of his robes and cleared his throat, pretending to listen intently to what Nusante said.

Draco’s gaze followed the motions of his fingers. There was a dark mark on the side of Harry’s neck, the shadow of a bruise perhaps.

Or lips.

Draco drew in a harsh breath. The image that struck him was vivid and hurtful: Harry in the arms of another man, tilting his head back, baring his throat. Perhaps he’d even let that lover see his real face.

Draco had nothing to give his suspicions ground, and there might well be a better explanation. But now he was struggling with another slew of emotions he hadn’t expected to feel around Harry Potter, and he didn’t like the sensation that he might soon lose his footing altogether.

*

Harry watched Draco’s reaction from beneath lowered lashes. Draco was hiding it well; Harry doubted anyone who glanced at them would notice anything amiss. But he had one corner of his lip caught firmly between his teeth, and a shutter had fallen somewhere behind the surface of those expressive gray eyes, trapping some of his emotions beneath.

Harry concealed a smile. He was the cool bastard Harry Potter right now, and this was exactly what the bastard wanted to happen.

Even better, he had been close to Draco as Elizabeth for thirty minutes and Draco hadn’t looked twice. No, he really didn’t think Harry had any acting ability, and Elizabeth’s magical signature was so different from Harry’s that he had no reason to suspect her. Harry would be able to keep up the Metamorphosis business after this and didn’t need to worry, even if he encountered Draco as part of the social circles his personas moved in.

He was debating a few needling words in Draco’s general direction when he felt a sensation like a cool finger jabbing him in the chest. He immediately stiffened. The sensation was the one that had awakened him from Draco’s sleeping charm yesterday—the spell that let him know Aurors were near by sensing the fabric of their robes.

“Harry?” Draco, damn him, had noticed the small movement, and his hand came over to cover Harry’s shoulder, warm and distracting.

And then radiance like sheet lightning cut through the doors of the house, and consumed Harry—and, from the shrieks, others—in terrible pain.

Chapter 22.

Comments

[deathxsnoosnoo.livejournal.com]

damn Harry for not realizing that his personas could not possess any characteristics or strengths if his real self didn't possess them, too. the fact that he has multiple 'Harry' personas only proves that. i really want to whisper the truth into Draco's ear and give him a push so he can anticipate, if not prevent, Harry's desperate attempts to drive them apart.

very well done.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

He's far too used to seeing them as separate from himself. It's what makes him a good actor.

Draco does realize the cheating is likely to be a trick, but he doesn't really comprehend why Harry would want to push him away, so he's uncertain.