The Bet
Chapter XXII - The Masquerade
Harry/Draco, Harry/OMC, Harry/OFC, Draco/OFC, Seamus/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Luna
R/NC-17 | 16,578 words | 2004-present
Beta: IcyAurora and Michelle
Summary:AU. Post-war. It all started with a little bet. Draco Malfoy has never been one to back down from a perfectly do-able bet. But when that bet involves Harry Potter? Draco is realising that this bet is not as cut and dry as it seems, nor as easy...
Notes: Written before HBP and DH.
Russian help by Sherpa and Nataly
German help by Andy
A THOUSAND thanks to
them; they're awesome!
*** There are some little bits of Russian and German
later in this chapter. If you want to find out the translation
right away, instead of waiting until the end or scrolling down, you
can click on the superscript number, and it will take you straight
to the translation.
***
That same Friday night, now freshly washed after Quidditch warm-ups
and his adventure tromping around the perpetually damp woods looking
for Harry, Draco dressed in the nicest charcoal cashmere he had; bottomed
in black trousers, and covered in a water-proof black cloak of the
finest wool.
He crossed to the dormitory next door, knocking on the door to request
entrance. Tracey opened the door and exclaimed, “Whoa, Draco
baby, you’re looking nice tonight. Got plans with Raven?”
Draco stepped forward into Tracey’s personal space and smirked
knowingly down at her. “Why Tracey, I didn’t know you
harboured such feelings for me.” He placed two fingers under
her chin and kissed her on the cheek. “We had a fun time once,
didn’t we? Back when we were sixteen?”
She smiled at him and rolled her eyes. “Yes. We kissed. Once,
Drake. During a game of unrestricted ‘Spin the Wand’. It
was very long and nice, if I remember correctly. Pansy was pissed.
And I remember that you quit when your spin landed on Crabbe,” she
snickered.
He wrinkled his nose. “Why was he even playing? How gross. And
I hate being called anything but Draco, you know that. How long have
we known each other?”
“Too long. But you let Raven call you ‘Drake’. And ‘Dray’.”
“Yes, but I also let her manipulate me. And you had your chance.”
“Ooh, letting on your weaknesses, Draco. Talk about breaking
out of your Slytherin shell.”
“Hush up, Davies.” He stepped past her. “Is Raven
here?”
“Yes, baby. Right here.” Raven stepped around the curve
in the stairs, revealing herself.
Draco smiled up at her. “Hey. Would you like to go out tonight?”
“Where are we going? You’ve caught me off-guard. I’m
not dressed.”
“Then take a moment. But dress warm. We’re going to Manchester.”
Raven smiled brilliantly. “Give me fifteen minutes.” And
she disappeared up the stairs.
Tracey closed the door. “Draco, you are, by far, the strangest
person I know.”
“Oh? How is that, Davies?”
“I’m not sure. You just are.” Tracey raised a knowledgeable
eyebrow and vanished into the lounge.
Draco shook his head at the woman’s oddity, and patiently waited
a few more minutes for Raven to arrive.
When she did, he was almost floored; rooted to the spot. Her hair
was piled in dark ringlets at the back of her head and cascading down
her back. She was wearing a high collared shirt-jacket in heavy dark
red jacquard over a matching skirt that dropped down to her ankles.
The sleeves of the jacket were long, flaring out only slightly at her
knuckles, and the skirt swirled around her old-fashioned boots. Draped
over her elbows was a heavy black shawl.
“My dear, you look absolutely stunning.”
Raven smiled down at Draco, the interesting dark colour around her
eyes sparkling in the dim light.
“Thank you.” She stepped off the last stair. She shook
her head and her ringlets let out swirls of sparkles into the air around
her. “I’m assuming we’re going to a Wizarding restaurant.
Otherwise, my hair might give us away.”
Fingering a ringlet next to her face, Draco smirked. “I wouldn’t
care either way.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I don’t
know how Muggles live with out magic. It must take them hours to look
even a fraction as beautiful as you do.”
Smiling coyly, Raven said, “Shall we?”
“We’ll be Apparating under the train tracks that run over
Duke Street, and from there, we’re walking to Albert’s
Shed. It’s a Muggle restaurant at the centre of the Castlefield
canal basin.”
“A Muggle restaurant? Well, should I un-charm my hair?”
“No, no. Leave it. I’d like to think you could charm us
into a free meal.”
Raven laughed. “Alright. Let’s go,” She looped her
arm through his, and using side-Apparition, Draco Apparated them straight
away.
They arrived under the tracks just as a train was passing overhead.
Raven jumped and huddled closer to Draco, neither of them expecting
the sound.
“It’s alright,” Draco whispered reassuringly.
It was drizzling in Manchester, like it was in most of the United
Kingdom in October. Draco conjured an oversized umbrella, holding it
over the both of them and escorting Raven south towards Castle Street.
As the train passed, it got suddenly quiet, but soon, other sounds
of the Muggle world permeated the atmosphere. Distant sirens, honking,
the wet ‘shhh’ of many cars passing by on wet concrete
and cobblestone, and the occasional dog bark were all heard.
“How can Muggles stand to live with so much noise?” Raven
asked.
“I haven’t a clue. Regardless of some of its rather unpleasant
memories, I’d take the quietness of the Manor any day. Although
the crash of the Irish Sea is nice, isn’t it?”
“Mmm,” Raven agreed quietly. “Tell me, Drake, how’d
you learn of this place?”
“Research, love. I wanted to take you out; to somewhere other
than Celestine’s, though bless him for being such a wonderful
young entrepreneur. I went to Gringott’s after practice one night,
acquired the proper British pounds, and then came here to Manchester
to find some place to take you.”
“That’s awfully sweet of you.”
“Here we are.”
They came across a lovely stone courtyard, with sparkling lights shining
brightly off the water on the ground and in the air. Draco guided Raven
towards a brick building which had large bay windows on both the lower
and upper levels.
Entering Albert’s Shed, they approached the maitre d’ and
announced reservations for two under the name “Malfoy”.
They were escorted right away to a table in the corner, given a wine
list and menus and told their waiter would be with them shortly. Almost
immediately after that, their water goblets were filled, and a basket
of warm bread was placed on their table.
Raven raised an eyebrow, removing the shawl from her shoulders and
settling into her cushioned chair. “Excellent service.”
“Indeed. Hmm…should we order wine?” asked Draco,
picking up the wine menu from the table.
“Draco, you know I don’t like wine. Didn’t we have
this conversation just two or three weeks ago?”
He frowned. “Yes. You wanted grape juice with dinner.”
“Wine’s made from grapes too, you know!”
Draco didn’t rise to the bait. “Sometimes you are just
so uncultured; it makes me wonder why I find you so attractive.”
Raven’s jaw dropped. “Take that back, Draco Malfoy. I
will not tolerate being belittled by the likes of you.”
“Oh, love, you know I’m only teasing. I’m ordering
a wine. You can have what ever it is you’d like.”
“Do you know what you’re eating?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Then why order wine? You can’t mix whatever food you
like with whatever wine you like, you know.”
“I know. But if I choose a wine now, it’ll limit my options
to choose between food palates. It makes looking at the menu easier.”
Raven just rolled her eyes. Looking at the large array of menu items,
she asked as if she hadn’t a care in the world, “So, are
you going to tell me what this dinner is all about, or shall I guess?”
Draco looked up. “Excuse me?”
Raven locked gazes with the man across from her. “Think about
who you’re talking to, Draco. Probably one of the most blatantly
manipulative Dark Spies of this age. I can read people like an open
book that’s reading itself out loud. What’s bothering you?”
“What makes you think something’s bothering me? I just
wanted to take you out. We’ve never really gone out before. I
set this up days ago.”
Raven studied him a moment before nodding. “Alright. Then what’s
bothering you?”
“I told you nothing’s bothering me. Except your insistence
that something is.”
Raven continued to look at Draco. He broke a minute later.
“Okay, fine. Harry quit the team this afternoon.”
Raven blinked in shock. “What?”
“Yes, he just walked off the pitch.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Harry wouldn’t—he
loves the game too much-”
“That’s what I thought. But apparently Chaikovsky pushed
him too far.”
“Wait, Chaikovsky? What did he do? Draco, tell me what
happened from the beginning.”
Draco opened his mouth to speak, but the waiter appeared. “Good
evening. My name is John and I shall be your server for this evening.
Can I offer to get you some refreshments?”
“Water’s fine for me,” said Raven, easily dismissing
the waiter, wanting to hear what was going on with Harry. “Oh,
could I have some wedges of lemon, though?”
“Certainly.” John’s brow creased for a moment at
Raven when he glanced at her hair before turning congenially to Draco. “And
for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the Pinot Noir Vidal Estate, and we’ll
have garlic bread with mozzarella for an appetiser.”
“Excellent choice, sir. That vintage only comes per bottle.
Is that satisfactory?”
“Yes.”
John nodded. “I will return momentarily with your drinks.”
As soon as the waiter was out of hearing range, Raven leaned forward
and whispered, “Now tell me, what the hell happened?”
“Chaikovsky announced the players for the next game this afternoon.”
Raven sat back. “Let me guess, the jerk-off didn’t place
you.”
“No, he didn’t. But it was as I expected. Harry had all
the faith in the world that Chaikovsky would place me in the line-up,
but I wasn’t really surprised that he let his personal feelings
get in the way of giving me a chance.” Draco closed the menu
and placed it on the edge of the table. “Do you know what you
want?”
Raven shook her head briefly before scanning the menu quickly and
making a choice, placing her menu atop Draco’s.
“I imagine Harry was right pissed off, wasn’t he?” The
waiter arrived with Draco’s wine and Raven’s lemon wedges.
“Yes, he was,” Draco replied, taking the glass of wine
their server had poured, inhaling the rich berry and oak scent before
sipping. He nodded towards the waiter with a satisfactory smile on
his face before gesturing to Raven to give John her order.
“I’ll have the king prawn linguine, please.” John
nodded and turned to Draco.
“I’ll have the forestiere steak, 8 ounce fillet, with
new potatoes and a mixed leaf salad. Creamy Italian dressing, if you
have it.”
“Yes, we do. Shall that be all?” Raven and Draco nodded,
and John again looked at Raven’s hair. “I will bring your
appetiser shortly.”
Draco smiled. “I do believe our waiter is either smitten with
you, or has at least noticed your otherworldly beauty,” he said
after John had departed.
Despite herself, Raven blushed. “Otherworldly, indeed. It still
amazes me how cultured Muggles can be. Other than the obvious Muggleness
of it all, I would say we were in a refined Wizard restaurant.”
Draco glanced around to make sure the patrons nearby didn’t
catch on to Raven’s words. “We accepted them long ago,
Raven.”
“Yes, but we spend no time among them, either.” She paused,
gazing at Draco calculatingly. “I don’t think I’ve
ever seen you so refined.”
“Excuse me? I’m as well-bred as they come,” Draco
retorted.
“Yes, but we’ve never been out. I’ve never known
you this way, not really. There wasn’t much time for it during
the war, and before that, you were a spoilt brat.”
“Hey!”
“It’s true. Not much refinery to be had, being a student
at Hogwarts, wearing those awful robes, and trudging around Hogsmeade,
which isn’t the most refined place, I might add.”
“I, my dear, have always been refined. You just never
paid enough attention.”
“I believe I’ve paid plenty of attention to you, Draco.”
“Do you want to know about this afternoon or not?” Draco
asked, effectively rerouting the vein of conversation, just as John
returned with their appetiser.
Raven reached forward, slicing a chunk off and nibbling on it. “Of
course. Go on. What happened after Chaikovsky pissed Harry off?”
“Harry effectively bit Chaikovsky’s head off. I, of course,
acted cool and calm. Harry refused to play or even practice unless
Chaikovsky changed his mind. When he didn’t, Harry stormed off
the pitch. Then Chaikovsky wanted to talk to me, so he sent everyone
else off to practice on their own.” Draco took his own chunk
of garlic bread.
“What did he say?”
“Basically that he wants me to stop influencing Harry.”
“Influencing Harry? How?”
“He thinks our friendship is what’s driving Harry’s
decision-making lately.” Taking a sip of wine, Draco continued. “I
told him it was utter bullshit, and that if Harry’s being influenced
by me it’s of his own choosing, not because of anything I’ve
done or said. He pretty much accused me of wanting Harry for myself.
And I know he meant in the ‘you want to fuck Harry’ kind
of way.”
“So he’s on to you.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he suspects Harry of foul play?”
“No, I think he thinks it’s totally on my part. He told
me that he thinks Harry knows I like him in that way—which I
didn’t confirm or deny, by the way—and that that was the
reason Harry was still friends with me; why he was so nice. Because
Harry doesn’t want to hurt my feelings or some such rubbish.” He
took a bite of bread.
“Didn’t Weasley tell you to watch out for him?”
Draco nodded, and swallowed the spongy bread in his mouth. “Yes.
But I told him I can handle Chaikovsky, and I can.”
“I don’t doubt you, Draco. But, perhaps you should be
slightly more cautious. If the knowledge of you and Harry becomes public…not
even you can out-duck the consequences.”
“I will not be scared away from Harry by some silly little Ravenclaw
Quidditch Captain who has a phobia of his boyfriend fraternising with
other people.”
Raven tipped her head at him as she sat back and sipped her water
with lemon. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Draco swallowed his last mouthful of bread. “Enough of that
rubbish. What’s going on with your art? I haven’t heard
anything as of late.”
“I’ve really only been taking pictures lately.”
“No nudes I need to hex?”
Raven rolled her eyes. “Unless you count Daphne and Tracey,
no. Mandy’s even thought about it.”
“Brocklehurst? Interesting.” Draco nodded. “So no
more painting then? I liked your paintings. Much more beautiful than
all those portraits at Hogwarts.”
Raven shrugged. “I’ve gotten rather involved in Muggle
photography. Originally, it was just to have figure reference photos
that didn’t move, but I quite like it on its own too. It’s
a challenge. A lot of the pictures don’t come out, so there’s
a lot of wasted film and prints. The books I bought aren’t nearly informational
enough. And, I don’t have the proper lighting equipment either,
according to the books. I’ve had to go to London and buy all
sorts of chemicals and paper and film, just to get it all to work properly.”
“Would you like me to buy you some lighting materials?” Draco
asked, just as John appeared with their food.
Raven murmured her thanks as her pasta was placed in front of her. “No.
It wouldn’t matter. They’ll need that ekeltricity, or whatever
it is the Muggles call it.”
Draco cast Raven a stern glare, glancing at John’s reaction.
Raven seemed not to notice her lack of discreetness, happily digging
into her pasta. John’s face reddened under Draco’s scrutiny,
trying to keep the confusion off his face and averting his eyes. As
John straightened from placing Draco’s steak in front of the
blond, he cleared his throat and murmured, “It’s electricity,
ma’am.”
Raven looked up and smiled, her ringlets twirling and sending sparkles
every which way. “Thank you, John.”
John nodded, his flush receding. “Do you need anything else?”
Raven continued smiling brilliantly. “No thank you, John. The
linguini is exquisite. Give my compliments to the chef.”
John gave them both a short nod, staring a little mesmerized at Raven.
Then he took his tray and stand and departed. Draco turned on Raven.
“Forget what I said about you being uncultured, that was bloody
brilliant!” he said in an excited whisper. “I wonder if
he thinks we’re foreign.” He picked up his fork and knife,
and started cutting his steak into small pieces.
“I certainly hope not. Besides, we’re British. We sound
just like him, don’t we?”
Draco shrugged, placing a piece of the meat in his mouth. He hummed
momentarily in pleasure, but only loud enough for Raven to hear. “Yes,
but not knowing what ‘electricity’ is—that’s
how he said it, right?—that was enough to put his radar on alert
for something wrong. Actually, I’m surprised you knew his name.
You kept blowing him off before.”
“I’m observant, Draco. Have you forgotten that?”
“No, no. How could I?”
“You really should be too. You seem so…different lately.”
Draco paused mid-chew to look at Raven oddly before swallowing and
asking, “Define ‘different’.”
“I’m not sure. You’ve been…more in tune with
your feelings, maybe? Less snarky and you don’t sneer as much.
You just don’t feel like you used to. I’m not saying it’s
a bad thing, it’s just different.”
“Well, I’m not really the same person I was even a month
ago, Raven.”
“I know. You still hated Harry a month ago.”
“I didn’t hate him. I still wanted to hate
him; I just couldn’t admit that I didn’t anymore.”
“See? And now you can admit things too.”
Draco contemplated his salad and said, “I thought you liked
me the way I was. You said you fell in love with me then.”
“I did. And I still do love you. That’s never changed.
We just have. Together. It wasn’t like I was all excited about
Muggles and Harry a few years ago. And since then, we’ve learned
more about Harry, learned to work with Muggles, and been given back
our wands and a chance to live freely again.” Raven stuck a forkful
of pasta and shrimp into her mouth.
Draco finished his salad and said, “I think I fell in love with
you in Sanctuary.”
Raven looked up. “Oh?”
Draco nodded before starting on his potatoes. “Yes. You were there,
Raven. I know Blaise was too, but there isn’t a time I can remember
of those six months that you weren’t by my side, even if you
were writing or drawing or crying. I tried to be there for you, but
I couldn’t. I was weak, and you were strong. You still are.”
“Draco…” Raven whispered.
But Draco kept on talking, eyes intent on his plate, moving his potatoes
and remaining steak around with his fork. “And that’s why
it hurts when I think about how I feel about Harry now. I didn’t
think I could ever feel this way about someone other than you,
even after Pansy died. I loved her, but not like this. And I don’t
know what to do about it, because I can’t just ignore my feelings
anymore.” He stabbed a potato and bit out, “I feel fucking
pathetic.”
“Draco, love, you are not pathetic. There’s absolutely
nothing wrong with how you’re feeling. It’s hardly pathetic.
You only want to think it’s pathetic because of your father’s
lingering influence. But I don’t love you any less for loving
Harry, and wanting to be with him.”
“But it’s not right, Raven. I shouldn’t want
him so much, should I?” he said in a heated whisper. “Chaikovsky’s
right; I do want him for myself. But how is that fair to Harry?
I’m not that different, Raven. I want him, and I’ll have
him. Forever, if I can.”
Raven sat back slowly, watching Draco finish up his supper, scrutinising
what he just confessed to her. It was going perfectly, her plan, and
it had better continue going that way. Starting back on her meal, she
thanked whatever Lord was out there that her plan left plenty of room
for the unknown and the uncontrollable.
Even though there are still plenty of obstacles to overcome, I
believe this will work. It has to work. If it doesn’t…then
I don’t know how I’m going to contain the chaos of the
aftermath that’s sure to follow.
They finished the rest of their meal in silence, Draco sitting back
and gulping the rest of his wine, pouring another glass, and drinking
that quickly too. Raven sipped her water, unsure of what to say. John
came over and removed their plates.
“Would you like to see a dessert menu?” he asked.
Raven smiled warmly across the table at Draco. “Yes, I think
so.”
Draco sat back up as John departed. “I’m sorry I’ve
brought down the mood, love. This was supposed to be a nice night out.”
“And it has been, Draco. Truly. I’m enjoying myself. I’m
just worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.” John came and gave them each a dessert
menu, pausing to fill up Raven’s water.
“What do you recommend, John?” Raven asked sweetly, looking
up at their server with a sly look on her face. Draco watched her,
amused.
John swallowed, looking at the girl in either nervousness or awe. “The
Albert’s Ice Cream Sundae is good, especially if you’d
like to share.”
Raven looked down at her menu, reading the description of the sundae,
adding more swirls of sparkles to the air around her head. “Hmm…yes,
that sounds lovely. Draco?”
The blond nodded. “Yes, I agree. The sundae. With two spoons.”
John smiled, looking mainly at Raven. “I’ll make it myself.” And
he left.
“I was right,” Draco declared. “He’s smitten
with you.”
“Oh, who wouldn’t be? Regardless of the sparkles and the
charming smile.”
“Yes, I believe you’ve dazzled him senseless, love.”
“Good. Perhaps he won’t charge us.”
They laughed; glad to have the conversation back on lighter terms.
Shortly after, the sundae arrived, and the two took to the task of
tackling it. Raven was particular about the raspberries, chocolate
ice cream, chocolate sauce and whipped cream, while Draco stole the
strawberries and blackberries with the vanilla ice cream, enjoying
the crunchy bits of marzipan biscuits mixed in. They finished the delicacy,
smirking and giggling, fighting over the last of the sauce, ice cream
and berries. John came by with their check.
“I take it you liked it?” the waiter asked.
“Oh yes,” Raven half moaned, fluttering her eyes closed
and smiling predatorily up at the auburn-haired, brown-eyed young man. “Very.” She
licked her lips slowly.
Again, John flushed, but for different reason, Draco was sure. He
looked quickly at the bill and counted out the proper number of bills
and then some, slipping them inside the case and winking at John as
he handed it back. “Keep the change.”
John smiled brilliantly at Draco, and left them to take their leave.
Draco stood, moving around the table to escort Raven out of her chair,
and stepping behind her to place the shawl more securely around her
shoulders.
“It looked like your sparkly charm worked,” Draco whispered
in her ear. “He didn’t charge us for the dessert.”
“Trying to win points with me, I’m sure,” Raven
said demurely back, leading the way out of the restaurant. “Even
though it’s quite clear that I’m already taken.” Draco
chuckled and picked up their umbrella at the host’s station.
Again, they were back in the rain, and they walked even more quickly
across the courtyard and down the cobblestone street to the train bridge.
Once there, Draco secured an arm around Raven’s waist, pulling
her to him. He vanished the umbrella and took out his wand to Apparate
them home.
“I think your charm worked on more than just John tonight,” he
said, before kissing her deeply. She tasted of sweet raspberries and
chocolate.
~~~~~
Harry was happily spending most of Saturday on his stomach in his
bed. He was comfortable, cosily warm, and just plain didn’t want
to move. He didn’t care that he had homework to finish, or research
to do on Chinese symbols, or that his stomach was starting to protest
to a lack of food for nearly twelve hours; he didn’t really care
about much at the moment, and he was quite happy to keep it that way.
Hiding beneath his burgundy duvet, he whispered ‘Tempus’ and
listened while his Snitch-clock told him it was a quarter to noon.
Yep, staying in bed was a healthy option today.
Through his hazy dozing, Harry thought he heard the click of his door
opening, and someone padding into the room. There was a soft clink
as something was put on his bedside table and then a nice, warm, heavy
weight as someone sat down next to him on the bed, making his prone
form roll slightly towards the dip in the mattress. Harry didn’t
move to acknowledge the person.
This someone didn’t talk, but Harry had reason to believe it
was female. Hermione or Ginny, perhaps? A hand moved the covers down
from around Harry’s head, and he pretended to sleep; unmoving
and slowly breathing. The hand was warm as it ran through Harry’s
mop of hair, and then ran down his cheek. The gesture made Harry puzzle
as to who it was sitting next to him, but he didn’t let it show.
Then it felt as though this person, who now definitely smelled
like a girl, leaned over him, bracing a hand on the other side of his
body. Warm breath tickled his ear and he fought not to twitch.
That was before his ear drum was assaulted with a loud yell.
Harry immediately tried to sit up, thrashing in his blankets, and
rolling over, only entangling himself more. “Okay! I’m
bloody up!” he yelled back, blinking in the bright, late morning
light coming through his windows. Once his eyes adjusted to the much
brighter atmosphere, he realised who the destroyer of his safe, warm
haven was.
“Malfoy, you smell like a girl,” Harry groaned, trying
to tug the covers out from underneath him and go into hiding again.
Draco smiled knowingly down at him. “Well, Potter, that’s
because I’ve spent the last twelve hours in the company of one,” he
gestured to the other side of the bed.
Harry followed the gesture to see Raven standing next to the window,
wearing tight black trousers and a red sweater. She smiled and waved
at him.
Harry groaned again, and renewed his efforts to hide. Raven leaped
on him, straddling his waist and forcing him to prop himself back on
his elbows.
“I hate you. Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.” Harry muttered,
glowering up at Raven, who had him effectively trapped in his own bed.
The girl on top of him leaned down and pressed her lips against his,
startling him into submission. By the time she pulled away, Harry was
ruby-lipped and panting. “What was that for? I have a boyfriend,” he
said, trying to wiggle himself out from under her, and hoping she wouldn’t
notice his sudden half-hard-on.
Raven sat back, stopping his hips from their movement. Harry froze. “Really?” she
said. “From the way Draco put it, you had such a big, public fight
with him yesterday that I was certain you guys broke up.” She
arched an eyebrow at him.
Harry fell back, letting out an exhausted sigh. “No, we didn’t, Draco,
thank you very much. I’m just mad at him, okay? Now will you
two let me go back to bed?” He tried tugging on the duvet trapped
between him and Raven.
Draco leaned into Harry’s face. “I know that Potter. And
so does Raven. She was just trying to get your attention.”
“Well a kiss sure beats yelling in my fucking ear. That really
hurt, you know.”
Draco smiled. “I know. I also knew you weren’t really
asleep. Your eyes were moving too much.”
“I could have been having a nice dream, you know.”
“Bollocks. Besides, that doesn’t matter. You being a big
lump of flesh all day does. I’m happy that you seemed to find
your way back to civilization, though.”
Harry kept Draco’s gaze. “Thank you for leaving me alone
when I asked you to.” Harry was hoping Draco got the double entendre.
He didn’t.
Raven looked puzzled. “Have I missed something?”
Draco sat back. “I actually found Harry last night, after he
disappeared. He was at the cove. He asked me to leave him alone for
right then, so I did.” He looked at Harry again. “Now is
not then. You’re getting up, Potter, whether you like it or not.”
Harry grabbed his second pillow and pulled it over his head. “Like
I said,” came his muffled voice, “hate.”
“Harry, stop being so difficult,” said Raven, right before
her fingers attacked his sides. Harry yelled, bucking and squirming
and trying to get the blasted woman off of him. She just giggled and
got under his arms, while Draco sat by and looked smug.
“D-damn you, Malfoy!” Harry managed.
“Moi? What did I do?”
“You let this—this monster into my room!”
“It was her idea, Harry. Now stop struggling. Your breakfast
has nearly gone cold.”
Harry finally managed to playfully push Raven off of him and to the
side, making a surprise lunge in the opposite direction and tackling
Draco off the bed and onto the hardwood floor.
“Ow! Potter, you asshole!” Draco lay prone, Harry fully
on top of him, and the bed sheets tangled up around them. “I’m
getting really tired of you tackling me to this bloody hardwood floor.”
“That’s what you get, Malfoy,” Harry snarled
softly. “I said I was up.” He pressed down
hard on the blonde’s wrists beneath him, pushing himself up and
off of his friend.
Raven sat cross-legged on the bed, watching the boys with much amusement.
Harry stood and turned to his breakfast tray sitting on the bedside
table.
“It’s a scone. And milk. How could it get cold?” Harry
muttered, reaching forward and grabbing the sweet bread from the tray,
biting off a corner.
Draco put his hands behind his head; relaxing back on the floor. “It
got you out of bed, didn’t it?”
“No, you being an arse did. Now get out. I need to put some
clothes on,” said Harry, scratching the bare skin of his stomach.
Raven stood, placing her hands on Harry’s shoulders from behind
and placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “For posterity.”
Harry grinned as he watched her cross to the door. “I shouldn’t
have, but I liked the first one, you know.”
Raven grinned knowingly back. “I know.”
Harry, trying not to blush, reached down and offered a hand to Draco,
who took it and hoisted himself from the floor with Harry’s help.
Standing close to Harry, he said, “It was beautiful, watching
you two.” Harry glanced away, hoping to just ignore the comment.
He was lucky this time when Draco said, “Don’t take too
long. We’re going to the library.”
The sleep-mussed boy cleared his throat. “Good. I was headed
there myself.”
“Perfect. We’ll wait for you downstairs.” And the
two ex-Slytherins left.
Harry quickly finished his scone and gulped down his milk before throwing
on a new pair of boxers, jeans, and an old Weasley jumper; the one
Harry was sure he had worn the first time Draco had come over and woken
him up, and they had gone to Celestine’s.
So much has happened since then, Harry thought. It’s
only been…what? A month, perhaps? And I’ve already realised
so many things about myself I never would have if he would have just
left me alone. I owe him and Raven a great deal.
Not to mention a great amount of heartache, something reminded
him.
Yes. That too.
Forgetting about his hair, Harry put on his spectacles and shoved
on a pair of trainers, grabbing a heavy cloak, his book bag, and the
dirty tray before heading downstairs.
~~~~~
“What are you researching, Harry?” asked Raven. They were
sitting at their favourite table, three from the back of the library,
books spread all around them, and rolls of parchment piled precariously
in various piles.
“Chinese symbolism. I’m trying to find out what the marking
on my necklace means.” He fingered the amulet dangling from his
neck.
“I thought it meant ‘luck’.”
“Ginny couldn’t really remember, or rather, she wasn’t
really clear in the first place. I just thought I should find out for
sure. I’m not finding a whole lot, though.”
“You should get it checked for spells too, Harry.” Draco
chimed in.
Harry looked up at Draco. “I told you, if there were any magic
on it, I would be able to feel it.”
“Not necessarily, Harry. There are ways to conceal the use of
magic on an object. And who knows what the Orientals have figured out
over the years. They’ve got their own brand of magic.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I’ve been researching
Chinese magic for a week now,” Harry said, in a voice that was
not quite a snap.
“There’s no need to get tetchy, Harry. I’m just
suggesting you have someone else look at it, that’s all.”
Harry closed the book in front of him and sat back. “I know.
I’m sorry. I’ll work on something else now, let me just
put these books away.” Standing, he grabbed the references he
was looking at and left the table.
Draco looked at Raven sitting next to him. She leaned forward. “Do
you think it’s the amulet?” she asked.
Draco nodded. “Yes. That’s the second time he’s
gotten really defensive with me about having someone look at it. I
really think it’s because of some type of magic on the amulet.
He won’t let anyone touch it, and he won’t take it off,
either.”
They broke apart as Harry came back to the table and sat down across
from them.
“What are you two talking about? Me, I hope,” he grinned,
pulling out his History homework.
“Yes, actually. We want to check your necklace, Harry,” Draco
said. “Please?”
The grin fell right off Harry’s face and his nostrils flared
slightly. “Draco…” he warned.
Raven rose and come slowly around the table, sitting down in the seat
next to Harry. “Harry, please. Can I at least look at
it? You don’t have to take if off,” she quickly amended.
Harry watched her warily. “Alright.” he finally said.
Raven reached slowly forward while Harry sat stiffly, watching her
every move. As her hand neared his neck, she noticed the jade green
of the amulet grow brighter, greener, more luminescent. Then it flashed
briefly, like a stray beam of sunlight hit it for a second. But that
couldn’t be, Raven thought. Harry was sitting in front of the
windows, his back facing them, and the windows faced West…the
sun was South right now…
“Did you see that?” Raven asked, startled, blinking
and frowning.
Harry frowned. “What? See what?” He and Raven looked to
Draco.
Draco looked puzzled. “It got brighter, didn’t it? Greener?”
“Yeah,” Raven said, amazed. “I didn’t imagine
it then?”
“What? Imagine what?” Harry snapped. “What
did you see?”
“Your amulet, Harry, it…I don’t know, flashed at
me or something.”
Harry touched the pendant. “Did you touch it?”
She shook her head. “No, my hand was a few inches away.” She
looked up at Harry. “Did you feel anything?”
Shaking his head he replied, “No. Nothing.”
“Don’t touch it, Raven,” Draco warned as the girl
reached forward again. “Move away. Let me get close and see what
happens.”
Harry now had a touch of fear in his eyes. “Should I take it
off? I really don’t want to, but…”
Draco stood. “No. We don’t want to trigger a reaction
until we know what we might be dealing with. Have you taken it off
at all? Since you put it on? To shower or anything?” Draco sat
in the seat Raven just vacated.
“No,” Harry said. “Like I said, I don’t want
to.”
“Harry,” Draco said patiently, “listen to yourself.
Just listen. You might have a potentially dangerous magical artefact
around your neck. And you don’t want to take if off? Regardless
of the fact that until we know what it does, if anything, we shouldn’t
remove it, you actively don’t want to remove it. You become
threatened and protective about it. Does that sound normal? Like it
might not be influencing you?”
Harry’s face closed off. His brow twitched, and Draco was looking
so intently in Harry’s green eyes that he saw the storm of logics
warring in there. But his eyes were still clear. Draco could sense
no trace of mind control. Just a loss of judgement, perhaps?
“Just see if it happens again,” Harry said, his mouth
tight.
Draco gritted his teeth and reached forward. He watched the amulet
intensely, for any changes in the colour of the jade; any change in
the brightness of the atmospheric light around the object dangling
from Harry’s neck.
Nothing.
Draco’s fingers were a centimetre away, and nothing was happening.
Nothing at all.
Draco glanced up to Harry. “Well?” the green-eyed man
demanded.
Draco dropped his arm and looked back at Raven. She shook her head,
puzzled. Turning back, Draco sighed and said, “No. Nothing. Nothing
changed.”
“Good,” Harry snapped. “Now can we get back to
our homework?”
Draco latched onto a passing thought like a drowning man. “It
might be gender-specific, Harry. It doesn’t affect you, and nothing
happened with me, but we’re both men. It did something when
Raven was close, so maybe it’s-”
“Maybe it’s nothing, Draco.” Harry almost snarled,
getting a few looks from some late newcomers to the library passing
by their table. “And if you’re going to keep bothering
me about it, I’d rather stay at home.” Harry stood abruptly,
shoving quills and parchments and books into his bag. “Goodbye.” And
the upset young man brushed past them both and left the library.
Raven and Draco passed numerous questions with their eyes. None of
them were answered.
~~~~~
Skeeter Trial Date Revealed!
And More News About Our Boy-Potter
By Merril Merryweather of the Daily Prophet
In one of the most interesting stories to hit print since the end
of the Second War of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, gossip and fact are
more mixed than ever. Just last Monday, an interview with the man
who sparked this newest wave of interest was printed in the resident
eclectic-rag, The Quibbler, which supposedly shows its readers just
what is fact, and what is fiction. However, what has happened since
October 14th? Is there more to this story than meets the eye?
Between random and inconsequential questions by the interviewer,
Luna “Loony” Lovegood, the editor’s daughter, and
Harry Potter’s seemingly shy answers, there lies a real story
just waiting to be revealed. He admits to liking more than just one
person; and at least one of these is his current beau, B.I. Siren
Quidditch Captain Mikhail Chaikovsky, but who are the others? As
Rita Skeeter has previously hinted, and this reporter is starting
to agree, one of these people might be Harry Potter’s long-time
rival, Draco Malfoy, a former and repentant Death Eater.
So, shall we sit idly by while one of our own, who was only trying
to find the real truth, is punished for doing so? Though this
office will not disagree that Miss Skeeter’s methods of gathering
such information were questionable, the public has the right to know
the truth. Why the lies, Potter?
Despite efforts of this office to help Miss Skeeter, her trial
date has been set for January 5th. We hope that she is cleared of
most of the charges, and her sentencing for being an unregistered
Animagus is short and swift.
~~~~~
Hermione glared with such a force at the Prophet in her hand that
all activity stilled around her. “Don’t, Harry,” she
bit out. “Just don’t read the paper.”
“Why? What does it say?” He was watching her worriedly
from across the breakfast table on Monday morning.
“You don’t want to know. This…this Merril Merryweather…ugh!
He’s so contradictory! He claims worry for Skeeter’s plight,
yet implies that she should be punished for being unregistered! ‘We
hope that she is cleared of most of the charges, and her sentencing
for being an unregistered Animagus is short and swift.’ Bloody
arsehole! Then, he goes on to accuse you of keeping your private
life a secret! It’s none of their sodding business who Harry
likes, even if it were Malfoy!” Hermione was breathing
hard by the time she was finished ranting.
Harry and Ron’s eyes were very wide, and they looked at the
other patrons of the table, checking for strange reactions to that
last bit of information.
“But Harry doesn’t like Malfoy that way, so it’s
not a big deal, is it?” Kevin asked, shovelling a spoonful of
cereal in his mouth.
“That’s not the point, Kevin,” Ron said, cutting
Hermione’s next rant off. “It’s the fact that they
think Harry’s life, all aspects of it, are public domain, when
obviously, they’re not.”
“Thank you, Ron,” said Harry.
“You’re welcome.”
An owl tapped on the window glass behind Harry’s head. He stood
and opened the window, happily feeding the owl a bit of bacon before
opening the letter addressed to him.
27 October 2003
Dear Mr. Harry Potter,
We are writing to inform you that the trial date for Miss Rita
Skeeter is set for 5 January 2004. However, regardless
of Law-Wizard Stanislav Chaikovsky representing you, you will be
most likely called upon to testify, and therefore, your presence
is required, whether or not you choose to participate. Mr. Draco
Malfoy and Mr. Mikhail Chaikovsky have also received a letter similar
to yours. Thank you for your patience in the dealing of this matter.
Sincerely,
Madam Martha Mellowtide
Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Harry set the letter down.
“What did it say?” asked Ron.
“Nothing I didn’t already know,” replied Harry.
~~~~~
Draco found Harry at the library that evening, sitting at a table
that wasn’t their usual (if one could count a month of sitting
there together their usual); the one way in the back. He was surrounded
by books, and had several stacks of folded and rolled parchment on
one end, which he was obviously ignoring.
Draco was catching a few curious looks as he strode through the library
in his Quidditch robes. The team had waited fifteen minutes before
Chaikovsky finally sent Draco away to look for Harry. Draco knew that
the captain didn’t bother having Harry look for him when
he stopped showing up for practice last year, and Harry’s performance
never seemed to lack for it; they still seemed to win almost every
game. Almost. Harry had gotten better, Draco thought, but he
didn’t want to take the credit for his presence being the thing
that made Harry work harder and do better. If anything, Harry was helping him,
which was probably why Chaikovsky was making Draco miss practice to
go track Harry down.
Or he just wants Harry back on the team and you out of his hair.
Yeah, that sounded about right.
He sat down across from Harry, setting his broomstick unceremoniously
on the table, directly between Harry’s books and his numerous
stacks of parchment. “So that’s it then?”
Harry looked up, staring blankly at Draco. “What’s it?”
“You’re just quitting the team, just like that.”
Harry looked back down to the tome in front of him. “I thought
I made that clear on Friday.”
Draco leaned forward. “For Merlin-sakes, Harry. It’s just
a game! I told you I don’t care. We both know you’re better
than I am. I honestly don’t mind.”
“Like hell you don’t, Draco. You were just as pissed as
I was, you just didn’t show it.”
Draco made a gesture that conceded the fact. “So what? I had
my piece with Chaikovsky. He doesn’t like me. I get it. But I
can’t make him not be an ass.”
“So you agree with me? It’s unfair that he’s putting
his feelings about you before the team.”
“Yes, I agree. But Harry, you can’t just quit Quidditch.
It’s you, it’s who you are. I can live without it.
But you, you are far more natural on a broom than on land. You
know this.”
“My life isn’t all about Quidditch, Draco. I love it,
yes, but I love other things too. Like helping people. I want to be
a medi-wizard.”
“And you can do both. Don’t quit Quidditch because your
boyfriend is being a jerk-off. Keep pushing. Make him see he’s
wrong. He’ll always be an ass, but maybe he’ll see sense.
I agree with you Harry, I really do. But I won’t let you give
this up, either. This isn’t the way to make your point.”
Harry sat back and mused for several minutes, the furrow on his brow
tightening and relaxing as he thought.
“Fine. I’ll talk with him tomorrow. Maybe we can agree
to a compromise,” he finally said.
Draco smiled. “Good. You’re learning, Potter. Besides,
he’s your boyfriend, not just your captain.”
“That’s half of why this has made me so angry. You’re
my friend, Draco. If he can’t accept my friends…then I
don’t know where this relationship is going.”
Draco smiled to himself. Just what I was thinking.
“So, what’s all this here?” asked Draco, leaning
forward to look at the books between them.
“Oh, more books on Asian magic and symbolism. I’ve decided
to widen my search for the meaning to this amulet,” he said,
touching his necklace. Draco refrained from saying anything about taking
it off. “I was focusing so much on China, that I wasn’t
finding that much information. Mostly things on Wizarding customs over
there, or new inventions or types of magic. It’s quite interesting,
actually. I’ve heard of some of their healing techniques, like
acupuncture, of course, and it’s pretty neat. I might try learning
some of it to incorporate into my medi-wizard practices. You should
look at that book there-” he pointed to a small book partially
hidden between two larger ones. “It’s all about potions
of the Orient. Could be useful.”
“Thanks Harry.”
“NO! No birds! Get it out! Don’t let it touch the books!”
Harry and Draco turned to see Madam Peabody, the librarian screeching
at a screech owl that had managed to get in and was making its way
towards them. Draco heard Harry sigh heavily, and watched him accept
the bird, untying the letter from its leg and putting it in the pile
of parchment.
“Mr. Potter!” Madam Peabody yelled, continuing to disrupt
her own library, “You must take that bird out of here at once!
I cannot allow owls in my library!”
“I am sorry, Ma’am. It must have snuck in with a student.
I’ll take him out right now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Potter.” She looked at Draco and sniffed,
obviously still upset about the incident a few weeks ago with that
book Raven had given them. “Mr. Malfoy.”
“Madam Peabody, you’re looking nice this evening.”
She kept her mouth tight, and tilted her nose up, but Draco could
see a faint blush on her neck. “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” And
she walked back to her desk, escorting Harry and the owl to the door.
“So all of these are yours?” Draco asked when Harry returned.
Harry looked to the pile of parchments and grimaced. “Yes, unfortunately.
Good will wishes, threats on my life, descriptions of my wonderful
or sinful character, pictures of people I’d never want to meet
and proposals of marriage, along with proposals of the sexual nature…mostly
from boys.”
Draco’s blond eyebrow raised. “Oh really?” he teased.
“Oh, shut up, you. I burn them all. I don’t need their
approval, or disapproval, or marriage proposals or their pictures or
any of it.”
“But Harry, they’re your adoring fans!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I went through that after the war, thank
you. I don’t care to deal with it again.”
“Well, I wish I could be famous more often. I’ve had more
letters from young, beautiful women in the last two weeks than I ever
received from Raven during the war.”
“No men?” Harry smirked.
Draco sneered. “That would be telling.”
“You wouldn’t actually entertain any of those letters,
would you?”
Draco chuckled. “Of course not. Raven would kill me, and you’re
the only man who has my affections,” he said so nonchalantly
that it seemed as if it were common knowledge.
Harry blushed and looked away. “Do you want to help me finish
up my potions chart?”
“Sure. Let me just go home and change. I’ll meet you back
here in twenty minutes.”
“See you soon.”
Well, Draco thought as he left the library. At least he
doesn’t seem upset at me anymore. But I’ve got to
do something about that necklace.
~~~~~
“Harry! Harry!”
The man in question recognised the voice immediately and steeled himself
as he turned around to face Mikhail.
“Harry,” Mikhail said again, breathlessly, stopping his
cross-courtyard jog just before Harry, who was on his way to his first
lesson after lunch the next day.
“We need to talk,” Harry blurted before Mikhail could
say anything.
That made Mikhail pause, stunned, then let out his breath. “Yes,
we do.”
“But I don’t have time right now, Mikhail; I’ll
be late for my next lesson.”
“I know. But I just wanted to tell you that my dad’s here.”
“Excuse me?”
“My father. He’s here. He wants to talk with you and me
about the trial. And Draco,” Mikhail added, last minute.
“Oh. Well, how about before practice? I don’t have a fourth
class today, and I’m pretty sure Draco doesn’t either.
Are Draco’s law-wizards here too?”
Mikhail shook his head. “No, but my father tells me that they’re
only assisting. My dad’s the leading prosecution.”
“Alright. Have you told Draco yet?”
“No,” Mikhail admitted, looking away. “I was actually
wondering…if you would?”
Harry sighed. “Yes, that’s fine. He’s in my next
lesson. Look, I’ve really got to go. I’ll see you later,” and
he started walking away.
“Bye,” Harry heard behind him, and he tried to ignore
the mixed twinge of anger and dismay he felt at the note of sadness
in Mikhail’s voice.
~~~~~
“Why do I have to come?” Draco plainly whined as
he and Harry made their way into Rookwood. They were meeting Mikhail
and his father at Celestine’s.
“I don’t know. Mikhail said his father is acting as lead
prosecution, so he’ll be speaking for your law-wizards as well,
since they’re only assisting or something like that.”
“Tsch. It’s probably just a preliminary meeting, to give
us a quick run-down of how things should proceed in the trial. And
to get our statements.”
“Oh.” They walked a few moments in silence, nodding greetings
at the few passers by.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you nervous?”
“About the trial? No. I know we’ll kick Skeeter’s
arse.”
“No, I meant about meeting Chaikovsky’s father.”
“Oh. Well…maybe a little. I don’t know that much
about Mikhail’s family.”
“And you’re not worried about what might come out
at the trial?” Draco stopped just before Celestine’s, waiting
for an answer.
Harry took a deep breath and looked Draco in the eye. “Skeeter
had no proof about anything she wrote about. She made speculations
based off of her own desires for a story. But, should anything
happen to come out…I’ll deal with it like I always do.
Head on and pushing through.”
Draco smiled a soft smile that reminded Harry of how beautiful Draco
was. “Me too; hopefully.”
Smiling together, they entered the restaurant.
Mikhail and his father were seated near the back, in the same booth
Harry and Draco had sat in, Harry was sure.
“Do I look okay?” Harry murmured as Mikhail spotted them
and smiled, standing up and signalling them over.
“You look fine, Harry,” Draco said, doing a subtle once-over
of his friend. “Why does it matter?”
“Even though I’m mad at him, I’m still meeting my
boyfriend’s father, Draco. Surely you recognise the need
to make a good first impression?”
“You forget you’re Harry Potter. Everyone already has a
first impression,” muttered Draco quietly as they reached their
destination.
“Harry!” Mikhail greeted, taking Harry by the shoulders
and kissing him on the cheek. Harry gave him a soft and nervous smile.
A large man slid free of the bench seat. When he stood, it was clear
he was at least five inches taller than his son, who was pushing six
feet himself. He had dark hair, greyed at the temples, and wore fine
robes in a nice navy-blue pinstripe. His dragonhide boots were polished
and shone like the light reflecting off of the wire rims sitting on
his large nose. He had a square jaw and bright brown eyes. His large
stature was mostly due to his height, and not any amount of fat that
Harry or Draco could see. Mikhail didn’t particularly look like
him, but must have gained the looks from his mother’s side. Over
all, Harry was intimidated. Draco was so-far impressed. The blond was
still waiting for the man to speak and carry on business. Only then
would he get Draco’s full approval or disapproval.
“Harry, Draco, this is my father, Stanislav Chaikovsky. Father,
this is Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.”
Harry reached his hand forward with a bright smile on his face. “It’s
a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chaikovsky.”
“Please, Harry,” he said in a deep accented baritone, “call
me Stanislav.”
“Alright.”
“And Mr. Malfoy?” Stanislav shook hands with the blond. “It’s
a pleasure to finally meet the man behind the law-wizards.”
Draco smiled a devilish grin. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr.
Chaikovsky.”
“Again, Draco, please call me Stanislav. ‘Mr. Chaikovsky’ makes
me feel so old. It’s only for the court.” He chuckled and
gestured everyone to sit, placing a silencing charm around their table.
As they slid into the booth, the Chaikovskys on one side and Harry
and Draco on the other, Mikhail said, “Well, Dad, you are fifty-three.”
“Now, now, son. I am perfectly aware of how old I am. You’re
mother never lets me forget it.” Stanislav winked at the young
men across from him.
“You English is nearly perfect,” Draco commented. “How
long have you lived here?”
“Since 1969. Mikhail here was born six years later.”
“He’s a fine Quidditch captain,” Draco said, smiling,
and ignored the sharp look from Harry and the slight glare from Mikhail.
Stanislav smiled. “So I hear.” He gave a meaningful look
to his son before sweeping over to Harry, who was still looking at
the blond rather crossly, but trying not to show it.
Clearing his throat he said, “Let’s get this meeting started
with some tea. Mikhail, if you would please?”
Mikhail nodded and left to go to the bar and ask Celestine for some
tea service. Stanislav turned back to Harry and Draco.
“Now, Harry, I hear you and my son are in the midst of an argument?”
Extremely startled, Harry replied uncomfortably with, “Oh, er…not
really, sir. Just a disagreement.”
“He’s told me all about it, Harry, there’s no need
to cover it up.”
“So you know his side of it then,” Draco put in.
Stanislav looked at Draco with calculating eyes. “Perhaps. But
I also know my son. He’s liable to get a bit jealous about people
he cares a great deal for.”
This made Harry blush. “Yes, sir. I believe that’s why
he won’t let Draco play in the next game. He just doesn’t
like him.”
“That is probably very true, Harry, and while I understand my
son very well, I sympathise with you. I have advised my son to put
his feelings aside and logically pick the best candidate.”
“That’s…very nice of you, Mr.—I mean Stanislav.”
“Don’t think anything of it, Harry. My son’s as
logical as a Ravenclaw and as stubborn as a Gryffindor, or so I hear.
I went to school in Northern Europe. “
“You went to Durmstrang?” Draco asked.
“Yes. It was very cold there. I like this more temperate weather,” Stanislav
finished as Mikhail showed up with the tea. “Ah, thank you, Mikhail.
Now, I take it you know what Skeeter is being charged with?” he
asked the men around the table.
“Yes,” Harry answered, pouring himself some tea with
cream. “It’s a much longer list than I thought she could
be charged with.”
Stanislav nodded, putting some biscuits on a plate for himself and
waiting for Draco to finish with the tea. “I will never tolerate
the defamation of my son, or anyone he cares for, regardless of the
reason. I want this woman in Azkaban. For life, if possible.”
“I fully agree, Stanislav,” Draco chimed in as he passed
the tea to his elder.
“I believe this is an open and shut case, gentlemen. I will
be accenting her use of blackmail and haggling to get a story, with
the help of testimonies from you three. That is, if you’ll all
be willing to testify?”
“Yes, of course,” said Harry, with nods from Draco and
Mikhail.
“Excellent. Now, is there anything Skeeter might know that she
hasn’t told anyone that could cause us problems?”
Draco said, “Nothing that has any truth to it, sir. In her article,
she alludes to the idea that Harry and I had a previous relationship,
but that is untrue.”
“Where did she get the idea, Mr. Malfoy?”
Mikhail and Harry leaned in slightly over their tea to listen to Draco’s
story. “Probably from a conversation she had with me shortly
before the article had been printed. She came, asking for dirt on Harry,
which I had supplied her with back when I was fourteen. Because of
my reaction to her asking me, she uncovered that I was now friends
with Harry. That was the end of the conversation. I gave her absolutely
no information on Harry at all, and even threatened her if she dared
to come near any of us again.”
Stanislav nodded, musing. “So her article was based off of un-confirmed
information. Unless she talked to someone who might want to make your
lives un-pleasant?”
Harry shrugged. “I’m sure there are a number of people
who might have wanted to be in the lime-light, but none of my real
friends—the people I talk to—would ever say anything to
her. They know her past history with me.”
“And there was no previous relationship between you two?” Stanislav
asked. Mikhail looked very intently at the men across from him.
“What?” Harry asked, startled. “No. No, there’s
never been anything but friendship between me and Draco.”
“You’re lying, Harry,” Draco said, and Harry looked
surprised. “We used to hate each other until a little over a
month ago,” Draco explained to Stanislav. Harry swallowed and
nodded in agreement.
“Ah. I see.” The man thought for a few moments. “The
only thing I see coming back to haunt us is your quickly changed animosity
for each other, which might seem odd to outsiders. However, that really
has no bearing in Skeeter’s use of her Animagus form, or her
other methods of extracting a story, which is what she’s being
charged with. Also, your threat, Mr. Malfoy. It could be brought up,
and we might have a charge against you in the future. Can you
remember exactly what you said?”
“I told her that if she dared to write a single thing about
Harry, that I would personally ruin her life. She didn’t get
the message right away, so I told her again, at wand-point.”
Stanislav nodded. “Well, the use of wand-point might cause more
problems than we want, but your heart was in the right place. I’m
sure I can spin this in a positive light. Now, I want you boys to know,
that I will not let your personal lives get too involved here. But
you need to think about what the Wizengamot and the defending attorney
are going to be asking. Probably some rather personal questions, mainly
to confirm that what Skeeter wrote was true, and therefore wasn’t
libel. Unfortunately, that means that if you don’t wish to answer
the questions, then you will most likely only be confirming them as
true. So, I need you to be honest with me. Harry, have you ever seen
Draco in a sexual way?”
Harry almost choked on his tea. “I, er…”
Mikhail spoke up. “I’ll understand if you say yes, Harry.
I might not like it, but even I can’t deny that Draco is…good-looking.” He
looked as if he could take back any nice words he’d ever said
about the blond, he would.
Harry looked intently at the tabletop, dismayed. “It’s
crossed my mind.” Mikhail clenched his jaw, but nodded, accepting
the information.
“Draco,” Stanislav said, turning to the blond and taking
the heat off of Harry, “have you ever seen Harry in a sexual
way?”
Draco measured his words. “I am bisexual, Stanislav; but I prefer
women. Harry has only recently realised he might like the same gender,
and I’ve been there to platonically help him through that.
So yes, I could say at some point I’ve seen Harry that way, but
his friendship means more to me than that. I only wish for him to be
happy. I even told him to go after Mikhail.” Not a total lie,
at least.
Draco watched Mikhail while he confessed that, and Mikhail’s
jaw tightened again. “I knew it,” he muttered.
“Knew what, Chaikovsky? That I was the one who prompted Harry
to ask you out, to try a relationship with a guy? Or that I only want
Harry for myself? I have a girlfriend, and I just because I like men
too doesn’t mean I like having multiple relationships.”
“That’s not the point, Malfoy. I knew you liked Harry,
and here’s the confession to prove it!”
“Mikhail, Draco and I are just friends, and we’re happy
being and staying that way!” Harry said.
“Boys,” Stanislav cut in, “this is what I’m
talking about when I mean personal things will be brought up in the
trial. You cannot let your emotions control your answers.”
“I have no problem with that, sir,” said Draco. “I
can control my emotions and my answers.”
“I have no doubt of that, Draco. But Mikhail, you must pretend
to like Mr. Malfoy if this is going to work. You showing any animosity
towards him will only blow open the can on your personal relationships,
and everyone will believe every word Skeeter wrote. So all of you keep
a tight reign on your selves, understand?”
Harry and Mikhail looked away, murmuring agreements. Draco looked
Stanislav right in the eye. “Yes, sir,” he answered.
“Good. Our next meeting will be before the trial. I will keep
you all informed of any changes in the case, but I truly believe we’ve
already won, gentlemen.”
“Thank you, Stanislav,” Harry said, standing.
They all slid out of the booth, and Stanislav shook their hands. “It
is of no consequence, Harry. I am more than happy to help you and your
friends at any time. Which reminds me…Mikhail told me you might
have a friend who’s looking for an internship?”
When Harry looked puzzled, Mikhail said, “Ron.”
“Oh!” Harry said. “Yeah, sure, would you like to
meet him, sir? He should be on his way to practice right now.”
“Perfect! I will walk you men to the pitch then.”
“I will need to stop by my place and get my gear,” Mikhail
stated.
“That’s fine.” And they left Celestine’s,
leaving a sum on the table and dismantling the silencio from
around the table.
They stopped by Mikhail’s, and the other men waited outside
while Mikhail went upstairs to grab his things.
“What floor does he live on?” Draco asked.
“The top,” Stanislav said, looking up to the building
behind them.
“514,” Harry put in.
“Are those nice flats?” Draco asked.
“Not bad,” Stanislav said. “Enhanced by spatial
spells of course, hardwood lofts, really.”
“I might look into a spot,” said Draco. “For after
graduation.”
“Don’t you have Malfoy Manor now?” asked Harry.
“Yes, but I don’t want to live there just yet. Maybe when
there are more people to fill it.” Draco shook Stanislav’s
hand. “I must go get my own gear, sir. It was a pleasure meeting
you.”
“And you, Mr. Malfoy.”
“I’ll see you in a bit, Harry.”
“See ya, Draco.”
“He’s a striking young man,” said Stanislav, watching
Draco depart.
“Yes, he is,” replied Harry.
“You know, Harry, there is no harm in liking more than one person
at a time. Just make sure that you’re with the person you want
to be with.”
Harry looked up to the much taller Stanislav. “I want to be
with your son.”
Stanislav smiled a fatherly smile. “I’m not going to lecture
you on not hurting my son, Harry. He can take care of himself. But
don’t let him push you around, either. Push back. He can be as
stubborn as you sometimes, I’m sure. Just don’t let him
get the best of you.”
Harry smiled. “I won’t, sir. I promise.”
“Good.”
Mikhail arrived then, carrying his uniform in a bag and his broom
over his shoulder. “Where’s Malfoy?”
“He went to go get his things,” Harry explained. “He
said he’ll meet us at the pitch.”
“Okay.” And they started off again, reaching the pitch
in a little over five minutes at the fast strides of Mikhail and his
father. Harry almost had to jog to keep up with them, which amused
Mikhail to no end.
When they arrived at the pitch, most of the team was already in the
locker room, getting ready. Draco showed up a few minutes later, all
dressed and ready to go, nodding and smiling at the three men before
kicking off into the air for some personal flying time before practice. “Let
me go get Ron,” Mikhail said, disappearing into the locker room.
Five minutes went by in silence, Harry not sure what to talk about,
watching Draco as he flew languorously through the air. Stanislav watched
the blond as well, and glanced at Harry every so often to see if he
couldn’t glean what the man was thinking.
Finally, Ron came out with Mikhail, looking a little nervous and running
his hand through his messy red hair.
“Father,” Mikhail said as they approached, “this
is Ron Weasley. Ron, meet my father, Stanislav Chaikovsky.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Ron
said, shaking the large man’s hand. Ron was six-foot,
so it was little unnerving for him to meet someone even taller than
he.
“No need to be so formal, Ron, but it’s a pleasure to
meet you as well. My son tells me you might be looking for an internship
before graduation?”
“Oh, well, I honestly don’t know much about Wizarding
law, sir, but I’m a good strategist, and I’d like to make
the effort to try something new.”
As Stanislav appraised Ron with his eyes, Mikhail gently took Harry
by the arm and walked him a few metres away to talk in private.
“We need to talk, Harry.”
Harry nodded. “Well, other than the fact that you obviously
don’t like that Draco might think I’m attractive, what
do you have against him? He’s done nothing to you, and he’s
a wonderful Seeker.”
“That may be, Harry, but I just don’t like him. Have you
ever met someone who you immediately didn’t like?”
“Yes, but for Merlin-sakes, Mikhail, you’ve known him
as long as you’ve known me! You put us on the team at the same
time!”
“Yeah, and he’s on the back-up team for a reason. You
were better.”
“And now he is! He’s made the effort, Mikhail,
and you even said that so yourself.”
“I just don’t trust him, Harry! He’s a Slytherin!”
Harry stopped and glared at Mikhail. “Don’t you dare bring
that shite up. It means nothing now, Mikhail, and you know that. He’s
different than he was even a month ago, but you can’t see it.
Or don’t want to. But I have, or I never would have become friends
with him.” Harry stepped a bit closer, his arms crossing over
his chest. “And let me tell you, I won’t get back on the
team if you’re going to keep putting your personal feelings before
your team’s well-being. You set up the auxiliary team for a reason,
to give those players that couldn’t truly make the cut the chance
to get better and to play. You’re preventing Draco from doing
that just because you don’t like him. It’s bullshit. And
I’ll only get back on the team to help Draco prepare for Saturday’s
game. Otherwise, forget it.”
Mikhail stared down at his boyfriend, his mouth parted slightly, quite
aware that he was in awe and gaping because of it. His boyfriend was
utterly sexy when he was angry. His eyes were a dark, stormy
green, and his pink cheeks only became redder, and the scar on his
forehead screamed in its own anger. Mikhail had to swallow his own
mistakes and failings and pride and simply nod.
“Okay, Harry. Draco will play on Saturday. I’m sorry I’ve
been such an arsehole.”
The storm in Harry’s eyes softened, and they became a clearer,
brighter green. “Apology accepted. But I think you need to apologise
to Draco more. I’ll go get my uniform. I might be a little late.”
“That’s fine. I’m just glad you’re back.” Mikhail
smiled.
Harry smiled softly back. He reached up and gave Mikhail a swift hug
and a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Bye.” Mikhail watched Harry walk away, both lighter
and heavier at the outcome of the conversation. Now he just needed
to call Malfoy out of the sky to apologise. Please don’t let
him make this difficult, thought Mikhail as he walked back towards
the pitch.
~~~~~
“There are mounds of paperwork, son. I won’t lie
about that; but nothing’s more satisfying than strategising a
wining prosecution and actually winning.”
Ron nodded enthusiastically. “It seems like a wonderful profession,
Mr. Chaikovsky.”
“Well, I’m glad you think so, son. Assuming you’re
not just saying that,” Stanislav winked at Ron, causing the younger
man to blush.
“No, sir. Truly, it seems very interesting. I’d love to
learn more about it.”
“Getting along alright, you two?” Mikhail asked as he
walked past them to the pitch.
“Wonderfully,” Stanislav replied. Turning to Ron he said, “Look,
Ron, I’d like for you to come in a few days a week next term,
learn the ropes and see if this is still something you’d like
to do. It would be nice to have some help in the office. You said you’ll
be living in London?”
“Yes sir! I’d love that. Thank you for the opportunity.”
“No problem, Ron. I’m happy to help. Any friend of Harry’s
is a friend of mine.” He shook Ron’s hand. “I must
be getting back to the office, however. I’ll contact you in January
with more details.”
“Thank you again, Mr. Chaikovsky.”
“Have a good evening, Ron.”
“You too, sir.”
Stanislav made his way over to where Mikhail and Draco were talking
quietly. “Son,” he said loudly as he approached. “I’m
taking my leave. It was a lovely day.”
“Oh, okay. Bud' zdorov, Papa. Pereday
privet Mame.1”
“Ya l'ubl'u tebya, syn. Pozabot'sa o Harry.2”
“Do svidaniya, Papa.3”
“Do svidaniya, syn. It was nice to meet you, Draco.”
“You too, sir.” They shook hands. “I wasn’t
aware you spoke fluent Russian,” said Draco to Mikhail after
Stanislav Apparated away.
“At least there’s one thing you don’t know about
me.”
“I did my homework, Chaikovsky, but that doesn’t necessarily
mean I know everything about you. Though I probably should have
figured that out when I learned that your parents are native Russians.”
“Stop prying into my life, Malfoy.”
“I didn’t, really. Just some basic questions, like what
House you were in, what kind of family you come from, that sort of
thing. Most of that information was readily available from my law-wizards,
who apparently know your father fairly well.”
“Look, all I wanted to do was apologise and tell you that Harry’s
back on the team, and that you’re in the line-up on Saturday.
The team’s gathering and I need to start practice.”
“Okay. Apology accepted. As long as you mean it.”
“I do. I really wasn’t thinking about the team.”
“Glad you realised it,” and Draco left, meeting up with
the team.
Mikhail shook his head, still uncomfortable with the blond, but realising
that Malfoy really wasn’t the complete ass Mikhail thought he
was. But he still didn’t want him near Harry so much.
Their possible attraction to each other could lead itself places that
Mikhail was not keen on it going.
Ever. Harry was his.
Mikhail approached his players. “Okay, team! Harry’s back
on, Draco’s playing on Saturday.” Just then, Harry flew
over the trees and right to the pitch, and the team welcomed him warmly
back as he dismounted. “I got word from the team in Berlin. Since
we’re arriving on Friday, which is All Hallow’s Eve, they’re
throwing a masquerade ball in our honour. Their whole school will be
attending, and everyone will be masked, including us. So find a nice
outfit before Friday, got it?”
~~~~~
“God, I hate dressing up,” said Ron, adjusting his robes. “Do
you remember the Yule Ball at Hogwarts?”
Harry laughed, pushing Ron aside so he could look in the full-length
mirror that stood in their room at the inn in Berlin. “Yes. You
looked god-awful.”
“Gee, thanks, Harry.”
“Well, you did! But you look much better now,” said Harry,
gesturing to Ron’s plain black dress robes with gold piping. “Besides,
you’d better get used to being dressed up. You’re getting
married in a month and a half.”
“Oh, don’t remind me.”
“Nervous?”
“I don’t know why. I love Hermione, I always have. I mean,
we’re practically married anyway! I can’t believe it took
me so long to really ask her. Either one of us could have died just
a few years ago.”
Harry put on his plain white mask. “I know. But you asked her.
Or, rather, she threatened to break up with you unless you married
her, but still, you’re getting married, and soon, there will
be lots of little frizzy, red haired Weasleys running around.”
Ron chuckled. “Assuming Hermione’s career doesn’t
take over her life first. I swear, that girl is so set on changing
the world.”
“And you know she will, too.”
“Yeah.” Ron put on his gold mask. “Ready?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yep. Let’s go.”
~~~~~
Ron and Harry met the rest of the team in the common area of the inn
they were staying at. Everyone was there, including Meghan and the
rest of the back-up team. Since they were the Siren’s only support,
they came along with the team, while everyone who wanted to watch the
game would Apparate to the game site the next morning. University Quidditch
matches were a little like an informal World Cup, in Harry’s
opinion.
Immediately, Harry’s eyes were drawn to the tall blond near
the back of the group. Draco was stunning as usual, Harry thought,
in deep, deep blue, almost black robes, highlighted in shimmering silver
piping and lacings. He was wearing a white shirt underneath a navy
brocade corset top, with attached sleeves that laced up over the white
undershirt with silver rope. His trousers were also navy and fit elegantly
straight down to his shiny dragonhide boots. His outer-cloak was that
blue-black colour in velvet, and had a braid of lacings down the centre,
as if you could unlace it and it would become two. It swirled around
his ankles as he turned to look at Harry. He wore a silvery white mask
that made his hair look whiter than it really was, like it had been
when they were eleven.
“Hello, gorgeous,” a voice said from behind him, and Harry
turned to see his boyfriend.
“Hi,” Harry said shyly, looking at his boyfriend’s
expensive-looking robes with admiration and a little bit of lust.
Like Draco, Mikhail was in dark blue, but it was accented in gold
and had an entirely different cut. The undershirt peeking through was
a shiny golden material, covered in deep blue jacket with a standing
collar, which fit Mikhail closely. His trousers fit a bit tighter as
well in the thigh, reminding Harry a little of the outfits that the
matadors in Spain wore. However, the navy cloak Mikhail wore was lined
in gold and swept the floor as Mikhail stood there. His mask was golden
like Ron’s, but had glitter all over it.
“You look really nice, Mikhail.” Harry could feel his
face heating up underneath his mask. He felt so plain in his green
robes. They were almost identical to the ones he wore at the Yule Ball,
but had little accents of silver threaded into the fabric that looked
like little serpents, if you looked at them the right way. He had bought
it for a function that happened shortly after the war; a charity effort
to raise money by those un-touched by the destruction, for those who
were.
“You look stunning, Harry.”
“Not compared to you, you look-”
“Like a doll,” Mikhail cut in. “You look natural.
That’s what I like about you. You don’t try to impress
anyone.”
That made Harry flush darker, and Ron grinned like an idiot next to
his best friend.
“Shall we head off?” Mikhail asked everyone, placing his
hand lightly in Harry’s, not pushing, but gently tugging Harry
out of his residual anger at Mikhail, like he had been trying to all
week. Everyone murmured their assent to Mikhail’s question, and
they all Apparated away.
~~~~~
They arrived in front of a large building hidden from Muggle view.
It was very tall, with several domes, one of which was made of glass
and shone a bluish-gold light into the night sky. The columns at the
base and top of the large stone staircase in front of them rose into
high-arched ceilings that shined whitish-gold. There were many wizards
and witches entering, all wearing masks. One however, was coming down
the massive staircase towards them, dressed in black and wearing a
red mask.
“Guten Abend!4” the
blond man said, approaching, as Mikhail stepped to the front of the
group to return the greeting.
“Good evening!”
“I trust you and your team made it to Berlin okay, Mikhail?” the
man said in a rich German accent.
“Yes, we did, thank you. And how are you doing, Christian?”
“Quite well. I’m looking forward to beating you tomorrow.” Christian
smiled wolfishly behind his mask.
Mikhail laughed. “We’ll see, Christian, we’ll see.
I’ve got a pretty good team this year.”
“So I hear. Well, let us get all you gentlemen inside. Oh, excuse
me miss,” he said to Meghan, bowing. “Ladies first.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Harry heard Mikhail
say in Christian’s ear as Meghan passed by.
“Yes, but I can look, can I not?”
“Suit yourself. She’s not a pushover.”
“Obviously, she’s your manager.” And Christian wandered
off towards the party, offering to escort Meghan up the stairs. “You’re
looking stunning in your dress tonight, Meghan,” Harry heard
him say as Mikhail took his hand and led the rest of the team up the
flight of stairs. “Wunderschön.5”
“Do you dance, Harry?” Mikhail asked as they went up the
stairs.
“Er…no. I’m terrible.”
“If you need a dance partner, Chaikovsky, I wouldn’t mind,” Draco
said from behind them.
Mikhail turned around, an obvious mixed look of bewilderment and disgust
on his face. “No thank you, Malfoy.” He turned to Harry. “Don’t
worry, I can teach you.”
“Er…okay. But don’t be disappointed. I really don’t
know how. You should take up Draco’s offer.”
Mikhail chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll do fine with
a little tutelage.”
“If you say so…but it’s your funeral.”
Mikhail laughed again and they entered the foyer of the grand building.
“Hey, Christian,” Danny Darby yelled from the back of
their little group, “What building is this?”
Christian turned around and started walking backwards, still escorting
them inside. “This is our Regierung für die Magie.
Our ministry of sorts. We get permission to have the ballroom for our
large functions.” He turned and they were at a station similar
to the one at the British Ministry of Magic; one where you weighed
in your wands.
They all got out their wands and had them weighed, before following
Christian through a long hallway with a vaulted ceiling, which shone
whitish-gold like the one out doors. There were all sorts of magical
creatures painted above them, which moved around and interacted with
each other. Harry saw unicorns, hippogriffs, manticores, augureys and
many others. It was interesting to watch. A few times, Harry almost
tripped over his robes, he was so engrossed in what he was looking
at, and Mikhail had to catch him. Once, Harry felt a hand on his hip,
and knew it must have been Draco, but he didn’t turn to look
at him.
They finally entered the ballroom, a high-ceilinged room with the
glass dome in the middle, and twinkling gold and blue-white lights
dancing everywhere. Deep gold banners with a rich purple were hung
up across the walls, sparkling hippogriffs marching across them; and
a few Green banners held the German Ministry for Magic’s emblem.
The room was large, and along the far wall was a long table full of
food and drinks, and in the far corners, there were openings to the
outside gardens. The ballroom was full of masked witches and wizards,
chattering away in German, drinking punch, and dancing. Although Harry
couldn’t understand a word of German, the music was nice, and
he felt like with Mikhail, Ron and Draco there, he might actually have
a good time.
Once inside, everyone broke up, Ron sticking to Harry’s side,
and Draco, not really knowing where to go since he wasn’t friends
with anyone on the team but Harry, tagged along. He felt like a fifth
wheel. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to.
Christian went up to the stage and halted the quintet playing there
to get everyone’s attention. “Witches and wizards, I welcome
you to the Masquerade Ball of Berlin Magical University! First of all,
I'd like to welcome our guests, the British Institute's Sirens, and
remind you all to play nice, because we're going to play dirty tomorrow!” Everyone
laughed. “Secondly, please enjoy yourselves to some lovely refreshments,
made by our wonderful Magical Foods department. Have a good evening!” He
repeated this in German, but it seemed as though most of everyone knew
what he had already said. Christian left the stage, and the quintet
started up again.
Draco immediately stuck to the nearest wall he could find, and when
Chaikovsky finally got Harry on the dance floor, Weasley came over
and joined him.
“You look a right side better than you did last time I saw you
dressed up, Weasley.”
Ron smirked and handed him a glass of punch. “I’ll take
that as a compliment, Malfoy, thank you.”
“It was actually meant to be one, so you’re most welcome.” Draco
never took his eyes off of Chaikovsky and Harry, where they stood on
the edge of the dance floor, Chaikovsky taking Harry gently through
the steps. Harry laughed as he stumbled and Chaikovsky caught him.
Draco downed the punch, wishing it were spiked already.
“Who would have ever thought we’d be standing here like
this, when back at Hogwarts, it was all we could do to make the other
suffer?” said Weasley.
“Yes, who’d have thought. I’m getting more punch.
Do you want anything?”
“Some food would be nice.”
“You never change, Weasley.”
“Neither do you, Malfoy,” Ron said as he watched Malfoy
walk towards the refreshment table. Ron watched Malfoy carefully as
he poured two glasses of punch and filled a small plate with some food.
All of which he seemed to muse over and pick only the best. Then, he
watched as Malfoy wandlessly levitated Ron’s plate and punch
to him as he walked behind it.
“So you did it wandlessly.”
“Sorry?” Draco asked as he approached.
“You wandlessly levitated yourself up to Harry’s room
last Friday night, didn’t you?”
Draco scowled. “Thank you for reminding me of what I saw, Weasley.”
Ron took his plate and extra punch before it fell and put it on an
empty table nearby. “And just what did you see, Malfoy? And what
right did you have, spying on Harry like that?”
“Godammit, Weasley, I didn’t mean to see anything,
I already told you! All I saw was Harry and Chaikovsky making out,
alright? Then Harry pushed him away. That’s it, that’s
all I saw. I’m not proud of it, dammit!”
Ron looked at Draco for a long minute. “You really love him,
don’t you? And it’s eating you up inside that you can’t
have him, isn’t it?”
“What are you on about now?”
“You love Harry. Admit it.”
Draco sneered and got right in Ron’s face, almost matching him
for height. “Listen carefully, Weasley. My feelings for Harry
are my own, and no one else’s. And who knows them is up
to me as well. Stay out of it, alright? What I need to tell Harry is
only mine.” Setting his drink down, Draco stalked over to Harry
and Mikhail.
Oh shit, thought Ron. This isn’t going to be good,
whatever it is.
~~~~~
“May I cut in?” Mikhail heard from behind him, in that
unmistakable Malfoy drawl.
“Malfoy, I’m still teaching Harry, here-”
“I meant with you, Chaikovsky.”
That stunned both dark-haired men, and Harry smiled warily. “As
long as he returns in one piece,” Harry told Malfoy.
Malfoy smiled in a disarming way. “I think he could take me,” he
said to Harry.
Harry laughed, and moved off to speak with Ron. Conveniently or not,
the song ended and a new one started. “Do you know this one,
Malfoy?”
“Yes, but who’s leading?”
“How about me. I’m taller.”
“That’s a weak argument.”
“Not if I was trying to call you a girl.”
“And that’s a weak insult. I’m one of the best,
Chaikovsky. It’s best not to try to out-do me in the Slytherin
department.” Malfoy let Chaikovsky take him in the standard pose
and they were off onto the dance floor, melting in with the other dancers.
“Why did you bother to ask me to dance, Malfoy?”
“Because you’re our sexy Quidditch Captain. Why else?”
“Cut the bullshit.”
“I’m not lying. You could admit that you think I’m
good-looking, and I’m just admitting the same.”
“I think you’re lying, Malfoy. You only want Harry.”
“And so what if I do? How does that relate to me thinking you’re
good-looking?”
“Merlin. Malfoy, would you just cut it out? I don’t want
to play your sick little games! Just leave Harry alone!”
Draco pulled Mikhail closer to him. “You know that’s not
going to happen, Chaikovsky, so why don’t you just stop asking?”
Mikhail leaned forward to speak into Draco’s ear as they moved
to the centre of the circle of dancers, where they stopped dancing. “Harry’s
with me, Malfoy.”
“I know,” Draco whispered hotly into Mikhail’s own
ear. The Chaser tried to ignore the pleasant shivers that ran down
his spine.
“Then why won’t you leave us alone?”
“Because it’s not that simple, Chaikovsky. It has nothing
to do with you. I’m Harry’s friend. The faster you accept
that, the better.” And then Malfoy left Mikhail standing in the
middle of the dance floor.
Mikhail clenched his teeth, and left to collect his boyfriend. Maybe
he could catch a kiss or two and he’d feel better. Merlin, this
situation sucked.
~~~~~
Harry smiled brightly as he approached Ron, who was standing near
the wall, picking at a small plate of food, looking a little morose.
“Everything okay, Ron?”
Ron smiled weakly. “Yeah, Harry. Just wish ‘Mione were
here.”
“She’ll be here tomorrow, I promise. It’s really
too bad we couldn’t bring more of our people to this thing.”
“I wholeheartedly agree.”
“So, what did you and Draco talk about?”
“Who said we were talking?”
“Well, you were standing next to each other, and I do believe
I saw him get you that plate of German delicacies.”
“So? Maybe I asked him to get me something.”
“Ron, I don’t believe for one second that you would
ask Draco to get you something and he would actually comply. Besides,
I was dancing, not blind. I could see you.”
“Okay, fine. We were talking, alright? He complimented me, I
said thank you, and then we started disagreeing again, so he left to
go bother your boyfriend.”
“Ron, what were you arguing about now?” Harry put his
hands on his hips and looked quite like the little green-eyed warrior
he was. At least, to Ron’s six-foot eyes.
“You, as usual. Look, it’s always going to be this way,
Harry. But we are trying. Now, aren’t you more worried
about what Malfoy’s going to do to your boyfriend over there,
or what Mikhail’s going to do to Malfoy?”
Harry whirled around and scanned the crowd of people dancing, happy
that the tables surrounding the dance floor were raised up several
steps, and therefore, Harry could look down from slightly above.
He found his two men twirling near the centre, and it looked like
Mikhail was leading. Harry didn’t know much about dancing, and
that was fine. He was perfectly happy watching Mikhail or Draco do
those fancy steps he’d never get the hang of. They were so close
together, and from where Harry was standing, they looked like a couple.
Both dressed in blue; one gold, one silver; one with hair almost black
as night, the other, with hair almost brighter than sunlight…the
picture made Harry melt on the spot. They twirled and twirled, until
Harry couldn’t tell the difference between the two, they just
became one being, someone he wanted, and the sooner, the better.
Then it broke apart, this one godly person, and Harry wasn’t
sure who appeared in front of him a few moments later, but he saw sunlight,
and knew, somehow, that it was Draco. There had been a slow burning
his groin all night, from seeing Draco dressed so nicely, then Mikhail,
and it was all a blur. But Harry took action as soon as Draco got close
enough. He pulled him close and kissed him, hard, not caring at all
who saw, or how it could get in the newspapers the next day or anything
of that. They were still in costume, so who would know? Everyone looked
alike here, Harry thought. And then Draco kissed him back, oh, he did,
and Harry knew nothing but bliss. Nothing tasted sweeter, and nothing
felt better, than being in this man’s arms.
Breaking away, he said, breathing hard, “Let’s go outside.”
Then he dragged Draco outside, and the blond complied completely,
his voice lost. Ron watched the two go, a mixture of unease and surprise
hidden by his golden mask.
~~~~~
On his way off of the dance floor, Draco ran into a tall blond masked
in red.
“I’m sorry. Excuse me,” Draco said, trying to move
around the other man.
“No, that is quite alright. Hey,” the blond said as Draco
tried to walk away, “are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine; I’d just like to go back to the
inn, if that’s alright.”
Christian frowned. “It doesn’t sound like you are fine.
What’s your name?”
“Draco Malfoy.”
“Malfoy… Oh, you’re the Seeker for this game,
aren’t you? Instead of Potter?”
“Yes.”
Christian held out his hand. “My name is Christian Albrecht.
I’m Seeker and Captain of the Berlin Hippogriffs.”
Draco took his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Would you like me to escort you out? Or, perhaps, you need
some punch? That usually makes people feel better.”
“What happened to Meghan?” Draco asked.
“Oh, well, she slapped me when I got too fresh with her.”
Draco laughed. “You’re already my type of bloke. Come,
let’s get some of that punch. I’m assuming it’s spiked
by now?”
Christian chuckled. “Let us hope. Though I’d rather go
for a stiff drink, but we’ve got to look respectable you know.
University and the Ministry relations are at stake, after all.”
“I won’t tell, I promise.”
After a few drinks and a few funny stories told by Christian, he asked
Draco, who was also getting tipsy, “Are you gay, Draco?”
Draco, surprised by the question, almost dropped his punch. “What?
No, why?”
“Well, I saw you dancing with your captain, who I knew liked
men, but I thought he was holding hands with someone else earlier…so
I was wondering.”
“Oh, that. I did ask Chaikovsky to dance, but not because of
that. We don’t care for each other much, you could say. I just
needed a few words. The bloke you saw him with earlier is Harry Potter,
a really good friend of mine.”
“Ah, the protective best friend bit. And yes, now that you mention
it, Mikhail and Potter dating does sound a bit familiar.”
“It’s all over our own paper back in England. All trash.
They don’t know a thing.”
“And I suppose you do?” Christian asked, leaning forward.
Draco leaned in conspiratorially. “I know everything.”
Christian grinned wolfishly again behind that red mask of his. “Not
everything, I’m sure.”
“What, you mean you aren’t bi and you haven’t been
hitting on me for the last ten minutes?” Draco joked, smiling
devilishly.
“Well, you really do know everything.”
“No, I’m just observant.”
When Christian leaned in to kiss Draco, two things occurred to Draco:
he realised less than a second after he was being kissed that he was being
kissed and that his words earlier that week about not liking multiple
relationships would become a lie if Chaikovsky saw them, or hell, anyone
that recognised his outfit saw him; and two, if Harry or Ron saw him
he’d be a dead man. His semi-tipsy mind was suddenly very clear.
He pulled away quickly. “Christian, I told you, I’m not
gay,” he said as gently as he could. The blond-haired, blue-eyed
man was pretty, as far as Draco could tell, and smelled awfully good,
but he just couldn’t. It wasn’t even a matter of
beauty really; he knew male beauty, but he only wanted Harry. Harry
was the only man that sparked Draco’s interest. His every breath
was wishing he could be kissing Harry right now, surrounded by people
and twinkling lights and beautiful music, but it just wasn’t
happening. Merlin, when did I become so god-forsaken soppy?
Christian looked put out. “But you are bi, I can tell.”
“Even if I were, Christian, I’m in a relationship. With
a girl. A very nice and gorgeously sexy girl who will kill me when
she arrives tomorrow because she’ll know I was kissed.
I don’t know how, but she will, trust me. And she’s very
mean.”
“Then why are you dating her?”
“It’s a long story, but basically, I love her, and I’d
do anything to please her.”
“You are really being no fun, Draco.” Christian crossed
his arms and pouted.
“No, Christian, I’m really not. I’m sorry. And don’t
pout. Pouting doesn’t work on me and it’s unbecoming on
you. Besides, we’re playing against each other tomorrow.
I think we should save some of this energy for on the pitch, don’t
you think?”
“Oh, du gewinnst. You win. Du frecher
Kerl.6” Christian
swallowed down the last of his punch and rolled his eyes at Draco before
swaggering off and immediately picking up another young lady from the
Berlin Magical University.
Draco sighed, happy to be out of that precarious situation. But being
kissed didn’t help any. Tomorrow, before and after the game,
regardless of who won, Draco was going to snog Raven like his life
depended on it. Because snogging Harry wasn’t an option right
now, and Raven’s kisses really did make things feel all better.
More punch would have to do, he mused to himself, serving himself
up another glass before throwing caution to the wind and deciding to
ask the girl smiling at him from across the dance floor if she’d
like to have the next dance.
~~~~~
Once outside, Harry pulled Draco to a railing to which he perched
himself upon, dragging the blond between his legs. He resumed kissing
him, snogging him senseless, pushing at the collar of the blue robes
so he could get to that pale neck. He wanted it. He wanted him. So badly.
Harry felt his own lips on Draco’s neck, and his own hands running
down the front of Draco’s shirt, then to his trousers, where
he felt hardness and rubbed it to make it harder and bigger.
“Oh, Harry,” Draco whispered. “Ty
ochen krasiv, Harry. Ya hochu tebya.7”
“What?” Harry whispered in confusion. He didn’t
know Draco could speak another language. It sounded pretty, though.
“Ya l'ubl'u tebya, Harry.8 I
love you.”
Harry finally pulled back, blinking at the man in front of him. The
man took off his mask, and Mikhail, his beautiful, caring, doting boyfriend
was standing in front of him.
Oh no. Things were wrong. The man in front of him wasn’t Draco.
Oh god.
“Harry? Harry, are you okay?”
But Mikhail knew it the second he saw Harry’s face. His boyfriend
didn’t know who he’d been kissing, but whoever it was,
he didn’t expect it to be Mikhail.
Malfoy. The first traitor that came to Mikhail’s mind.
Harry had no problems if it was someone other than Mikhail he was with,
it seemed, and it made Mikhail furious.
“I’m going back to the inn, Harry. You can go snog who
ever it is you thought you were kissing.” Mikhail walked away
before Harry could even think of a reply.
Harry remained outside for a few more moments, unable to even process
what had just happened. Eventually he made his way dazedly towards
the exit. As he walked, a sense of urgency—a sense of overwhelming
dread—washed over him and he started to run, hoping to out-run
the feelings before they consumed him. He was sure he felt Ron come
up beside him, but didn’t really realise it until they were outside
at the Apparition point and Ron finally grabbed a hold of his arm.
“Harry! Harry, what happened?”
That was when Harry broke down, crying. He didn’t really care.
He just grabbed a hold of Ron and held on tight. “Home,” he
murmured. “Home.”
Ron knew he couldn’t just Apparate them both out of there and
into England without the proper papers, so he took them to the closest
place; the inn.
Once in their room, Ron led Harry to one of the beds. “Harry,
please tell me what happened.”
“Draco. I thought Mikhail was Draco,” Harry
sobbed.
Ron closed his eyes in weary dread. Oh shit, was all he could
think. He took his best friend into his arms and gave him a handkerchief.
“I can’t tell you that it’s going to be okay, because
I don’t know if it’s going to be okay. Did Mikhail find
out you thought he was Draco?”
Harry shook his head in Ron’s shoulder. “Maybe
not that I thought he was Draco, but he knows I thought he was someone
else! Fuck!” came
Harry’s sobs and Ron closed his eyes again and let him weep.
Please remember, that these translations are pretty
direct, and have no reference to current slang and lingo in their respective
countries. Any help from native speakers is most appreciated! (Oh,
and I'm perfectly aware I didn't translate one part of the German.
I figured it was self explanitory.)
1 "Будь здоров, папа. Передай привет маме" Translation: “Take
good care of yourself/Be healthy, Father. Greetings to Mum.”
2 "Я люблю тебя, сын. Позаботься о Гарри." Translation: “I
love you, son. Take care of Harry.”
3 "До свидания, папа./До свидания, сын." Translation: “Goodbye,
Papa./Goodbye, son.”
4 Translation: “Good
Evening!”
5 Translation: “Beautiful.”
6 Translation: “Oh,
you win… Brat.”
7 "Ты очень красив, Гарри. Я хочу тебя."
Translation: “You’re
beautiful, Harry. I want you.”
8"Я люблю тебя, Гарри." Translation: “I
love you, Harry.”
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