Chapter Twelve: The Scandal
"Well, this certainly isn't as horrible as I expected it to be," Harry said sincerely as he peered at the article. "Mr. Creevey really painted a wonderful portrait of both of us, didn't he?"
Draco grunted from his desk, leaning over paper as he scrawled briskly with his pen. "What do you expect?" he asked offhandedly. "He certainly wasn't going to write a damaging article on the Self Made Man, was he?"
"No, I suppose not," Harry murmured as he put the article down and stood from his seat restlessly. Draco had invited Harry for tea – and, Harry had hoped, a good conversation. However, after the tray and drained cups were put away, Harry felt that he was also put aside as Draco became absorbed in his writing. If he said anything at all to Harry, it was rather curt and brief, encouraging him to stay silent rather than start an insightful and profound discussion.
Harry made his way to the wooden bookcases, deciding that the shelves of books would serve as splendid entertainment – or at the very least distract him from his restless boredom. His eyes immediately went to one book in particular, and with an incredulous hum, he pulled out the bound book and flipped it open. "I don't remember the last time I saw this."
Draco glanced up reluctantly before looking back at his work. "Yes, funny isn't it – how the man I referred to in that book hasn't changed at all from the man standing before me."
"Oh, now that couldn't be farther from the truth," Harry said matter-of-factly as he slipped The Self-Made Horse back onto the shelf. "I believe I've changed quite a bit."
"Well, yes, when you consider the fact that you've had an epiphany of sorts," Draco muttered dryly.
"Precisely that," Harry smirked as he turned away from Draco, letting his eyes scan over the titles of the bound volumes. He hardly let a moment of silence pass before he added musingly, "It's a bit strange, isn't it, that we're lovers and yet we treat each other as though we're still rivals?"
"Surely you didn't expect a sentimental romance," sighed Draco sarcastically in return. "Now, honestly, your talkative mood is starting to prove rather tiring. Go sit over there, where you can't distract me from my work."
"I can't talk, I can't roam the room – tell me, Mr. Malfoy, why am I here?" Harry asked with a defiant tone, though he did return to his seat grudgingly.
"You're here – for inspiration," Draco said wryly, his eyes fastened to the paper before him once again.
Glowering silently, Harry was determined to ignore Draco – then hopefully, the man would realize how demeaning it felt. As he shifted and fidgeted in his seat, however, his gaze accidentally landed on Draco's bent profile more than once. After the third time this happened, he couldn't help but recognize that Draco had never quite seemed so passionately entranced while writing – certainly never when Harry saw him writing letters, or when taking notes in the margins of classic books.
The pen paused, hesitating over the paper; Draco's eyes moved back and scanned over the words he'd written. He muttered something noiselessly to himself before the pen scratched away at the paper once more. Beside him were several encyclopedias and history texts; no doubt, any page mentioning Fredrick the Great was folded, saved so that Draco could refer to it when necessary. He seemed so composed, and yet he was clearly captivated.
Yet even the deepest spellbound fascination would be broken by the heavy stare Harry had unwittingly fastened onto him. Draco automatically looked up and, when their gazes met, Harry quickly fixed his eyes elsewhere, as though he hadn't been watching Draco at all. Oh, he was so clearly embarrassed. A quaint, childish blush spread through his cheeks, neck, and ears, and he seemed all the more uncomfortable as he refused to share another look with Draco. He pretended he didn't notice that Draco was staring quite openly at him. Honestly, Draco found it amusing that Harry – a grown man – was blushing like a woman who was caught admiring an attractive man. He couldn't control the soft laugh – a laugh that Harry heard, of course.
"Apparently even from here I'm too much of a distraction," Harry muttered stonily, quickly silencing Draco and forcing his attention back to the papers.
That's how they stayed for a good few moments: Harry glowering to himself, still red with embarrassment, and Draco attempting to concentrate on his work – for now, it seemed he simply could not return to the same devotion he had before. His once serene expression was marked with the slightest frown, and his eyes glazed over for a few moments, as though he were lost in thought.
"Harry," Draco eventually murmured, placing the pen down gently.
"Yes?" Harry asked, having gathered himself for the most part.
"Do you think you would ever leave England – move away to another country?"
It seemed like such a bizarre question that Harry couldn't help but look up curiously. "Why do you ask?"
Draco took a moment to respond before he turned in his chair, away from his work, and stared at Harry bluntly. "Quite honestly, I ask because I've been thinking about leaving England… permanently." He registered the open shock that spread across Harry's face, but didn't pause to give Harry a chance to respond. "Traveling the country – well, it really impacted me more than I've let on, I suppose. Being away from Surrey and London has made me realize what I truly – well, want out of life.
"Consequently, I want to live in France – and I want you to come with me."
He stopped then, waiting anxiously for Harry to say something even though two seconds had barely passed – and Harry, of course, needed more time than two seconds to think over this life-changing proposal. Frankly, he was still stuck on the thought of Draco leaving England permanently, and wasn't quite sure how to respond to that – and as for the offer, well, it hadn't even fully registered what Draco was actually asking him.
When the silence was a bit much for Draco, he added hesitantly, "It would be pleasant, I think, living in France. We wouldn't have to waste our time traveling to visit each other, since we would be living together. I've a manor there, you know – several, actually, but there's one in particular that I think would do rather nicely." Still, Harry said nothing. "The sights there are – magnificent, really; and the people are more accepting than stuffy Englishmen ever will be."
"How long have you been planning this?" Harry finally managed to ask.
Draco shrugged – he hadn't thought it really mattered. "I thought of it while I was traveling, and I suppose I officially decided I would once I returned here."
Harry was shaking his head – couldn't quite look Draco in the eye. "This is so sudden."
"You yourself are impulsive enough to be able to handle the suddenness, I think. Now – will you be joining me or not?"
"No, I – my entire life is here in England. You can't ask me to throw everything away – my friends, my work, my home."
"You wouldn't be throwing anything away," Draco insisted, standing up from the desk. "England isn't going anywhere – you can visit anytime you like."
"I've far too many responsibilities here," Harry frowned. "And don't you? You have too many things here to just leave behind – "
Draco laughed dryly. "Clubs, dinner parties, balls… I have petty, shallow, and insignificant things here, Harry."
"What about your allies – your reputation?"
"My reputation?" Draco repeated incredulously. "Why would you worry about my reputation?"
Thinking of what Hermione had once warned, Harry cautioned, "Scandalous rumors might fill your absence."
"Those rumors are likely to all be true," he smirked, leaning against the desk with crossed arms. His smirk slowly faded, however, as he eventually said, "I suppose you mean to say that you won't come, then."
In the thick silence that enveloped them, Harry struggled to think of something to say; but for that moment, he was silenced by the bitter realization that England and France were not only separated by the sea, but by days of distance. Harry wouldn't be able to simply stop by Malfoy Manor, nor would he be able to wonder eagerly if Draco would appear at his front door at any minute. Honestly, their relationship had hardly developed into anything more than a raw blossom, and already it was to be plucked from the stem.
Draco, noticing Harry's disappointment, murmured, "Don't think that this is the end. I'll live in France, yes; but if you don't come with me, then that simply means I'll be making several trips between the two countries every month or so."
Harry forced a downtrodden smile. "When will you be leaving, then?"
"There's no point in waiting very long, is there?" Draco glanced at one of the encyclopedias on his desk. "I suppose the beginning of next month will do."
Harry looked away silently, unwilling to reveal exactly how he felt at that moment. When Draco saw that he was no longer in a speaking mood, he returned to his own seat slowly and pretended to return to his writing as well, though he was truly far too overcome by thoughts to write anything more.
"I trust you'll send me a copy of your novel – once you're in France," Harry was finally able to say quietly, breaking the tight silence.
"Of course," Draco answered just as quietly. "You've inspired my writing, haven't you? It's the least I could do."
Harry thought that the passionate letters between Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas were nothing in comparison to what was written between Draco and himself over the following months. He carefully hid the letters away in the back of his closet, behind the hefty cloaks along with the old letters that had been written when they were still foes; and every once in a while, he would find himself pulling the box of letters out and reading each of them – sometimes with a smirk at a particularly sarcastic and witty comment, but usually with an entirely miserable expression.
Harry knew that he would miss Draco: of course he would, seeing that they'd made a habit of visiting each other regularly, continuously finding something interesting to talk about and always ending the conversations with a fine dose of "physical satisfaction," as Draco called it. Now that Draco had left, Harry felt overwhelmed with idleness and, worst of all, loneliness. He spent many a day locked within his own memories of the times they were together – even the moments when they argued heatedly seemed like bliss compared to Draco's complete absence. The depression that began to pressure him noticeably weighed him down, to the point where he could hardly function as he usually did. At dinner parties and balls, Harry forced strained laughs amongst allies and friends; but now, it became clear to Harry what Draco had meant when he said he only had petty, shallow, and insignificant things left in Surrey. Everything Harry had struggled for and valued suddenly didn't seem as important as when Draco was there. Perhaps it was because Draco was the initial cause of the struggle; or maybe it was simply because Harry felt like a key part to him was missing.
What's more, Harry was left with impatient frustration whenever he contemplated over the remaining pieces of their relationship. It was as though he'd been reading an intense and suspenseful novel that was finally reaching the climax – only to realize that the ending's pages had been ripped clean from the binding. It was as Harry had confided to Hermione: "I'm plagued by the thought of what might have happened had I convinced him to stay – what would have happened had I taken the opportunity to leave."
Hermione, of course, comforted him; she reminded him that Draco had promised to come back to visit Surrey at least once every month or so – and she even praised that the pair remained emotionally attached, which was certainly impressive seeing that they hadn't been together for some time. Most relationships would have ended by then, for at least one of the two would have become bored with letters and would have moved on.
"Perhaps Draco had made the best choice in leaving for France," Hermione added from the long balcony doors. She seemed thoughtful in the bright light; she folded her hands, accented by the fashionable frills of her long slim, white sleeves. "Had he stayed here with you, I'm sure that your secret may have been eventually discovered… and, well, under the reign of our Queen Victoria, society's strict standards and ethics rule all. Neither of you would have survived the criticism sure to ensue."
And, had Harry left for France – well, people would inevitably begin to realize that the pair had taken the unacceptable step towards the taboo of homosexuality. Men living together automatically became suspects of the so-called horrid crime. If people learned that they left together, as they certainly would, the two would never have been able to return to England.
It felt like months had passed – months of letters, tiresome balls and dinner parties, and lonely afternoons in the Granger mansion – before Harry finally wrote Draco asking when he would be returning to England. He'd expected the man to follow through on his promise, and was actually starting to feel stirrings of annoyance that he'd stayed across seas for so long.
"You're being selfish," Draco replied in the next letter he sent. "I've only just arrived, and I need time to settle in. I'm really quite busy here, so I can't afford to visit you just yet. Don't worry, Mr. Potter: I assure you, I'll be back in hated Surrey before long."
Yet long had already passed, and Harry began receiving Draco's letters with less enthusiasm and more frustration. He'd been hoping that, one day, a letter would not arrive; instead, Draco would surprise him by standing before him. Though part of Harry told him that this was an unreasonable expectation, he could not help but be rather disappointed when, with each passing week or so, he got a piece of parchment rather than the man he preferred.
He was taken aback one morning, however, when the mail arrived at his door. It was a much larger than usual package from Draco, and after hauling it into the mansion and curiously tearing it open in his sitting room, he couldn't held but be pleasantly surprised at the thick novel wrapped within. Engraved was Draco's name and, in much larger letters, the title The Great King.
Pulling back the cover gently, not wanting to wear the stiff newness of the book, he grinned at the message: "Mr. Potter, hopefully now you can understand why I could not visit Surrey, for I was too busy finishing your book. I'm afraid that you might have somehow realized – even through your denseness – that I was occupied by this novel; however, I doubt that you did, for even up to the last letter you've continued to beg for my appearance. I truthfully promise that we'll see each other within the next few months – but please, make sure you have an intellectual opinion on this book prepared for that meeting. I'll be most disappointed if you have nothing to say on it."
He began reading it at once, of course; and, though Harry already knew the extent of sexuality in the story from Draco's conversations, he couldn't help but be surprised by the blatant language used. Draco had let go of all genteel manners and discreetness; instead, he impulsively told Fredrick the Great's biography, truthfully remaining loyal to the man's life story – and refusing to ignore his qualities that would be sure to insult and appall the public at large.
The description and imagery was beautiful and serene; the characters pulled Harry into the pages. Though it was a biography of sorts, Draco had managed to retreat from a tone that declared facts and instead used a tone that created a strip of scenes in Harry's mind. In addition, Harry felt like he was attached to it on a personal level – as though the story he read was also his own. He could relate to the characters as Fredrick had his own epiphany of sorts, and was familiar with the experiences Fredrick also went through. Goodness, he absolutely enjoyed it, something he hadn't honestly completely expected; after all, the last book Draco had written nearly destroyed Harry's life. This one, however, was The Self-Made Horse's opposite, for it touched on Harry's growth.
Confident that Hermione would appreciate it despite the book's vulgar disdain for society's polite manners, Harry decided to let his friend borrow it. The previous week, they'd already agreed that it was an excellent idea for her to read part of it in his presence so that they could share opinions, so on the day that Harry arrived at the Granger Mansion, he held the book that was thoroughly and protectively wrapped. He stepped out of the hansom; and on the path that led to the main doors, he waved at the figure that stood by the steps.
Hermione seemed to have a worried look as he came closer. "Harry," she said with a frown. "Oh goodness, put that book away – "
Harry gazed at her, bewildered. "What is it?"
"Come in," she said hesitantly, stepping aside for Harry to pass by. "Has anyone visited you recently?"
"Within the past week, you mean? No, no one has – "
"And have you been to any dinner parties or balls at all?"
"Hermione, what is this about?"
Hermione took the book from Harry's hands and held it as though it were a poisonous, deadly creature. "He released it, Harry – Mr. Longbottom has just come by to speak of it. He said he would be on his way to your mansion next, and would warn you if he got to you first – "
Harry, baffled, clearly didn't understand.
"Come upstairs. Ron and Ginny are waiting there."
"Hold on – what do you mean he released it?"
They were walking hurriedly through the halls, Hermione speaking over her shoulder as she led the way. "Draco released this book to the public about a week ago. Anyone seen with it will certainly be publicly rejected, no matter their initial status. Mr. Longbottom used the term "social anarchy" before, and I think it's very fitting – I'm sure Draco is quite pleased with himself for the utter chaos he left behind. Mr. Longbottom tells me that the upper classes aren't sure where to stand. Most are loyal to the Malfoy family, but many believe that Draco's actions are completely unacceptable – "
Questions were racing through Harry's mind without pause as he silently listened. It was still hard for him to believe that Draco would even release the book. Surely someone had stolen the manuscript and published it for the sake of humiliating him. Surely he could not do such a thing willingly – had he known what he would do to himself? When he got to the sitting room, Ron and Ginny stood from their seats.
"You can't be seen with this," Hermione said, holding the book up.
"You shouldn't reply to any of Draco's letters anymore either," Ron said firmly and aggressively, as though he'd been arguing with Ginny and Hermione over the issue beforehand. "If people see that you're still communicating – "
"Ron, Harry and Draco care about each other; they can't just cut themselves off from each other completely."
"Harry, you need to assure the others – Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Diggory, Mr. Macmillan, and everyone else that learned of Draco's sexuality – that you understand they did not betray you. That was honestly Mr. Longbottom's greatest concern when he visited. He came by here first for advice on how to approach you," Hermione said, opening a drawer and pushing the book inside of it.
"What're you doing with that?" Harry asked, staring at his book with a frown – he was clearly having trouble digesting everything.
"Putting it away until we can get rid of it."
"I don't want to get rid of it," Harry's frown grew deeper.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all exchanged looks silently before Hermione said gently, "Harry, you have to understand – this is a dangerous book. There are rumors that there will soon be a warrant for Draco's arrest, ready for if he ever returns to the country. If anyone links you and him at all – "
"Which is why you can't write to him or receive letters from him anymore!" Ron interrupted.
Harry didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he weakly went to one of the sofas and sat, resting his face in his hands. "I just… can't believe it. Why would he do this?"
Ginny sat down beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "He must've had a very good reason."
"He must've had it planned all along," Harry muttered, not pleased by the realization. "It makes sense – him suddenly moving to France. Bastard knew he was going to do this before he even left." What really made Harry upset, however, was the fact that Draco didn't say anything about it.
Hermione made arrangements for all of them to stay in the mansion overnight; and by the time Harry left, he promised to all of them that he would not keep Draco's book, that he would not write to Draco or receive any of his letters, and that he would not even mention the other man's name while around others. Of course, these were promises that all four of them knew Harry would most likely break.
For a time, it seemed that the scandal had actually replaced Harry's popularity – but of course it had. It had taken over every topic of interest. No one could escape the gossip: it was vastly written about in newspapers and talked about endlessly in the streets, which had practically exploded with this overwhelming news; and in the ballrooms, gentlemen and ladies eagerly spoke of how they'd known all along. There were disgusting signs here and there: the particular way he'd glanced at another gentleman, for example. He was compared to a beast several times, and murderers and rapists; Draco Malfoy, once respected, had become so tarnished that some refused to even allow his name to be mentioned in their presence.
What's more, people began to whisper to themselves that Draco Malfoy had actually fled Europe and escaped to North America. No one was very surprised, and claimed that he would be a fool not to. After all, to stay would mean receiving social scorn from both adversaries and former allies – and, at worst, conviction for gross indecencies. There would be no need for the prosecutor to search for men willing to admit that they'd been with Draco Malfoy; he would simply have to hold up the book and declare anything along the lines of, "For a book on homosexuality to be written in such extensive detail, obviously the author himself has to be a homosexual!" And finding a homosexual was like finding a crazed serial killer.
It was such a dramatic affair that it took Harry several days to understand the full of depth of the consequences, and much longer to realize why Draco would ever plan such a thing; for now, what had been a theory became fact in Harry's eyes. It was clear that he had planned everything: releasing the book, self-incriminating himself – and escaping to France. Eventually, it became obvious that this was a result of the conversations he'd had with Draco. He hadn't expected to have such an influence – had barely expected his opinions to be taken to heart. He didn't appreciate that his opinions ensured Draco would never be welcome in England again. He longed to talk to Draco, to be in his presence; wanted to know what it was like to live as an open homosexual.
AN: It's funny, I've had this planned out from practically the very beginning – and at least one of you guessed at it in the reviews. I hope it wasn't too terribly predictable, but I have a habit of writing stories where the characters influence one another to change. Draco, of course, influenced Harry by teaching him about homosexuality. Now, it's apparent that Draco was actually listening to Harry during those conversations.
