Disclaimer: See first chapter!
Author's Note: When I woke up this morning, I decided to post chapter 15 instead of chapter 14. Why, you ask? Well, because you were right. It's about time Harry went to see Madam Pomfrey and Fenrir made an appearance again. But before you get too excited, I changed my mind again. And now I'm posting the original 14th chapter because I like it and it fits in here :-) Deal with it!
Ps: This chapter is for luv-blonde-bunny, for calling me an "ingenious lil monkey"...
14. PEACE
Harry was in his rooms, trying on the new robes, shirts and dress pants that the house-elves had brought for him under David's critical gaze. David had very clear expectations as to how Harry should dress: formal but not too stiff, elegant but also sportive. He didn't want Harry to wear too loose or too tight clothes. But the most difficult thing was to find colours David didn't object to. Black was out of the question, he said, because it symbolised death, which would already be amply represented by Voldemort. White would only be used for ceremonies and rituals; red was too aggressive; green too Slytherin for Harry; blue too traditional and therefore not fitting in this situation as they wanted to propose a new era. Harry tugged his hair in exasperation when David turned down one more outfit.
"David," he whined, "I'll have to go naked if you continue like this. The colour scheme can't be that important."
"But it is. You have to send the right message. The wrong clothes might be disastrous for the outcome of your meeting," David argued, sifting through another pile of clothes.
"I'm sure the house-elves wouldn't have sent me these clothes if they weren't okay," Harry protested.
The Death Eater snorted. "Have you seen how your friend, that free house-elf, dresses? Mismatched socks, several layers of clothes, tea cosies, oven gloves-"
"Okay, okay, I get it," Harry grumbled. "But-"
A knock interrupted his plea for David to come to a decision without Harry having to try on twenty more outfits, and he gratefully opened the door, though his enthusiasm dimmed considerably when he saw who stood on the other side of it.
"Malfoy, what do you want? Come to hex me again?" Harry's lips quirked into a sarcastic smile.
"I went to that closet, but you weren't there," the blond young man said almost accusingly, and Harry snorted.
"Did you expect me to wait for you to come back? I'm afraid I had better things to do. What do you want, Malfoy?"
"First I would like to come in," the blond said, brushing past him. "I'd rather discuss my concern in private."
"With me?" Harry asked in disbelief, noting that David had slipped into the bathroom so that Malfoy wouldn't see him. "What could you possible want to discuss with me?"
"What is your relationship with David?" Draco demanded, staring at Harry.
"Really, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood for playing twenty questions so if you could just get to the point?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Who I'm friends with is hardly your business."
"Friends." Hopefulness and then firmness entered Draco's voice. "That's good. I've come to ask a favour, Potter, concerning David."
"And why would I want to do you of all people a favour?" Harry asked sarcastically, though inside he was enjoying himself immensely.
"Because, for the longest time, you were a Gryffindor, someone prone to doing chivalrous things and following not only your heart but also helping others to follow theirs," Malfoy replied with only a hint of mocking in his voice. "The favour concerns my heart."
"For the existence of which I have yet to see proof," Harry retorted. "And even if I were still concerned with other people's hearts, yours would be at the very bottom of the list. And even if I wanted to help you, why would you assume that I can do so?"
"Don't play stupid, Potter." Draco nervously tapped his fingers on his thigh. "You know what I want and you know that you can help me."
"Do I? Why don't you humour me?" Harry asked. "Spell this out for me."
"I want you to help me with David," Draco pressed out between his teeth. "I see how close you two are."
"Ah, I don't think I want to do that." Harry smirked. "You might be interested in David, but the feelings are hardly mutual."
"I'm not interested, Potter, I love David. I love him, Potter, from his mind over his body to his magic. I love everything about him." Draco argued and then groaned when Harry still looked sceptical.
"You've known him how long? One month, five weeks maybe, in which you have hardly seen him much less spoken to him? And already you claim to be madly and irrevocably in love with him?" Harry shook his head. "I find that hard to believe."
"True love doesn't need but a second," Draco said earnestly, but Harry snorted. "I do not expect you to believe me or be able to relate to what I just said, Potter, but I dare say you don't have much insight knowledge of this particular subject."
"Insulting me is not the best way of assuring my cooperation," Harry pointed out.
"It wasn't meant as an insult, and I apologise if you interpreted it as such," Draco replied swiftly and politely and Harry, for the first time, had the sneaking suspicion that the blond was more than serious with this plan of his. "I merely wanted to express my doubts about the experience you had so far with what is commonly referred to as love. I understand that your family was not the best, and from what I heard, your romantic escapades all ended before they had really begun."
"Gee, thanks, Malfoy, that's one way of saying that I'm a loser when it comes to relationships." Harry rolled his eyes.
"You misunderstand me again. What I intended to say was that you haven't found the right person yet. I have, but he won't give me the time of the day without your help. And the fact alone that I came to you must tell you how desperate I am."
"How does he like his coffee?"
"Black, two cubes of sugar, a shot of firewhiskey if he can get away with it," Draco said without missing a beat. "He prefers scrambled eggs to boiled or fried eggs, bacon to ham, steak to sausages. He eats at least one sweet every day; his favourite is treacle tart. His favourite colour is light blue, though he wears mostly blacks and browns. He went to Slytherin; his favourite subject was Arithmancy; his least favourite Defence against the Dark Arts because he never considered it useful and always like the actual Dark Arts better. He's forty-two. His hair used to be brown. His eyes have different colours: his right one is blue the left one greenish grey. He needs to eat more and drink less." A scowl flickered over Draco's face. "He doesn't take good care of himself, and I know that something horrible must have happened to him in Azkaban."
"And what do you think that was?" Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "What will you do if you find out and realise that you can't handle it?"
Draco inclined his head. "I have prepared myself for the worst case scenario and I think I will be able to handle just about everything. If I can't deal with it on my own, I'll see to it that David gets the help he needs elsewhere."
"And who is to say that your worst case scenario is really the worst thing that could have happened?" Harry demanded, and Draco smirked wryly.
"My father is a Death Eater, Potter, and I've been privy to a lot of information that gave me nightmares. I think I have a fairly good idea what might have happened and I'm determined to stand by David's side. I love him, Potter, and I think you're the only one he currently lets close enough to influence him."
"Maybe he only lets me close because he knows that I won't influence him," Harry returned. "And I'm not willing to jeopardise his trust in me - even if you were rather convincing."
Draco's hands clenched into fists. "Please, Potter. I flattered him, I hung around him, I gave him space, I enlisted my father's help, I waited for him to make the first step, I made the first step, I was blunt and I was subtle and whatever I did it either earned me ignorance or his contempt at best. I don't know what to do anymore."
"I heard that patience is considered a virtue," Harry mused. "You don't seem to possess even a grain of it."
"Potter." Draco was grinding on his very last shred of politeness and dignity. "Please."
Harry sighed. "Did you not realise that I already tried to help you, Malfoy? I asked David to give you a chance, and you squandered it by rushing things and overwhelming him. Even if I thought that you would be good for him, I'm not sure I could convince him to try once more."
Draco's shoulders acquired a very un-Malfoy-like slump, and Harry felt something like sympathy for the only slightly older boy. "I had to try at least. Thanks for your attention."
He turned to go, but something compelled Harry to grab his arm. "Wait, Malfoy. You better start running for cover now if this is all an act." Harry closed his eyes so as not to see the hopefulness in Draco's silver eyes. "I'll talk to David, but I don't promise you anything, and if he doesn't want to give you one more chance, you will keep your distance, is that clear?"
"I'm not sure..." Harry glared at him. "Perfectly."
"Good." Harry nodded in satisfaction. "There will be some more conditions, though."
"Shoot."
"You won't touch him without his express permission and with that I mean that the words actually have to pass his lips and not be written in his eyes or some such crap." Harry waited for Draco to nod before he continued. "You'll be the perfect gentleman. You won't pry into his personal business nor will you pressure him into revealing more about himself than he's comfortable with. And most importantly, you'll accept a 'no' if he decides that he doesn't want to meet with you anymore."
"Acceptable." Draco was grinning now. "I actually hoped that he would agree to go on a date with me this weekend, but I'm open to any of his suggestions. I'm happy as long as I get to spend time with him. Thank you, Potter."
"It's a bit early for that. I'll explain the situation to him, but the decision will be his and his alone," Harry argued, but Draco's joy didn't dim.
"You were never one to disappoint me, Potter," the blond stated confidently. "Annoy me and make me jealous, yes, but you never were a disappointment."
"Save your flattery for David," Harry told him with a roll of his eyes. "You'll get an owl if David wants to give you another chance. And now get lost."
"Thanks again." Draco inclined his head before motioning to the pile of clothes. "The burgundy vest with a white shirt and black robes and dress pants will do fine. Golden cufflinks."
Before Harry could answer, Draco had swept out of the room.
"He's right." Harry swivelled around to stare at David in surprise.
"So you want to go out with Malfoy?" Harry asked.
"No, he was right about the clothes," David corrected. "Wine red symbolises life without being too aggressive and with a white shirt, it won't look too dark. Try it on."
Harry grumbled, but gathered the clothes. "I'll get dressed, and you can think about everything else he said."
David grunted either in agreement or in distaste. Harry didn't wait for a more eloquent reply, slipped into the bathroom and changed into the new set of clothes. He looked unfamiliar to his own eyes, too much like an adult, too serious. His skin looked even paler, almost clammy and not at all healthy. He scowled at himself in the mirror, ran a slightly shaky hand through his wild hair and ignored the nausea and stomach cramps. He was getting used to them. Maybe he could save himself the trip to Madam Pomfrey? He really didn't want to stir up another part of his past, re-encounter another old friend though he had always trusted the nurse. And that had been a mistake.
He forcefully turned his thoughts to something else. Or rather someone. Fenrir. A happy smile spread over his face as he thought of the werewolf and what he would have to say about his new outfit. Maybe he would like it, maybe he wouldn't, but in any event, Harry would be without clothes before long. As his mind supplied him with several more promising images, he was shocked to realise that he missed Fenrir and that he would love nothing more than to apparate to him and make his fantasies come true. Which was a ludicrous idea, at best. If he wasn't careful, he'd turn into Ginny. He shuddered.
"I don't believe him," David greeted him when he came back the main room. "He's a Malfoy; they are good at charming their way out of difficult situations and into people's minds."
"I do," Harry stated, swirling around with spread arms so that David could admire him. "What do you say?"
"Looks good to me." David nodded. "Just don't fiddle with your robes and you'll be fine."
"Will you?" Harry asked, sitting down on the sofa and waiting for the older man to join him. "Do you want to consider it?"
"No."
"Will you?"
"I might." David sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I don't like the whole idea but I appreciate the ground rules you set. At least I'll have a bit of peace to make up my mind without him popping up every few minutes. And it might not be too horrible if he can't touch me."
"You'll still have to talk to him," Harry offered with a smirk. "Do you think you can manage that?"
David arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying that I'm not a good conversationalist?"
Harry chuckled. "Oh, I love talking with you, but you've been rather harsh to Malfoy so far."
"And you think I should change that if I go on a date with him?" David asked, and Harry laughed again.
"That might be recommendable, yes, unless you want to scare Malfoy off with horrid conversation."
"I'll think about it and I'll send him an owl when I have decided," David concluded, earning himself a smile. "You should go now, or you will be late for the meeting."
ö_ö_ö
Harry had stopped listening to the conversation over one hour ago, and his only aim right now was not to look too bored. Judging by how often Voldemort was sending him warning glances, he wasn't very successful. It was just so boring! So many inane pleasantries, so much small talk. And he was famished! As if on cue, and to Harry's utter embarrassment, his stomach grumbled loudly and everyone turned to him, Voldemort, the German Chancellor and his assistant.
"How impolite of us to talk and talk and ignore the well-being of our youngest," the Chancellor, Günther Kraus, a man with slightly too much stomach and slightly too little hair, said in a vaguely patronising tone. "Maybe we should take a break before we continue our negotiations?"
"That won't be necessary," Harry protested, mentally shuddering at the thought of dragging the meeting out even longer. "Don't let me distract you."
"All this talk about politics must be dreadfully boring for you, Mr. Potter," Kraus argued. "Why, when I think of my youth, that was certainly the last thing on my mind."
"This meeting is of essential importance to what will happen in my country, Mr. Kraus," Harry rebutted softly. "Shall we continue?"
Harry was surprised and grateful when Voldemort nodded graciously, but conjured up a plate with little sandwiches, slices of fruit and an assortment of cheese. His stomach rumbled once more.
The rest of the negotiations were much easier to bear, and by the time the Chancellor and his assistent got up, Harry had eaten almost all the snacks. For the first time in days, he felt really good.
They signed a magical peace treaty that would assure no violent actions between their countries as long as no civilians were killed. The consequences would be dire should one party willingly break the contract.
"We don't want another Grindelwald," Kraus said when he shook Harry's hand. "Committing suicide was the most decent thing he ever did. I hope that now that it is really over, Muggleborns will be more willing to join the magical community."
Harry bit back a sarcastic comment Voldemort wouldn't thank him for and forced an encouraging sympathetic smile on his face. "Our own problems run in the same direction. I hope we can help each other."
"I'm sure we will." The older wizard smiled benignly at him. "Great Britain seems to be in good hands with you, Mr. Potter."
"In the very best, undoubtedly," Voldemort intervened smoothly. "Chancellor, thank you for your time. I hope in future our meetings will be just as fruitful."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and Harry concluded that this long-windedness was the worst thing about politics. He hadn't minded the actual negotiations so much, had even made a few suggestions of his own, but exchanging compliments which you had to first examine carefully for hidden meanings before you could accept them was something he didn't particularly enjoy. Voldemort was good at it, though, and Harry had now a much better idea why he had been so popular in Hogwarts and why so many smart, powerful pureblood wizards had been ensnared by him. Voldemort was a master of this art, and Harry grudgingly admired him for it.
"You did well," Voldemort said when they were finally alone, conjuring another plate with sandwiches; Harry immediately helped himself to the food. "I would have had to use much more Calming Draught if you hadn't been there."
"You drugged him," Harry stated without surprise in his voice.
"I hate to talk with people drenched in their own sweat of fear," the Dark Lord replied. "It makes it so screamingly obvious that they are inferior to me. One of the reasons I always liked talking to you, Harry Potter."
"Flattering," Harry muttered through his mouth full of sandwich. "Are we done then?"
"I heard you got a new wand. Good." Voldemort put the papers on his desk in order. "I knew it would pay off to keep Ollivander."
"You knew?" Harry snorted. "You wanted to kill them all."
"And I allowed you to deal with the prisoners, didn't I?" Voldemort looked smug. "I knew you would be useful to me."
"Dream on. I'm not your toy."
"Did I say that?" Voldemort arched one too thin eyebrow. "You need to learn to read between the lines."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Harry snapped, crossing his arms over his chest even though he would much rather slap the conceited wizard.
"Exactly what it is supposed to mean."
Harry wanted to strangle him, slap him, hex him. Instead he took another sandwich, furiously stuffing it into his mouth. A look of disgust crossed Voldemort's face.
"I believe we are finished for today, yes," the Dark Lord said. "I will keep you up to date about any further developments, but I trust there will be no complications with the other European countries."
"I thought you said Germany was just a small fish and of no importance," Harry said suspiciously. "Why are you so sure the other countries will follow its lead?"
"Because the German Chancellor is fairly competent and well-regarded. The others will trust his judgement and even if they don't, they won't want to risk a war if they can't be sure of all their allies on the continent," Voldemort explained. "I also suspect that they debated about what to do beforehand and the Chancellor was sent to test my intentions and gain more information."
"Why would he do that?" Harry asked. "Wouldn't they have sent someone of less importance?"
"That would have been an insult to me." The Dark Lord sneered. "I do not negotiate with understudies. Besides, I granted him and his assistant diplomatic immunity."
"I wouldn't have trusted in your word," Harry argued stubbornly. "And I doubt there were many volunteers for that mission."
Voldemort inclined his head. "I doubt there were," he conceded.
Harry tapped his fingers impatiently on his thigh, waiting for a real answer that didn't seem to be forthcoming any time soon. He had almost given up when Voldemort finally answered.
"He wants to change things, but he can't do that without the support of the other countries. He was earning himself respect and demonstrating his good intentions. A very Gryffindor thing to do."
"Of course, you'd see bravery as a bad thing," Harry retorted.
"On the contrary, bravery is something I always admired – even though, I never considered it for myself," Voldemort argued. "It's foolish acts of self-sacrifice I'm against. I trust you know the difference?"
Harry snorted, took the plate of sandwiches and left without another word.
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