Recipe 1 : Making a well-mannered Sorcerer
This chapter contains depictions of: CF/NM, M/M
In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts and the Fall of the Dark Lord during the Second Wizarding War, the Magical Society of Great Britain went to tremendous change in very little time. Traumatized as they were by this horrendous war, and the loss of a generation, wizards and witches developed a definitive aversion for blood purity and dark arts fascination that, for too long, had plagued their society; they finally understood that this path would only lead them to extinction. There was no tolerance for these supremacist ideas infamously associated with what was referred to as the worst Slytherins values. However, societies, even magical ones, may not have the power to become something else entirely out of their own volition, and, after the traumatic experience of the war, they took refuge in more traditional values, of secrecy, of esoteric conventions, whimsicals rituals that codified the common decency of the proper sorcerer. All of these traditions came from what were called the better Slytherins values, once purged of their darker proclivities. And thus, by a cunning twist of fate, the Slytherins inherited the task to reform the society they once fought so hard to destroy; and, even more paradoxical, none other than Draco Malfoy himself became the symbol of this new reformed Slytherin, the new Sorcerer.
If he had been asked a couple months ago, Draco wouldn't have believed he would be the new media favourite. Because of his father's involvement with the Death Eaters, the disgrace of his family name had been complete. Lucius Malfoy barely saved his head, only thanks to his wife's, Narcissa Malfoy, final act of mercy towards Harry Potter and because the wizarding society had become tired of split blood. Nonetheless, his manor and the payments of war reparations had left him knutless. Narcissa had left him too with Draco, and, through savant Magical Law, she was able to save her flat in London that came from her own family. While her financial situation had deteriorated significantly, she had gathered enough to shield herself and Draco from need, until he graduated and settled at least. Indeed, Draco Malfoy, like many witches and wizards his years, despite being of age and adult, would attend their seventh year for a second time in Hogwarts School of Wizard and Wizardry.
No one would have pitied Draco Malfoy, really. His classmates thought of him as a bully, remembering him spouting blood supremacist slurs, and competing against them and the late Albus Dumbledore. Of course, he never joined the enemy per say, however that was not counted to his credit, but rather inspired contempt for this cowardice. Until the very end, Draco did not even know whether he would be allowed back at Hogwarts, which was not really a desire of his own, as he couldn't see how he would survive a year among so many people who hated him, but merely to grant his mother's wish. All of that changed after the publication of a long interview he gave to the Daily Prophet.
He had opened his heart to the journalist, perhaps like a final confession and told it all. The abuse of his father, rewarding him for malice and inspiring him with the worst ideas. His childhood with other offspring of Death Eater, educated to act as the next generation of the servants of the Dark Lord; encouraged by Lucius to order them as he himself commanded the Death Eaters, and how it had prevented him to find true friends at Hogwarts. He spoke how jealous he had been of Harry Potter and how afraid he had been of Voldemort himself. And how he wished someone had stopped him, and showed him the way to be courageous and brave faced to the impossible perspective of becoming a murderer or being killed instead.
The journalist, who had planned a character assasination of the last Malfoy was touched unexpectedly by this pale boy before him, as he poured his heart and shared the chaos in him while keeping proper manner and dignity. "It is indeed a terrible fate to die at sixteen," she wrote about the terrible choice Draco had to make to save his own life.
And just like that, the ultimate offspring of a degenerate family became a romantic soul, torn between light and darkness, desire and duty, fear and honor. Truth be told, most people had more in common with Draco Malfoy and his doubts and mousinness than with Harry Potter's unyielding courage and pureness of heart. Because, in the end, Draco Malfoy, "this blooming young adult; polite with a frail elegance, always aware that he might cause discomfort, delicate in his movement, as if he was made of porcelain a faintest wind would shatter", as the journalist wrote, didn't join the dark side. Despite his upbringing, the bullying he received and inflicted, the fear, the terror, the cowardice, he didn't say the killing word against his old Headmaster. Perhaps even it was not cowardice that prevented him from betraying Harry Potter when he had the opportunity, but rather the only way a tortured soul could find her way to goodness. A frail rose, born in manure, covered in thorns yet blooming in darkness and her sweet fragrance lingers on.
And just like that, the magical world remembered a kind of nobility ancient family once incarnated. Nobility does not permit, it obliges. It does not grant privileges but shares what nature provided. It does not hide from muggles out of fear, but out of respect. It does not shame muggles born for the vice they inherit from their own world, but offer wisdom with humility and love. It does not exclude with esoteric protocols, but shows formal politeness not to impose power over others, for sorcerers are powerful, and if they don't pay attention, can impose their will to others without even realizing it.
That year at Hogwarts was the most polite school ever known. No duels after midnight, disruptions or insults in classes, or cursed pranks. Formal clothes were worn all day long, with the comeback of antiquated pieces of clothes and garments everyone had forgotten. The time spent for dress up in intricate laces went up, so did the polite greetings to the point it impacted the punctuality for classes. The teacher didn't mind it though, as no classes had ever been so attentive. Only Peeves didn't follow the fad, but soon, he seemed to give up, as his pranks were not received with anger or frustration from the victim. Only the most delicate magic was performed out of class, spells made without malice, but to inspire awe and elegance.
Benevolence had become the mantra of the school, and those who didn't abide by it were quickly converted, not through force nor contrition, but by the unyielding power of comfort and safety provided once they let down their fear. As for Draco Malfoy, he could have basked in his new found glory and gathered a court around him. He didn't, understanding that his popularity was hanging on a thread, and mostly stayed away from the crowd, cultivating his romantic image that suited his pale face so well. More pragmatically, he knew not to provoke the Gryffindors who wouldn't allow any display of triumph. He only let himself meet people in the secluded gardens, giving advice about the new renaissance fashion, or being the confidant of others, arbiter of politeness, teacher of manners.
As for his former nemesis Harry Potter, he stayed out of all of that entirely, remembering the most important lessons he learned from the most unexpected teacher. "Fame is a fickle thing." Harry knew too well how opinion could turn over overnight, especially against him.
At some point, however, some zealous Slytherins converted to the new fad went on a mission to enforce the strict rules of politeness at all cost, and publicly accused Harry Potter of affront when he responded to their formal salute ( wielding hand oh the heart, the other extended, right leg elegantly put behind, and a bow from the torso) with a "Sup guys." Harry tried to cool them down. "Celebrity is, as celebrity does." The joke didn't land. They were twice affronted.
It caused a scandal among the Hogwarts students. All schools, including teachers, all wearing formal dresses with powdered wigs gathered around. Draco Malfoy was called to chastise the malotru. When he realised it was Harry Potter, he knew his days of grace were over, as he was in no position to confront him, but couldn't also renounce his defence of good manners, the only reason why he was still alive at Hogwarts. To save face, as politely as he could, he offered Harry his service to teach him the good manners, invoking a very ancient tradition no one knew about but described in Manual of Manners for Meeting Most Distinguished Sorcerers. if Harry would care for it obviously; and Draco assured him, he would not impose anything on him, as I am your most devout servant yours truly, Draco Malfoy.
"You want to make me a proper sorcerer?" asked Harry as a taunt, "I'd like to see that!"
To Draco surprise, Harry extended a hand, and Draco shook him, binding the pact, that Harry would present himself in the most formal wizarding clothes, on the seventh of october at seven pm, and Draco would teach him good wizarding manners, as stated in the "Manual of Manners for Meeting Most Distinguished Sorcerers."
All of that, Harry didn't realize at first, for he had accepted Draco's offer for the laugh of it. It was Hermione, who had checked out the only copy of the book immediately at the library who explained it to him. At first, Harry couldn't be bothered to follow up on his word, however, when Hermione explained to him how complicated he would do to rescind Draco's invitation, now that he was bound by his word, he decided the laziest way was still to do it.
He asked Hermione to help her with the clothes and to learn the minimum amount of etiquette. She seemed surprised at first, then said:
"Meet me on the seventh after lunch, I'll help you prepare.
"What? I'll need five hours to dress? You're kidding me right?"
Hermione looked at him a bit puzzled and said, with malice:
"You really should think before you act, Harry."
Indeed, Harry hadn't thought about it when he called Draco's bluff and now, unless he catched up, he would spend an evening being humiliated by Malfoy. Somehow, the taunts and reprimands from Aunt Petunia run in his head; therefore he started to pay more attention around him, how the other sorcerers dressed up, how they attached their long hair, wore faint blush and eyeliner to make their face more andregonyous. The plain black school robes had been replaced with more exuberants garments, while both witches and warlocks seemed to up the game: under their capes, they wore what Harry, from his blatant ignorance, would call medieval pants and corset-looking top, while the most daring added a special piece of cloth to emphasise their crotch.
"I'll stick up with the robes," he swore to himself.
During classes, Harry would sneak a look on Draco, as he wanted to figure out what he had planned for their confrontation but the pale boy was nowhere to be found. Twice, he managed to glimpse his porcelain face that contrasted with his thin red lips and wondered if he wore some kind of lipstick, and if he should do the same. Draco seemed annoyed by that as he vanished immediately after he noticed Harry had found him.
On the fateful day, Harry knocked and entered Hermione's apartment. The witch had indeed managed to get one next to the teachers for her last years, as she didn't feel like sharing a dormitory anymore. Here, she had a bedroom, a private bathroom, a small lounge, a kitchen filled with muggle appliances and an office filled with books and parchment. An excessive amount of boxes were stacked on her bed, all clothes for Harry, as she explained.
"I've got all the usual stuff for you and a couple of options. It's supposed to be on your size but I'll fix it up myself if needed. Now strip down, I have to take the final measurements.
"Remove that too," she added with malice, as Harry now stood in his muggle boxers. "You'll never believe how complicated traditional wizards undergarments are."
Harry obeyed. Hermione and him, being muggle raised, had shared the same discomfort when they had discovered the wizard had little concept of modesty. Now they had become comfortable with nudity, especially after sharing a tent for months, in a setting that wouldn't allow much privacy.
Hermione measured everything she needed to, assessing sizes and length with her wand or her hand directly, which prompte Harry to make a joke about her cold fingers
"Can you get ahem, aroused for me now Harry? You wouldn't want to get too tight."
She left him to concentrate for a moment as he saw nothing arousing in this situation. The whole thing was marvelous, he thought. All of that because of his own cheek and because of pretty Draco with his stupid face.
Yet, Harry managed a decent result, for which he and Hermione shared a new joke. Then she finished the other measurement and started to dress him up.
First, she put him in a kind of garter belt black, without laces, around the waist, and she hooked it on two anchors around each thigh. It would hold everything else, she explained.
Hermione hadn't lied, these traditional garments were incredibly silly. There were two separate pieces for the male privates part, one looked like a pouch and the other a what Harry thought was a sock but turned out to be a very comfortable sealth of silk. Both were attached to the garter belt with ribbons and hook Hermione helped tie together.
Hermione then selected some sort of outerpants, open on the crotch, that left the inner of his legs, thigh and all buttocks uncovered. He was a bit surprised at first but, after he put on the robes over it, found that it allowed his skin to breath easily, and the contact of the robes fabric on his naked ass was surprisingly agreable. That way, if he needed to access everything, in the bathroom for example, he would only have to raise his robe and remove the sheath. Perhaps he had discarded wizards fashion too fast. After adjusting the opening on the top of his robes with a mirror, he had to agree with Hermione: he did look good and proper.
He asked her about makeup, and to his relief, Hermione said that the current trend wouldn't work on him anyway, and she'd do something light. She barely trimmed his eyebrows and put the faintest eyeliner he had to match his deep green eyes.
Then they settled on a pair of shoes that were both elegant and comfortable.
"I wonder if it was really worth it Hermione," he said. "Draco won't probably show up, it's not as if we'll take that seriously. Not that I'd mind putting him in his place. Things were easier when we dueled at midnight."
"Don't worry Harry," she replied with amusement, "I'm sure you'll have a wonderful date."
The joke made Harry laugh goodheartedly.
Draco's reputation as master of fashion was not usurped. Like the article said, he did look like a small thing of porcelain that could shatter anytime, with his pearly face, grey eyes and thin red lips; and white blond hair, cut like Harry would describe a boyish hairstyle a girl would wear. He suspected he was cultivating this appearance of fragility as a ruse to inspire compassion.
He followed Malfoy towards Hogsmead, in a very fancy restaurant Harry didn't know even existed. Is that what Draco had in mind? Indeed, according to the Guide for Good Manners or something — Harry wasn't really paying attention to Hermione's earlier explanation — dinner was supposed to be a moment to learn and demonstrate etiquette. A wizard that can demonstrate how to hold a fork can be trusted with a wand, Draco explained.
During the aperitif they exchanged pleasantry and light conversation. Despite the appearance, Harry knew Draco was being uncomfortable, as he expected Harry to stop the pretences and the formality and confront him and his past. But Harry wouldn't do it. He wanted Draco to drop his act himself, and so far, there was no flaw in Harry's perfect manners. However, the first difficulty arose when Harry was presented with the menu. He didn't recognize any of the dishes, that were all french, for some devilish reason. The only thing Harry knew about french is that Uncle Vernon hated them and Sirius loved their wine. His ignorance and the sudden remembrance of his late godfather push him to launch the first assault, before Draco could notice a flaw.
"I can't choose between the oyster and the escargots," he said. "Care to help me decide like a proper sorcerer would, as I know both dishes elicit both love and repulsion. An honest sorcerer is truthful with his desire yet does not impose it upon others."
"Both delicacies are equal among the pleasures of the tongue," replied Draco gracefully," yet each requires different attention to enjoy it to the fullest. While I recognize the most refined taste of oyster, I find myself always partial to escargots; and tonight I shall indulge as well.
"Then since I am your disciple for all things proper tonight, I shall entrust my palate to your guidance," said Harry, planning to copy Draco's way to eat them, since he had no idea what to do with the dozen forks and spoons and other piece of cutlery he didn't recognize around his plate.
When his dishes arrived, Harry regretted his choice, as the snails cooked in butter looked upsetting, yet, he would rather die of intoxication than admit it to Draco. Carefully, he copied the gesture, and put the fork in his mouth. Not bad, not bad at all, he thought. A bit spongy but very savory and warm. The more he masticated, the more he liked it, and he had to pace himself, not to finish them before Draco. Draco would have to speed up, as it would be rude to let Harry wait, but, it would also be rude for Harry to let Draco speed up instead of enjoying his own food.
They kept the pretense of having a good conversation between two sorcerers who appreciated each other's company. Harry had to admit Draco did his part well and started to enjoy the conversation. By pretending he didn't resent Draco anymore, he allowed himself to laugh at his pleasantries, and even encouraged him forward to make snarky comments about his new followers who tried to get his favours at all cost, up to ridicule. Harry, who had become an expert for clever comebacks against Dudley, recognized Draco's masterful craft with words. He took a moment to remember his best ones.
"Honestly, Goyle, If You Were Any Slower, You'd Be Going Backwards"
"Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."
Harry made the conscious effort to judge this one as hurtful, despite being perfectly crafted, out of loyalty for his Gryffindor mates. He also noticed that the current Draco would still make snarky comments, a bit cruel, but not really mean, as if he'd shown restraint, or maybe, had grown a little empathy. Draco even did a remarkable impression of his younger self.
"Harry, you've finished your wine already? My father will hear about it!"
Harry laughed without restraint but Draco's pale face let transpired a worry for a second. Without thinking, his joke brought on the topic his father, a Death Eater who had repeatedly tried to kill his guest. Harry immediately saw the opportunity to put Draco in the corner, but decided to let it slide, just once, for the sake of the joke, and showing self derision.
After dinner, they were shown to a small room with a comfortable sofa and cushioned armchair around a coffee table, and a liquor cabinet full of the most refined spirits. Hermione had explained it to Harry, these rooms were called boudoirs. Proper and well-mannered wizards would lock themselves in here with the pretense of having a nightcap, and to avert the eyes from the deplorable spectacle of overdrinking. But everyone knew it was there, cloaked by the night, that secrets of potions and spells were exchanged between wizards, masters and apprentices. It was a moment for deeper conversation, for the most intimate secrets, that no one dared to interrupt, and the enchantment on the door ensured it.
Well rested and well fed, Harry got comfortable on the sofa while Draco sat on the other side. The evening was fun, and free, which is always nice. Yet maybe Draco had been waiting for him to let his guards down and reveal his humiliating ignorance of the proper wizarding manners. Pretty and courteous on the outside, yet always scheming, bloody Draco. So Harry went back on the assault.
"You can't take one step without hearing about Benevolence these days," he said with an affected bored voice. "It had become the cardinal value yet I haven't seen any display on it since I arrived at Hogwarts, seven years ago. Do tell me, my dear Draco, what are people babbling about."
He made a large gesture towards Draco, to give him the floor, but spilled some of the liquor of this glass, which was not as dignified as he had planned. The spell was casted nonetheless. The trapped set up. Draco wouldn't dare lecturing Harry about being nice after bullying him and his friend so long. He would try excuses, Harry would push further and win.
"The ancient ways of wizardry teach us several definitions for benevolence," explained Draco. "Some are more innocent, like the Storge, the love towards family and others, like Philautia, loving oneself, which can devolve into Mania, which is fueled by a desire of self preservation and fear of death…"
Draco was done for it. Speaking of family to an orphan, then a description that would fit Voldemort itself. But before Harry could deal the final blow, Draco continued.
"But the more interesting is probably the Agape, which you should know about, it's about unconditional love, selflessness, doing what needs to be done, for the good of it, without interest. It is also said that this is magic itself. Yet it is not the only one for a sorcerer. Life is not about constant selfless sacrifice. Ludus is what we are playing when we play. A quick word. Banter, courtship, which is a game on it's own, and can lead to Eros…"
"Still, I concede it's very convincing and educated," said Harry after dozing off, "yet I fail to recall any instance of you expressing any kind of benevolence towards me."
Draco got up and sat next to Harry on the sofa. He crossed his legs, brought them on the sofa, put one arm on the sofa's back and faced Harry straight in the eye.
"I can demonstrate it now, If you're up to it," said Draco.
"Sure I'm curious-"
In the same movement, Draco put his hand on Harry's cheek and put a kiss and his mouth, slipped his tongue in and out, sucked his upper lips and receded.
Harry, who had been faking having a good time all evening, realized he had not been faking it after all. He put his hand on Draco's back and pressed him against his own face, so he could kiss him back. Draco's lips were thin, delicate, his tongue tasty and lively, very different from Cho's wet mouthful kissing and Ginny angry little kisses. Draco kissed like a girl in a very masculine way, Harry thought. One kiss led to one other, the tongues went in, the lips closed and open while Draco's hand went in Harry's hair and Harry held Draco's head in his hand. By the time their mouths were apart, Harry was laying back on the sofa with Draco pressed over him, pushing one knee between his legs. The sock like undergarments Hermione had tailored for him was extending to accommodate it's growing content. Harry had not planned this turning of event. He'd never would have thought he'd enjoyed it immensely.
Considering the hardness pressing against his Harry's, Draco enjoyed it too. Somehow, he had found a way around Harry's robe, caressed its way along the thigh, and lavished Harry with grazing and stroking. The gentle touch through the silk fabric was exhilarating. It fueled Harry's desire, he repaid each pleasure brought with a kiss on the mouth, and the neck, and the ear. To repay him even further he fumbled through Draco's robe, but failed to reach his goal, so Draco removed his own robes, revealing a similar undergarments, a white lace garter belt on his pearl whit waist, a white sheath with a ruban hand over a white nest of cotton.
Harry put his hand between Draco's leg, and brought him back in front of his face so suddenly that Draco had to put both hands on the sofa, on all fours, not to fall. Without even thinking about it, Harry had untied Draco's knots and hooks, and could contemplate something glorious, pale and smooth, like an ivory tower. Tentatively at first, he played with it, assessing the feeling on the touch, the way it reacted, the warmness.
Fuck I'm trying it, thought Harry and proceed to pleasure Draco with his mouth. Draco sighed in relief. It was not unlike the escargot, Harry thought, it was a delicacy to taste, to take a mouthful, to enjoy. In that way, it was not Harry that was treating Draco, it was Draco that was making an offering to Harry, that was Harry was ready to receive it.
But Draco wasn't ready to deliver his gratification so soon. He took Harry's wrists and held them behind his head on the couch, then sat on top of him, and helped him wiggle out of his robes. Harry didn't understand why Draco had denied him this pleasure. He broke free and reached for Draco skin anywhere he could but Draco held him back again. Then a sudden desire took Harry, as he realized how Draco was sitting on his lap. That could work too, though Harry. He wanted to possess him entirely, then hold that fragile piece of porcelain close and tight and never let go.
The pale wizard seemed to have understood Harry's intent and the way he arched his back, and was ready to let him go on with it.
"Not yet," he said. "Still I have to teach you to receive love, and I'll be the one giving it to you" he whispered to the ear. "I'll make you a true sorcerer now."
Draco used his hands and fingers first, and each reticence and recoil was overcome with kisses and gentle caresses. He had soon reached a wonderful place Harry didn't know existed, then Harry was finally ready to receive Draco's full expression of desire.
They changed to a more comfortable position, Harry on the side, and Draco behind him. With one hand he turned Harry's head toward him, and with the other pleasured Harry once again. And with a kiss, he gave Harry a thrust of pleasure.
Locked together, the two lovers found the pace that brought them to the edge. Harry gave himself up to pleasure first, and Draco following him, fist clenched on Harry's hair.
The ocean inside Draco's body slowly settled, he rolled over to face Harry, and wrapped himself around him, legs locked together, kissing slowly, hands caressing his back and hair and chest; a relief after the wreckage that went through both their bodies.
"That's what wizardry should be all about," said Draco after he had found his voice back. "Labour, housing, food, money, inheritance, blood, none of this used to matter to the wizards. They were glad enough to be spared from the misfortune of existence, thanks to magic."
He continued stroking Harry's hair.
"They had all the time for love and desire. That's also what benevolence used to mean. Everyone was fucking. This is my dream for the new wizarding world. It's all on the "Manual of Manners for Meeting Most Distinguished Sorcerers." It teaches a formal way to court other wizards. Also a sex guide. But of course you know all of that or you wouldn't have agreed to meet me this evening. I was surprised you'd want to by the way. But it was a nice surprise."
So Hermione knew this would happen, because she read the book, thought Harry. God she's gonna be so smug about it.