Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first, I think. Find it through the author link.

Rating: This chapter PG-13. Rating will go up.

Category: Drama/Romance

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, HG/RW.

Summary: In Harry's 7th year a wizarding tradition is being revived. It seems to have trapped Snape, Draco and Harry in a strange triangle, but that's only part of the problem. This was initially inspired by Diana Williams' "The Courtship of Harry Potter".

Notes: The last two scenes are proving difficult so this is 2 (a) until I can find some actual time, and so I won't spend that time rewriting this part. As it is, this chapter comes across rather more D/H than anything so far.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed.

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

Pervinco II (a): The Plumed Serpent

By lunch time he still couldn't find Remus. He should be one place, and he'd already left. He should be in another, and he'd been called away by an emergency. Harry was frustrated and cross by the time Hedwig intercepted him on the windowed landing outside Gryffindor, flourishing a scroll tied to one leg.

He patted his robe for treats, but they made little lumps in the stupid green robes, so he'd stopped carrying them.

"Sorry Hedwig old girl." Harry ran a hand gently along her back, and she made a soft amiable noise. After all, she wasn't going hungry.

He knew the letter was from Sirius well before he slit open the anonymous seal. He'd avoided thinking about what his godfather might say.

* * *

HARRY:

What a ridiculous day.

Ignored by Malfoy, dismissed by Snape, missed lunch, ran around looking for an absentee werewolf, and got an outraged letter from my godfather. I can't imagine what Snape or even Remus must have received.

So after two hours of trying to find a way to imply that Snape's declaration is a good idea without saying it's none of Sirius's damned business, I'm trudging to the owlery – tired, still hungry, and mad at most things. Seamus would not shut up about Draco and Remus, and what that proved, and Padma and Parvati sat in the corner repeatedly asking what the Headmaster could be thinking. Ginny was there, and kept looking at me mournfully, and Lavender kept comforting her as if I'd done something wrong, and Hermione and Ron played we're-subtle-about-our-relationship by the fire. And, ok, maybe I'm a bit jealous, but all of a sudden they're so very superior and so 'oh Harry, really. . .'

I sulk around the corner and almost run into Malfoy. He brushes close by without looking at me, and it takes me a second to realise I'm wearing the invisibility cloak.

Draco paces back again to the arches through which the owls enter. He looks nervous – at least for Malfoy. He even impatiently hops up and down before pacing my way again. It's rather. . . exciting to be able to watch Draco without his being in charge of what I see, or able to make me feel guilty or nervous because I am. I watch him. Near the door again he stops, and listens. I hold my breath and my position. By now I have lots of experience using the cloak in silent ways, but I know how well-trained Draco Malfoy must be. It's a wonder he didn't hear me stomping down the corridor.

Childishly stomping down the corridor. Right now, everything I've done in the last couple of days looks different – I've been. . . stupid, selfish, and really lucky I didn't find Remus, didn't talk to Snape, and didn't send Sirius this letter. I want Draco to talk to me, but he's trying to stay safe just as much as I am, maybe more – I really don't know what's at stake for him but his life's been turned upside down. I want Sirius to worry about and help me, but leave me alone. I want Snape to want me, as he'd never want someone who barged into his room demanding to be told secrets, or gossiped about him to a room full of nosy students. I'm an idiot.

Draco paces back to the outer wall, and when he leans against it with the moon in his hair he's as gorgeous as he's ever been. I'm a child, I'm an idiot, and I'm as turned on as I've ever been.

I take off the cloak and he half jumps and reaches for his wand but quickly recovers, stepping back against the wall. "Harry."

"So I'm Harry again now?" I say, walking towards him. He's leaning on one of the arches, the moon slicing across his face, silver on pale.

"Perhaps you should put some thought into where and when it's safe for us to talk. . ."

"Are you really in danger, Draco?"

He laughs, shortly. "Oh no, I'm fine. Just because I've refused to go home, defied my father for more than a week, and am currently living with and under the protection of two of his most despised enemies, and given Lucius has a dangerous and precise temper – no, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"Would he hurt you?"

He hesitates. "No. . . not unless it served some purpose. He's an intelligent man."

It occurs to me that. . . "You actually admire him."

"Of course," Draco replies diffidently. "There's a lot to admire."

"Really?" I say, and I hope that sounded sarcastic rather than astonished.

"You only see Death-Eater equals evil. He's more complex," he shifts with obvious discomfort and looks away; "it's much more complex than that."

Looking out into the night, still doing his glamorous moonlit boy thing, he's so much more beautiful than – him – than Severus Snape. Actually, as he looks back at me, glimmering grey stone chips for eyes, he's breathtaking. And now I actually have some idea – some better idea – what it might be like to kiss him.

"Is it true you're part Veela?" I say, and then wish I could bite off my tongue when he turns and laughs at me. Although, Draco laughing in the moonlight. . . "Well, that's the gossip. We laugh at it too, but sometimes it's kind of easy to believe."

Draco gives me what looks like a warm smile. "Are you saying I'm attractive, Harry?"

It'd be ridiculous to blush, so I laugh. "You know you're that, you arrogant jerk. I'm trying to say you're beautiful." He gives me what clearly is a warm smile, and sometimes he's abnormally beautiful: like ice and silk and light. It's almost a weapon.

"Maybe long ago, on Narcissa's side. With Lucius it's just charisma, and good breeding."

"Right," we're both laughing, but I notice how quietly. "Will he hurt you?"

"Yes." He says, without apparent resentment. "Enough to remind me what I owe allegiance to. Enough that he can trust me again." Draco puts a hand on the ledge of the owlery, peering down into the darkness. "I hoped my mother might help me mend the bridge somewhat. Lucius has a long arm, and I can't just be imprisoned here."

"Is there something I can do?" I ask, and he looks at me strangely, maybe amazed I think there's anything I could do, or maybe amazed that I'd want to.

He moves to the door, listens, casts silentium – which is a good choice because low profile but solid enough – and returns to me with a serious expression that makes his face more angular and, as he enters the moonlight again, even sharp, like his father's.

"Yes," he says quickly. "Accept my declaration. Now. It's what he wants – though I'm not sure exactly why. It'll buy me time and give me a reason for staying here."

I'm playing into Malfoy's plans, aren't I? It does, it really does, occur to me that Draco may be out here just for this – he hasn't been alone for days and now, just as I am wandering around, stomping around. . . and is it really possible Malfoy didn't hear me coming, didn't know I was here all the time. . .?

"All right."

That expression is either brilliant acting or genuine surprise, and I really don't know which. But he doesn't ask if I'm sure, or if I mean it. Just says "Thank you."

"So we have a truce then?" I say, as lightly as I can.

"Yes." He almost sounds regretful. "A truce between pawns."

There's a rustle of birds in the shadows around us and, as they predict, an arrival. It's Draco's eagle owl. She hops three skips across the stone towards him and turns her head. There's no parcel or letter, but something around her neck, which Draco slips off. A ring slides along a silver chain. I watch him bite his lip and slip the whole thing into a pocket.

"Bad news?"

"Not good news." He brushes the bird's head with one hand and produces an owl treat from nowhere with the same hand. "Cybele," he says fondly. "Good girl." She springs off towards the roost.

Draco openly assesses me, with his sharp head on one side like a bird. Not a threatening look, but challenging. He moves closer and puts a hand on my shoulder. This time there's no calculated playing on my attraction – at least not that I can see.

"Will you do it now?" I nod; there's a tight feeling in my chest. "Do you know how?"

Huh. Yes, I've caught up. I didn't want to go into anything with Snape uninformed. I've far too much experience doing that. "Yes, I know." He looks a little impressed. "It's not complicated," I add, self-consciously. "I mean, there are a few ways, but we can probably dispense with the script and bird version – even though, actually, we do have everything here. I mean, we could just go for the personal seal. . ."

"You're nervous," he says, and I concede it. I haven't done this before, obviously, and I have a sudden panicked thought that Snape might not be at all pleased. But, he'd want it for Draco, surely, and I have a jealous flash of triumph that we're here like this. He wouldn't even talk to me, and now I'm about to. . .

"The seal means I give you something personal, or I could write on you. . ." I'm shocked but excited by the anticipation of what I'm about to say, "or I could kiss you."

"That will work?" Draco asks, and I know we're going to do it. I feel both deceitful – not that there's anything real happening between Snape and I – and thrilled. I'm suddenly half hard, a warm pool tingling in my groin, my heart beating faster, though Draco seems perfectly calm.

I manage to say "Yes." I take out my wand and still him with a hand on one shoulder – I can feel his strength shfting under my hand. Carefully I say "ego agnosco." I reach out and take his hand. That's so strange there's an instant in which I think I won't remember the words – "vos suscipio." And then I lean forward, sensing the nearness of his white skin before I press my lips to his mouth. It's soft, and gives beneath me. His hand slips in mine. I feel his shoulder move, and my heart beat, and then we're drawing apart. Our lips stick, dragging our mouths slightly open. I feel his breath touch my mouth and look down – "pervinco." We both feel the spell take effect.

He doesn't let go of my hand right away.

A little nervously I laugh, "Breakfast will be interesting again," turning away.

Millicent Bulstrode is standing in the doorway.

* * *

Neither the second week of tutorials with Professor Lupin nor the commencement of the Quidditch season could alleviate how serious the next week seemed. There were so many tensions between the students that they seemed like an entirely different group than the ones that hand joked around about wand position only days ago.

Gryffindor was in the most upheaval. Ron Weasley was evidently furious with Harry Potter, and almost equally annoyed that his girlfriend was taking Harry's side. Some of the others wanted to move on, claiming Harry was clearly protecting Malfoy, clearly a very Harry thing to do, but Harry wouldn't say that was what happened. Another faction held staunchly to the "Better Malfoy than Snape" line, others believed there must be some more mysterious reason behind it all that they hadn't been told, and some of the younger girls believed it was all a plot to discourage the desperate Ginny Weasley.

The Slytherins intermittently teased Potter but were cautious around Draco. Both sides watched the pair for signs of attraction, but there were none. Or none from Draco and nothing clear from Harry, although he did seem to watch Malfoy rather a lot. Harry himself seemed pre-occupied, though it was hard to tell about what. As expected, no one knew anything at all about what Draco thought or felt.

* * *

After another round of mostly inept attempts at dueling in the traditional style – the boys in particular seemed to resent all the restrictions – Professor Lupin called their attention.

"As I said last week, this class will draw on the expertise of various staff members, so that you can refine some of the different skills which might be called upon during the Rite." Harry listened to the explanation, one more time, and looked forward anxiously, one more time, to the Order of the Phoenix meeting planned for tomorrow evening, when he was definitely going to get some questions answered. Why did they need caging and uncaging spells for a dueling game? What was behind the strenuous insistence on every minor rule encoded in the traditional dueling system? What was Snape doing here?

". . .as an expert in those skills," Lupin was saying, and Harry looked around irritably for some sign of what skills and why Snape was here. He'd kept to himself all weekend, dreading the revelation the Prophet would bring on Monday morning, and watching out at every moment for the immanent blackmail scene with Millicent. It didn't happen, possibly because he spent every minute he could shut up in the tower but also, apparently, because she wasn't letting him off that easily.

She'd not even looked at him differently – though that stood out because everyone else did – or said a word. He and Draco had talked, discreetly but not quite secretly, for a few minutes each day and the conversation was mostly the same – has she said anything, is there any sign she's said anything to others, how are the Gryffindorks taking it, when is your father coming, exactly. "He's making me wait," Draco always said.

He'd heard nothing from Sirius, who must know, and he'd heard nothing from Snape who certainly did know. He realised now that the real trick in the agreement that they would only use Snape's owl to communicate was that it meant he had no way to contact his supposed supplicant without breaking one of Snape's rules. He had to be discreet, he couldn't go to his rooms, and he couldn't write to him. He'd written and rewritten the letter explaining what happened with Draco and why, but Snape had to contact him first.

Whatever he actually thought about it, Snape seemed to respond by creating a visible zone of invisibility around Harry Potter. Even when he broke a beaker in Potions, Snape acted as if he wasn't there. He was tempted to do something even more dramatic, but was trying to avoid the impulsive immaturity he associated with 'before kissing Draco'. So he didn't intentionally seek a detention, but it was a near thing. He couldn't explain it, but he did feel ridiculously like he'd been unfaithful to Snape. Who was right there.

* * *

Snape taught them repression, basically – how to conceal what you felt, physically or emotionally. Or that was the theory. In fact, they were pretty terrible at it – Gryffindors most of all, and Slytherins less than the others. Apparently it was key to traditional dueling, not responding. It might have been even worse for Harry, who Snape implied – ok, said – was constantly at the mercy of his emotions, if Ron hadn't been in the class. Snape seemed to take perverse delight in embarrassing Ron to show how easily he could be distracted, and Ron for some reason seemed to relish trying not to be distracted.

Draco didn't even pretend to take this class, and for once everyone saw a certain logic in his working as Lupin's assistant. Lupin, Snape and Malfoy closed the class with an almost light-hearted competition of affliction, casting minor but seriously irritating curses on one another and striving not to respond to the spells the others cast. Although he clearly lost, both Professors congratulated him and even the Gryffindors were impressed.

As the class broke up Snape was drawn into a conversation with Hermione about whether protection spells were always Charms, and whether Charms were or could be, technically, offensive. Harry watched Snape reply, watched his focused interest and realised how much Snape probably would enjoy teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. He leant towards Hermione as she tried to reword her question, his long hands gesturing as he explained.

Feeling he had nothing to contribute, Harry went to speak with Draco. "You were very good," Harry said quietly.

Draco smiled briefly, and lowered his head to say softly. "He'll be here on Saturday."

The boys shared a long look. "Can I help?"

"No. He's my father; I'll deal with it."

Harry clearly gave him a doubtful look.

"Stay out of it Harry."

Harry went to reply, but Draco cut him off with a hand on his arm – "And if you start following me around in that cloak I will be forced to kill you."

Harry smiled back.

"If you're quite done, gentlemen?"

Harry sprang back and away from Draco, and flushed at Professor Snape's evident amusement. "And that, Mr Potter, is exactly what I mean. You have no control over your responses. Anyone would think you were doing something illicit."

Harry caught his breath, fighting his irritation, confusion, and embarrassment. "I'll talk to you later Draco," he said with as much obvious affection as he could, and walked away without another glance at either of them.

Malfoy caught his Professor's eye, grinned, and ducked off towards his room.

Snape watched him go as Remus Lupin approached from the other side of the room. "Interesting triangle, Severus," he said, collecting stray class materials with a sweep of his wand.

"Quite. Lucius, Draco, and Harry Potter – I'm sure it'll have a happy ending," Snape replied sharply, moving away. "But perhaps you had your own triangle in mind."

"Harry's always been a sensitive boy, as I recall," Lupin said after him.

"I can't think how you'd know, Lupin." Snape said as he walked out the door.

* * *

The Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs were united in disliking Wizarding Society. It was as boring as History, the Gryffindors said, and by 7th year most of them had escaped Professor Binns, who was more ghastly than they remembered, in a totally ineffectual un-ghostly way. The Hufflepuffs found the whole thing distasteful. This week it was Part 2 of "inheritance and property", and one of the Hufflepuff girls had left in tears over something or other that left half a generation of witches utterly dependent on marriage contracts. The Slytherins seemed to already know half the answers and dismiss the rest as irrelevant. Ron was devising a thesis about the Rite as a plot to instill them all with Slytherin values, and Hermione was trying to ascertain from the constantly updated school charter whether they got marked for this subject or not. Harry was, as usual, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye and, somewhat resentfully, practicing the "displacement of self" charm Snape had been teaching them last night.

It shocked everyone then, distracted in their own ways, when Binns announced suddenly that they should ". . . complete that entry for yourselves now on the parchments in front of you." A sheet of paper materialised in front of Harry. It read:

Name //

Representative 1 //

Representative 2 //

Indicate any special circumstances, such as Muggle, overseas, deceased, etc. //

Professor Binns floated amongst, or through, the tables. Mandy Brocklehurst made a disgusted noise when he whisped through her hand. "Of course some of you may not have all the required information," he said in his low elongated tone, looking in Harry's direction, "in which case you may take the parchment with you. When completed it will immediately go to Professor McGonagall." Harry self-consciously rolled up the paper, just as Binns said "And that will be all," and promptly drifted through a wall.

As they headed off to dinner, Hermione muttered about "special circumstances", Ron groaned about Binns and Slytherins, and Harry watched Draco carefully take his paper with him. He whispered to Hermione that he'd catch her up later. She nodded; Ron made a disgusted face in Malfoy's direction; and they kept walking.

Harry would have followed Draco, but Professor McGonagall stepped into the room. "Mr Malfoy. Your father is here to see you."