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 moves up to R by the end.
Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, RW/HG.
Notes: I lost the draft of this series this week, along with the rest of my hard drive. I'm going to try and keep going with it, but updates will be shorter and lest frequent. Thanks for the review, whomever, I had just about decided people on this site weren't terribly interested – or perhaps it's just a very closed community. Not sure. . . anyway, here's Pt 2, Ch 3.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.
Archiving: Only where I've agreed.
Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.
Pervinco III: Persuasion
Harry waited for Thetis to finish eyeing the owl treat suspiciously and turned his back so she could eat without having to acknowledge him. He offered her the letter – although at the last minute he nearly took it back to use a spell checking charm on it. He watched her fly away, loop around out over the inner lawn and up over the parapet. He breathed in the beautiful cool day and wondered if Ron was still watching him.
"So, that is Snape's owl, right?"
Harry turned back to see Ron, sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on his boots. Finishing, he leant his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them, and looked up at Harry.
"Yes, Snape's owl." Harry replied. "Her name is. . ."
"So you send a lot of 'love letters' to each other?" Ron interrupted, as if the last thing he wanted to hear was that Harry knew the name of Snape's owl.
"No – I mean. . ." Ron waited. "No, we. . ."
"Forget it. I really don't want to know." The redhead got up to retrieve his outer robe from the bedside chest.
"Then why did you ask?" Harry asked in an exasperated tone.
Ron finished dressing, as if thinking about it. "I keep forgetting that I'll never understand." At that moment Hermione came in, hugging Harry briefly with one arm before rushing over to Ron.
"Hogsmeade passes! It's a wonderful day, finally; though it'll be muddy I guess." She screwed up her face and then smiled again. "No matter. Can we do the bookstores first before you get all grumpy from overeating?"
"Ah, Mione, I forgot. I can't go this morning." At the surprised annoyance on her face, he added in a hurry "I did mean to tell you, and then – I forgot."
Harry was wondering why he hadn't even remembered there were passes today, and how he'd got to the point of not even noticing the usual buildup of excitement.
"It's just," Ron lowered his voice, "that 'thing' I'm supposed to do – on Fridays. . ."
Hermione seemed to, though Harry couldn't say he'd noticed there was a Friday thing Ron did.
"You didn't go last night," Hermione added, "Ron please don't say you have to go today." Her boyfriend gave an apologetic smile. "Fine," Hermione huffed, getting to her feet.
"Mione don't," Ron pleaded. "I really need to do this."
"Of course I don't care about Hogsmeade." Hermione said stiffly. "I care that you can't trust me with whatever this is."
"If it wasn't important. . ." he began, but Hermione was already leaving.
"Are you coming, Harry?" she asked, a little too brightly.
"Sure. Ok," Harry said. It's not like he had plans, apart from distracted mooning around over Draco and Snape and Snape and Draco and kissing guys and Sirius's face last night and Death-Eater plots – butterbeer and a sunny walk sounded fine.
Ron gave them a dark sort of look as they walked out and tossed himself back on the bed in a frustrated pile.
* * *
LAVENDER:
"Oh, you've got to hear this.
Are you ready? Oh, you should sit down. Ok.
Colin Creevey says Draco Malfoy is sick. No, of course that's not all. One of the Slytherins, I mean the other Slytherins, you know, the ones who hate him now, apparently poisoned him. Can you believe it? Part of some huge plot to frame his father.
Of course Lucius Malfoy, who else? That's who Draco ate dinner with last night, when Dean said he was, you know, with Professor Lupin, which is so stupid. As if Dean Thomas ever knows anything. Anyway, it's all because of some Death-Eater feud from the last time you-know-who was in power. No one knows what. And they nearly killed Malfoy, apparently he was at death's door all night, which is, remember, exactly what Sybill said in that Divination class. Do you remember, you told me – 'you will lie at death's door all night' – and now it's come true!
And it's absolutely certain about the poison part because he had to go to Snape for a pejorative, or whatever they are. Merlin, I hate Potions. And, you know, tonight is the full moon, and I bet they intended for Draco to have to watch over poor Professor Lupin. I know the staff says he has a new potion, but I think he still changes, at least when the moon is really full like tonight. Or maybe it's that the wolf is trapped inside him all the time; he's eternally haunted by his own dark monstrous side; always so calm but with something animal about him. Imagine, he'll be prowling in his rooms, with a wounded Draco lying next door.
It's bound to end terribly. Don't you think so, Millicent?"
* * *
Ron lay with a cushion over his head listening to the beginnings of a ritual. Neville read aloud from the third issue of the Daily Prophet Supplement on the Rite of Engagement. They had started last week – Padma said Neville had a lovely reading voice, and though the others had often already read it, or at least skimmed it, they all wanted to know how everyone else reacted.
. . . . When the witch Elizabeth Tudor reigned as Queen in the Muggle world, she required that gifts take the form of poetry, music, painting, drama, achievements in battle, on the sporting field, or in magic . . . .
"I like her; who's she?"
"Honestly Dean, do you never read?"
The ritual counted off the weeks in which everyone waited, between the declarations and the immanent Equinox. Hermione, like almost everyone else, hadn't finalised her declarations.
She would be flattered by Snape's offer; Ron understood that, and it would be hard to refuse him. And she was friends with Justin and probably didn't want to hurt his feelings. Ron couldn't remember if Justin had declared interest in anyone else. Hell, he couldn't even remember if it was Padma Neville was interested in, or Parvati. But Hermione also hadn't accepted anyone, including Ron. What did that mean? He couldn't bring himself to ask.
. . . . At the beginning of the eighteenth century, gifts usually took one of three forms. Memento represented the supplicant. Deliciae represented what the supplicant could offer. Avatar represented the object. . . .
"What object?"
"Us, silly. They're the supplicants and we're the objects."
"That's disgusting."
Would they do this all the way to summer, or just these early autumn weeks when everyone itched to know what would happen next? Could anyone keep Lavender from insisting she read next week's supplement on the different coloured ritual robes – probably more than once? Were Harry and he still friends?
Harry was the only one who didn't come on Monday nights to talk about the Supplement. He lay in his room, probably moping at the ceiling, or maybe fantasising about Malfoy, which was just disgusting. Definitely Malfoy; not Snape. Weeks of private tutoring with Snape hadn't made Ron like the man any more, but being a nasty ugly man didn't make you the type to lust after students. He was really kind of staunchly supportive, in a cruel, twisted, slave-driving way.
. . . . In the early nineteenth century, when the Rite was only widely practiced on the Continent, new forms of magic or other knowledge were highly prized gifts, but gifts of money and especially jewellery were far more common. . . .
"Oh, how do you think we get jewellery?"
"Lavender, I think the whole idea is for them to prove they know what you want."
"Well you must be able to hint. . ."
* * *
Lucius Naevius Anguis Malfoy &
Narcissa Christobel Edmonton Malfoy
Malfoy Manor, Surrey
Dear Miss Hermione Granger
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy cordially invite you to attend a celebration of the Autumn Equinox on behalf of their son, Draco Lucius Corvus Malfoy.
The celebration will be held at Malfoy Manor, on Sunday the twentieth of September, commencing at eight o'clock.
We sincerely hope you can attend.
RSVP: 13 September.
Formal dress.
Special floo arrangements will be made available.
Hermione folded the invitation back into its textured envelope. Ron looked at her expectantly.
"I know, it's bizarre," she said. "But maybe Harry would want us to go?"
"No, you can't be serious. Look what happened the last time we went to a Malfoy party."
"I thought it was actually pretty nice. Well," Hermione added, watching Ron's colour rise, "you'd have to admit the food was excellent." Ron gaped at her. "I'm sure we'd be perfectly safe; absolutely everybody has an invitation."
"You sound like Lavender."
"Ron! There's no need to be rude."
"This is Lucius Malfoy," he dragged the name out for emphasis, "not even his possibly just a bitter psychopath rather than intensely evil son." Hermione gave him her mildly irritated look.
"I don't believe any of this," Ron said, stalking away.
* * *
SEVERUS:
Flitwick throws his hands in the air again, and makes that small noise in his throat one more time. I suspect it means he wishes he could hex Dumbledore into another dimension, and I can entirely sympathise. However, pragmatically, he may as well give up – Albus has decided to agree to this request on both strategic and indulgent grounds – it's a lost cause.
"Charms are not party tricks, Headmaster. With. . ." he clearly struggles to say it, "all respect – you didn't convert the Defense classes into grooming sessions for the Rite, you added another class. Can we do that? I know Fleur Delacour is looking for teaching work, she would be entirely capable of such. . . of these. . . glamours!" Really, he spits the last word out so derisively that I'm actually impressed, and Flitwick is generally such an unobjectionable fellow it's positively objectionable. I await Albus's response with some interest.
"My dear Filius, please. Won't you sit down?" Albus gestures him towards the accursed chair in which one is offered tea. "Let me get you some tea."
Flitwick is out of the chair like lightning, and I actually have to make an effort not to snicker at his bad temper and Dumbledore's expression. Distress, tempered with amazement that one of his charges cannot see the light he sees; it's his alternative to 'I know you better than you know yourself, dear boy.' I think the amazement is less insufferable, but only just.
"Snape!" Flitwick turns and appeals to me and I wonder that after all these years he knows me so little. I have no interest in this. Albus wishes to genially cede to the Patil twins' typically shallow request for a program of Charms which can be used to enhance one's appeal in the context of the Rite's season of social events, and it will not effect me if he does. The school is already prostituted to this carnival in any case. Fortunately, Potions could hardly be. . .
"Headmaster. You must concede that a Master of his magical art must be allowed to teach it as he sees fit, without the vagaries of fashion." Flitwick gives me a surprised and grateful look, which only confirms his naiveté. He's the only wizard in this room who is not a Master.
"I entirely understand, Severus. I am only asking Filius to allow one session a week to be directed at these. . . social charms." Flitwick's expressive face flushes with anger but finally registers defeat. He gives me a small nod of thanks – perhaps I should have been more supportive, there are principles at stake. I glance at Albus, who is waiting on my response.
I have battles of my own, and tonight will be a sleepless one, as Lupin needs another batch of Wolsfbane Fidelis. I could teach Draco to make it, but I'm loath to give up that knowledge to him, or fortify the tentative alliance between them. I'm also interested in the new potion's effects. Lupin seems almost surreally calm lately.
"How can I help you Severus?" Albus finally asks.
* * *
Harry knocked on the door.
"I don't think he's in," Hermione whispered, pulling on his sleeve. The door opened.
"Harry," Draco said with a smile. "Hermione." She raised an eyebrow at his use of her given name. "Sorry, am I presuming too much, Miss Granger?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think I can bear the shock. A little more pleasant than 'Mudblood'."
"Well, I was young and stupid. I'm sure we're all past that."
"I'm sure."
The irony was a bit heavy for Harry. "Can we come in, Draco? I've never seen the solo suite."
Draco hesitated. "It's rather a mess."
Draco's room was actually rather bare, although there were a lot of books and papers in no apparent order lying around the room, singly or in piles. Harry noticed the sphere he'd been sent by Lucius Malfoy sitting in the centre of the mantle.
"Don't the house elves come in?" Hermione asked.
"I prefer that they don't. You know they're not very careful with magical things," Draco added.
Harry laughed and Hermione looked puzzled. "They're not?" she said, curiously. "I've never. . ."
"Hah, you've got the whole set," Harry laughed, moving over to a stack of folded robes on the dresser. "Of course you do. Not yet wearing the blue ones, though. Can't make up your mind?"
"I can't see why anyone wouldn't delay that as long as possible. I suppose they may look all right on the right kind of witch but. . . ugh. You think they could have commissioned Madame Malkin to design something a little less tacky." He pulled out the offending fabric and Hermione came and ran her hand over it with interest.
"Lots of the girls really like these," she said.
"I will look like a doll," Draco said, "and they'll clash with Harry's eyes." Hermione laughed and Harry pulled a face. "Now these, at least," he flicked his fingers down the centre fastenings of the green robe, "are an improvement on school robes. But we have to wear those for months." He tossed the dark blue robe back on the pile, where it neatly folded itself to match the others.
"Well you don't have to," Harry said.
Removing books from a chair near the desk Draco offered it to Hermione. "Of course I do."
"Thanks," Hermione said, "but I really do need to meet Ron." Harry rolled his eyes and Hermione began to frown but settled on a sigh. "He's kind of possessive right now."
"You trying to avoid the blue robes too?" Draco teased.
"No, I. . ." Harry struggled not to laugh. "We really should go now," she continued, grabbing Harry's sleeve, "but we came to say we'll come to your party, won't we Harry?"
"Oh, do we have to bring a gift?" Harry said as he was dragged to the door.
"Actually it's my birthday as well," Draco said coming to the door to see them out. "There are no presents for the Equinox but – if there's something you'd like to give me personally," he gave a blatantly sexy lopsided grin, and Hermione turned away, "I've always loved gifts."
Harry wanted to ask about the non-birthday part of the party, but Hermione already had him at the stairwell. Draco crossed the hall towards Remus's rooms, giving them a final wave.
"He's an outrageous flirt," Hermione said when they were part way up the stairs. Harry grinned. "Not that you seem to mind at all," she added, and they went on to Gryffindor happily.
* * *
When they needed to, Harry and Draco met in the archives, between the last class and dinner. It was not a secret, but the room had acquired a lock and key at some point since their first dimly lit conversation there and they did use a varying range of silencing spells. In fact Harry rather found himself researching that branch of charms to find some Draco wouldn't already know. Today Draco was already waiting when Harry arrived.
"You summoned?" he said with a smile, drawing this morning's note from his pocket.
Draco was leaning on the table, picking at his robe, and looked anything but happy to see a friend. If that's what they were. "Is it Millicent?"
Draco shook his head. "I had a letter from Mother – about that ridiculous party." He diligently pulled invisible threads away from the cloth.
"Well it's your birthday, isn't it? Is it? What's wrong with it?"
"It's my being put on display party. All the supplicants," he said it bitterly, "are invited. And the Ministry, and the School, and a bunch of other people. I thought I avoided it. . ."
"With your own party."
Draco nodded. "If Snape had declared for me it would have worked; it would have been ok."
Harry wanted to ask what Draco knew about that, and about Snape and himself, but even if he asked, would he ever trust the answers? He settled for "Why?"
"He's strong enough. And he would have been. . . could have been committed enough to. . . Dumbledore can't really help me, because he doesn't really care."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"Are you?" Harry wasn't. Dumbledore didn't trust Draco; but then, who did?
"And the letter?"
"I have to take Eustacia Parkinson. I mean, as my date."
Harry vaguely remembered her, Pansy's older sister, as one of Draco's supplicants.
"It's only a party."
"I was going to ask you."
"Oh." Then Draco slipped an arm across Harry's back and kissed him. The touch was soft, but quickly became harder, the kiss twisting across his mouth, an arm wrapping around his waist and another around his shoulder. They were side by side on the table and Draco pushed towards Harry, tipping him backwards across the table.
"Hang on," Harry pushed Draco back a little with a palm to his chest. He thought about saying it – kiss me, touch me, or even fuck me. His entire body throbbed at the thought. Beside and above him, the ceiling light behind Draco turned his hair into a golden and white aura. "Draco?"
"Do you want to, Harry?" the other boy whispered, leaning back down to press his body up against Harry's and his mouth to his jaw.
"Do I want to what?" Harry said a little desperately. "The party?" Draco stopped and pulled back. "I mean I know what else you might mean, but. . ."
Draco got to his feet, running a hand back through his lightly curling hair. "Merlin."
"Draco?" Harry pulled himself to his feet, feeling heavy and slow.
"I can't win." He moved to the door and pulled it open a little harder than was necessary.
"So I was just supposed to. . ." Draco turned back in the doorway, the bustle of the library behind him. "Do you always do what your father tells you?" Harry asked instead.
In a hard voice Draco said "I have no choice." And left.