DISCLAIMER, POINTS OF ORDER, OTHER SUCH TRUCK:
When Gabby first approached me about helping her write this fic, I was pretty much set against it. Harry Potter slash of any type is just not something I'd had it in me to support, much less write. Or so I thought. Even knowing full well I would most likely turn her down because of my personal viewpoint, Gabby asked me for help anyway.
I was rather mystified at the request to give personal insight for Gabby's Harry/Draco propensity. It was her sincerest desire to write a wedding for her favourite 'ship. Months previous, I had met Gabby on Mugglenet. The first time we met, she trusted me with the knowledge of her slash preference, as I'd correctly guessed the true meaning behind her nick. At first I thought it was just all wrong for Harry and Draco (I still do and she knows it) but it had nothing to do with the gay issues. It had to do with the fact Draco is a complete pantywaste, while Harry is so alpha!
But Gabby sent me a link on fanfic net which pretty much drove her ship. It was an AU slash, which included a much more friendly and approachable Malfoy; one whom would always defend and talk to Harry like he was a real person. Yes, I know, farfetched. But it was quite beautifully and tastefully done, and changed my opinion on "all gay slashfics being complete rubbish."
Gabby knew well the tendency for slash guy/guy weddings to be degrading and stupid. She'd wanted to give Harry and Draco a very dignified wedding, without all of the ridicule and sexual innuendo that surrounds such stories. So, in my willingness to help a dear friend, I reached deep inside myself and said, "All right, I'll help you."
It was also rather tunnel visioned of me to say no. I have loads of gay and lesbian friends, and even one who's transexual. Here I prided myself on being open-minded, but I closed down that part of myself because I was afraid of what "straight" people would think.
So, Gabby and I began to put ourselves in other people's shoes, so that we would better be able to write our fic. It's what we've always done; and this story was not an exception. In fact, this one has affected me more emotionally that just about anything I've ever written. Probably because I have so many friends who have that different preference.
And you know what? BGLAD people sure as hellfire aren't any less passionate, less loving, less desirous to have a beautiful wedding or marriage than straight people are. Many couples also want to have a family and children, with good paying jobs, 2 cats in the yard, and a car bought with good credit in the driveway. Gayness also does not equal promiscuousness, as I know three couples who have stayed faithful to each other for over seven years. Many straight folk could take a leaf out of that book.
As it "got out" to a few of my friends and acquaintances that I was doing this, I was…..floored by some responses. I naturally didn't expect people to jump up and down with joy about it, I'd known my initial reaction was less than positive. Someone said that I shouldn't do this, because what if it "got out" that I'd written something like this, and it "ruined my future as a writer." One time, I had three people in a room gang up on me and tell me I was "sick, evil, and twisted for writing about "children's characters in such a manner." I wasn't even talking about it, they approached ME.
Even just these encounters due to slash, opened my eyes in such a way as had never been before. If people had attacked me as a person, over the mere RUMOUR that I was writing gay slash, what the hell were they doing or saying to homosexuals themselves? The possibilities were appalling.
So after briefly considering throwing in the towel, I'd decided to make this fic my champion cause and write with a vengeance. So you may think of this as political slash if you will, a sort of "Gay Pride Potter/Malfoy" idea as a theme. Not that Harry suddenly wishes the colours of Gryffindor House were fuschia and chartreuse. Nope. Harry is still Harry, Draco is still Draco, they just happen to like…each other. Oh yes, and they are both consenting adults. Kids just don't get married to each other.
Gabby and I planned the entire wedding out, start to finish, just how a coordinator would. We sincerely hope you enjoy this story, as we've put so much heart and dedication into it. Also remember even though this intro was serious, there is still that underlying current of homour and emotional punchiness that follows any wedding. It's long, but I guarantee you'll be entertained. If you should wish to contact me about reading more of my fic or emailing me personally, just leave it in your reviews for Gabby, or send an email to her, and she'll pass it on. Thanks so much. AdonnaTonks from Mugglenet.
Star Pellerin and Gabby Marie had come to fetch Draco and Harry for the start of the ceremony. Harry thought to himself that the girls, one a slender and fair-haired beauty, the other a raven-haired knock-out, both formerly of Slytherin house, looked resplendent in their black taffeta robes. The fabric they wore swished and shimmered in the dim lighting of the hallway, shifting from a pink, to green, to blue, to purple, depending on what angle they moved in.
Each of them had been both moved and elated when he and Draco had asked them to take an important part in the binding ceremony. A traditional wizard handfasting required there be three bandladies; one main one called the "banding mistress" who conducted, and two bandmaidens, both unmarried, to assist the mistress and bear the bindings through the aisle, preceeding the couple. These girls had graduated the same time Draco and Harry had, and Harry secretly thought the pair could almost rival Malfoy in the looks department.
Harry smiled as he looked at Draco draped in his forest green damask and silken-lined robes. Almost rival, but not quite. The pure silver serpentine piping and midnight blue turtleneck Malfoy wore set off the green perfectly. Harry himself wore the same outfit, only the colours were reversed—he had a forest green turtleneck and quilted midnight blue robes. At each juncture of the diamond shaped quilting was a beveled Swarovski crystal, and the precious stones took turns winking in the torchlight.
Privately, Harry thought their get-ups were a bit over-the-top, but he couldn't deny the effect. So he figured this one frivolity was forgiveable. After all, you only get married once in your life, right? As a Malfoy, Draco certainly seemed to know exactly what he wanted out of the ceremony. By comparison, Harry thought they could've gotten married in a pair of Dudley's old Smeltings uniforms, for all he cared. Complete with knickerbockers and boaters. Okay, maybe not the boaters. He was simply willing to go along with whatever Draco wanted, as long as it pleased him.
To compliment their regal look, Draco had them each wear laurel leaf crowns, as well as chaining swags of holly intertwined with mistletoe across their shoulders. The swags hung from the epaulets of their robes; one swag was draped across the chest, and another across the back. And tying the swags to the epaulets was none other than silver-lined ribbon in the colours of the tartan "Pride of Wales." It was a beautiful mix of their wedding colours; the blue and green plaid with a single red stripe brought out the bright red holly berries perfectly.
Now it was Draco's attention to Muggle ties that began to impress Harry. Pride of Wales. At first Harry thought it was mere coincidence; but then he reminded himself Draco was nothing if not a stickler for details. He'd obviously picked the colours out of significance to Harry's Muggle heritage, whether Harry was Welsh or not.
Harry and Draco walked in single file with Star and Gabrielle down the narrow strip of stone that was left of the centre in the entrance corridor at Hogwarts. On either side of them were alternating square beds of phlox and gentians, carpeting the floor beneath them. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed the flowers were actually growing out of the stone itself, instead of merely sitting on top of it.
Although the blossoms themselves were common enough, and could easily be found in any English garden (Harry had certainly tended enough flowerbeds in his day on Privet Drive, thanks to Aunt Petunia), the varieties were definitely of a rarer breed. Phlox was usually pink or sometimes magenta in colour, but these were of beautiful white. And the gentians…the petals were a dark iridescent indigo, and matched his dress robes perfectly. More incredible, these were blooms that grew in the spring and summer, but he knew extraordinary things could be done concerning horticulture and magic. He asked Draco about the flowers.
Malfoy lifted an eyebrow and simply intoned, "Only the best; American imported Hood's phlox and Windsor gentians for us."
Windsor! Although Harry hadn't had cause to particularly care about Muggle monarchy one way or another, anything to do with Windsor or Wales regalia was something every primary schooler learned was usually of the highest honour, but more than that—it was typically hard to come by and usually very, very expensive. And here they had fields of it, merrily blanketing the floor to the Great Hall.
Exhibiting extraordinary conscientiousness and taking to mind Harry had essentially grown up Muggle, Draco had taken the time to find out precisely the fineries that might make Harry the most comfortable or appreciative. Once again he certainly valued Malfoy's sentiment—the man had obviously done his research. It touched him to think Draco cared that much to do so.
However, Malfoy had been entirely too secretive about the details of this whole affair, as far as Harry was concerned. Even though Harry admittedly had no mind for such fussy little minutiae, it still irked him no end that Draco, who'd had to convince Harry (through much hemming and hawing) to accept the Ministry's offer to pay for their wedding in the first place, would not let him in on anything. Near the only things Harry had known about for the last six months, up to walking down this hallway, was about their robes (they had to be fitted, hopelessly profligate though they were), their wedding colours, what they would be eating, and that the flowers they picked out would somehow involve lilies, in remembrance of Harry's mother. The traditional Hogwarts feast and lilies had truly been Harry's only requests, besides the fact that he had, from the start, flatly refused to hold the bouquet.
His cheeks coloured slightly at the remembrance of that conversation; Draco, having an all-wizard family since the dawn of forever, simply gave Harry a blank look after this refusal to bear flowers down the aisle. Furious with Malfoy for having the gall to not know what he was talking about, and more furious still that he was singularly incapable of explaining the Muggle-world reference without incurring ridicule, Harry had stormed off in a fit of humiliated embarrassment, and refused to discuss the matter any further. That was, until Draco had come back later that day, laughing his bloody arse off about the whole thing.
It turned out Malfoy had, out of sheer morbid curiosity, consulted Hermione about Harry's reference. And Hermione, bless her insufferable know-it-all nature, had been only too forthcoming with the details.
Malfoy had even spent the rest of the evening calling him "Ickle Harriet", pinching his cheeks, pretending to sweep the floor with his Firebolt, and saying that he'd always known Harry would make him a good little "wifey" someday. Harry would've sworn that until that point, any murderous intent he'd ever felt in his life had been rather bland in comparison. And yes, that included toward Voldemort himself.
Star had already reached the double-doors to the Great Hall, with Harry and Draco in pursuit. She had barely opened one door just a hair when the strains of "Canon in D" filled the air.
Turning to Draco, Harry inquired him in an astonished manner again. "Pachelbel? That's Muggle music…for Muggle weddings." Then something else dawned on Harry. It was probably being performed live.
Still more disbelievingly, he said, "Who's….playing it?"
Draco gave him a soft, knowing smile. He was clearly enjoying Harry's shock.
"Oh, just everybody's favourite group in the Wizard World. They were only too happy to agree to come here, you know. They're acutally quite keen on meeting you." Draco paused, and smiled a bit more.
Uncharacteristically reticent, Gabby merely watched the two of them with undisguised interest as Star smirked and peeked into the Great Hall, apparently following their conversation as well. It irritated Harry that everybody around him knew what was going on, and seemed in no hurry to tell him. Harry had never done too well with surprises. Maybe it had to do with the fact that ninety-nine out of every hundred shocks he'd received in his life had been nasty in the extreme, to say the least.
"Who is it?" demanded Harry this time. There were loads of music groups in the wizarding world, and not one of them came even close to sounding like what he was hearing now.
Draco exchanged a sidelong glance with Gabby and said, "The Weird Sisters."
Scrunching his face up in consternation, Harry snorted. "Go on," he scoffed to Draco, "pull the other. Who is it, really?" He honestly couldn't believe Malfoy was trying to be clever, right now of all times.
Making a small noise of indignation, Draco teasingly raised his eyebrows and looked to Gabby as if for assistance to dispell Harry's disbelief. She took the que, hugely smiling and nodding her head.
"It really is the Weird Sisters, Harry." Grinning broader still, as his eyes got larger, she said liltingly, "They've been practising for months, to get the rhythms just right."
Star added quietly from her doorway, but just as amused, "Not to mention they enchanted their instruments to get that proper Muggle sound."
Sure that his facial expression now more closely resembled that of a mackerel than a man, Harry hurriedly closed his mouth and faced Draco again. "The Weird Sisters," he began, "at our wedding?" Having seen the Weird Sisters perform fourth year for Yule Ball, it was still incomprehensible that the popular wizard group could possibly get any of those odd instruments they played to sound like a Muggle chamber orchestra, charmed or not.
For an answer, Draco beckoned him forward, and Star moved out of the way so Harry could take a peek inside, to see for himself.
And while he looked, he got more than an eyefull or two, all right. Only it was of anything but the Weird Sisters.
The current arrangement of the Great Hall, now lined with pews on either side, resembled nothing so much as a chapel in the grandest of all cathedrals. And all the benches were packed with people. Not just wizardfolk, but Muggles too. Not a lot, but they were there.
Even through the small sliver of doorway, what he was looking at revealed a room that had been transformed into an enchanted forest.
Draco hadn't just arranged for there to be lilies at their celebration. Oh, no. Harry saw several different varieties of lilies, all white, each more beautiful than the next. He also saw numerous other succulent blossoms, each more hard to come by than the rest. In fact, it seemed as if every brilliant alabaster bloom from Edinburgh to Ecuador, from Egypt to Edmonton had been recruited for their personal use. Cascades of these flowers poured over the edge of the benches, lining the aisle with a blinding splendor. For what they would be walking on once they entered would be blaze-red plush carpet. It only made the flowers stand out all the more.
Harry's breath caught in his throat, as the full impact of just what Draco and the Ministry had been up to these past few months slammed into him. And it wasn't a pleasant experience. All of that garish opulence, for a simple ceremony? So many people, just to see a union together?
He clearly didn't understand a single reason of why people wanted to be so lavish with their adoration or their affluence, just for he and Draco. So mind-bending was the whole of it, Harry could scarcely take it all in. Unknowingly, he began to shrink back from the doorway, unnoticed by his other three companions. They too, were looking through the door into all of that brazen flamboyance.
Not caring that he was crushing the rare blossoms in the hallway underneath his shoes now, Harry crashed into the wall and nearly struck the back of his head. He automatically removed his glasses, small of his back still against the wall, and leaned forward, holding his head in his free hand.
"No," he gritted out, eyes now closed tightly, "this can't be happening. Why can't they all just go away, and leave us in peace…"
He'd evidently caught the attention of the others in the hallway, because he heard the door shut and a set of footsteps come toward where he was standing. Recognising the footsteps as Draco's, he went on accusingly, "…you let them come here, let them make such a to-do over us…they shouldn't! It's bad! It's all wrong…they should just go home to their lives, and leave us be with ours…" trailed off Harry, rubbing his eyes.
Draco, sensing this was more than just the usual "get the public off my back" reaction from Harry, tried a very guarded approach. But Harry still hadn't suspected the words Malfoy would say.
"They're not here for me, you know. They're here for you," Draco enunciated very carefully.
"Me!" shouted Harry, even more incensed. If Draco thought this was going to help placate the situation, he was sorely mistaken. "And why, in all nine phases of the moon, would anybody wish to lavish such ostentation on someone like me? I'm just a….just another idiot graduate from Hogwarts, with not-so-hot grades, who got lucky enough to join the Quidditch League, trying to make my way in the world…."
Getting a very kind look in his eyes, Draco said, "Yes, and that is precisely the reason why they find you exceptional." His lips upturned ever so slightly, and he continued, "Is that you don't know, or even think that you are. Even after defeating…Voldemort himself. And they want to show you specifically, what they think of that. Nobody likes an egotistical rescuer. So you're their hero in more ways than one. And because you've shunned all their attention up to now, this is their first chance to finally make it happen."
Becoming even more speechless, Harry stuttered, "But....but....why?"
Draco, unable to hold the stricken look in Harry's eyes, turned to the side and replied, "The same reason I wanted to do this. They all love you."
"But how can they love me?" Harry whispered noncomprehendingly. "They don't even know me." Without his scar and his glasses, Harry was also completely unaware just how little like himself he actually looked. The removal of that hardware combined with the lighting in the corridor, as well as the robes he was wearing and fury he was expressing added up to somebody who appeared much older than a mere boy. He did not look eighteen at all. It was clearly having a formidable affect on his audience; an effect that he also failed to recognise.
Draco, voice rising slightly, replied, "No, most of them haven't had the honour of knowing you personally. But they know of you, they know about your deprived childhood, your sterling reputation, all the wrong Ministry's incurred against you, what you've done for them, done for us all despite being damaged by your own people--"
Harry cut him off in a hoarse croak, "....my own people...?"
Growing even more intense, Draco began to close the gap between them. "Yes, Harry. Your own people. What you are unable to see is they all want you to be happy. You, and you alone, made it possible for them to lead their lives how they see fit. And although it's a little bit late for apologies," Draco gave him a regretful, small smile, "they all want to set it right. Make it up to you, even in some minute, belated way."
Minute way! Harry could fertilize the entirety of the Hogwarts grounds with all the sunshine generated from that gross understatement. Curling his upper lip, Harry protested, "They don't owe me anything! I just did what I had to do, what anyone would've done!" Why did everybody persist in thinking it was such an astonishing miracle he had stood up to somebody who had been threatening his life? And who cared if it was
Lord Voldemort? You can't just shrivel up and die, can you? Looking toward the Great Hall again, he gestured, "And all that....the horrible extravagance...."
"Oh, no you don't," clipped Draco, cutting him off this time. He even seemed slightly...angry. But for what?
"This is precisely why I would not tell you anything up to this point. I knew you would demand it all be sent away, insisting that somebody more deserving should have all of this presented to them. Well, let me tell you something. Nobody, in this entire world, is more deserving than you are right now, Mr. Potter. And every single person, from the smallest witch, to the eldest wisened wizard knows it."
Harry started to cut in again in vehement disagreement, but Draco held a hand up to silence him, and continued, on a roll now.
"They're all aware, as never before, just how much you were condemned to sacrifice in order to help them. You had your parents, your godfather, your very life as one of us ripped from you, all through no fault of your own. You were forced to endure a spate of things nobody in this world at any age should be mandated to cope with, let alone a minor who had to deal with sifting through visions from the Dark Lord, as well as growing up like a Muggle. Everybody in that room," gestured Draco grandly to the Great Hall, "is still yet only a small representation of the people who wanted to be here tonight. And it's all for you, Harry Potter."
Draco halted directly in front of him, now looking much less decisive about wanting to say what he was about to. "And unless you want to commit the most grievous insult ever, for one night in your entire life...." Malfoy's voice became rough, like sandpaper coated his throat, "you shan't....." he trailed off, and closed his eyes tight shut, "...you cannot..."
Harry had never seen Draco be unable to speak before. It only underlied the gravity of the words he was trying to convey.
Even more astoundingly, Harry watched as Draco sank to one knee in front of him on the cold stone floor. "You will not...refuse them—refuse us—the honour of giving you your due." He ran a hand over his eyes. "Forgive me," ended Draco, in an apologetic whisper, as he hung his head.
Thunderstruck by all that happened in the last three minutes, Harry struggled to comprehend just how to classify what was going on. It was pure insanity, that's what it was. Insane for these people to be here, insane that they spent so much money, so much time, so much effort, on something that was supposed to be so clearcut.
And here was his betrothed, on the floor, begging him not to turn all these wellwishers away. Why, that was—it was awful! It was terrible! Despite the fact Draco had obviously struggled to make this a most memorable day for Harry, it was Malfoy's day just as much as his. And Harry would make sure that everybody else knew, even if they didn't care to hear about it. Since when did Harry ever really give a ruddy damn what the press and public said about him anyway? Now was hardly a time to start.
Subtlety was rapidly becoming a part of Harry's arsenal of discarded character traits, just as it became more and more obvious that most people had to be lobbed over the head with something heavy in order to truly grasp the spot on heart of things. Just as Malfoy had done with him right now. Making him see that he was being a spoiled, selfish prat by wanting to turn all these people out into the snow. And now Draco was asking him for forgiveness.
Although Harry doubted he would ever fully understand why, he could certainly afford to at least appear thankful for this display of ecstatic altruism. After all, Harry knew how he'd feel if somebody he'd admired threw the outpouring back in his face. He'd feel very put-out; probably even resentful, all right.
So, he effectively had to show he wasn't selfish by… being selfish? Mentally rolling his eyes, Harry hearkened back to all of that rubbish advice Gilderoy Lockhart had tried to give him during detention all those years ago.
Celebrity is, as celebrity does, Harry. Remember that.
Righteo, Professor, Harry thought in sarcastic salute to the man who'd tried to Obliviate his memory in the Chamber of Secrets. The thing about selfishness definitely seemed like something Lockhart'd say. Finally, and from a decidedly dubious origin, Harry had learned most forms of popularity just transcended any and all logic. Heh. And having been such a spectacular melange of ridicule, hatred, and admiration in the magic world his whole life, Harry certainly knew how "fame can be a fickle friend".
It was most inexplicable; people would always love whom they would, always hate whom they would, but it was still up to the individual to decide how he or she behaved toward others, and conducted all outward reactions—to stay true to one's self.
Now he wondered why it had taken him this long to get it. The truly remarkable thing was Harry had instinctively known how to weather the storm, even without being taught. He'd certainly had some terrific role models, however. Whereas loads of them were superb examples of precisely what he didn't want to be.
Once again reminded of another professor, Harry began to rethink his assessment of why Dumbledore had left him on the doorstep of 4 Privet Drive on 1 November of 1981. True, there was always the blood protective factor that went beyond magic. But it was the nature vs. nuture aspect in that environment which had instilled Harry with his true spirit. Had Harry lived with a wizard family, he most likely never would've been given the opportunity to build up that required mix of guts and gossamer, frost and inferno, silk and steel. Living like that had also given Harry an unexpected gift; the ability to have compassion on other people. If he'd been raised priviledged, Harry was ninety-nine percent positive he would've ended up just like…Dudley. Or at least a self-centred arrogant berk like his father. His insides roiled and warped with those thoughts.
Still Harry couldn't deny his heritage of James's foundation. While Lily's spirit of protection lived on in him, so too did his father's grit. Ultimately, one could not have possibly expected to survive such a life-long onslaught as Harry had experienced without that unassailable Potter moxie.
Also nobody should know too much about their own destiny. That was something Harry could never understand when he was an adolescent; having always assumed the adults thought he was too weak or simple-minded to know the truth. But with most of the Order, it was just the opposite. It wasn't Harry that the grown wizards didn't trust with the truth. It was the evil surrounding him, who might use, bend, or break him because of what he knew or might've known.
Even though every cell of Harry's body hollered at him to run screaming and get the hell out, he knew that he wouldn't do that either. Because if anything had proven itself time and time again, it's that he was a fighting man, not a running man. Especially when it came to protecting those weaker than him.
But currently, he was facing the easily biggest demon he had ever known. Bigger than Snape, bigger than Umbridge, bigger than Voldemort, was...this thing called time. What to do with the rest of one's life?
For nearly two years after Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy, Harry had just…always assumed he'd have to die. Or murder someone else to live. It was the age-old paradox; kill or be killed. So as a result, Harry had inadvertently let a small, but no less significant part of himself—his future—be neglected. A premature death, of a sort, in which Voldemort's influence had already taken hold. It hadn't ended that way at all, however. Thankfully. Despite being death-shadowed, Harry had never quite resigned himself to that big Quidditch Pitch in the sky.
At the very least he was luckier than a lot of people, and knew where he could start.
Hero schmero, thought Harry remorsefully to Draco's assessment. It pained him greatly to see Malfoy on the floor, as a supplicant. Harry couldn't even make it from the waiting room to the wedding room without being a childish berk; despite all that stuff Malfoy explained to him beforehand, he hadn't exactly proven himself a worthy partner before now. Harry'd just have to face it all, for it was madness to do otherwise. For some enigmatic reason, this thought struck him as extremely funny.
"Madness…" Harry said aloud with a twisted little smile, releasing an equally maniacal high-pitched chuckle. He'd gone from aggravated, to scared stiff, to disgusted, to finding raison d'etre plus everything in between in less than seven minutes. Good thing you didn't get married everyday. This was proving even more draining than visions from the Dark Lord, as it had unquestionably been a long and stressful evening already.
And this reaction had obviously not been the one his friends had been hoping for. Unnoticed by Harry because of his revere, the two young women had taken up sides of Draco, ready to assist him convince Harry not to run, if necessary. Most unfortunately, the only telltale signs they'd had to go by up to this point was Harry's silence and the wild range of emotions, which must've flitted across his face. As well as that knackered little laugh he just gave. Eurgh. Poor them. Poor Draco.
In his haste to let them know it was all right, he pushed off the wall just a mite too quickly and called too loudly, "NO, you shouldn't—"
"Yes we should Harry!" Gabby practically cried, completely misinterpreting his reactions. "Please, let us do this…I mean, everyone's
already here…"
"Yeah," joined in Star, just as pleadingly, "well you can't say no, because it just wouldn't be fair!"
Then they too fell on the floor as his feet; the three of them, in a row, bowing and scraping almost as if he was their….he was their….
he…was….their….stop this now, commanded the rational, authoritative part of his mind. It always amused Harry that it sounded part his father, and part Dumbledore. Weird. It nearly made him laugh again. Not a good thing.
At last taking matters into his own hands, Harry knew just what to do in order to terminate all this ridiculous reverence. Why, there was only one thing for it! The Wronski Feint! And if there was one thing in this whole world Harry could do the very best, it was dive, baby.
Clutching his glasses against his chest and still facing the others, Harry flipped to the side and began to force himself to breathe very shallowly. He'd discovered from a very, very early age the value of his talent for gravity-defying stunts. But he'd still have to make this convincing, the way it was, present party having completely ignored his attempt at reassurance.
Although a little rusty at this particular defence—Harry hadn't had to fake a "fear blackout" in a good ten years—he could still recall all the times he'd had to use it against Dudley and his gang. It was those few, yet intensely horrible incidences they'd actually managed to catch him. Wrongfully thinking that he was a complete wimp for passing out on the ground, they would all guffaw heartily at Harry's prostrate form and then walk away, leaving him alone. Bullies never liked a victim who couldn't fight back. The worst he'd had to endure was a few kicks to the ribs before he could jump up and leave them with their idiot selves in the dust, him getting the last laugh in the end.
Harry let his eyes widen enormously as he began backing up over the flowerbeds in the direction of the entrance. As if he were going to bolt out those twin doors. The other three observers were clearly catching the gist of his movements, and the last thing Harry saw before letting his eyes roll back was Draco's look of utter horror and despair. Harry locked his limbs, let out a pitiful moan for added measure, and plummeted for the floor, face first.
This was definitely quite an exhilarating sensation compared to when his starting height had been a good two-thirds-metre closer to the floor, however. Luckily, his burst of what a rush! and small grunt at slamming the floor at such high velocity were quickly drowned out by his friends' triplicate cries as he fell.
"Nostramus Almighty!"
"Oh, Godric in Hogwarts—"
"Sweet Merlin's Mercy!"
They chorused, as if having rehearsed their reactions.
Having stopped his face mere centimetres over the flowers by bracing with his forearms and elbows, Harry could still address his shocked friends, who had risen off the floor to assist him.
"I told you we should've let him know—"
"This is so not like him, this is bad!"
"I only wanted to make sure he couldn't send this all back—"
"It looked like he hit his head!
"Good thing his glasses weren't on—"
"He was going to run!"
Harry had obviously achieved the effect he'd wanted, but his heart still gave a telltale twinge at this ruse. Honestly though, he'd faced Voldemort and managed to come away in one piece half a dozen times, all before the age of eighteen. Did they really assume he was that delicate? Appalling! Still, this brief dodge was necessary. Now he must quickly assuage their concern, however.
"He's just fine," Harry asserted himself from the floor, knowing they would soon drop to the stone to make sure he was okay. More groveling type action was the last thing he desired. It was at least gratifying to know even if they did further subjugate their stance, they couldn't possibly sink any lower than his physical position, regardless.
"He just wanted to make sure he has your full attention," Harry added firmly. Two of them had given startled gasps as the third one came forward anyway.
"Halt your approach!" Harry maintained, using still more vehemence. He'd picked the medieval words out of the clear blue, as if substituting with archaic terminology could somehow accomplish what something more contemporary had not.
It worked. Whether out of some internally misguided response to the past, or pure consternation at hearing these odd words coming out of Harry's mouth, Harry had again achieved his desired effect. It was something he'd definitely have to get used to. Now all three of the others had stopped.
Pushing himself up off the floor, Harry addressed them again.
"Please, understand I know what you are trying to do here. Also, I have no real desire to hurt anyone, so I shall stay per your request."
They all looked so profoundly hopeful, especially Draco, that Harry could feel his insides go all fuzzy. "But you must promise me that you'll remember one thing." Harry had a feeling of déjà vu ripple through him; as a similar promise had been requested once before in this very corridor from one singularly remarkable house-elf.
"Anything!" they all responded in such predictably cherished unison, sounding so relieved it brought an affectionate smile to Harry's lips.
"I shall share with all of you the same thing I told our dear Professor Hagrid after he'd fetched me, told me about the magic world for the first time, and tried to convince me I was a wizard." Their eyes grew twinkly at the mention of Rubeus, half-giant they all knew so well. Probabaly a wise decision on Dumbledore's part, since nothing short of Hagrid's presence could've convinced somebody as hopelessly stubborn as Harry.
Harry slipped his glasses on again, and it seemed, at last, his companions' full belief was complete. They were all definitely more comfortable when his specs were back on his face.
"I'm Harry," he upheld, and grinned broadly at the assembled group.
He concluded happily, "Just 'Harry'.
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