So. The school knew we were gay. Not only gay, but with each other. The all-important Quidditch match was over, and everyone had time to try to wrap their heads around this mind-boggling development. Our burgeoning friendship had been one thing, shocking and all, but…this! This was real news. Better gossip than the whole Heir of Slytherin bit, even.
Draco and I did a lot of rolling our eyes and sighing exasperatedly in the next couple of weeks.
Draco was lucky. He didn't have to explain a damned thing to anyone. Everyone was used to Slytherins keeping silent about the reasons behind their actions. I, on the other hand, had to argue and defend myself a lot.
The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws mostly goggled and/or laughed. The Slytherins seemed split between glaring at me for corrupting Draco and congratulating him for corrupting a Gryffindor. The Gryffindors moaned incessantly about losing me to lurve, and not just sappy lurve, but a Slytherin scumbag, to boot. The only thing they couldn't wail about was my physical taste. Draco was my tie for Most Snoggable Boy At Hogwarts, after all.
The Idiot Duo (Crabbe and Goyle, in case you hadn't guessed) didn't react at all. It was actually somewhat disappointing, but in all honesty not surprising. They were just as willing to follow Draco's leadership on the rare occasions he bothered anymore as they'd ever been. I surmised that they were indeed that desperate for some kind of leadership, so much so that they didn't care what their leader did on his off-time. Well, so much for their reaction. All they had worth noticing was a LACK of reaction. For a long moment, I actually felt sorry for them. Then again, they were best known for their utter lack of intelligent thought, and to a certain extent I envied that lack of awareness, so…
Ron sunk into a very boring depression, sporadically coming out of it in sputtering bursts of disbelief. Hermione snickered and calmed him down every time. I made a point not to snog Draco anywhere near Ron, not wanting to fracture his fragile psyche. Hermione, on the other hand, watched us almost tenderly. I reminded myself to ask her why exactly she seemed to find the idea of Malfoy and I so appealing and acceptable. Perhaps she had a fixation on pretty gay boys? Hmm.
No one, to my mild surprise, had any kind of difficulty that we were both MALE. Boy on boy. Gay. All that. The wizarding world, it seemed, cared as much about sexual preference as it did about religion―that is, not at all. People did what they wanted, and that was that. So there was one obstacle I'd feared gone. The entire school was shocked to hear of our involvement, but it was simply because it was me, Harry Potter, with him, my arch-nemesis, Draco Malfoy. We shrugged all this off.
What *I* found most interesting was the teachers' reactions.
McGonagall shook her head disappointedly at me every time she saw me. Dumbledore looked smug as a just-fed cat lolling before a fire, Trelawney tried to say she'd predicted it all along, Binns never noticed―and why would he, he was fucking dead. Flitwick beamed more than usual, even, but vaguely and not really at me or Draco specifically. Draco speculated that he was just high on a few too many after-class Cheering Charms. Vector (Draco was taking Arithmancy) nodded approvingly at him and observed that it was the most logical and effective solution to our altercations. Sprout seemed to smile at me and stroke random leaves indulgently a bit more frequently than she had before. Perhaps it was the lurve. Perhaps not.
Hagrid grinned and clapped me on the shoulder when I first saw him after he'd heard, poured me a congratulatory 'You're in lurve!' glass of that horrid flask-liquor he always drinks, insisted that I actually swallow some, then asked me in what he apparently thought was a whisper why I didn't find someone just a little better, say, someone who liked animals, hippogriffs, for example. I explained how Draco had improved for the better part of an hour, then gave up when I realised that Hagrid was drunk enough that the only thing keeping his one-eyed attention was the grain of the table, and that 'swallow' he'd forced down me had made me significantly less than coherent and significantly more than verbose anyway. We both scratched Fang for a while, and after Hagrid started sobbing about how far away Olympe was and that Norbert never wrote, I excused myself and staggered back to the Gryffindor dormitory. My hangover the next day was EXCRUCIATING.
But the most interesting, by far, was Snape.
He showed no intimation of knowing anything until our next double Potions class, the following Wednesday. By this point everyone else had heard the news and established a reaction; we were growing used to dealing with all of them. But Snape…Snape had revealed nothing.
Even Draco was anxious about facing Snape, and in the interest of minimising potential trouble, we stayed away from each other and worked on our own. I felt bad for him, but if we worked together, we'd be just asking for Snape-trouble.
Well, we didn't have to ask for it.
But it didn't come in the shape we'd anticipated.
We'd all arrived early, just to make absolutely sure Snape would have no real tangible reason to start trouble. And trouble there would be; it was looming on the horizon like the darkest-ever thundercloud. We had our ingredients laid out neatly, our notebooks and inkpots, quills poised to take notes.
And then he came in, robes storming around his ankles. His eyes were lit with something strange that I couldn't identify.
My heart sank into my shoes.
"Turn your homework in, class." The look on Snape's face implied that those who didn't have the homework should simply spontaneously combust rather than have him deal with them. Everyone shuffled up to his desk. I sent mine with Hermione, rather than risk physical proximity. Far too soon, all the scrolls were piled on Snape's desk.
"You know your assignment. Get started." And we did, eagerly. Snape stayed at his desk for all of ten minutes before stalking through the class, straight to Draco.
:Watch out, Draco.:
:You think you need to TELL me?!?:
But it was too late.
Ron and Hermione were working together; Draco and I were working alone at our own cauldrons, not just because we wanted to avoid the wrath of Snape, but because today's potion was dangerous—a Dissolution potion, accelerating the decaying breakdown of any biological form—and required two or fewer people making it to minimise the chances of error. And Snape slid directly to Draco's side, despite the fact that Neville did indeed NOT know what his assignment was, and was aimlessly fumbling through his ingredients while trying his ineffectual best not to look like he was paging through his textbook desperately.
"So. Another generation of Malfoys dating Potters."
Draco stared at him. "My father and…James…Potter?"
"No, actually. Lily Evans―but still, a Potter-to-be. The continuity has some interesting kinks, but it's a sort of continuity nonetheless." Fortunately I strangled on my own tongue before I could make any noise. Draco's eyes got even bigger than they had been before.
Through the shock, I noticed that the most frightening thing was happening: Snape was smiling.
"Sir…?"
"Congratulations on your conquest, young Malfoy." Draco's jaw dropped. "Come now, surely you didn't think I would disapprove? The best student of my House has captured the affections of the most well-known young wizard in the world. Well done, I say."
"Sir, you're scaring me."
Snape clapped Draco on the shoulder. "Back to your potion, Mr. Malfoy." And he walked back to his desk, a faint smile still lurking around the corners of his mouth.
I managed to scrape my jaw off of the floor by about dinnertime.
* * *
Well, the school knew, the teachers knew, and it was more than time to let Draco's parents know before they found out from alternate sources. I gave Draco the privacy of his own mind and took mine elsewhere while he wrote the letter to his parents. It took him hours. Afterwards, we played Gobstones with Ron, Colin and Dennis to take his mind off of it. We both went to bed relaxed and slept relatively well.
The next morning (those Malfoy owls are trained to be QUICK about their duties), Draco was pulled out of Arithmancy to talk to his father. In my own class, I noticed his anxiety while on his way to see Lucius, excused myself (supposedly to the toilets) from Charms and followed my sense of him to a sitting room on the second floor. Draco knew shortcuts to the room I'd never looked for; I figured that he'd met his father there before. Anyway, I reached it several minutes after he'd already entered and begun talking to Lucius. I waited outside the door and listened in shamelessly (both by pressing my ear against the door and tuning into Draco's awareness) with my wand ready…just in case.
"You will end this immediately, do you hear me? Immediately. You've shamed me enough already." Lucius paused when Draco shook his head slowly, eyes on the floor. "Oh, I think you will. I OWN you, Draco, and you WILL obey me. …I created you. You owe your very existence to me, and you WILL obey me," Lucius hissed.
Draco stared at the floor for a moment before deliberately smiling thinly at his father. "Mother had something to do with it, as well."
Lucius backhanded Draco to the floor.
"Your insolence will not be tolerated, Draco. Stand up. Now."
Something in Draco ignited. He shot up to his feet, nose inches from his father, whose eyes betrayed him with a flicker of startlement.
"I love you, and I respect you, Father, but I will not obey you." He stepped back a pace, yielding the battle his closeness had tacitly begun. But it was no good.
Lucius lashed out, and smashed his fist into Draco's jaw. Draco stumbled backwards and nearly fell, but somehow managed to pull himself upright to face his father yet again.
"Don't push me, boy," Lucius snarled. "Adolescent rebellion will get you precisely nowhere with me, whatever effect it may have on your teachers."
"Father, I respect your authority. But I cannot obey you in this matter." Draco's voice was cool, respectful. "I'm sorry." Lucius backhanded him again, then pulled out his wand as Draco staggered. Draco recovered and watched him calmly, nose bleeding, cheek and jaw swelling purple.
It was at this point that I decided I'd had enough. I burst through the door, wand in hand. Lucius paused, taken aback, giving me enough time to stride across the room and place myself between he and Draco.
"Mr. Malfoy, how pleasant to see you again after all these years. Is your lovely wife well?"
:Oh, well played, Harry.:
Lucius rallied and managed to sound nearly normal as he replied automatically to the social niceties. "Quite well, Mr. Potter. If you would be so kind as to excuse us, my son and I are having a discussion."
"Sir, as this discussion concerns me, I would prefer to stay. Shall we sit down and continue this over drinks?"
His eyes narrowed. "I think not, Mr. Potter. I must insist on privacy."
"I apologise, Mr. Malfoy, but I really must insist on staying." :Are you alright, love?:
:Don't worry, I'll be fine. He's given me far worse before. An icepack or two should do me nicely. But unless you want this to escalate, you really should leave. I'll be fine, I promise.:
:I'm not leaving so he can keep bullying you. It's gone too far already.:
Lucius' cheeks were blotched with red. Quite unattractive, I noted idly. "Potter," he hissed, "this is a family affair. You have no place here." His knuckles were white on his wand.
"On the contrary, Mr. Malfoy, it is precisely because it is a family affair that I DO have a place here, as I now consider myself a part of Draco's family." The effort of maintaining the chill, polite veneer over my fury was beginning to wear on me. Besides, I felt like a prat talking like this. "I would prefer to have this discussion in a civilised fashion. Can we agree to put our wands away, at least?" Draco, slightly behind me, held perfectly still and kept his eyes on his father over my shoulder even though a thick trickle of blood was running from his nose and dripping off of his sharply-defined jawline.
"You will never be a part of my family, Potter. NEVER. Do you understand me? Your involvement with my son is OVER. You will go now. NOW." His eyes blazed at me, more frighteningly intense than Draco's ever had been.
But mine matched his unflinchingly. "I will not, Lucius, and I'm afraid the decision is up to Draco and I, not you. You are his father, but you are not his master. Nor mine. And I must warn you—" –as his teeth bared and he raised his wand again— "—I am not defenceless, and I will not allow you to harm Draco any more than you have already. If you can't speak rationally, I suggest you leave. Now. Before I have you put out." I raised my own wand.
I had never seen rage like what washed across Lucius' face then, and I hope never to again. He swelled and shook with it, and for a split second I was afraid that it would spill from his eyes like acid and burn us. But after a moment his eyes flicked from mine to Draco's, and he spat, "This is far from over, Draco. We will continue this conversation later, have no doubt." And he spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard it cracked the frame.
After the reverberations finally faded Draco broke from our frozen stillness and coughed a little, reaching up to wipe away the blood that was dripping from his chin steadily. I spun around, reaching for him, but he smiled weakly and waved me away while pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it to his nose. "Will you ever get tired of playing the knight-in-shining-armour, Harry?" he asked, voice muffled through the blood-stained cloth.
"I got tired of it years ago. It just keeps being necessary." I seized him by one arm and steered him firmly to a chair. "Are you okay? Really? We should get you to Madam Pomfrey's."
"I'll be fine. Just—I just need some ice, that's all. A lot of ice." He tipped his head back and pinched his nose as he sat down.
"Maybe I don't want to be sleeping with a mass of bruises for the next several days," I said dryly. "Purple and yellow are fine colours when they're not smeared across your face. They don't suit you. You're going to Madam Pomfrey's."
He chuckled a little, swallowing blood. "I knew you were only with me for my looks."
I closed my eyes, then knelt and flung my arms around him, pressing my face into his chest. :I couldn't bear him hurting you like that.: In the back of my head a steady stream of curses was boiling. :Don't ever let him touch you again, Draco. I won't ever let him.:
One of Draco's hands fell to my hair, and I didn't even care that it was bloodsmeared. :I know you won't, Harry. It's not as bad as it looks, truly. I'll be FINE. It's been worse before by far. That was relatively calm for him, really, it wasn't that bad. I swear.:
:I don't care. I want to kill him.:
:Yes, well, we all feel like that sometimes.:
A thought struck me. :Draco, does he ever do that—this—to your mother? Has he done this to you for your entire life?:
Draco actually laughed. :He would never dare touch my mother; she'd tear his viscera out through his nostrils. And if he ever REALLY hurt me, she'd do the same. He's done this, as you call it, off and on throughout my life, yes. Never anything really harmful, though. Just knocked me around some. It's not that big a deal, really. The one time he lost control and REALLY hurt me my mother blazed in like a firedrake.:
:But why didn't she stop it all then. Why hasn't she just stopped it all.:
:Harry, Harry. You're so naïve, love. This is part of being an aristocrat. Part of the pureblood training to be a strong leader, a loyal obedient follower, have a stiff upper lip and all that. If he never hit me, he'd be condemned by his peers for a weakling with no understanding of proper discipline, and I'd end up impossibly spoiled and become a useless, weakling pawn in the arrangement of underground power. Like, more so than I already am, even. And Harry, I know this is hard for you to believe, but he really does love me. And I really do love him. I understand why he does it. It's not because he likes it, truly.:
:Draco, your family is severely fucked up.:
Draco sighed. :What do you expect from Death Eaters? If I couldn't survive my father's discipline, I'd never survive as a Death Eater. The Dark Lord's discipline is much, MUCH fiercer, and not the tiniest bit as forgiving. What just happened was like being tapped by someone wearing silk gloves compared to what real Death Eaters deal with.:
I shuddered, remembering Wormtail slicing off his own hand. :I know. But you're not going to be a Death Eater.: I said it with perfect confidence.
:Of course I'm not. But my father didn't know that when I was young, did he now? He followed the appropriate standards and prepared me the best he could for the world, training me up right, as he would put it. Or rather as some of his colleagues would put it; my father's never that coarse. Nor does he use incorrect grammar.:
:I love you, Draco. How ever did you manage to end up only SOMEWHAT twisted?:
He laughed again. :Well, you showed up and got in the way of my training.:
:Thank god.:
:Shush. You're far more traumatised about this than I am, really, Harry. I think it's YOU that needs to get to Madam Pomfrey. Eat some chocolate or something, drink a Calmative Draught. Let's go before you get as hysterical as a pre-teen girl at a boy band concert.:
:Oh shut up.:
We rose, and I held Draco's elbow as we headed off to the Infirmary Wing, because I knew Draco wasn't seeing entirely clearly, no matter what he said. He'd stopped his nose from bleeding and stuffed the handkerchief into one of his pockets, but there were still faint smears of blood on his face and crusting the rims of his nostrils. His swollen cheek was on the opposite side of his face, where I couldn't see it, but I still knew it was there. I scowled fiercely.
"Stop scowling, Potter. And stop staring at me. I'll be fine when I get to a sink and wash my face." He didn't even have to look at me to know I was scowling. I scowled harder.
"Actually, all things considered, I think it went quite well. And I must say, I'm impressed. I wasn't aware that you knew how to talk like an overbred parlour-ponce." I stared at him unbelievingly, but his stride and posture never faltered, and I was forced to believe that he'd meant that.
"In what way exactly did it go quite well?!?" I demanded hotly. "Your father gets your letter, shows up in a rage, shouts at you, demands that you drop me like spoiled goat intestines, smacks you around some, then storms out promising more later? You call that going quite well?!? Are you sure he didn't hit you harder than you think?"
Draco snorted. "When I sent the letter to my father, I also sent one to my mother. Whatever the world may think, the true head of my family—the power behind the throne, you might say—is my mother. My father will go home, rant and throw things and shout until my mother grows weary of hearing things smash and comes down to his study to talk to him. She'll point out the positive aspects of having a connection to the best-known Light wizard in centuries, the fact that we're both still young, nothing is officially permanent between us, there's still years for me to father an heir, and that porcelain is extremely valuable so don't you even THINK about picking it up, Lucius." Draco grinned lopsidedly. "And that will be that. He'll calm down, and after a while she'll even convince him it was his idea to exploit the publicity, when it becomes public, and really, who else was famous and rich enough to be with me? And anyway, it's necessary for a boy becoming a man to challenge his father and establish his own will. And then, once she's left, he'll realise that if somehow Voldemort does really come into power again and appears to be winning, he can play the whole thing off to be an intentional infiltration into your defences. He'll decide it was the best thing that could have possibly happened. It'll work out fine, Harry."
I stopped to think about that for a few minutes. "Er." I scrubbed my free hand over my face tiredly. "But, but I don't want you to betray me to Voldemort."
"I won't, silly Potter. But he'll think that maybe someday I might, because in the end he'll decide that my defiance was really only that I'd had this brilliant idea and couldn't let him deny himself such a potential advantage."
"But."
Draco looked over at me, displaying the swelling cheekbone pressing that eye into a squint, then laughed merrily before clumsily pulling me into a kiss. "Of course it's not going to HAPPEN, Harry, I'm just telling you how my father's going to rationalise this to himself. Of course I'm not going to do any of that. Not ever. I'm just explaining how he'll delude himself."
"Oh. Well, that's alright then, I suppose." I was nicely reassured. "But, what if he doesn't think all that, and he disowns you?"
"My mother's quite the wealthy heiress in her own right, and she retained all the rights to her fortune when she married my father. I'll still be bloody rich, fear not." Draco flicked an amused glance at me. "Why, planning to have me as your sugar daddy?"
Despite myself I snickered. "I have my own fortune, thank you. I don't need a sugar daddy to keep me. I can keep myself. …I was really just wondering what you would do without—without your father."
Draco's smile turned thin around the edges. "I'd make do. He'd come 'round eventually. And anyway, I'd still have my mother."
There was hidden pain and more there. But I chose not to say anything else until we got to the Infirmary Wing.