Fic: Flying Colors, H/D, Steampunk AU, NC-17 (1 of 2)
My hds-beltane fic had a few errors that I spotted after it was posted, so I am reposting it here, rather than just providing a link. Please do, however, check out the other excellent stories in the exchange!
Title: Flying Colors
To: Megyal for hds-beltane
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Minor fag system (no chan), innuendo, anal sex, a touch of voyeurism
Word count: ~14,600
Summary: The Contrivance Match -- each team devises one Contrivance to help them on the pitch. The only rule -- no foreseeable permanent damage. When Slytherin captain Draco Malfoy gets the bright idea of spying on Potter using Potter's boy, Creevy Minor, there are no rules off the pitch, either.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Author's Note: One of megyal's requests was for an H/D steampunk AU, and I did my best! Since this is an AU anyway, I've added a year to the Hogwarts curriculum -- to make some of the age overlaps work out better for the plot, and to provide time for some courses in mechanics. It should all be apparent from the story.
Thanks to sociofemme for beta work, and to winnet for providing advice on limits.
Flying Colors
Harry was in the middle of banging out an explanation of why using transfigured materials in constructs was risky -- while privately thinking how often the risk was worth it, at least in his life, though he supposed that wasn't typical -- when the typograph stopped short. The E key creaked slowly back into place.
"Damn it!"
"Problem?" Ron asked, looking up a little too readily from his Charms text. Harry suspected he was desperate for a distraction.
"Just this balky machine," Harry fumed, rummaging through his school bag in search of erumpet powder. "There's got to be some way to run it off of dragon's blood."
Ron snorted. "Not that anyone would sell you that."
After a quick visual confirmation that they were alone, Harry smirked. "I've got some though."
"WHAT?" Ron's eyes had opened satisfyingly wide. "Harry! You can't have that here! And you can't use it in the typograph! It blows up if there's any friction!"
"I know," Harry soothed.
"So you can't have it in the room!" Ron repeated frantically.
"Calm down. I don't. It's in the Shrieking Shack. But Ron, think! The Contrivance match -- we can paint a diluted solution on a modified bludger -- one that only goes after players in green."
The look of horror on Ron's face changed slowly to a satisfied grin. "Oh," he said. "Brilliant." He cocked his head and looked at Harry. "We'll have to make sure it doesn't violate the permanent harm rule."
"Of course. I've been researching the appropriate dilution...." Harry scowled at the typograph again. "And I still think there ought to be some way...."
"No," Ron said firmly. "Drop that thought now. Every few decades, there's some wizard or witch who says that, and there's never enough left of them to bury. You do not use dragon's blood in anything with moving parts."
Harry sighed. "All right." He opened the rearmost canister on the typograph, sprinkled in a little erumpet skin powder (dilution x100), and locked the lid back down. He checked the front canister out of habit, but as he expected, it still had plenty of coal, and he could see the screen had enough quicksilver. With a quick pump, he primed the steam chamber and then went back to forcefully hitting keys. The E stuck.
"Damn it all!" He stomped down three flights of stairs to where a group of fifth year boys were speculating about something related to Quidditch. His boy belatedly noticed his presence and scrambled to his feet. "Creevey!"
"Yes, sir?" Dennis answered, rocking forward onto his toes.
"Fetch me a vial of Slippod juice, will you?" The Contrivance match occurred to him. He might as well start the color charm. "Oh, and Streeler shell powder."
"Yessir!" Dennis said eagerly, and dashed off. Shaking his head, Harry started back up the stairs. He was sure he hadn't been half that bouncy about running errands for Oliver.
The best thing about being one of the top two Hogwarts Quidditch teams wasn't the chance at the Quidditch Cup, but the match after that -- the Contrivance match. In the Contrivance match, each team was allowed one Contrivance of their own construction. It could break any Quidditch rule, and it was well known that even obvious violations of the law were customarily overlooked. The only enforced restriction was that it could not be reasonably expected by the creators to cause death or permanent harm.
Harry's idea won out, that year. It wasn't just that he was famous, or that even he was team captain and one of two eighth years on the team. It was that the designs were chosen -- in great secrecy -- by the team, and after the behavior of the Slytherins in the final match of the Quidditch Cup, everyone jumped at the opportunity to rough them up a bit. The Contrivance had to be at least half mechanical, and standard Bludgers were almost entirely magical, but a 90% mechanical solution to the Bludger had been devised nearly a century ago, and was well-documented. The Gryffindor team took out the complicated -- and highly explosive -- buoyancy unity in favor of a neutral flotation spell, added mechanical color-detection with an alchemical check, and presented their plan to Professor McGonagall. After imposing only the most minimal safety adjustments, she signed off on it, and production -- with the inevitable modifications -- began.
**********
Draco sat carefully, despite the anti-wrinkle charms on his frock coat and trousers, and kept his back straight as he gracefully accepted a cup of tea from his head of house. It wasn't a need to impress -- although he knew Professor Snape placed as much value on posture as his mother -- but rather ingrained manners evoked by tea with a professor. Draco could slouch, when he wished to express insolence, but it took thought.
One of Snape's long fingers tapped the document under his left hand.
"I have read your proposal, Mr. Malfoy," he said coolly.
There was silence. Draco bit back the urge to say "and?" He was familiar with these games. He took a sip of tea. While Snape did likewise, Draco straightened his shirt cuff, aligning it perfectly to his coat cuff.
"In concept," Snape continued, as if there had been no pause at all, "it is everything we want in a Contrivance -- spectacular, difficult, and clever. It would enhance your reputation and be a fine cap to your eighth year."
"But?" Draco asked wryly. Damn. I let him pull me in.
"But I wonder if you are letting your obsession with Harry Potter overrule your sense of strategy. A Contrivance that targets only the opposing Seeker is of limited use." His mouth tightened. "You may want to defeat Potter, but I want to defeat Gryffindor."
"Potter is Gryffindor," Draco retorted, the usual fiery spike that Potter brought to his thoughts overcoming any conversational posturing. "They will all be humiliated if he is carried off like a rabbit."
"And the game, Draco?"
"They have no chance of winning without him."
Snape sneered.
"So Gryffindor win on the talent of their Seeker, do they?"
Draco glowered, but refused to let his anger muddle his words. "When they win," he shot back. "I don't deny that in a flat-out race, he would beat me; he's still the size of a fifth year. I assure you, if I had anyone of my talent and his size, I would move them into my position." He glared at his head of house. "However, in talent, I am his equal, and a boy of less size and less talent will not improve our chances."
Snape nodded a polite acknowledge. "Just remember, Draco -- your ego is not well served by undermining the success of your house."
Draco set his lips to hold back a scowl. The minor victory of having brought Snape down to using his first name barely penetrated his humiliation. "I understand. Have you any concrete objections, sir?"
"For completeness, I should point out that targeting by color is a risk."
Draco nodded. "Because of the possibility of a switch, I know. However, Zabini saw Potter's boy taking Streeler shell from the school stores on Monday, and at practice last night, the Weasley girl stole Bulstrode's gauntlet, and then tossed it back. I think they are also planning to target chromatically."
Nodding, Snape poured more tea. "Very well, then. I approve it."
**********
At lunch time on May Day -- not the bank holiday, but the actually first of May -- Lavender was passing out little bags made of what appeared to be cheesecloth charmed green. They were filled with flower petals.
"What's this?" Harry asked. Ron hadn't got one, but she had given them to him and Neville.
"It's for finding love on the first of May," she replied cheerfully. "I'm giving them to all the single boys."
"Um...." Harry looked doubtfully at the little bundle. He'd never seen anything like it at Hogwarts. "Is this real? I mean, not some Muggle superstition?"
Lavender rolled her eyes. "Well, they have to start somewhere, don't they? Muggles don't just think these things up! But if you must know, it's from Camellia Cornwithel's Subtle Signs for Simple Solutions, which was highly reviewed in Divination Tomorrow."
"Um..."
"Just carry it with you, and stay alert for opportunities," Lavender said, moving on to Seamus and Dean.
"Because I'm so likely to find my true love in History of Magic," Harry muttered to Ron.
"What, does Binns leave you cold?"
"I think she meant when you go out to the Maypole," Neville said meekly.
"Maypole?"
"Aren't those supposed to be in the morning?" Ron asked.
Neville shrugged. "Some of the girls got it together. I hear they argued about whether it should be at the wrong time, or on the wrong day."
"At least they knew no one would show up before breakfast on a Friday."
The afternoon was beautiful -- fresh and sunny and just warm enough, and the Gryffindor Common Room was almost empty when Harry went up to his dormitory to fetch his invisibility cloak. Rolled up tightly, it made only a small bulge in his frock coat, and it left him a discreet means of retreating if the Maypole excursion was tedious, or worse. He walked down the hill, vaguely near other stragglers, but not with anyone, while the sounds of music and cheerful chatter grew closer. Just past the turn at the low pines he finally saw the colors of the maypole and the crowd. It was a little dizzying after a long day indoors. The afternoon sun was just breaking through the clouds and shone off ribbons of many colors, none of them in precisely house hues. The dancers -- and there was an outer arc curving around the circle at the maypole -- had all taken off their black student coats and were displaying the riotous clothes that Hermione had once classified as "Victorian Fanciful".
"Why Victorian?" he had asked her, and she had rolled her eyes, but answered readily. "The Wizarding world is terribly slow to adopt fashion changes, and that's the last time it did. According to Hogwarts: A History, students here wore medieval scholars' robes right up until the mid-eighteenth century."
What he saw now was a scattered rainbow of long dresses, some spreading out in ruffled circles from spins, and equally colorful waistcoats over a base of the boys' dark trousers and mostly white shirts. Among the blues and reds that might have been common in a Muggle gathering, were just as many splashes of purple and lime, with patterns moving across some of the fabrics. In the riot of color, it was difficult to spot even Ron's hair. Ginny was wearing hers down, though, and after catching sight of that ginger fall, Harry was able to find Ron and Hermione near her. Instead of hurrying to join them, he slowed. One of the topiary gardens was just uphill from the dancing green, so there were places to duck out of sight -- he just hoped he didn't run into anyone doing the same thing for other reasons.
Ron's hair may have been hard to spot, but somehow Harry noticed Malfoy's immediately. Maybe it was the walk, he thought. Malfoy usually moved with a cocky saunter, but right now, he was moving in an even glide, like Snape trying to sneak up on someone, in the shadow of the outer hedge. Making a quick decision, Harry swerved off the path and behind a bush, and donned his invisibility cloak.
To his relief, Malfoy did not seem bent on using his position as a prefect to seek out couples in the bushes. He continued along the edge of the garden, ignoring rustles and giggles that he had to have heard, and off into the unkempt lands near the Forbidden Forest. After a few minutes of walking, Harry realized they were headed towards where Hagrid had pulled up the Devil's Snare last year. Was Malfoy planting more? That must be it, Harry decided. It would be just like him to have a hobby of strangling bunnies -- indirectly, of course, to avoid any mess.
Weeds were competing for the space where the Devil's snare had been. Malfoy strolled along the line, surveying the jumble. On the uneven ground, Harry had to stay well back, so Malfoy would not hear him twigs breaking and rocks shifting under his feet, or notice the bending of grasses.
Malfoy didn't go far. He stopped, and bent down to study a particular plant. Then he did something very odd. He crossed one ankle over the opposite shin, and squatting in that manner, plucked a leaf, and tucked it in his shoe. He then switched feet, and plucked another leaf, and tucked it in the other shoe. Harry started mentally noting landmarks he could use to locate the plant once Malfoy had left, only absently noticing when Malfoy picked a third. Malfoy left at a much faster clip than he had approached, and Harry walked straight towards the plant, his attention fixed on a particular pine sapling behind it.
When he got there, there were three different plants in front of the sapling, but he could easily find the one with sticky sap where the leaves had been. It was a hairy, ugly plant, and the leaves felt unpleasant when Harry picked one. It smelled almost like an unlit cigar. Harry took a closer sniff and felt momentarily dizzy. Quickly, he plucked a bunch of pine needles from the sapling, transfigured them into a square of cloth, and tied his leaf up inside it. He would find out what it was later. Shoving the bundle in his pocket next to Lavender's charm, he hurried to catch up with Malfoy.
His quarry was far ahead, but also seemed to be heading back to the maypole. He disappeared into the crowd before Harry reached it, so Harry ducked behind a hedge and took off the cloak. When it was safely back in his coat pocket, and his coat resting over his arm, he came back out to check out the dancing.
He had been thinking he might dance, earlier, but during the time he was gone, many of the older students had paired off for walks, or settled in groups to chat, and the dancers were mostly younger, now. Harry leaned against a rock and watched, wondering if it was worth joining in anyway. Maybe if he went and talked to Ron and Hermione, they would follow him back in at the next tune? While he was considering that, someone began to approach from his right. Harry glanced over. Malfoy, he realized, and pretended not to notice, while he inwardly prepared for a fight. Indeed, Malfoy stopped a step in front of him.
"Don't want to dance, Potter?" he said mockingly.
Harry did want to dance, but he suddenly realized that he couldn't imagine doing it. "Eh. I'll leave it to the kids."
Draco gave him a sly look. "Do you prefer more adult dances?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.
Harry hated when he couldn't even figure out how Malfoy was insulting him. "Piss off, Malfoy," he said, and turning on his heel, began to stride away.
"I wasn't offering!" Malfoy shouted after him, and took off in the other direction.
When Harry paused to collect himself, Ron hurried up to him.
"What was that about?" he asked, jerking his head towards where Harry had met Malfoy.
"I have no idea. Something about my taste in dancing." Harry rolled his eyes. "Not that I know anything about dancing, but I'm sure he knows that."
"Ah." They watched together for a while, and then Hermione came to pull Ron back into the circle. Feeling strangely lonely, Harry returned to Gryffindor tower.
As he climbed the stairs, Harry wondered if he had expected the charm to work. He didn't want a lover, did he? It would be awkward, especially if it wasn't a girl who approached him, and he didn't feel any need to be in a relationship -- he had plenty of friends, after all. Why should watching people dance in the sunshine make him melancholy?
He went to bed early, and had a ludicrous dream in which he and Malfoy were taking turns spiraling ribbons around each other.
When Harry came back from breakfast the next morning, Seamus and Dean and Neville were just leaving the dormitory, and Ron was just waking up. Harry waited for him to stretch and rub the sleep out of his eyes before showing him the snipping of plant he still had in his coat pocket.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked.
Ron's jaw dropped. "Um," he stammered. His face began to turn red. "I, well, I'd considered that you might-- But since you chose a first year...." He seemed unable to finish.
"What?" Harry said, confused.
"Creevey," Ron elaborated, clarifying nothing. "I mean, if you wanted a boy, you know, you should have chosen a third-year, and then McGonagall mightn't have minded while you were still here to enjoy it. Choosing a first year is pretty much declaring that you don't, even if you got him a year younger than you should have, because I think she'd go spare if he was under fourteen."
Harry didn't want an explanation of what he thought Ron was babbling about. From what he could tell, hardly anyone ever did that, anyway. Certainly no one he knew did.
"Look, will you just tell me what it is?"
Ron's mouth fell open again, and then closed only as far as a grin. "You mean you don't know."
"Right," Harry said patiently. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
"Oh. Well, who gave it to you then?"
"Ron...." Harry warned.
"Look, you know Lavender's thing? That's only for if you're looking for a girl. If you're looking for a boy, you use that."
Ron pointed. Harry almost dropped the leaf. A voice in the back of his head pointed out that he had better not want a lover, because he had been carrying both tokens, and it hadn't helped.
"At least that makes more sense," Ron said cheerfully. "I knew you couldn't be bent."
Harry stared. He didn't think he had been especially subtle about tailing around after Cedric at the end of his fifth year, although the older boy had at least been decent enough not to embarrass him by noting it and turning him down. He certainly hadn't been trying to hide his admiring looks after Trent, last autumn.
"Because I dated a girl for two months?" he hazarded.
Ron shot him a look as if he was being stupid. "No -- Dennis," he said.
"Are you mad?" Harry said scornfully, finally managing to put the implication he could bugger Dennis into context. "Honestly, you never noticed me staring at Cedric because I didn't want some kid?"
"Oh!" Ron bit his lip. "Um, yes?"
"And saying Trent was the sexiest thing at school?"
"Well, just -- thought you'd picked up some talk from Sirius, that's all." At Harry's glare, Ron shoved back his hair. "I, er, do know about him."
"I'd hope so," Harry retorted. "Snogging his live-in boyfriend on the stairs is sort of a clue, you know?"
Ron shrugged. "Er, well, anyone you're interested in now?"
"Not particularly," Harry muttered. Trent seems to be solidly with Matilda, and Zacharias is too much of a git. He twirled the leaf in his fingers.
"Oh," Ron said, "it's also poisonous. The henbane, I mean. After you put it down, you should use a cleaning charm on your fingers."
"Great. The rest of you get flowers and I get a poison." He laughed. "Actually, I bet that's what Malfoy wanted it for, not some hokey love divination--" Harry's eyes widened. Do you prefer more adult dances? He blinked. "Malfoy was not coming on to me," he whispered incredulously.
"Malfoy?" Ron exclaimed, delighted. "He's bent? Oh, that's brilliant! We have to tell everyone!"
Harry tensed. "Ron," he warned.
"What? If you saw him gathering henbane on the first of May? He's got to be! And he'd hate it if the whole school --"
Harry turned on his heel, the leaf falling in his wake, and slammed the door behind him. All the Gryffindors knew him well enough to stay out of his path when he went storming through the Common Room.
"Hi."
Hermione's skirts rustled as she sat down on the other end of the window seat. Harry looked over at her. She had pinned up only the front of her unruly hair, and wisps of it hung loose by her ears. He looked away.
She reached over to lay a hand on his knee. "Ron told me enough about what he said that I think I understand why you're angry."
"Oh, really?" Harry said sarcastically.
"Well, it isn't as if he did! I had to extrapolate from his muddled account of things." Hermione patted the knee. "Welcome to my world."
Harry glared at her.
"I mean, you know how he talks about girls. And he doesn't mean me -- except when he does -- and he doesn't notice when he doesn't."
That, Harry understood. He laughed slightly. "Yeah, I guess."
"So I explained what an inconsiderate prat he was, and he says he won't go after Malfoy about it."
"Thanks." Harry scowled. "I don't know how he could not understand. I'd just told him."
She sighed. "At least you know it doesn't matter to him."
"How do you get that?"
"If it did, he'd remember for two minutes."
Harry stared at her. After a few seconds, he started to laugh. She joined him. "All right," he said. "I'll talk to him."
"Good. Oh, and Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm fine with it too." Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled. "In case you haven't noticed."
He hadn't realized how tense he was until he relaxed at those words. "Thanks. Just to be clear, I do like some girls, sometimes. I mean, it wouldn't rule someone out."
She nodded. "That's been obvious more than once as well. I won't assume."
He swung an arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. "Thank you," he whispered.
He didn't seek Ron out -- as far as he was concerned, that was Ron's job, this time, but he went where he would usually go, after breakfast -- to the lower Gryffindor laboratory, where the Quidditch team had a private section for their project. Ron was coming down the spiral stairs from the Common Room before Harry had the folding grill compressed enough to slip past. In the brief glance it took to identify him, Harry found he was still a little bit angry and even a little bit hurt. He stood still, staring at the elongated brass diamonds that separated the team's reserved space from the main room.
"Harry!" Ron stumbled to a stop beside him. "I, er.... Sorry, mate. I wasn't thinking. I won't go after Malfoy."
A bit of his anger let go at hearing that, but Harry still couldn't look at him. "Good," he said sharply. "And not just because I would take it personally."
"I.... Right," Ron said sheepishly. "I should have realized that -- that it would be unpleasant for you, I mean."
"And you shouldn't anyway," Harry said, finally turning. "I'd stand with him, you know, if you did. And I don't think you want that."
Ron's eyes widened. "Oh," he said, and then, stumbling, "I suppose ... s'pose I can understand that. Maybe." He managed a lopsided smile. "If he wasn't Malfoy."
Harry snorted. "Right. Look, come in, will you? We need perfect coil springs, and mine always flatten somewhere."
They stepped into the reserved area, and Harry closed the grill behind them, latching it to activate the containment shield and adding a sound-muffling charm of his own. Anyone could watch them, of course, but there were advantages to that, where one might have an accident. He took off his coat and hat, removed his Gryffindor cravat, pushed up his sleeve garters, and put on a dragonhide apron.
"You wouldn't ... wouldn't leave, would you?" Ron asked, similarly stripping down to work clothes.
"What, Hogwarts?" Harry asked, startled.
"No, I mean ... sometimes Muggle-born wizards -- I mean, you're not Muggle-born, but being raised that way might be sort of the same -- sometimes they just leave, and go back to living as Muggles."
"That's mad!" Harry exclaimed, shocked.
"Really? Good, then."
Of course, really! Ron, I wouldn't leave the magical world if-- if Voldemort had managed to resurrect himself, my fourth year."
Ron laughed. "It's a damn good thing Pettigrew owed you a life debt. That would have been a nightmare."
"Yeah." Harry grinned at him. It had been a nightmare anyway, but at least one that ended. "I still would have stayed, though."
"Okay."
**********
Draco did not know what had possessed him to spout innuendo at Potter -- except that there was nothing else one could do with a line like that. Unfortunately, Potter was too much of a graceless lout to accept what he had invited, and instead had treated it as an unwelcome offer -- as if a Malfoy would want some scruffy, middle-class Gryffindor fool who was scarcely more than a half-blood -- and now he was smirking every time their eyes met, as if he thought he had something on him.
Of course, Draco reminded himself, that might not be what he thought. The entire incident may have gone over Potter's head, and he might be smirking over something entirely unrelated -- his exaggerated opinion of his Contrivance, for example. Draco frowned. He was allowing himself to be distracted by an incident that was no worse than momentarily unpleasant. What he should really be doing was trying to get more information on the Gryffindors' Contrivance.
"Thornton."
Draco's boy looked up from his chessboard and didn't quite sigh. "Yes, sir?" he said coolly.
"I have a job for you. I want you to tail Potter after lessons -- tell me where he goes, what he gathers, what he gets out of stores, that sort of thing."
Thornton frowned. "Wouldn't Creevey do that for him?"
Draco looked down his nose at the boy -- easier when the brat was sitting. "Don't ask questions. I have a plan."
And he did, he thought, as he walked away. Potter, of course, had Creevey, as he had Thornton, because scholars in their N.E.W.T. year -- or even their O.W.L. year -- no longer had time to run foolish errands. However, he intended to have Thornton seen tailing Potter -- and Thornton would be seen; fifteen was too young for true subtlety -- and then polyjuice into Thornton to follow Potter himself, while Thornton tailed Creevy. It was terribly clever. Draco sighed. Most likely, the entire exercise would be wasted on the Gryffindors. They had all the subtlety of a bludger. And there was unlikely to be any point to tailing Potter, as Thornton had so irritatingly noted.
Though tailing Creevy, he thought, was hardly better. Now if he could spy on Potter talking to Creevy....
Suddenly, his plan was much better. What he really needed to do was polyjuice into Creevy -- Potter's own boy -- and get information from Potter directly. That was a far better use for the Polyjuice potion he had obtained for Contrivance research. Thornton and Creevy were in the same year -- Thornton should be able to get him a hair or two from Creevy. As Creevy, he would make himself available to Potter, and with luck, Potter would send him on an errand, and then he could ask questions about what use it was, and maybe get some real information. Perhaps Potter would even give his servant a look at the Gryffindor contrivance in return for his assistance.
At the door to his dormitory, he hesitated. Of course, there was the problem of what making himself available to Potter might mean. Professor Snape dealt harshly with any abuse of authority over assigned "scholar's assistants", as the serving lower years were called, but no doubt the Gryffindor upperclassmen (crude, rough, and physical as they plainly were) got away with far more, and Potter often bent staff members to his will, seemingly without thought. He wouldn't be surprised if Potter was buggering the boy. What would he do if Potter expected sexual services from him?
Draco's first thought was to keep the meeting in a public space, but he immediately realized that he wouldn't get any information that way. He would just have to stay alert and improvise. He wouldn't mind a little groping, he decided, picturing how Potter's eyes smoldered when they fought. Much more than that, and he was risking the polyjuice wearing off, anyway. He'd just cut his losses and run, if he had to.
The setup went smoothly. Thornton had two hairs for him by midday on Monday, and after lessons, Malfoy saw Creevy heading outside with some friends. Eagerly, Malfoy took a phial of Polyjuice potion and went in search of Potter. By great luck, he saw him just inside the library door, waiting for Granger, and that gave him time to duck around the corner, add Creevy's hair to the potion and choke it down, resize his clothing, and transfigure his cravat and badge to those of the Gryffindor design. When Potter came up the second flight of the stairs -- still without Granger, mercifully -- he found an apparent Dennis Creevy reading in a window seat at the landing.
"Oh, there you are," Potter said. "Run down to the school stores and get me some Fairy cocoon silk, will you? We don't have nearly enough."
Draco schooled his unfamiliar face into what he hoped resembled the look Thornton gave him at that sort of casual order. It really was irritating, considering he was two flights further away from the school potion stores than Potter had been minutes ago. "I'll just drop everything and get right on that," he said, belying his sarcasm by closing his borrowed potions text.
Potter, rather than launching a barb back, stared at him with his mouth open. Draco had the sudden thought that Creevy might not be much like Thornton. Before he could decide what to do, Potter had sunk down to the seat beside him, and laid a hand on his arm. Draco tried to contain his panic. Potter wouldn't do anything to him in the open, would he?
"Dennis?" Potter said gently. "Are you okay?"
Oh. He really had got it wrong. Draco dropped his eyes. "Sorry," he said contritely.
"I've just never heard you be less than enthusiastic." Potter gestured at the book. "Rough workload, this spring?"
Not knowing what else to do, Draco nodded. He also raised his head. Potter was looking at him with a gentle smile.
"I am sorry," he said sincerely. "I'll try to think ahead more, rather than sending you out all the time. I do need the silk, though, and I have N.E.W.T.s and E.F.T.T.s to revise for, you know." He punched Draco encouragingly in the shoulder. "Just think! Next year, I'll be gone, and you'll have a boy to run errands for you." He grinned. "And by the time you're prepping for O.W.L.s, you'll scarcely notice."
Draco nodded again. He hadn't expected Potter, who was all thunder and lightning and storm clouds, to be so sweetly reassuring to his boy. His plan was lost behind a fog of wondering if he might be kissed.
"Oh, here's something you'll find funny," Potter offered, in a cheering tone. "I finally had it out about my sexuality with Ron. It turned out that since I took you as a first year, he was convinced I must be straight."
Draco felt his eyes widen. That was worse than he'd thought. And he couldn't imagine how Weasley's mind worked. First year boys were more like girls?
Potter looked back at him uneasily. "Well," he said. "I thought it was funny. I mean, you're still too young to interest me that way, and I doubt it would make a difference if I was a year younger."
Draco caught his breath. "Oh," he said weakly. "It sounded like -- like you were saying you'd had sex with me then -- and I'm sure I'd remember that."
It was Potter's turn to stare. After a moment, he shook his head and laughed. "I'm so terrible with innuendo. Malfoy said something to me at the maypole, last week, and it wasn't until hours later that I realized he was making a joke."
"Malfoy?" Draco managed, by way of encouragement.
"Yeah. I'd assumed he was insulting me -- because it was Malfoy, so anything I don't understand is a taunt, right? And it was actually sort of friendly, and I was an ass about it. Now he glares every time I try to smile at him."
That was interesting. It wasn't at all the sort of information Draco had hoped for, but if that was all he got, the ruse was still worthwhile. Potter had actually meant all those odd smiles as friendly?
"Do you..." Draco tried to stop himself, but he couldn't -- "er, fancy him?"
"Malfoy? Well, I suppose he's hot, if you don't mind that evil sort of grace. I try not to think about him, though."
"Why not?" Evil sort of grace?
Harry snorted. "Malfoy can yank my chain like no one else in the world. He works me up in a minute. If I let him bugger me, I'd never be able to hold him off again." He shrugged. "Besides, he wouldn't look at anyone who's not a pureblood, I'm sure."
Draco's quick thought that he might, if that someone was Potter, tumbled over the shocking revelation that Potter was willing to be on the receiving end of things, something he would never have believed from anyone else's lips. He might have wasted more time on inquiring -- a fifth-year was old enough to be curious, certainly -- but his shirt cuff heated slightly, warning him that his time in Creevy's form was half-up. Fortunately, a fifth-year could also be awkward. He got to his feet. "How much fairy silk?" he asked.
Potter stood also. "Three cocoons should do it," he said. "Actually, better get four -- you know how I am."
Draco nodded, but didn't move. He forced himself to slouch and to shift his weight in an uneasy sort of way. "Could I see it?" he burst out. "The Contrivance?"
Potter shook his head. "Sorry. Team members only."
"I won't tell!"
"I know." Damn it, was Potter always this gentle with the boy? "But you might not be able to protect the information. Remember, the Slytherins have Snape on their side."
So Potter thought Snape would supply them with Truth serum, did he? Or did he know Snape was a Legilimens? Draco tried to assume a Gryffindor air of surety. "They won't catch me."
"No, Creevy," Potter said, a little of the iron that had Draco expected showing through the gentle plush of his affection. "Drop it."
He hadn't accomplished anything he had intended, but Draco couldn't help feeling that he had got quite a lot -- enough that a retreat was not unthinkable. After all, at any minute, the real Creevy minor might come bounding up the stairs.
"All right," he said. "You can't blame me for trying."
Potter chuckled, amiable again. "No," he said, "I can't."
**********
His encounter with Dennis had been a bit odd, but it left Harry feeling cheerful. It had least brought a thing or two incidentally out into the open -- all things he felt that they had an implicit understanding about, but considering Ron, he might have been wrong on that score. He went straight to the lab, tinkered with the targeting device for a few minutes, and realized that they were short on #3 ovoid gears. He sighed.
"Great. Dennis is already feeling overworked, and here I'm going to send him right out again." Considering the matter, he decided to go upstairs and look for a teammate -- preferably a younger one, whose assistant would have a lighter academic workload.
However, just as he reached the Common Room, Creevy burst in. He was covered with drying mud from his right hip to his feet, with patches of it splattered over his upper body. Harry dashed over to him.
"What happened to you?" he cried.
Creevy grinned. "Pick-up rugby. We pulled in two more purebloods this year!"
Harry's heart seemed to miss a beat. He stared at the boy. Dennis and Colin did start up rugby games in the spring, and were bent on converting their Wizard-born schoolmates to the sport.
"You've been out all afternoon," he stated numbly.
Creevy looked confused. "Did you need me for something?" he asked. "You hadn't said."
Harry shook his head. "No, but I ... I ran into you on the stairs a few minutes ago."
"I wasn't there."
"Yes, I get that." Harry's brain was finally past Creevy not being Creevy, and starting to appraise the damage. Fairy silk, but nothing more about the Contrivance, but oh god -- men! And Malfoy. He gulped in air. "It wasn't you, obviously. Polyjuice, I expect. The person did beg to see the Contrivance--"
"You didn't!"
"Of course not!" Harry looked frantically around the room. There weren't many people inside on a sunny May afternoon, but he suspected that everyone there was listening. "Come on -- we need to talk privately."
Up in the eighth-year boys' dormitory, Harry sank down onto the chair from his desk, and Creevy perched tailor-style on the end of Ron's bed.
"Did you give anything away?" he asked anxiously.
"About the Contrivance?" Harry shook his head. "Only in that I asked you to fetch me four Fairy cocoons for silk."
"That's not bad, right? I mean, I already know a bunch of things you can do with Fairy silk, and I haven't even started my O.W.L year."
"It's not bad," Harry agreed, groaning as he hid his face in one hand.
"Then what's wrong?"
"It was rather a personal conversation," Harry confessed. "Because you seemed down, which should have tipped me off -- I even said it wasn't like you...."
"Letting him know how to adapt," Creevy said quickly. "I suppose it would be someone from the Slytherin team." He thought. "Or Thornton."
Harry nodded. "Malfoy's boy, right? But more likely, Malfoy himself."
"I'd think he'd send Thornton, since it might be dangerous."
Harry took a deep breath. "Except Thornton wouldn't ask me if I fancied Malfoy."
Creevy's eyes widened. "Neither would I!"
"Except I'd just said that he'd sort of, er, flirted at me, on May Day."
"Oh." Creevy stared, and then shrugged. "Well, maybe I would, then. Do you want me to figure out his schedule, now?"
Harry snorted. "I should never have had you do that."
Creevy shrugged. "I thought it was just a way to let me know you were bent."
"It was, sort of. Without, you know, saying it, which might seem...."
"Yeah," Creevy agreed cheerfully. "So ... what do we do back?"
Harry hadn't quite made it to that stage of planning yet, and it took him a minute to think. "I think ... I think I should do the same thing to him," he said slowly.
"Won't he notice?" Creevy asked, his nose wrinkling.
"Maybe. But that just means I need to do it better. Which means I have to find out what Thornton's like and how he talks to Malfoy, and I already have a clue from how he talked to me as you, at first...." Harry's voice trailed off. This was more information than he could collect just from having Dennis trail Thornton around. What he really needed to was something like a Muggle bugging device....
He jumped to his feet. "Come on!"
"Where are we going?" Creevy asked, bouncing up to follow him.
"The lab. I have an idea."
His first thought had been centered around Pensieve base fluid -- which would hold sounds and images, although not for very long -- properly charmed and enclosed in a small sphere. But then he realized that Creevy would need to fetch it back from Thornton, and also to collect hair from him, so they better both be done at once, in case Thornton noticed and became too much on guard. Once Harry started to add in motion and a clipping arm, it was clearly not a one-hour project, so he sent Creevy off for Fairy silk and #3 ovoid gears and settled down to real design.
By Wednesday, the device was working, and Creevy managed to plant it on Thornton that afternoon, and on Thursday morning, he summoned it back while Thornton was distracted during Care of Magical Creatures. Harry listened to it alone first, and then, when it contained nothing too unsuitable, let Creevy listen to it as well. With an out-of-character grin, the boy played Malfoy to Harry's sullen, sarcastic Thornton until Harry decided he was ready.
"What if you get caught?" Creevy asked uncertainly, as Harry started out to the Quidditch pitch.
Harry remembered the ersatz Creevy's wide-eyed shock when Harry talked about letting Malfoy bugger him. He smiled. "That might be interesting," he said. "You just keep an eye on Thornton, take a few more color readings, and get reinforcements if I'm not back in an hour."
Title: Flying Colors
To: Megyal for hds-beltane
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Minor fag system (no chan), innuendo, anal sex, a touch of voyeurism
Word count: ~14,600
Summary: The Contrivance Match -- each team devises one Contrivance to help them on the pitch. The only rule -- no foreseeable permanent damage. When Slytherin captain Draco Malfoy gets the bright idea of spying on Potter using Potter's boy, Creevy Minor, there are no rules off the pitch, either.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Author's Note: One of megyal's requests was for an H/D steampunk AU, and I did my best! Since this is an AU anyway, I've added a year to the Hogwarts curriculum -- to make some of the age overlaps work out better for the plot, and to provide time for some courses in mechanics. It should all be apparent from the story.
Thanks to sociofemme for beta work, and to winnet for providing advice on limits.
Flying Colors
Harry was in the middle of banging out an explanation of why using transfigured materials in constructs was risky -- while privately thinking how often the risk was worth it, at least in his life, though he supposed that wasn't typical -- when the typograph stopped short. The E key creaked slowly back into place.
"Damn it!"
"Problem?" Ron asked, looking up a little too readily from his Charms text. Harry suspected he was desperate for a distraction.
"Just this balky machine," Harry fumed, rummaging through his school bag in search of erumpet powder. "There's got to be some way to run it off of dragon's blood."
Ron snorted. "Not that anyone would sell you that."
After a quick visual confirmation that they were alone, Harry smirked. "I've got some though."
"WHAT?" Ron's eyes had opened satisfyingly wide. "Harry! You can't have that here! And you can't use it in the typograph! It blows up if there's any friction!"
"I know," Harry soothed.
"So you can't have it in the room!" Ron repeated frantically.
"Calm down. I don't. It's in the Shrieking Shack. But Ron, think! The Contrivance match -- we can paint a diluted solution on a modified bludger -- one that only goes after players in green."
The look of horror on Ron's face changed slowly to a satisfied grin. "Oh," he said. "Brilliant." He cocked his head and looked at Harry. "We'll have to make sure it doesn't violate the permanent harm rule."
"Of course. I've been researching the appropriate dilution...." Harry scowled at the typograph again. "And I still think there ought to be some way...."
"No," Ron said firmly. "Drop that thought now. Every few decades, there's some wizard or witch who says that, and there's never enough left of them to bury. You do not use dragon's blood in anything with moving parts."
Harry sighed. "All right." He opened the rearmost canister on the typograph, sprinkled in a little erumpet skin powder (dilution x100), and locked the lid back down. He checked the front canister out of habit, but as he expected, it still had plenty of coal, and he could see the screen had enough quicksilver. With a quick pump, he primed the steam chamber and then went back to forcefully hitting keys. The E stuck.
"Damn it all!" He stomped down three flights of stairs to where a group of fifth year boys were speculating about something related to Quidditch. His boy belatedly noticed his presence and scrambled to his feet. "Creevey!"
"Yes, sir?" Dennis answered, rocking forward onto his toes.
"Fetch me a vial of Slippod juice, will you?" The Contrivance match occurred to him. He might as well start the color charm. "Oh, and Streeler shell powder."
"Yessir!" Dennis said eagerly, and dashed off. Shaking his head, Harry started back up the stairs. He was sure he hadn't been half that bouncy about running errands for Oliver.
The best thing about being one of the top two Hogwarts Quidditch teams wasn't the chance at the Quidditch Cup, but the match after that -- the Contrivance match. In the Contrivance match, each team was allowed one Contrivance of their own construction. It could break any Quidditch rule, and it was well known that even obvious violations of the law were customarily overlooked. The only enforced restriction was that it could not be reasonably expected by the creators to cause death or permanent harm.
Harry's idea won out, that year. It wasn't just that he was famous, or that even he was team captain and one of two eighth years on the team. It was that the designs were chosen -- in great secrecy -- by the team, and after the behavior of the Slytherins in the final match of the Quidditch Cup, everyone jumped at the opportunity to rough them up a bit. The Contrivance had to be at least half mechanical, and standard Bludgers were almost entirely magical, but a 90% mechanical solution to the Bludger had been devised nearly a century ago, and was well-documented. The Gryffindor team took out the complicated -- and highly explosive -- buoyancy unity in favor of a neutral flotation spell, added mechanical color-detection with an alchemical check, and presented their plan to Professor McGonagall. After imposing only the most minimal safety adjustments, she signed off on it, and production -- with the inevitable modifications -- began.
**********
Draco sat carefully, despite the anti-wrinkle charms on his frock coat and trousers, and kept his back straight as he gracefully accepted a cup of tea from his head of house. It wasn't a need to impress -- although he knew Professor Snape placed as much value on posture as his mother -- but rather ingrained manners evoked by tea with a professor. Draco could slouch, when he wished to express insolence, but it took thought.
One of Snape's long fingers tapped the document under his left hand.
"I have read your proposal, Mr. Malfoy," he said coolly.
There was silence. Draco bit back the urge to say "and?" He was familiar with these games. He took a sip of tea. While Snape did likewise, Draco straightened his shirt cuff, aligning it perfectly to his coat cuff.
"In concept," Snape continued, as if there had been no pause at all, "it is everything we want in a Contrivance -- spectacular, difficult, and clever. It would enhance your reputation and be a fine cap to your eighth year."
"But?" Draco asked wryly. Damn. I let him pull me in.
"But I wonder if you are letting your obsession with Harry Potter overrule your sense of strategy. A Contrivance that targets only the opposing Seeker is of limited use." His mouth tightened. "You may want to defeat Potter, but I want to defeat Gryffindor."
"Potter is Gryffindor," Draco retorted, the usual fiery spike that Potter brought to his thoughts overcoming any conversational posturing. "They will all be humiliated if he is carried off like a rabbit."
"And the game, Draco?"
"They have no chance of winning without him."
Snape sneered.
"So Gryffindor win on the talent of their Seeker, do they?"
Draco glowered, but refused to let his anger muddle his words. "When they win," he shot back. "I don't deny that in a flat-out race, he would beat me; he's still the size of a fifth year. I assure you, if I had anyone of my talent and his size, I would move them into my position." He glared at his head of house. "However, in talent, I am his equal, and a boy of less size and less talent will not improve our chances."
Snape nodded a polite acknowledge. "Just remember, Draco -- your ego is not well served by undermining the success of your house."
Draco set his lips to hold back a scowl. The minor victory of having brought Snape down to using his first name barely penetrated his humiliation. "I understand. Have you any concrete objections, sir?"
"For completeness, I should point out that targeting by color is a risk."
Draco nodded. "Because of the possibility of a switch, I know. However, Zabini saw Potter's boy taking Streeler shell from the school stores on Monday, and at practice last night, the Weasley girl stole Bulstrode's gauntlet, and then tossed it back. I think they are also planning to target chromatically."
Nodding, Snape poured more tea. "Very well, then. I approve it."
**********
At lunch time on May Day -- not the bank holiday, but the actually first of May -- Lavender was passing out little bags made of what appeared to be cheesecloth charmed green. They were filled with flower petals.
"What's this?" Harry asked. Ron hadn't got one, but she had given them to him and Neville.
"It's for finding love on the first of May," she replied cheerfully. "I'm giving them to all the single boys."
"Um...." Harry looked doubtfully at the little bundle. He'd never seen anything like it at Hogwarts. "Is this real? I mean, not some Muggle superstition?"
Lavender rolled her eyes. "Well, they have to start somewhere, don't they? Muggles don't just think these things up! But if you must know, it's from Camellia Cornwithel's Subtle Signs for Simple Solutions, which was highly reviewed in Divination Tomorrow."
"Um..."
"Just carry it with you, and stay alert for opportunities," Lavender said, moving on to Seamus and Dean.
"Because I'm so likely to find my true love in History of Magic," Harry muttered to Ron.
"What, does Binns leave you cold?"
"I think she meant when you go out to the Maypole," Neville said meekly.
"Maypole?"
"Aren't those supposed to be in the morning?" Ron asked.
Neville shrugged. "Some of the girls got it together. I hear they argued about whether it should be at the wrong time, or on the wrong day."
"At least they knew no one would show up before breakfast on a Friday."
The afternoon was beautiful -- fresh and sunny and just warm enough, and the Gryffindor Common Room was almost empty when Harry went up to his dormitory to fetch his invisibility cloak. Rolled up tightly, it made only a small bulge in his frock coat, and it left him a discreet means of retreating if the Maypole excursion was tedious, or worse. He walked down the hill, vaguely near other stragglers, but not with anyone, while the sounds of music and cheerful chatter grew closer. Just past the turn at the low pines he finally saw the colors of the maypole and the crowd. It was a little dizzying after a long day indoors. The afternoon sun was just breaking through the clouds and shone off ribbons of many colors, none of them in precisely house hues. The dancers -- and there was an outer arc curving around the circle at the maypole -- had all taken off their black student coats and were displaying the riotous clothes that Hermione had once classified as "Victorian Fanciful".
"Why Victorian?" he had asked her, and she had rolled her eyes, but answered readily. "The Wizarding world is terribly slow to adopt fashion changes, and that's the last time it did. According to Hogwarts: A History, students here wore medieval scholars' robes right up until the mid-eighteenth century."
What he saw now was a scattered rainbow of long dresses, some spreading out in ruffled circles from spins, and equally colorful waistcoats over a base of the boys' dark trousers and mostly white shirts. Among the blues and reds that might have been common in a Muggle gathering, were just as many splashes of purple and lime, with patterns moving across some of the fabrics. In the riot of color, it was difficult to spot even Ron's hair. Ginny was wearing hers down, though, and after catching sight of that ginger fall, Harry was able to find Ron and Hermione near her. Instead of hurrying to join them, he slowed. One of the topiary gardens was just uphill from the dancing green, so there were places to duck out of sight -- he just hoped he didn't run into anyone doing the same thing for other reasons.
Ron's hair may have been hard to spot, but somehow Harry noticed Malfoy's immediately. Maybe it was the walk, he thought. Malfoy usually moved with a cocky saunter, but right now, he was moving in an even glide, like Snape trying to sneak up on someone, in the shadow of the outer hedge. Making a quick decision, Harry swerved off the path and behind a bush, and donned his invisibility cloak.
To his relief, Malfoy did not seem bent on using his position as a prefect to seek out couples in the bushes. He continued along the edge of the garden, ignoring rustles and giggles that he had to have heard, and off into the unkempt lands near the Forbidden Forest. After a few minutes of walking, Harry realized they were headed towards where Hagrid had pulled up the Devil's Snare last year. Was Malfoy planting more? That must be it, Harry decided. It would be just like him to have a hobby of strangling bunnies -- indirectly, of course, to avoid any mess.
Weeds were competing for the space where the Devil's snare had been. Malfoy strolled along the line, surveying the jumble. On the uneven ground, Harry had to stay well back, so Malfoy would not hear him twigs breaking and rocks shifting under his feet, or notice the bending of grasses.
Malfoy didn't go far. He stopped, and bent down to study a particular plant. Then he did something very odd. He crossed one ankle over the opposite shin, and squatting in that manner, plucked a leaf, and tucked it in his shoe. He then switched feet, and plucked another leaf, and tucked it in the other shoe. Harry started mentally noting landmarks he could use to locate the plant once Malfoy had left, only absently noticing when Malfoy picked a third. Malfoy left at a much faster clip than he had approached, and Harry walked straight towards the plant, his attention fixed on a particular pine sapling behind it.
When he got there, there were three different plants in front of the sapling, but he could easily find the one with sticky sap where the leaves had been. It was a hairy, ugly plant, and the leaves felt unpleasant when Harry picked one. It smelled almost like an unlit cigar. Harry took a closer sniff and felt momentarily dizzy. Quickly, he plucked a bunch of pine needles from the sapling, transfigured them into a square of cloth, and tied his leaf up inside it. He would find out what it was later. Shoving the bundle in his pocket next to Lavender's charm, he hurried to catch up with Malfoy.
His quarry was far ahead, but also seemed to be heading back to the maypole. He disappeared into the crowd before Harry reached it, so Harry ducked behind a hedge and took off the cloak. When it was safely back in his coat pocket, and his coat resting over his arm, he came back out to check out the dancing.
He had been thinking he might dance, earlier, but during the time he was gone, many of the older students had paired off for walks, or settled in groups to chat, and the dancers were mostly younger, now. Harry leaned against a rock and watched, wondering if it was worth joining in anyway. Maybe if he went and talked to Ron and Hermione, they would follow him back in at the next tune? While he was considering that, someone began to approach from his right. Harry glanced over. Malfoy, he realized, and pretended not to notice, while he inwardly prepared for a fight. Indeed, Malfoy stopped a step in front of him.
"Don't want to dance, Potter?" he said mockingly.
Harry did want to dance, but he suddenly realized that he couldn't imagine doing it. "Eh. I'll leave it to the kids."
Draco gave him a sly look. "Do you prefer more adult dances?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.
Harry hated when he couldn't even figure out how Malfoy was insulting him. "Piss off, Malfoy," he said, and turning on his heel, began to stride away.
"I wasn't offering!" Malfoy shouted after him, and took off in the other direction.
When Harry paused to collect himself, Ron hurried up to him.
"What was that about?" he asked, jerking his head towards where Harry had met Malfoy.
"I have no idea. Something about my taste in dancing." Harry rolled his eyes. "Not that I know anything about dancing, but I'm sure he knows that."
"Ah." They watched together for a while, and then Hermione came to pull Ron back into the circle. Feeling strangely lonely, Harry returned to Gryffindor tower.
As he climbed the stairs, Harry wondered if he had expected the charm to work. He didn't want a lover, did he? It would be awkward, especially if it wasn't a girl who approached him, and he didn't feel any need to be in a relationship -- he had plenty of friends, after all. Why should watching people dance in the sunshine make him melancholy?
He went to bed early, and had a ludicrous dream in which he and Malfoy were taking turns spiraling ribbons around each other.
When Harry came back from breakfast the next morning, Seamus and Dean and Neville were just leaving the dormitory, and Ron was just waking up. Harry waited for him to stretch and rub the sleep out of his eyes before showing him the snipping of plant he still had in his coat pocket.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked.
Ron's jaw dropped. "Um," he stammered. His face began to turn red. "I, well, I'd considered that you might-- But since you chose a first year...." He seemed unable to finish.
"What?" Harry said, confused.
"Creevey," Ron elaborated, clarifying nothing. "I mean, if you wanted a boy, you know, you should have chosen a third-year, and then McGonagall mightn't have minded while you were still here to enjoy it. Choosing a first year is pretty much declaring that you don't, even if you got him a year younger than you should have, because I think she'd go spare if he was under fourteen."
Harry didn't want an explanation of what he thought Ron was babbling about. From what he could tell, hardly anyone ever did that, anyway. Certainly no one he knew did.
"Look, will you just tell me what it is?"
Ron's mouth fell open again, and then closed only as far as a grin. "You mean you don't know."
"Right," Harry said patiently. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
"Oh. Well, who gave it to you then?"
"Ron...." Harry warned.
"Look, you know Lavender's thing? That's only for if you're looking for a girl. If you're looking for a boy, you use that."
Ron pointed. Harry almost dropped the leaf. A voice in the back of his head pointed out that he had better not want a lover, because he had been carrying both tokens, and it hadn't helped.
"At least that makes more sense," Ron said cheerfully. "I knew you couldn't be bent."
Harry stared. He didn't think he had been especially subtle about tailing around after Cedric at the end of his fifth year, although the older boy had at least been decent enough not to embarrass him by noting it and turning him down. He certainly hadn't been trying to hide his admiring looks after Trent, last autumn.
"Because I dated a girl for two months?" he hazarded.
Ron shot him a look as if he was being stupid. "No -- Dennis," he said.
"Are you mad?" Harry said scornfully, finally managing to put the implication he could bugger Dennis into context. "Honestly, you never noticed me staring at Cedric because I didn't want some kid?"
"Oh!" Ron bit his lip. "Um, yes?"
"And saying Trent was the sexiest thing at school?"
"Well, just -- thought you'd picked up some talk from Sirius, that's all." At Harry's glare, Ron shoved back his hair. "I, er, do know about him."
"I'd hope so," Harry retorted. "Snogging his live-in boyfriend on the stairs is sort of a clue, you know?"
Ron shrugged. "Er, well, anyone you're interested in now?"
"Not particularly," Harry muttered. Trent seems to be solidly with Matilda, and Zacharias is too much of a git. He twirled the leaf in his fingers.
"Oh," Ron said, "it's also poisonous. The henbane, I mean. After you put it down, you should use a cleaning charm on your fingers."
"Great. The rest of you get flowers and I get a poison." He laughed. "Actually, I bet that's what Malfoy wanted it for, not some hokey love divination--" Harry's eyes widened. Do you prefer more adult dances? He blinked. "Malfoy was not coming on to me," he whispered incredulously.
"Malfoy?" Ron exclaimed, delighted. "He's bent? Oh, that's brilliant! We have to tell everyone!"
Harry tensed. "Ron," he warned.
"What? If you saw him gathering henbane on the first of May? He's got to be! And he'd hate it if the whole school --"
Harry turned on his heel, the leaf falling in his wake, and slammed the door behind him. All the Gryffindors knew him well enough to stay out of his path when he went storming through the Common Room.
"Hi."
Hermione's skirts rustled as she sat down on the other end of the window seat. Harry looked over at her. She had pinned up only the front of her unruly hair, and wisps of it hung loose by her ears. He looked away.
She reached over to lay a hand on his knee. "Ron told me enough about what he said that I think I understand why you're angry."
"Oh, really?" Harry said sarcastically.
"Well, it isn't as if he did! I had to extrapolate from his muddled account of things." Hermione patted the knee. "Welcome to my world."
Harry glared at her.
"I mean, you know how he talks about girls. And he doesn't mean me -- except when he does -- and he doesn't notice when he doesn't."
That, Harry understood. He laughed slightly. "Yeah, I guess."
"So I explained what an inconsiderate prat he was, and he says he won't go after Malfoy about it."
"Thanks." Harry scowled. "I don't know how he could not understand. I'd just told him."
She sighed. "At least you know it doesn't matter to him."
"How do you get that?"
"If it did, he'd remember for two minutes."
Harry stared at her. After a few seconds, he started to laugh. She joined him. "All right," he said. "I'll talk to him."
"Good. Oh, and Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm fine with it too." Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled. "In case you haven't noticed."
He hadn't realized how tense he was until he relaxed at those words. "Thanks. Just to be clear, I do like some girls, sometimes. I mean, it wouldn't rule someone out."
She nodded. "That's been obvious more than once as well. I won't assume."
He swung an arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. "Thank you," he whispered.
He didn't seek Ron out -- as far as he was concerned, that was Ron's job, this time, but he went where he would usually go, after breakfast -- to the lower Gryffindor laboratory, where the Quidditch team had a private section for their project. Ron was coming down the spiral stairs from the Common Room before Harry had the folding grill compressed enough to slip past. In the brief glance it took to identify him, Harry found he was still a little bit angry and even a little bit hurt. He stood still, staring at the elongated brass diamonds that separated the team's reserved space from the main room.
"Harry!" Ron stumbled to a stop beside him. "I, er.... Sorry, mate. I wasn't thinking. I won't go after Malfoy."
A bit of his anger let go at hearing that, but Harry still couldn't look at him. "Good," he said sharply. "And not just because I would take it personally."
"I.... Right," Ron said sheepishly. "I should have realized that -- that it would be unpleasant for you, I mean."
"And you shouldn't anyway," Harry said, finally turning. "I'd stand with him, you know, if you did. And I don't think you want that."
Ron's eyes widened. "Oh," he said, and then, stumbling, "I suppose ... s'pose I can understand that. Maybe." He managed a lopsided smile. "If he wasn't Malfoy."
Harry snorted. "Right. Look, come in, will you? We need perfect coil springs, and mine always flatten somewhere."
They stepped into the reserved area, and Harry closed the grill behind them, latching it to activate the containment shield and adding a sound-muffling charm of his own. Anyone could watch them, of course, but there were advantages to that, where one might have an accident. He took off his coat and hat, removed his Gryffindor cravat, pushed up his sleeve garters, and put on a dragonhide apron.
"You wouldn't ... wouldn't leave, would you?" Ron asked, similarly stripping down to work clothes.
"What, Hogwarts?" Harry asked, startled.
"No, I mean ... sometimes Muggle-born wizards -- I mean, you're not Muggle-born, but being raised that way might be sort of the same -- sometimes they just leave, and go back to living as Muggles."
"That's mad!" Harry exclaimed, shocked.
"Really? Good, then."
Of course, really! Ron, I wouldn't leave the magical world if-- if Voldemort had managed to resurrect himself, my fourth year."
Ron laughed. "It's a damn good thing Pettigrew owed you a life debt. That would have been a nightmare."
"Yeah." Harry grinned at him. It had been a nightmare anyway, but at least one that ended. "I still would have stayed, though."
"Okay."
**********
Draco did not know what had possessed him to spout innuendo at Potter -- except that there was nothing else one could do with a line like that. Unfortunately, Potter was too much of a graceless lout to accept what he had invited, and instead had treated it as an unwelcome offer -- as if a Malfoy would want some scruffy, middle-class Gryffindor fool who was scarcely more than a half-blood -- and now he was smirking every time their eyes met, as if he thought he had something on him.
Of course, Draco reminded himself, that might not be what he thought. The entire incident may have gone over Potter's head, and he might be smirking over something entirely unrelated -- his exaggerated opinion of his Contrivance, for example. Draco frowned. He was allowing himself to be distracted by an incident that was no worse than momentarily unpleasant. What he should really be doing was trying to get more information on the Gryffindors' Contrivance.
"Thornton."
Draco's boy looked up from his chessboard and didn't quite sigh. "Yes, sir?" he said coolly.
"I have a job for you. I want you to tail Potter after lessons -- tell me where he goes, what he gathers, what he gets out of stores, that sort of thing."
Thornton frowned. "Wouldn't Creevey do that for him?"
Draco looked down his nose at the boy -- easier when the brat was sitting. "Don't ask questions. I have a plan."
And he did, he thought, as he walked away. Potter, of course, had Creevey, as he had Thornton, because scholars in their N.E.W.T. year -- or even their O.W.L. year -- no longer had time to run foolish errands. However, he intended to have Thornton seen tailing Potter -- and Thornton would be seen; fifteen was too young for true subtlety -- and then polyjuice into Thornton to follow Potter himself, while Thornton tailed Creevy. It was terribly clever. Draco sighed. Most likely, the entire exercise would be wasted on the Gryffindors. They had all the subtlety of a bludger. And there was unlikely to be any point to tailing Potter, as Thornton had so irritatingly noted.
Though tailing Creevy, he thought, was hardly better. Now if he could spy on Potter talking to Creevy....
Suddenly, his plan was much better. What he really needed to do was polyjuice into Creevy -- Potter's own boy -- and get information from Potter directly. That was a far better use for the Polyjuice potion he had obtained for Contrivance research. Thornton and Creevy were in the same year -- Thornton should be able to get him a hair or two from Creevy. As Creevy, he would make himself available to Potter, and with luck, Potter would send him on an errand, and then he could ask questions about what use it was, and maybe get some real information. Perhaps Potter would even give his servant a look at the Gryffindor contrivance in return for his assistance.
At the door to his dormitory, he hesitated. Of course, there was the problem of what making himself available to Potter might mean. Professor Snape dealt harshly with any abuse of authority over assigned "scholar's assistants", as the serving lower years were called, but no doubt the Gryffindor upperclassmen (crude, rough, and physical as they plainly were) got away with far more, and Potter often bent staff members to his will, seemingly without thought. He wouldn't be surprised if Potter was buggering the boy. What would he do if Potter expected sexual services from him?
Draco's first thought was to keep the meeting in a public space, but he immediately realized that he wouldn't get any information that way. He would just have to stay alert and improvise. He wouldn't mind a little groping, he decided, picturing how Potter's eyes smoldered when they fought. Much more than that, and he was risking the polyjuice wearing off, anyway. He'd just cut his losses and run, if he had to.
The setup went smoothly. Thornton had two hairs for him by midday on Monday, and after lessons, Malfoy saw Creevy heading outside with some friends. Eagerly, Malfoy took a phial of Polyjuice potion and went in search of Potter. By great luck, he saw him just inside the library door, waiting for Granger, and that gave him time to duck around the corner, add Creevy's hair to the potion and choke it down, resize his clothing, and transfigure his cravat and badge to those of the Gryffindor design. When Potter came up the second flight of the stairs -- still without Granger, mercifully -- he found an apparent Dennis Creevy reading in a window seat at the landing.
"Oh, there you are," Potter said. "Run down to the school stores and get me some Fairy cocoon silk, will you? We don't have nearly enough."
Draco schooled his unfamiliar face into what he hoped resembled the look Thornton gave him at that sort of casual order. It really was irritating, considering he was two flights further away from the school potion stores than Potter had been minutes ago. "I'll just drop everything and get right on that," he said, belying his sarcasm by closing his borrowed potions text.
Potter, rather than launching a barb back, stared at him with his mouth open. Draco had the sudden thought that Creevy might not be much like Thornton. Before he could decide what to do, Potter had sunk down to the seat beside him, and laid a hand on his arm. Draco tried to contain his panic. Potter wouldn't do anything to him in the open, would he?
"Dennis?" Potter said gently. "Are you okay?"
Oh. He really had got it wrong. Draco dropped his eyes. "Sorry," he said contritely.
"I've just never heard you be less than enthusiastic." Potter gestured at the book. "Rough workload, this spring?"
Not knowing what else to do, Draco nodded. He also raised his head. Potter was looking at him with a gentle smile.
"I am sorry," he said sincerely. "I'll try to think ahead more, rather than sending you out all the time. I do need the silk, though, and I have N.E.W.T.s and E.F.T.T.s to revise for, you know." He punched Draco encouragingly in the shoulder. "Just think! Next year, I'll be gone, and you'll have a boy to run errands for you." He grinned. "And by the time you're prepping for O.W.L.s, you'll scarcely notice."
Draco nodded again. He hadn't expected Potter, who was all thunder and lightning and storm clouds, to be so sweetly reassuring to his boy. His plan was lost behind a fog of wondering if he might be kissed.
"Oh, here's something you'll find funny," Potter offered, in a cheering tone. "I finally had it out about my sexuality with Ron. It turned out that since I took you as a first year, he was convinced I must be straight."
Draco felt his eyes widen. That was worse than he'd thought. And he couldn't imagine how Weasley's mind worked. First year boys were more like girls?
Potter looked back at him uneasily. "Well," he said. "I thought it was funny. I mean, you're still too young to interest me that way, and I doubt it would make a difference if I was a year younger."
Draco caught his breath. "Oh," he said weakly. "It sounded like -- like you were saying you'd had sex with me then -- and I'm sure I'd remember that."
It was Potter's turn to stare. After a moment, he shook his head and laughed. "I'm so terrible with innuendo. Malfoy said something to me at the maypole, last week, and it wasn't until hours later that I realized he was making a joke."
"Malfoy?" Draco managed, by way of encouragement.
"Yeah. I'd assumed he was insulting me -- because it was Malfoy, so anything I don't understand is a taunt, right? And it was actually sort of friendly, and I was an ass about it. Now he glares every time I try to smile at him."
That was interesting. It wasn't at all the sort of information Draco had hoped for, but if that was all he got, the ruse was still worthwhile. Potter had actually meant all those odd smiles as friendly?
"Do you..." Draco tried to stop himself, but he couldn't -- "er, fancy him?"
"Malfoy? Well, I suppose he's hot, if you don't mind that evil sort of grace. I try not to think about him, though."
"Why not?" Evil sort of grace?
Harry snorted. "Malfoy can yank my chain like no one else in the world. He works me up in a minute. If I let him bugger me, I'd never be able to hold him off again." He shrugged. "Besides, he wouldn't look at anyone who's not a pureblood, I'm sure."
Draco's quick thought that he might, if that someone was Potter, tumbled over the shocking revelation that Potter was willing to be on the receiving end of things, something he would never have believed from anyone else's lips. He might have wasted more time on inquiring -- a fifth-year was old enough to be curious, certainly -- but his shirt cuff heated slightly, warning him that his time in Creevy's form was half-up. Fortunately, a fifth-year could also be awkward. He got to his feet. "How much fairy silk?" he asked.
Potter stood also. "Three cocoons should do it," he said. "Actually, better get four -- you know how I am."
Draco nodded, but didn't move. He forced himself to slouch and to shift his weight in an uneasy sort of way. "Could I see it?" he burst out. "The Contrivance?"
Potter shook his head. "Sorry. Team members only."
"I won't tell!"
"I know." Damn it, was Potter always this gentle with the boy? "But you might not be able to protect the information. Remember, the Slytherins have Snape on their side."
So Potter thought Snape would supply them with Truth serum, did he? Or did he know Snape was a Legilimens? Draco tried to assume a Gryffindor air of surety. "They won't catch me."
"No, Creevy," Potter said, a little of the iron that had Draco expected showing through the gentle plush of his affection. "Drop it."
He hadn't accomplished anything he had intended, but Draco couldn't help feeling that he had got quite a lot -- enough that a retreat was not unthinkable. After all, at any minute, the real Creevy minor might come bounding up the stairs.
"All right," he said. "You can't blame me for trying."
Potter chuckled, amiable again. "No," he said, "I can't."
**********
His encounter with Dennis had been a bit odd, but it left Harry feeling cheerful. It had least brought a thing or two incidentally out into the open -- all things he felt that they had an implicit understanding about, but considering Ron, he might have been wrong on that score. He went straight to the lab, tinkered with the targeting device for a few minutes, and realized that they were short on #3 ovoid gears. He sighed.
"Great. Dennis is already feeling overworked, and here I'm going to send him right out again." Considering the matter, he decided to go upstairs and look for a teammate -- preferably a younger one, whose assistant would have a lighter academic workload.
However, just as he reached the Common Room, Creevy burst in. He was covered with drying mud from his right hip to his feet, with patches of it splattered over his upper body. Harry dashed over to him.
"What happened to you?" he cried.
Creevy grinned. "Pick-up rugby. We pulled in two more purebloods this year!"
Harry's heart seemed to miss a beat. He stared at the boy. Dennis and Colin did start up rugby games in the spring, and were bent on converting their Wizard-born schoolmates to the sport.
"You've been out all afternoon," he stated numbly.
Creevy looked confused. "Did you need me for something?" he asked. "You hadn't said."
Harry shook his head. "No, but I ... I ran into you on the stairs a few minutes ago."
"I wasn't there."
"Yes, I get that." Harry's brain was finally past Creevy not being Creevy, and starting to appraise the damage. Fairy silk, but nothing more about the Contrivance, but oh god -- men! And Malfoy. He gulped in air. "It wasn't you, obviously. Polyjuice, I expect. The person did beg to see the Contrivance--"
"You didn't!"
"Of course not!" Harry looked frantically around the room. There weren't many people inside on a sunny May afternoon, but he suspected that everyone there was listening. "Come on -- we need to talk privately."
Up in the eighth-year boys' dormitory, Harry sank down onto the chair from his desk, and Creevy perched tailor-style on the end of Ron's bed.
"Did you give anything away?" he asked anxiously.
"About the Contrivance?" Harry shook his head. "Only in that I asked you to fetch me four Fairy cocoons for silk."
"That's not bad, right? I mean, I already know a bunch of things you can do with Fairy silk, and I haven't even started my O.W.L year."
"It's not bad," Harry agreed, groaning as he hid his face in one hand.
"Then what's wrong?"
"It was rather a personal conversation," Harry confessed. "Because you seemed down, which should have tipped me off -- I even said it wasn't like you...."
"Letting him know how to adapt," Creevy said quickly. "I suppose it would be someone from the Slytherin team." He thought. "Or Thornton."
Harry nodded. "Malfoy's boy, right? But more likely, Malfoy himself."
"I'd think he'd send Thornton, since it might be dangerous."
Harry took a deep breath. "Except Thornton wouldn't ask me if I fancied Malfoy."
Creevy's eyes widened. "Neither would I!"
"Except I'd just said that he'd sort of, er, flirted at me, on May Day."
"Oh." Creevy stared, and then shrugged. "Well, maybe I would, then. Do you want me to figure out his schedule, now?"
Harry snorted. "I should never have had you do that."
Creevy shrugged. "I thought it was just a way to let me know you were bent."
"It was, sort of. Without, you know, saying it, which might seem...."
"Yeah," Creevy agreed cheerfully. "So ... what do we do back?"
Harry hadn't quite made it to that stage of planning yet, and it took him a minute to think. "I think ... I think I should do the same thing to him," he said slowly.
"Won't he notice?" Creevy asked, his nose wrinkling.
"Maybe. But that just means I need to do it better. Which means I have to find out what Thornton's like and how he talks to Malfoy, and I already have a clue from how he talked to me as you, at first...." Harry's voice trailed off. This was more information than he could collect just from having Dennis trail Thornton around. What he really needed to was something like a Muggle bugging device....
He jumped to his feet. "Come on!"
"Where are we going?" Creevy asked, bouncing up to follow him.
"The lab. I have an idea."
His first thought had been centered around Pensieve base fluid -- which would hold sounds and images, although not for very long -- properly charmed and enclosed in a small sphere. But then he realized that Creevy would need to fetch it back from Thornton, and also to collect hair from him, so they better both be done at once, in case Thornton noticed and became too much on guard. Once Harry started to add in motion and a clipping arm, it was clearly not a one-hour project, so he sent Creevy off for Fairy silk and #3 ovoid gears and settled down to real design.
By Wednesday, the device was working, and Creevy managed to plant it on Thornton that afternoon, and on Thursday morning, he summoned it back while Thornton was distracted during Care of Magical Creatures. Harry listened to it alone first, and then, when it contained nothing too unsuitable, let Creevy listen to it as well. With an out-of-character grin, the boy played Malfoy to Harry's sullen, sarcastic Thornton until Harry decided he was ready.
"What if you get caught?" Creevy asked uncertainly, as Harry started out to the Quidditch pitch.
Harry remembered the ersatz Creevy's wide-eyed shock when Harry talked about letting Malfoy bugger him. He smiled. "That might be interesting," he said. "You just keep an eye on Thornton, take a few more color readings, and get reinforcements if I'm not back in an hour."