Chapter Thirteen of 'Easy as Falling'- A Conversation Skeeter Would Love to Hear
Chapter Twelve.
Title: Easy as Falling (13/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco pre-slash
Warnings: Somewhat crackish humor, a bit of violence
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry doesn’t really like the way things are going in the wizarding world. But who’s going to do something about it?...Him, that’s who!
Author’s Notes: This is the first chapter in a series of linked arcs about Harry becoming a Benevolently Snarky Dark Lord. It’s a prequel, or backstory, to my one-shot “Charming When He Needs to Be.” This will feature irregular updates and chapters or stories of various length to explain how the wizarding world ended up the way it did in “Charming.”
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Thirteen-A Conversation Skeeter Would Love To Hear
“Did you believe the look on her face?” Potter collapsed laughing onto the chair in front of Draco, grabbing the glass of champagne that Draco offered him as casually as though taking it from a house-elf, and downing half of it at once. Draco didn’t even have the satisfaction of watching him choke on bubbles. Apparently that didn’t happen to the Great Dark Lord Harry Potter. “And the way she almost broke a shoe running out of here?” Potter grinned, and then looked up at Draco. “You played your part well, Malfoy. My compliments.”
Draco managed to move his mouth a little and make his stiff smile more open. “So did you. Not the part we agreed upon, of course.” He moved over to take the chair opposite Potter. They were in the same room where he had introduced Potter to Briseis Ladon, a small, compact one whose most endearing decoration was the thin green stripe running at head height around the white walls. Draco knew all sorts of tales about what it was supposedly used for. His father had told him most, but others had occurred to Draco as he played here when he was a child.
“I know, I changed it,” Potter said, and held up a hand as though to stem back a flood of scolding, although Draco hadn’t known he looked like he was about to unleash the scolding. “But I did it because Ladon advised me to, I swear!”
Draco smiled. “Really. What did she tell you?” To take me completely off-guard and show up with real magic? That was the part that made Draco want to shatter something.
Well, no, he had to admit to himself a moment later, as Potter gazed at him and sipped more champagne. Seeing Potter’s magic blazing out like that, the way it always should have been, was exciting, and Draco could have bathed in it and walked away satisfied. What made his heart jump was that Potter seemed not to have the reaction to Draco that Draco had to him, and that made him want to shatter skulls.
Potter’s skull, for preference. Draco had to work to recall his parents’ words about how it was wasteful to kill allies.
Potter cocked his head, studying him. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally admitted. “What matters is-I mean, it worked, didn’t it? And you seemed happy enough at the time.”
From someone like Blaise, Draco would have had to take that as mockery of the worship he knew had glowed in his eyes. But from Potter, it was possible-
Possible Potter had no idea that Draco’s reaction existed. Possible his laughter had just been exuberance, the way it sounded, and he had thought Draco would want to join him in celebration of a job well-done, at least when it came to fooling Skeeter.
Draco closed his eyes, then opened them. “Of course,” he agreed easily. “I was happy. I only wondered whether you were telling the truth about magic that could see the soul.”
Potter snorted and shook his head. “That was one of Ladon’s ideas. Clever, wasn’t it? Now Skeeter will be absolutely entranced with the notion that I trust you, and she’ll probably let more rumors slip in front of you to get a reaction.” He grinned again and swallowed some more champagne. “After all, nothing like trying to turn a loyal ally against a Dark Lord for more stories.”
“I think there are other stories she might want to write instead,” Draco said. Partially, he didn’t think Skeeter would react like Potter was suggesting, but more than that, he wanted to test something out. Why not? They were in private, and no one else could hear them. And Draco did trust Potter in a weird way. He trusted his honor, perhaps. Potter might gape at him, but he wouldn’t gossip. “Such as the story of the way I was staring up into your eyes.”
Potter blinked at him. “I didn’t give you a lot of choice about that, did I? I grabbed your face.”
Yes, and my cheek still stings. But Draco didn’t say that, because Potter would just apologize for being rough, and Draco didn’t want to listen to apologies right now. He arranged his hands in his lap and tried to arrange his face, likewise, in a patient smile. “What I meant was, did you wonder why I was staring at you?”
“You didn’t anticipate what I was going to do next.” Potter was fidgeting with his glass now, staring into the bubbles as if they were fascinating and refusing to meet Draco’s eyes. “That’s plain enough. Since I didn’t tell you. I should apologize for that, though, right?” He stood up and put the glass down on a sleek table standing nearby, moving towards the fireplace. “Sorry.”
Draco stood. “You’re running away,” he said.
That made Potter spin around and snarl. Draco watched the table do a little dance, and tensed for a second. If Potter was bonding to the Manor…
But then Potter made a sharp gesture, and the table fell still. No, it had been perfectly ordinary wandless magic, Draco thought, tilting his head back to catch Potter’s eyes. His heart pumped and pounded and skittered. It was nearly as intense as it had been in the garden with Potter, despite the lack of touch.
It’s him. Whether or not he’s touching me, whether or not we’re trying to fool someone. He affects me without even trying.
Draco had dreamed about having a rival, a challenge. He had known he would defeat Tillipop, and the idea of someone he could not defeat-or not easily-made him want to sit up and applaud.
But he had not dreamed that he would meet someone who could disturb his soul with a simple movement of his hand, and yet not be disturbed back. Draco was willing to take a risk, to damage their alliance, if it meant he would bring Potter to acknowledge him, too. Otherwise, he would give up his independence and have to keep a constant watch on himself while Potter walked on in happy oblivion.
And Draco was determined that that would not happen. Potter’s magic or not, they would be equals.
"Running away?" Potter's voice was low, and he took a step towards Draco as though he was another table that Potter could make dance. Draco sneered at him a little. "From what? I told you sorry. That suggests I don't have any fear of apologizing to you, do I?"
"But you don't want to stay here and see the consequences of your apologies, either," Draco said.
That at least made some of the growing darkness slip away from Potter's eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, shaking his head. "I apologized for handling you roughly, and that was the wrong thing to do. I told you what was Ladon’s suggestion and what wasn’t, and you want some-apology for that? I really have no idea what else I could apologize for.”
Draco considered him again, and then shrugged and decided that he should move forwards. He was the one who had come this far down the road, and there was no Rosenthal here to advise him.
And no Ladon for Potter, either.
That made him relax, the reminder that they were here alone. And if all else failed, Draco would admit he had been wrong and back off. Such simple tactics ought to keep him from thinking of Draco as weak.
“You apologized and tried to turn the conversation in a different direction,” Draco said. “Wrong decision. That only means I’m going to notice how poor your excuses are, and continue pursuing what I wanted to talk about in the first place. Now. Did you wonder why I was staring into your eyes?”
“Because I left you no other decision about where to look.” Potter looked as if he couldn’t choose between punching or hexing Draco.
“Right,” Draco said. “Of course. That has to be it. Not that my fascination with your magic is so great it was difficult to turn away from you.”
That made Potter’s hand fall back to his side again, and he blinked at Draco. “But…you probably know more than anyone else about what I can do,” he said. “You didn’t stare at me like that when you found out I was bonded to Hogwarts or even when I walked through the wards on your house. Why was it the storm that changed your mind? Should I have gone with illusions, the way I was going to? Do you think Skeeter bought it?”
Draco hissed at him. Potter looked like he wanted to punch him again. Draco rubbed his forehead, and imagined what Rosenthal would say to him, about how he shouldn’t have moved the conversation in such an antagonistic direction if he wanted Potter’s positive attention.
On the other hand, I wouldn’t have started it at all if she was here, because she would have cut my tongue out rather than let me get away with revealing a weakness.
“Listen, Potter,” he said. “You focused on me. I never knew how addictive it was to be focused on by you. And when you told me that you had magic that could see into the soul, then I almost believed it, along with Skeeter.”
“Yes, that was one of the better lies Ladon told me to tell, if it could even fool you.” Potter’s voice was clear and direct now, and he had a slight smile on his face, as though he had solved the puzzle. “I promise, it isn’t true. So if you were only staring at me because you were terrified of what I would see in your soul, forget about it. The only incriminating thing I could tell anyone is that your eyes are really, really grey.”
Oblivious or not, Draco wasn’t about to let that go. He moved forwards, and Potter blinked at him again, inclining towards the fireplace while not actually moving back at all.
“So you think the color of my eyes is fascinating?” Draco slid a hand onto Potter’s arm. It felt like anyone else’s, through the cloth. He wondered if it was the intensity that had made Potter’s skin feel warm before, or the magic, or his own imagination. Or maybe he had to be touching bare skin to make that kind of connection. “Really. What else?”
*
Harry stared at Malfoy some more, blinking. Then he said what he was thinking aloud. Ladon would have scolded him, and probably Malfoy too, but maybe that meant it would make Malfoy back off.
“Are you flirting with me?”
Malfoy parted his lips slightly, tongue darting out to lick them. He didn’t take his hand off Harry’s arm, though, and this close, Harry could see the greyness of his eyes again, and the faint shades of blue and black that whirled through them, like darker clouds in a stormy sky.
I don’t think that way. I’m not supposed to think that way. Harry jerked his head back, his heart pounding with shock. He reached up to take Malfoy’s hand off him. God knew that he could have fried his fingers and Malfoy would have jerked back, but Harry didn’t want to use magic against someone he had just been proclaiming his ally.
“Yes,” Malfoy said. “It took you long enough to notice.”
Harry turned to face him, aware, in a way he didn’t want to be, of the square shape that Malfoy’s shoulders made against the air of the room, and the way he tilted his head up, and the warmth of his smile, flowing and dripping across his face like candlewax. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “You have to-you’ll have to marry someone to make a good Minister, and you can’t marry the Dark Lord that you’re pretending to ally with.”
Malfoy laughed at him, and his breath was warm and why was Harry standing close enough to him to notice that? Because he was stupid, that was why, and hadn’t expected this, and hadn’t tried to move away. He tried now, but the mantle pressed up against his shoulders a second later, and he didn’t have the Floo powder that would have made the fireplace an actual escape. Malfoy leaned in towards him, eyes so bright that Harry could have seen all the colors of the rainbow in them if he wanted. He gulped and stared at the floor instead.
“You’re making excuses,” Malfoy murmured. “It’s true that I reacted more strongly to you than I expected. But it’s a reaction, and it’s something we must deal with. If we try to ignore it and continue our alliance, then someone else might notice it. I expect Skeeter to include veiled hints in the article she’ll write.”
“Oh, bollocks,” Harry snapped. He wasn’t much good at politics, but Ladon was, and she hadn’t anticipated this. “She’ll focus on the magic and the way that I attacked your garden at first and only decided I could trust you after I stared into your eyes.”
“Exactly,” Malfoy said, and reached up to take Harry’s wrist, tracing burning fingers along it. He had a strange, expectant expression on his face, as though he thought Harry would leap straight into agreeing with him if he could just find the right words to explain it. “You spent a long time looking at me. It did things to me, Potter. I wanted you to know about it.”
Harry swallowed. “What? You want me to apologize for-I don’t know, getting you excited?” Even to him, the words sounded stupid, and he looked off to the side with his face flaming. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this? Everything was supposed to be easy and simple and happy, a war he could fight to make sure that not a lot of people died but the ones he wanted to protect stayed safe, and stupid Malfoy had to come along and make it all complicated.
“No,” Malfoy said. “I want you to give me the chance to excite you back.”
Harry peered at him warily. He was still standing too close, and he still had his hand on Harry’s wrist, but he didn’t look as though he would tackle Harry to the floor any time soon. Harry relaxed a little. Of course he wouldn’t. Malfoy was too good a politician. Harry ought to have remembered that. Of course it was the truth. Malfoy had probably got upset that he was excited and Harry wasn’t, so he wanted the chance to set the score straight. It was all about them being equals.
“Fine,” Harry said. “Though I’m not a good kisser, so it’ll probably make whatever you’re feeling go out like a damp firework.”
Malfoy laughed a little, and took Harry’s chin in his fingers. Harry shivered absently. That was an unpleasantly intimate gesture, wasn’t it? Maybe he couldn’t blame Malfoy for being upset that Harry had decided to use it. “Then we’re back to the status quo, and with you at my side, that is no bad place to be,” Malfoy murmured, a moment before he kissed Harry.
Harry shuddered. Malfoy was probably more experienced than he was, because evil bastards who didn’t care about the wizarding world always were, but it was still a warm kiss, and a pressing one, and one that would be hard to get away from by backing off. Where was he going to back off to? Wood pressed into his shoulders as he stiffened, and Malfoy was in front of him, sliding his hand up Harry’s arm.
So Harry did the only thing he could. Malfoy wanted to be equal to him, did he? Harry slid an arm around the small of Malfoy’s back and jerked him forwards, ignoring the way Malfoy gasped. That just gave Harry better access to his mouth, and specifically his tongue.
Harry went to work, the way he had when he was bonding to Hogwarts. He had to do something to save Hogwarts. And he was damned if he was going to look weak to anyone, in public or private, in front of an ally or not.
He kissed Malfoy like he meant it, or he tried to, and if he wasn’t a very good liar then he wouldn’t have been able to stare into Malfoy’s eyes out there and act like he meant it. He kissed Malfoy hard enough to make him wince, and then stepped back and folded his arms and said, “See? It’s just-”
Malfoy gazed at him.
Well, shit. Harry bumped back to reality, away from the fact that he had wanted to convince Malfoy he was just as good as him. Harry knew his lips were swollen, and his own tongue had been thoroughly licked, and he ran his tongue around his lips and then put it back inside his mouth when he saw the way Malfoy stared at it. His ears were red, and his hair was mussed. How had that happened? More than usual, anyway. He hadn’t been aware that Malfoy had his hand up there.
“I found that very satisfying,” Malfoy said, in the kind of low, coaxing tone that he’d used when he introduced Ladon to Harry. “Very satisfying indeed. I won’t say it has to be part of our becoming allies, but it won’t damage it.”
Harry clenched his teeth hard enough to hurt. “Sure it will. No one really expects Dark Lords to have-I don’t know, friends, lovers, but they’ll expect you to have someone as the Minister. And-” He stopped. He was sounding like he wanted to date Malfoy, but he didn’t want to. And if he wasn’t good at politics, then he shouldn’t expect to make political sense.
He made a disgusted little noise and turned to the fireplace.
Malfoy’s hand caught his wrist. “Running away again?” he asked, in a dangerously pleasant voice, as dangerous as the touch on Harry’s face.
“Yes,” Harry said. “Because I don’t understand this, and we might put your whole campaign and my whole war in danger because I’m acting stupidly.” And he tossed Floo powder in the flames, and escaped.
Although not for long, if the way his mouth tingled was any indication.
*
Draco stood there with his fingers pressed to his lips, thinking, for long moments after Potter had disappeared.
He didn’t want to put anything they worked for at risk, that was true. Becoming Minister was more important to him than sleeping with Potter.
But he thought there were ways to handle it. And if they mostly talked about this, did this, in private, then there was no reason to change their public personas. And no matter what, he would be equal to Potter. If he couldn’t be equal in magic, this was a battlefield where their differences could cease to matter.
Draco licked his lips, and smiled.
Chapter Fourteen.
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