Chapter Eight of 'Changing of the Guard'- Yes, Right in the Middle of Diagon Alley
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Chapter Eight-Yes, Right in the Middle of Diagon Alley
“And you’ll come to dinner in a week?” Hermione’s voice held the determined cheerfulness Harry was used to hearing from his friends whenever he had to refuse the first two or three days for a meeting they offered him.
“Of course,” said Harry, mentally reminding himself to tell Draco that he couldn’t go anywhere in public next Sunday night. He leaned over and kissed Hermione on the cheek. “Congratulations again on the baby, by the way.”
Hermione smiled at him, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks that made her look much more like the girl he remembered from Hogwarts than the formidable witch who had dragged the Department of Magical Law Enforcement kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. “Thanks for saying so, Harry. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier.” Her hand rose to rest on the very slight swell of her belly. “I just wanted to be completely sure.”
Harry nodded. He understood that. And he understood, too, that though the bonds connecting him with his friends were still deep, he no longer stood so close as to have a right to expect immediate news of them.
“Thanks for lunch, Hermione,” he said, and clattered down the stairs of the house that Ron and Hermione had bought just two years ago; Hermione had insisted they live in a flat until they earned enough money to really afford a home. They’d chosen a good place to live, Harry had to admit. The house was in Ottery St. Catchpole, about ten minutes’ walk from the Burrow, with three bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, and three rooms that had probably been meant for other purposes but which Hermione had turned into libraries.
Harry paused for a moment, his hand leaning on the door, and questioned himself, as he sometimes did, about whether he would have preferred this fate for himself to what had actually happened.
As always, though, the answer was no. It suited Ron and Hermione, but for him it was too staid, too peaceful and unexciting.
Not changeful enough.
Harry Apparated, whistling. He was due to meet Draco in an hour, and doubtless Draco would want him to be on time. Maybe he’d even let Brian give him his birthday gift, which Harry hadn’t found a chance to suggest before he left the Manor.
*
Draco idled some time away outside the apothecary, critically studying their selection of ingredients. Really, was it so much to ask that they keep the owl feathers they sold straight? Even one vein out of alignment could have serious consequences for any brewer who knew what he was doing.
A hand clapped him on the back, making him start. Ordinarily, Draco also would have turned around with a soul-killing glare for the person who had dared to accost him like that, but the fact was, few people would dare to do that. Which meant it had to be Brian, and it would be bad for the public reputation of their “love affair” if Draco was seen acting at all coldly to him.
Even when he does deserve it, he thought, and fastened a bright and happy smile to his face before he turned.
“Hullo, lover,” Brian said, with a ridiculous smile, and leaned in for a kiss. Draco blinked for only a moment before he accepted. He had vowed to come out as gay, after all. This setting was more public than his party had been, but did it make that much difference?
Given the silence that immediately spread all around them, maybe it did. Draco could hear robes rustling as some of the shoppers beat a hasty retreat. He directed half his attention to that and half to Brian’s slow, languid kiss, without much of the heat he’d displayed last night. This was more for the watchers, who only had to be shown two men kissing, than to convince a hostile and perceptive audience that they were in love, Draco thought.
The realization was bracing, but also oddly comforting. Brian really did have some sense of strategy, and Draco didn’t have to be afraid to work with him. And if Brian could hold himself back so effectively in the middle of physical passion, then Draco didn’t have to worry about his own decision to refrain more than he had last night.
Last night was pleasant, but it can’t happen again. The more Draco had thought it over in the ensuing hours, the more certain he was that he’d moved too fast and tumbled into bed in a way that let Brian exercise a certain amount of control over him.
Something sharp and painful struck Draco’s shoulder. He reared back from the kiss and turned in the direction it had come from.
A large, magenta-robed man stood there, his hand already retracting behind his back to grip his wand. He’d flung a stone, but guilt warred with self-satisfaction on his face. Beside him stood a tall, slender woman, probably his wife, who was staring at Draco and Brian with flared nostrils and a decidedly pinched expression about the lips. Her hands were over her daughter’s eyes, shielding them, Draco thought, from the dangerous sight of a different kind of love.
“Do you know what you’ve just done?” Draco asked, addressing the wizard.
“Stopped you from indulging in that kind of nonsense,” the wizard snapped back. He had his wand out now, and though it shook slightly, he didn’t look properly afraid. From that, Draco discerned the man must not have recognized him. “Look, you can do it in your private orgies all you want, I don’t care, but do you really have to do it in front of young, impressionable children? There’s a difference between freedom and perversion, you know.”
“It’s a little late to cover her eyes, isn’t it?” Brian asked with a lazy yawn, stepping up beside Draco. He faced the witch, and though he smiled, his gaze was hard. “After all, she already saw the ugliest thing she possibly could-her father attacking two strangers who had done nothing to him.”
The witch just gasped at him, but her husband was quicker to take offense. He shouldered his way forwards, blocking his wife and daughter entirely from view. He was probably drawing strength from the curious crowd gathering around them, too, Draco thought, certain that Draco and Brian wouldn’t dare strike back when someone would immediately set to on them.
“You’re going to go away now,” he said. “And you’re going to thank whatever perverse fates made you-that way that I’m such a nice man. I could have let you go with boils on your bollocks, you know.”
“My name is Draco Malfoy,” Draco said, smiling, and then waited.
It was remarkable how quickly the wizard’s face turned white. Draco wondered for a moment, amused, if he would faint. Yes, he could afford to be amused. The sting was already fading from his shoulder, and he and Brian held the upper hand here already, though none of these cretins had known it until now.
The wizard swallowed. Then he said, “I’ve bought-I’ve bought some of your products.”
“Yes, exactly,” Draco said. “And I’m sure you know about the charm that I put on all of them before they’re sold.”
“That’s a rumor,” the wizard whispered. “No one could possibly be that powerful. You can’t-they belong to us now. We’ve put our own enchantments on them. We’ve trusted our lives to them.”
“Alas,” Draco said, with a dramatic sigh, “I’m afraid you’ll find that Malfoy’s Machineries simply isn’t like, say, a bookshop. You can’t alter the nature of the products that much with your own spells. If I commanded it-if I felt sufficiently insulted by someone trying to imitate barbaric Muggle customs in the middle of Diagon Alley, for example-then they’d rear up and strangle you, or bite you in strategic places, or-“
“All right,” said the wizard, and he seemed to swallow his pride and his anger in the same moment. The only thing left on his face was the fear. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I never would have-I didn’t know.”
“Ah,” Brian said just as Draco was about to gracefully accept the apology, “but you would have if he didn’t have the power to stop you, wouldn’t you? You’d have flung that stone and rejoiced in it.”
*
Harry didn’t think he could have helped himself from voicing the words even if he had wanted to. And it was important to stay in character, wasn’t it? Brian was as much like a Gryffindor as he could be whilst not actually being part of Gryffindor House. And he would be outraged at the implication that it was all right to treat someone shabbily if he didn’t have the power or money to make you sorry.
In truth, the sudden smack in the face with the prejudices of the wizarding world after Harry had avoided them neatly for years shocked him nearly as much as it had when Ron had first yelled at him about being gay.
The wizard in the magenta robes simply stared at him, however. The witch, who had moved to the side, was now covering her child’s ears. The little girl stood very still in her mother’s embrace. Harry thought she was trying to hear as much as possible, but he couldn’t be sure.
Draco put a heavy hand on his shoulder. Harry didn’t have to look at him to know he was not pleased by Brian’s interference. The increasing weight of the hand and the sharp, short hiss into his ear told their own story.
But Harry had eyes only for the large wizard. He wasn’t fat like Uncle Vernon, but they were built on the same lines, and the woman could have been Aunt Petunia with a few changes of facial features and a little lengthening of her neck. And Harry knew all too well how his relatives would have reacted to the least hint that his sexual orientation wasn’t normal.
Then Draco’s hand pressed down harder, and Harry snapped himself back to the present, to reality, with almost physical force. What in the world was he doing? Brian or not, Gryffindor or not, Draco had still hired him to shock people and help Draco to weather that shock, not confront ugly ideas wherever they reared their heads.
More importantly, he had hired Brian Montgomery for that, and not Harry Potter. It was probably just the difference in playing a gay man and playing a straight one, Harry thought, persuading his ruffled feathers to lie flat.
“I suppose I shouldn’t talk about hypothetical situations,” he said lightly, and stepped back with a slight nod at the large man. His memories and the sensations of being Harry Potter were folded up and tucked into the back of his mind like the discarded robes being tucked into the closet at Metamorphosis. “I’ve never been any good at analyzing them. That’s the reason I failed the one Muggle science course I ever attempted.”
The wizard appeared bewildered by what had just happened, but obviously had no desire to stay close to Brian and Draco for very long. With one more tight, respectful nod at Draco, he turned around and hurried his family away.
And then Draco turned Brian to face him.
Brian met his gaze as calmly as he could. He saw the urge to condemnation melting out of Draco’s eyes, being slowly replaced by something cooler and more thoughtful.
“When I hired you to play a gay man in public,” Draco murmured, “I had no idea how hard it would be for you.”
Brian grimaced. “I really have no excuse for that.” He couldn’t suggest that Draco find someone else, as even Metamorphosis didn’t have two people so well-suited for this role, but he could attempt to explain what had happened. “I knew someone almost exactly like him once-in my childhood before I settled into school at the Five Dragons, in fact. And I saw him striking out at people who didn’t deserve it. That inspired a hatred in me for anyone who’ll attack out of cowardice and not principle.”
Draco gave him a very faint smile. “And you think I’m acting out of principle? I was in Slytherin in school. I’m certain that you know something about Slytherin.”
Brian nodded. The papers immediately after the war with You-Know-Who had carried lengthy stories of the trials taking place, and the reporters derived some sick pleasure out of noting House affiliation. In almost every case, it had been the Slytherins who had been the Death Eaters, or at least the people who funded Death Eater activities.
“You’re acting from the highest cause of all,” he said.
“What’s that?” Draco moved a step closer, his eyes apparently absent and fond but in fact scrutinizing Brian’s every gesture closely. It was an effort not to twitch. Brian reminded himself to breathe, and also not to forget how very dangerous Draco was.
“Annoying people,” Brian said.
Draco tossed his head back and laughed aloud. It was a calculated gesture, for the benefit of their audience, but even so it reassured Brian that Draco wasn’t truly irritated with him. He smiled back at Draco and let his arm be taken as Draco led him away from the apothecary and further into Diagon Alley.
He didn’t know what Draco had planned, but whatever it was, it was certain to be fun. And Brian hoped he could make up somewhat for almost spoiling everything when he accosted that bigot.
*
Draco always enjoyed entering Lolla the Lapidary’s. She had the most marvelous gems-not only colorful but magical, not only large but finely-cut, not only beautiful but useful-sitting about openly in her shop. Draco had seen would-be jewel thieves pause inside the door and stare about in bewilderment, struck with dazed greed and not knowing which treasure to snatch first.
The correct answer, of course, would have been “none of them.” Lolla hadn’t stayed open this long without developing her own very special anti-theft spells.
Even better, Brian blinked and glanced around the shop once, then turned to him with bright, questioning eyes. Draco, reveling in the sense of a momentary advantage over him, put an arm around his shoulders and swept him further into the shop.
Lolla was already advancing to meet them, a small witch in a brilliant blue robe dusted with animated stars and moons that would have put Albus Dumbledore’s garments to shame. She had red hair, obviously dyed, that flowed most of the way down her back, and a high, piping voice. She always reminded Draco of a very intelligent fairy. “Mr. Malfoy! One of my very favorite customers! Back for that sapphire I showed you last time?”
“I still can’t afford it, Lolla,” Draco lied politely, and then leaned heavily on Brian. Brian set his feet not to stagger just in time and gave him another glance. Draco smiled at him. “I need a gift for a friend of mine. What kind of jewels do you think would look best with his eyes?”
Lolla promptly turned around to stare at Brian with a yellow, owl-like gaze, blinking now and then as she examined him. Brian flushed. “What are you getting me?” he whispered to Draco, shifting his weight to his right foot.
“A good question to answer,” said Lolla. “The color of the gems depends on their location. Is this to be a bracelet, a locket, a ring, a necklace-“
“A ring, of course,” said Draco. “We are men, after all.”
Brian sent him a quick, grateful glance, but he was shaking his head a moment later. “I can’t let you spend this amount of money on me, Draco,” he said. “What would your parents think?”
Draco silently congratulated the other man. The first part of that question was doubtless genuine, but the second managed to subtly spread the news to Lolla’s inquiring ears that Draco and his parents were at odds. The more widely that was known, the more Lucius’s pride would be irritated, and the sooner his stubbornness would crack.
“I do make my own money from my own business,” Draco said lightly, “so such things are less of a concern to my parents than they might be.”
Brian nodded, but said, “You said something about Malfoy’s Machineries to that wizard we encountered earlier.” Draco looked sharply at his face, but there was no trace of his unusual outrage there. “What exactly do you make?”
“You haven’t bought one yourself?” Draco decided that that could be another of his gifts to Brian when the time was right. And perhaps that was a clue to Brian’s past as well. Few wizards who didn’t have house-elves could avoid knowing what Malfoy’s Machineries were, whether or not they used them.
Brian shook his head, looking apologetic. “I tend to spend my money on more books about pure-blood culture.”
Draco smiled to indicate he thought this a worthwhile endeavor, and rubbed Brian’s shoulder blades to get used to the feel of the man’s muscles bunching and relaxing under his hands. Lolla had already bustled off to fetch a selection of rings, but Draco knew she had eyes. She would see what was happening, and be instrumental in spreading the news-but she wouldn’t refuse to serve him. He was one of her best patrons.
“I got the idea from house-elves, actually,” he murmured. “There are so many wizards who wish they could have them, but can’t afford them and don’t have relatives to inherit them from. And then I learned about Muggle labor-saving devices, and the immense trouble they’ve gone to to avoid having to wash their dishes or clothes by themselves, or sit in the darkness at night, or even clean up their own houses.
“I created small enchanted objects that will perform a single task. Books that will dust all the other books around them. Portrait frames that will make the paintings inside them look more bright and real. Showerheads that always spray pleasantly warm water. And so on. They’re much more convenient to use than charms that half the wizards in our fine land have to look up, and in some cases the functions they perform have no equivalent in any common spells.”
“That doesn’t sound so strange.” Brian stepped away from Draco’s hold to examine a tray of emeralds that gleamed on their deep blue cushion on top of a crystal pillar. “But why did that idiot say that their lives depended on their machineries? And did you mean what you said about the objects attacking anyone who insulted you?”
Draco followed Brian with his eyes. His movements were slow, unhurried, but definite. He was taking a few steps away from Draco, asserting his independence. Draco found himself glad; he would have disliked a partner who hung on him and needed validation from Draco to find value in his existence.
Always assuming he does not have more independence than I do.
Draco had never worked a balance so delicate before, keeping Brian within reach and useful to him whilst making sure he was not taken advantage of himself. He had to admit it was exhilarating.
“I meant it literally, yes,” Draco replied. “I want no one using my own products against me. Patrons of Malfoy’s Machineries may buy whatever they like, but they cannot change the enchantments-and if they ever harm me, then every single machine they own would attack them.” He wandered towards Brian again, and of course Brian moved so that the pillar with the emeralds was between them. Draco didn’t mind. “As for how someone’s life might hang on them, I suspect the man was speaking metaphorically, though there are a few machines that he might have bought which are more dangerous than the others. But it’s easy for people to become addicted to convenience. They wouldn’t want to give up my machineries no matter what they might have to put up with to keep them.”
Brian abruptly stood and turned around, his lips slightly parted. Draco admired the thin line of the scar on his brow. It really kept his face from being too perfect, and therefore Draco wouldn’t persuade him to use a concealment charm on it.
“That’s how you’re doing it,” Brian breathed.
Draco leaned towards him. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wondered why you would start a business that sounded so ordinary.” Brian stepped around the pillar, his eyes brilliant, apparently having no objection about being closer to Draco when he had solved a puzzle about him. “Likely to make you rich, of course, but hardly suiting the vast ambition you seem to have. And now I understand. You rule their lives better than you could with the most addictive potion. There would always be some people who didn’t use the potion, after all. But nearly everyone uses your convenient little objects. They’re bound into a web that they’ll find much harder to get out of. And if you change your selling practices, then everyone suffers-or benefits.”
“Yes,” Draco said. He was a little surprised Brian had seen the major purpose of his business so clearly, but not displeased. Well, mostly not displeased. “And of course, it serves other purposes.”
Brian nodded thoughtfully. “It could make you allies, too. If your customers heard that someone was threatening you, or just withholding materials and magic you needed to make your machines, they could intervene for you.”
Draco did not narrow his eyes, but only because his control over his features was so exquisite. That was an advantage even Blaise and Pansy had only seen when he explained it to them, after their initial strenuous protests that selling things so mundane was unbecoming for a pure-blood.
How intelligent is he? How discerning? How much trouble could he make for me if I trust him too much?
And something else had begun to bother Draco, too. Of course he could not know every wizard in Britain, and of course Metamorphosis had a sterling reputation for finding the perfect stranger for every situation. But someone like Brian-intelligent, magically powerful, educated, daring enough to risk public ostracism, so much his equal in every way-should have come to Draco’s attention before now.
Where is he from? Where was he hiding? Who is he?
*
Brian was not entirely sure he liked the calculating look in Draco’s eyes when he looked at him. It was a relief to turn away and examine the rings Lolla had brought out of the back room.
Of course, Brian at once saw the silver ring with the brilliant blue sapphire that would match his eyes best, and of course he had to pretend to ignore it and reach for another, surely less expensive ruby ring. But Draco stopped him with two fingers on the back of his hand, and picked up the sapphire ring to slide on his finger.
“I couldn’t,” Brian said, dismayed to hear real distress in his voice. It would have been much better to sound playful. “It’s too expensive.”
“It’s perfect,” Draco whispered into his ear. Brian stopped his shiver with an effort. “And I’ll pay a little extra for perfection-as you should well know.”
Harry briefly surfaced from behind the mask of Brian, to think about the things that Brian could not. Damn. It seems I’ve intrigued him too much. He’s accepted that Brian can see things he thought he’d miss, so he’ll push him harder, demand more of him, and be watching him more closely.
The only solution was to be Brian as hard as he could be, and help Draco so well that Draco would attend to his own affairs, the problems he had gone to Metamorphosis to solve in the first place, rather than probing too much into Brian’s past. The mask would need to become flesh even more than usual in the next few weeks.
So Harry vanished again, and it was Brian who smiled, and turned his head until his hair tickled Draco’s nostrils, and said, “If you’re sure. I got perfection without paying for it.”
Draco’s two fingers moved, stroking the back of his hand, and his pupils dilated just a little.
Then he stepped away and nodded to Lolla that they’d take the silver ring.
Brian couldn’t help it; he smiled as Draco turned to face the front of the shop and bring out his Galleons. Difficult, skin-prickling, delicate this surely was, but at the same time it was so much fun.
Chapter 9.