Said the Tortoise to the Hare | By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9805 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this writing. |
Title: Said the
Tortoise to the Hare
Disclaimer: J. K.
Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun
and not profit.
Summary: Let
others fling themselves at Harry; let them confirm his bad opinion of them and
slobber down his sleeve with their adoration. Draco knew that the best way to
win Harry Potter’s heart was to be his friend first,
and go so slowly he wouldn’t even realize you were doing it.
Pairings: Eventual
Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny, one-sided Harry/others.
Rating: R
Warnings: EWE,
profanity, (slash) sex, mentions of het.
Author’s Notes: The
title comes from the fable of the hare and the tortoise, and, of course, what
the tortoise says is, “Slow and steady wins the race.”
Said the Tortoise to
the Hare
The door slammed.
Draco
raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. He had to admit, the door
slamming was nothing unusual when Harry was in a temper, but Harry’s stomping
up and down next to it, swearing and kicking the wall, was. Draco waited until
the wall had a dent or two—he’d never liked that particular color of
paint—before he asked innocently, “Something you want to talk about?”
“Yes.” Harry flung himself into the chair
behind his own desk so violently that the wood trembled and creaked. Draco had
a silent betting pool going with himself about when
the chair would finally break. But apparently it wasn’t today, because Harry
leaned forwards and tapped his fingers on the desk hard enough to break his
nails instead of falling down and disappearing. “Ginny broke up with me.”
Draco
froze, his fingers clenching tightly enough to nearly break his quill.
But it
wouldn’t do to show either the sharp interest or the sudden hunger that flared
in his chest, so he recovered in a moment—too short a time for someone like
Harry to notice—and said smoothly, “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“She said I
was spending too much time away from her.” This was to be a day of swift
movement, apparently, because Harry jumped over his desk and paced up and down
again, waving his arms. Somewhat to Draco’s disappointment, he was too distant
from the wall to kick it this time. “As if she didn’t know that would happen sometimes when I signed up to be an Auror!
She agreed to it! She knew it!”
“And as if
she doesn’t spend a lot of time away from you, too, with the way her Quidditch
team travels,” Draco murmured.
“Exactly!” Harry
spun and pointed a finger at him. Draco had to duck his head to hide a smile;
he was reminded of a musician he’d seen performing on the telly when Harry
dragged him into a Muggle section of London
to find a birthday gift for Granger. “But when I brought that up, what do you
think she said?”
“Well,
obviously, she didn’t fall at your feet and dissolve in repentant tears.” Draco
leaned back and tried not to show how much he was enjoying this.
“Well, no. Obviously.” Harry stopped pacing and raised an eyebrow at
him. “Now if only you could apply those sophisticated observation skills to the
cases we’re on as well as my love life.”
But your love life is infinitely more
interesting to me, Draco would never say. He raised an eyebrow back.
“You’re incapable of doing anything more complicated than using your eyes,
Potter. I would never deprive you of the pleasure.”
Harry
snorted, but his face was bright with something other than anger now. Draco
smiled back, all he would show of the lazy coil of enjoyment unfolding in his
belly. I can offer him something Weasley
never could. Their conversations weren’t witty.
“But allow
me to become a bit more sophisticated.” Draco clasped his hands together in
front of him and lowered his voice to the dignified monotone his father used to
use when he wanted to impress political contacts at the Ministry. “You are more
offended than upset. You have, perhaps, been looking for some deepening of your
relationship with Weasley that was never going to come. You are angry that she
broke up with you before you could do it to her.”
Harry
sighed and draped himself over his desk this time. He was the most restless
person Draco had ever met. Ordinarily, that would have bothered Draco, who’d
been raised in an atmosphere of sedate stillness for the most part. But Harry’s
motion was a way of showing off how beautiful he was, how fit and how quick.
Draco liked other people to look at and admire someone he wanted, whilst
enjoying the view himself; he just didn’t like them to touch. “Yeah, you’re
probably right about that. I am upset,
but I’m not firing curses at the walls the way I would have if we’d broken up a
year ago. There was something missing.” He flopped his
head sideways and smiled wearily at Draco. “It’s strange how well you know me.”
Draco had
to bite his tongue. Of course he wasn’t about to reveal his hopes for Harry
yet; Harry had just broken up with his girlfriend of six years, for Merlin’s
sake, and he’d resent the pressure. But it would have been such a perfect opportunity to say, Not strange at all, when you consider how much
more you’re worth looking at than anyone else. He did have to mourn the
stillbirth of a line like that.
“Not
strange,” he allowed himself to say, and then smiled as Harry stood and reached
for his cloak. “Now you’re going to go down to the Leaky Cauldron and get
pissed,” he added, in the same monotone as before.
“Yeah.” Harry hesitated an instant
before he opened the door.
Draco
doubted he noticed the hesitation, but Draco did, and knew what it meant, as he
knew so much about Harry. Harry was wondering if he should leave Draco with all
the casework, useless though he’d be on it with his emotions in turmoil like
this, and he was also wondering if he should ask Draco to come with him.
But Draco
had no intention of going. Harry wanted to be alone right now, to sit in the
back of the Cauldron and drink and scowl; he’d hex anyone who asked him too many
questions. It was what he’d done every single time he had a fight with his
friends or his girlfriend.
And Draco
wouldn’t give Harry anything to resent him about. Not now, not when the vague
hopes he’d nourished for a long time suddenly had their best chance of growing.
“Go,” he
said, and waved a hand at Harry. “Someone’s already heard through the walls,
anyway, thin as they are, and the report’s probably on its way to Kingsley.”
Harry
snorted bitterly. “But no one else would be given time off from work just
because of a problem like this,” he muttered. “I wish they would treat me the
same as everyone else.”
Is a gyrfalcon treated the same as a
kestrel? But Draco knew Harry wouldn’t understand the reference; he’d never
learned falconry, the poor sod. “You’ve done a good run of work lately,” he
said. “I’m sure Kingsley can forgive your being out of the office when Ernest Whistlebone is also out of it.”
Harry
shuddered. “Ugh, that was a nasty case, wasn’t it?”
Draco
nodded; Whistlebone had been an Auror, and had
managed to shrug off the blame for his gruesome murders quite handily to
others. It had taken his colleagues longer to catch on than it should have. But
he didn’t like the cloud coming over Harry’s face. He would make a short jump
to thinking that he should have caught Whistlebone
faster, and then he would start thinking that there might be cases like that
amongst his current load, and then he would stay here and bottle up his
feelings for Weasley instead of brooding them out cleanly. And then he might
start thinking he should go back to her.
No, that
wouldn’t do at all.
“I can
promise you we have nothing else as nasty right now,” he said. “I’ve looked
through them all.”
He took
some trouble to sound prissily virtuous, and was rewarded when Harry laughed,
that deep laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and almost shut.
Draco sighed as he half-hardened. More than once he’d had cause to be grateful
for long Auror robes as well as solid Auror desks.
“Yes, you would have, berk.”
Harry strode quickly back across the room to brush a hand over Draco’s
shoulder, the way he often did to Ron Weasley, too. Draco struggled to keep his
eyes from falling half-shut. “Well, right then. I’m off.”
And he
bounced out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
Draco cast
a Tempus charm that would give him
two minutes, and then leaned back in the chair, folded his hands behind his
head, and grinned at the ceiling.
Oh, yes, he
wanted Harry. But he’d long since accepted that Harry would probably marry the
She-Weasley, and so he kept the longing to an acceptable minimum and dated
other people. Why should he pine hopelessly?
But now…
But now.
Draco
doubted he could be blamed for encouraging Harry’s natural inclinations,
and the She-Weasley’s natural inclinations if it came to that, to keep them
apart. He certainly couldn’t be blamed for not using the tactics of all the
hopeless star-chasers who would throw themselves at Harry when they heard he
was single.
He would
win Harry in the only possible way, the only way that would make it permanent:
by being an understanding and sympathetic friend. Really, if Ron Weasley and
Granger hadn’t been so interested in each other, Draco thought that one of them
would have won Harry long since. Friendship was where all his deepest bonds
started.
And Draco
had utterly no intention of letting someone like Harry go. Why should he? He
deserved the best.
The Tempus charm chirped,
and Draco returned to work. Part of the reason he and Harry had become friends
at all was that he maintained his share of the case load.
*
“I don’t
know what they all want from me!”
Draco
muffled a laugh in his sleeve as he looked at Harry’s dismayed expression. Yes,
he had a right to be dismayed when his desk was crowded with roses, the torn
remains of singing cards, a sickly-looking yellow mess that had come from a
gift of sweets melted in the mail, and a white ball of ruffled feathers, but
his words were ridiculous. “You know
what they want,” he said.
Harry
grunted and tore open another envelope. The card inside warbled three notes
before he crumpled it and threw it against the wall. “I’ve only been away from
Ginny for a week,” he muttered, tearing a hand through his hair. “Can’t they
give me any peace?”
They would if they were wise. Draco
flicked his wand to banish the sickly yellow mess, and Harry smiled at him. He
could have done it himself, but he appreciated the gesture.
Draco
smiled back, and turned away before the look could become too long and
lingering. He would never forgive himself if he ruined his own chances, the way
all these idiots were ruining theirs.
“I don’t
know what to do,” Harry said. “I don’t want to set up those wards that keep all
the letters away from me, because Charlie and Bill owl me sometimes, and I
haven’t figured out a way to limit the magic to specific post-owls, and anyway
I think Ron’s going to be getting a new bird soon—”
Draco
snorted. “You could have figured out the spells if you really wanted to,” he
said. “You’re hoping to hear from Weasley.”
“Of
course,” Harry blustered, opening his eyes, which he had closed in a fit of
weariness. “I hear from Ron all the time, and I just
told you, his new bird—”
“I meant
his sister, and you know it.” Draco leaned threateningly towards him.
Harry’s
eyes darted to his cards, but he was no good at making up a lie on the spot, or
really pretending to be interested in something he wasn’t, and he had enough
respect for Draco’s intelligence not to try. He sighed. “Am I that
transparent?”
“You want
her back,” Draco said, knowing he had to tread carefully with his next few
words. His object was to comfort Harry and
to find out how much of a problem the She-Weasley was likely to be in the
future, and he had to make those two motives work together. “That’s only
natural. But I think you have to face up to the truth: is it likely that she’ll
come back? Or are you setting yourself up for more pain?”
Very well done, Draco, he thought, as
Harry ran a hand through his hair again. This
gets him to talk about it—that purges some of the pain—but it also tells you
the truth. Harry will never be less than honest.
“I don’t
think she’ll come back, no,” Harry said lowly. “Last week, she told me that
she’d been angry for a long time. But she didn’t think she could tell me about
it, because we did agree at the beginning of the relationship that I’d have to
spend a lot of time in Auror training and then Auror work. She tried to figure
out how she could keep that agreement going and soothe her own unhappiness at the
same time, and then she figured out she couldn’t. And being happy was more
important to her.”
Draco nodded, content. He had no need to hear Harry speak bitter
words against the She-Weasley. He just wanted to make absolutely sure that
Harry wouldn’t drift back to her once he was Draco’s.
“And being
happy should be more important to you, too,” he said, firmly catching Harry’s
eye for a moment. “So don’t wait for her if you don’t think she’ll come back.”
Harry
smiled. Then he looked back at the clutter on his desk and sighed. “I’d be
happy enough to do that,” he muttered, “but how am I supposed to know who would
make me happy, when so many people behave like this?” One of the singing cards
twitched and recited some line about “Harry Potter being smooth as an otter.”
Harry incinerated the thing with a grim look on his face. “I’ve never been sure
when people were pleasant to me because they liked me and when they were
pleasant to me because of this bloody scar.” He scratched at his forehead for a
moment. Draco took the chance to roll his eyes. He thought Harry’s insistence
on keeping his fringe long enough to hide the scar plebian. People would stare at him even if he lacked
it; why not stop hiding it and make it mean something? “And there’s no way
of knowing who might get tired of me and go to the papers in the future.
“I wonder
if that’s why I stayed with Ginny for so long,” he added suddenly, and folded
his hands on his belly to scowl at them. “She was familiar. I trusted her not
to betray me. She had family who wouldn’t try to use me, either. That—that was more important than happiness to me, for a long
time.”
“It
shouldn’t be.” Draco stood and crossed behind Harry’s desk, letting his hand
brush fleetingly against Harry’s shoulder. It was as much comfort as he ever
gave, and as much as Harry needed now, he thought, watching the way the scowl
faded from his face. “And as for someone who makes you happy, well, you’ll just
have to look, won’t you? As hard as I
understand that is for you.” He scooped up the white bundle of feathers, which
was hopping determinedly towards the edge of the desk, and held it to his face.
It promptly tried to bite his nose. Draco smiled when he recognized the curved
beak of a raptor. “In the meantime, I’ll take this gift you’re obviously unfit
to appreciate off your hands.”
“What is the thing?” Harry stood and peered
over Draco’s shoulder, his breath on the nape of Draco’s neck. Draco smiled
again. Let him think it’s for the bird.
The bird hissed at Harry and
hopped across Draco’s palm, trying to grip the side of his fingers so it could
bite Harry’s hair. Draco deftly turned his hands away. “A hawk of some kind,”
he said. “I don’t know enough about them to recognize one so young.” He raised
an eyebrow when the feathers shifted and he found black spots under the white
upper layer. “But I should be able to find out soon.”
“You’re
welcome to it, then.” Harry snatched his fingers back from the chick’s next
lunge. “I don’t know what the bloody hell it is, and I don’t want to find out.”
He snatched his cloak off the chair. “I think I need another drink at the Leaky
again. You coming?”
Draco
watched him narrowly for a moment. Harry’s eyes were larger than usual, and he
didn’t even look doubtfully at the bird, as if he’d considered Draco wouldn’t
be able to leave the office whilst holding it. His left hand made a small
beseeching motion and then fell still.
I’d be a fool to stay here when he does want
me to come. Draco drew his wand and conjured a cage for the bird, then Summoned one of his house-elves, Tibby,
to fetch different bits of meat for it. Less than a minute later, he had his
own cloak on and was accompanying Harry down the corridor.
“Thanks,”
Harry said. “I just—it tastes better when I have someone along.”
Draco smiled
at the obvious lie, but kept his eyes straight ahead.
*
“Oi, Malfoy! I want to ask you something.”
Draco
blinked and turned his head. Weasley was scrambling wildly towards the lift he
was in, which had just started to close. With a sigh, Draco reached out, placed
a hand between the doors, and held them open. Weasley popped in a moment later
with a gulp of air and a nod, and then stood there mopping his forehead whilst
the lift rose towards the first floor.
“The question, Weasley?” Draco prompted, when they had
ridden past three floors in silence. He leaned his shoulder on the wall and did
his very best to look bored, although he suspected that he was about to hear some
advice about Harry or some information about the She-Weasel.
“Yeah,”
said Weasley, apparently starting out of a trance of watching his sweat fall to
the floor. Draco managed to keep from rolling his eyes. Why Harry had become
friends with this git, he didn’t know, but he supposed Harry needed simple as
well as complex sides of his nature stimulated. “I want to know what you’re
doing with Harry.”
“So many
things,” said Draco in a considering voice, and Weasley took a step back from
him. “Working as his partner. Co-signing
reports. Discussing the movements of criminals.
Saying—”
“I know
that!” Weasley burst out irritably. “What I want to know is what you’ve been
saying to him that makes him reluctant to get back together with Ginny. We’re
all waiting for it, but each time he looks vaguely uncomfortable and backs
away.” He took a threatening step nearer; Draco managed to keep from rolling
his eyes about that, but only by thinking about Harry sprawled on the desk with
his legs held open and his breath coming in soft pants. “And I know it has
something to do with you, because he looks uncomfortable each time he comes
home from the office.”
Harry had
told Draco he’d moved back in with Weasley a fortnight ago. Draco sighed. None so blind as
those who will not see the blessings they have received. He would be more
polite if he lived with Harry; he would be so happy that he couldn’t help being more polite. “As it happens,
I’ve been letting him take off from work and go to drink at the Leaky Cauldron,
because that’s what he needs,” Draco said. “Sometimes I help. And when Harry
feels like it, we make fun of the people who send him gifts.” He smiled a bit.
The white hawk, whom he’d named Gamaliel,
was the only non-ridiculous thing to come out of that flood of artifacts
smeared with the smell of desperation. “I haven’t said he should continue dating
your sister or that he should stop. I just commiserate with him.”
Weasley
frowned in perplexity, probably because his brain was not translating
“commiserate” with enough speed, and then took another step away and scraped
his foot against the floor of the lift like a bull. “If I find out that you’re lying, Malfoy…”
“You could
always ask Harry,” Draco suggested, as they reached the Department of Magical
Law Enforcement and the doors popped open. “Unless you think your best friend
would lie to you.”
“He’s
always been unreasonable where you’re concerned,” Weasley muttered, stepping
out of the lift.
“Well,
then, ask your sister what she’s doing to get Harry back,” Draco said, slipping
an annoyed tone into his voice that he was far from feeling. This should produce some information. “Maybe
he doesn’t feel welcome trying to chase a woman who broke up with him.”
Weasley
folded his arms and tossed a frown over his shoulder. “She’s not doing
anything,” he snapped. “She’s too confident that Harry will come back to her,
so she’s reveling in her freedom and making sure Harry ‘accidentally’ meets her
dates.”
Draco
swallowed victorious laughter. Either
she’s not interested in him any more, or she’s too confident to notice when
someone does start winning his heart. Either way is excellent news. “All
right, then,” he said mildly. “Talk to her, and not me.” He brushed past
Weasley, heading for the office.
Weasley
spat some more meaningless comments at his back, but Draco didn’t see the need
to turn around. He opened the office door and shut it behind him quickly. Harry
wasn’t there yet, and Draco didn’t want anyone else to see the enormous
shark-eating smile that covered his face.
The She-Weasel has six years with him and no
rival—supposedly. I have three years and a great deal more determination and
cleverness than she does. Let us see which one wins.
*
At moments
like this, with the light of curses blazing around them and Harry ducking and
weaving and rolling like an acrobat, Draco was reminded of why he’d fallen in
love with Harry.
Draco
raised a Shield Charm, then dropped it and countered with a shield of sparking
electricity as a Dark curse that ate common defensive charms dropped over him.
Then he leaned around the bolts of lightning in front of him and aimed a curse
at his attacker’s heart that would cause it to stutter. The attacker moaned and
fell to the ground, where Draco Stupefied and
Body-Bound him.
Harry was
practically doing a war-dance between three Dark witches, smugglers who had
been bringing in live magical creatures with the intention of cutting them up
into potions ingredients. With three wands aimed at him, he should have been
cut or singed by something, but only
the edges of his hair smoked. His wand jabbed out again and again and again,
and two of the witches went flying and the third one screamed and staggered
backwards with an enormous bleeding wound in her arm.
He had
fallen in love with Harry because he could fight like this, leaping into battle
and submerging himself as if nothing mattered more, and then still walk away
from it and be a normal bloke outside. He had the sanest response to fighting
Draco had ever seen. Be alive and focused while you’re doing it; don’t think
about it when you’re not.
Draco
leaped over a Cutting Curse aimed at his knees, and cast the Blasting Curse in
return. The man he hit fell to the ground with a sound of splintering bones and
lay still.
Perhaps he
would not have fallen in love with Harry during Auror training, when, by all
accounts, Harry had moaned through his teeth and spent a lot of time sulking
alone and otherwise thrashed through his contest with post-war trauma. And
perhaps some people would say that he wasn’t healthy now, that one should be an
integrated being instead of a divided one and the same in battle as outside it.
The wizard
he had just downed was trying to get back to his feet. Draco cast Impedimenta, Stupefy, and Expelliarmus in quick succession.
But Draco
wouldn’t say that. He knew what Harry was like, the depth of the light shining
through him and the brilliance of the shadows. He would accept that aliveness,
that unique sanity.
Harry spun
in one more circle. Five spells left his wand, all of them different; Draco
counted a Body-Bind and a Disarming Charm, but couldn’t identify the others so
quickly. Not that it mattered, because their enemies fell over and lay still,
and that was the important step.
Harry came to a stop, panting, and
tossed him a smile.
For a smile like that, Draco was
willing to wait out months—years if he had to. He had already waited two
months, and Harry hadn’t dated anyone else, nor had the flood of stupid gifts
slowed.
But there was no harm in a bit of encouragement, so Draco made his
own smile back slow and contented. Harry stared for the briefest of moments,
and then turned quickly away, a tinge of pink on his cheeks.
Draco hummed under his breath as
they began packing up the fallen wizards.
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