The Foundation

The Foundation

By Newshound

Summary: Harry has defeated Lord Voldemort and the war against the Death Eaters has ended, yet a different kind of war now rages within both Draco and Harry. Harry finds himself battling his inner demons while Draco still contends with the prejudices of Wizarding society. After Draco stumbles on Harry’s most precious secret, both begin a journey that will lead them to discover the secrets that lie within the deep, hidden recesses of their very souls.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the exclusive property of J. K. Rowling. This fiction is entirely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made from it.

Chapter 10 Strike One

Harry remained seated watching the smoky green shadow of Draco dissolve and eventually disappear from the deserted fireplace.

He shook his head, amazed at the display he’d just witnessed. Watching wizards use the Floo never failed to impress Harry because it exemplified their unique status as nothing else ever had.

For Harry it highlighted their shared identity in a way little else could. It was weird, all the power and energy of wizards manifested in a bright green flame. It was the one thing he associated with wizards more than anything else; more than wands, robes, spells, cauldrons, potions, or even Quidditch – Floo powder.

He thought about what Draco had said. Truth was he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted a serious relationship with Draco, or anyone for that matter. He wanted to go out into the world; see what was out there and sample what it had to offer.

There was a world out there waiting – no needing – to be discovered. There were so many places he’d never seen, so many things he’d never done. There was snow falling in thick flakes, swirling up into drifts that covered the dead ground of winter; there were glaciers, thick sheets of solid ice that you could walk on with only furry white polar bears and seals for wildlife.

There were endless beaches of grainy black sand bordered by the clear blue ocean with secret coral reefs to carefully explore. There were thick oppressive mists in the damp rain forests where brightly colored birds swooped and hovered.

There were dry, barren deserts where the stars shone so bright and seemed so close you could almost reach out and touch one, and the moon a white orb in the sky casting almost as much light as the sun.

There were places you could sit and meditate with nature as your only companion and watch in awed wonder as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, splashing her departing color on the fortunate nearby clouds.

He could visit each of these places. Or he could settle for the predictable routine of finding a suitable mate, sinking into domesticity, squeezing out the required number of progeny and celebrate his declining years numbly planted in front of the fire, his only true companion the ever-present “if only” crowding him, choking him, drowning him and finally wringing the last gasp of life out of him.

But was he ready to head out into the world this very instant?

He wasn’t sure about that, but he was sure he didn’t want to continue on the path he followed now. He rebelled against the idea of living the life already mapped out for him.

He’d paid his dues; he’d become and Auror and hunted down Dark Wizards like everyone expected him to. Then he realized there would always be Dark Wizards. There would always be venomous, evil wizards like Tom Riddle, just like there would always be great, powerful sorcerers like Dumbledore. They were two sides of the same coin.

He had a choice; he could follow the course that had been charted for him even before his birth or he could blaze his own trail, lead the life he’d always secretly dreamed of. One completely of his own devising.

He thought about his visit to the art camp. He’d felt alive for the first time in his life there amidst the paint and plaster. He felt a connection with a power greater than himself, almost like his magic. He could feel the same life force pulsing through his veins right now.

He’d admired the blank canvas – a pristine void waiting to be brought to life, marred and stained with the human experience. The artist manifesting his very soul, baring it for all to see.

It was like watching Draco while they’d made love. There was nothing contrived, nothing hidden in the act. He was completely invested in the moment, a wild primitive abandon, the last vestiges of civilization gone; experiencing all the wanton pleasure the flesh could supply – totally unashamed.

He’d felt an emotional connection as well, something intangible, as though Draco had penetrated his mind and soul as well as his body.

Liking Draco had been completely unexpected, yet inexplicably right. He’d missed the friendship and camaraderie he’d once shared so effortlessly with Ron and Hermione. Draco made him laugh, yet at the same time he intrigued him. The cold, aloof exterior Harry remembered from his youth had disappeared. He seemed more open, more accessible – more attentive and involved.

But it was Draco’s dedication to his foundation, his genuine compassion for people Harry knew he’d once looked down on that touched him so deeply. He had a mysterious quality about him. What had changed him? Why was he so driven? And what made him tick?

It made Harry want to get to know him, see his moods, find out all those intimate details that Draco kept hidden from the world, but somehow seemed eager to share with him. That plaintive, childlike voice saying, “You’re not leaving are you?” “Stay with me tonight.” was one of the few real exchanges he’d ever had.

He sighed. The world would have to wait for a bit.

He quickly flooed home and headed straight for his study. He found some parchment in a drawer and jotted a quick note using his favorite Eagle Quill.

I’d love to. When and where shall we meet?

“Hedwig,” he summoned loudly.

* * * *
The next few days passed by without incident for Draco. He had a brief visit from the administrator of the art camp. Everything was on schedule for the first group of campers to arrive in June. Harry’s presence had indeed sparked a greater interest in Divinity Camp; Taylor had written a glowing report on the opening and Draco had received several pledges of financial support along with a note from an old friend.

He had met Andre Martin at one of Davinci’s parties. He was the son of one of Paris’ most aristocratic Wizarding families and had been living with Davinci at the time. His parents had disowned him when he refused to follow in his father’s footsteps and accept a high level position at the Paris Ministry. The only thing that mattered to Andre was art, especially painting and in the last year had created quite a stir in Wizarding art circles. Most of the critics found his work extraordinary, but what was more surprising was his decision to open a studio and teach aspiring artists his technique.

Andre’s students were hand picked and he limited his pupils to 10 per year. He was having trouble making ends meet and Draco had suggested opening a gallery to not only showcase his work, but as a way to give some exposure to Andre’s students. Sunday evening was the opening of the new gallery and Andre wanted Draco to be there, not only as a supporter, but as an art enthusiast.

It seemed an ideal occasion for a second date considering Harry’s interest in art. He also knew a quiet, cozy place to eat afterwards. Hopefully, the first date would be a success and he would be able to convince Harry to join him at the opening as well.

Thursday morning dawned bright and clear. Draco hadn’t slept much the night before; he wondered if he was doing the right thing with Harry.

It had been three days since he’d spoken with Harry and once the shock of seeing Harry and then finding out Harry’s true interest in him had worn off, doubts had steadily crept in; doubts about Harry’s real intentions, doubts about whether they had anything to base a relationship on and most important, his own true motives.

After the failure of his marriage, he never wanted to disguise his true feelings. There was no point in lying to himself. He suspected that he still harbored a desire to have Harry as a conquest. That deep down, he enjoyed –finally – being better and more experienced at something. His ego was getting quite a charge out of being in the “instructor” role. Just the thought of teaching Harry how to be a good lover and how exciting sex could be gave him a sense of power and control that he now recognized as a bit unhealthy. He wanted a relationship between equals – as his parents now had – but how equal was the relationship when he thought himself superior in one aspect, and a major one at that?

He didn’t really trust his attraction to Harry, either. He didn’t really know Harry, therefore the attraction had to physical. Every previous attempt to build a relationship on physical attraction had ended in disaster.

His mind drifted back to their evening together. He couldn’t forget the undeniable need for Harry to stay; to feel him lying close in the bed. He did want to get to know Harry; that too was undeniable.

Draco had answered Harry’s owl immediately. He explained that Puddlemere’s game was scheduled at Ilkley Moor and asked if Harry could meet him at Davinci’s Exchange at 4 o’clock. He wasn’t sure if Harry knew where the moor was and wanted them to Apparate together in case he didn’t. The match didn’t start until 7 o’clock, but Draco wanted to visit with several players from Puddlemere who had expressed an interest in his mentoring program which was still in the planning stages.

Most young witches and wizards idealized professional Quidditch players and Draco wanted to partner a disadvantaged youth with a positive role model; someone to encourage and support them. He firmly believed that having an authority figure to admire and respect could make a tremendous difference in a young life; especially when that young life might be missing a parent, a decent home or sufficient funds.

What was even better was that the team manager had agreed to let Draco borrow some team brooms and take some laps around the pitch, or even play a quick game of 3 on 3.

He arrived a little early; excited about a date for the first time in a long time. He’d come directly from his office. He’d received a tearful, distressed Fire Call from Daphne late in the afternoon. Her mother had fallen ill and they didn’t know exactly what was wrong with her, even after her father had summoned every medi-witch they knew of. If she didn’t improve, they would have to admit her at St. Mungo’s. Daphne had an irrational fear of hospitals and the thought of her mother confined and incapacitated at St. Mungo’s had her frantic.

It took Draco nearly an hour to calm her down and he agreed to care for their daughter any time Daphne need him. He had intended to go home to shower and change from his business attire, but Daphne’s call had completely disrupted his plans. He hoped he wasn’t overdressed. He’d thrown on his favorite T-shirt and jeans under his business robes which were the finest black silk and perfectly tailored. He needed to look professional because he had a busy day visiting future benefactors and several Ministry Officials who were interested in possibly bankrolling his writing and drama camp.

He wasn’t sure which team Harry supported – if any – and so he’d set aside a shirt in Puddlemere’s colors with a nice pair of deep gray trousers, planning to change after he’d arrived home. Most spectators wore robes, but Draco enjoyed going out in Wizarding public in Muggle attire.

He arrived at Davinci’s several minutes early and distracted himself planning his weekend activities with his daughter and barely noticed Harry’s arrival.

“Draco?” Harry said, tapping him on the shoulder. “We’re a little early aren’t we?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Harry,” Draco said smiling. “Have you ever been to Ilkley Moor?”

“No,” Harry answered. “I’ve never seen a league game.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Draco said. “We’ll do side along Apparation then.”

They apparated to the deserted Moor where to Harry’s surprise, a small dilapidated pitch appeared in the distance. Somehow he’d expected the league to have more elaborate stadiums.

“Ilkley’s one of the oldest of the moors and Puddlemere often schedules there,” Draco explained. “It’s also a lot less fancy; it doesn’t have any guest boxes or special features. There’s just several rows of benches, no concession stands, but it’s a lot more fun, trust me.”

Harry noticed several tents near the entrance and Draco informed him those were the players’ dressing rooms.

“The blue one over there is Puddlemere’s,” he explained, taking Harry’s hand and leading him over to the tents. ”That bright orange monstrosity next to it is the Cannons’.”

“The reason I came so early is that I need to speak with Ernie Watson and Archie Wilson, Puddlemere’s chasers,” Draco continued. They’re interested in my mentoring program. I’ll tell you about that later.”

He pulled open the flap of the tent and walked right in, pulling Harry behind him. Two players sat on the bench, apparently waiting for Draco. Harry let Draco visit with the chasers while he explored the tent, examining the equipment.

“Harry,” Draco called. “You up for a game of 3 on 3?”

“Sure,” Harry answered.

“Alright, we’ll each take a chaser, and you can take the keeper,” Draco said. “I’ll take his back-up. They’re on the field already. Come on, grab a broom.”

They each grabbed a broom and headed out on the field and for the next hour, Harry forgot about everything. He felt like he was back at the burrow playing with Ron and his brothers, and Ginny, too.

After quickly losing the first match, Draco suggested he and Harry play on the same team and Harry was surprised at how well they worked together. They seemed almost intuitively aware of the other’s position and intentions. They tried out several moves that they’d seen, but never had the opportunity to experiment with, because they both played seeker. Harry couldn’t remember when he’d had more fun.

It was around 6 o’clock when the chasers called it quits, explaining they had a game to get ready for. The gate was due to open any minute and Draco told Harry seating was on a first come, first serve basis, so they needed to get their seats right away.

Draco hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the stadium wasn’t fancy. The seating was indeed benches, but the view was incredible. As the seats began to fill up, Harry noticed many of Puddlemere’s fans wearing the team colors of navy blue with gold.

“I’m glad I didn’t wear orange,” he said to Draco. “This appears to be the Puddlemere section.”

“Are you a Cannon fan?” Draco asked. “We can move if you like.”

“No, I’ve never really followed the league,” Harry said. “I didn’t know you did.”

“Oh, I just enjoy going to the games,” Draco said. “I don’t really support any particular team.”

The game was fabulous and Harry was thrilled by both teams, but Puddlemere’s chasers were phenomenal. Draco told Harry that the Cannons had recently drafted a new seeker, reputed to be the best from his school – Draco didn’t know which one – and so he wasn’t sure how long the game would be. Puddlemere took a commanding early lead, scoring 100 points without much effort, but their seeker was definitely out of his league with the new addition for the Cannons. The Puddlemere chasers were amazing, but the beaters were completely ruthless and they kept aiming at the new seeker. Harry was so riveted to the game he barely noticed the time and so when the Cannon seeker captured the snitch –easily out-maneuvering Puddlemere’s seeker – Harry booed along with the other fans in their section.

“I can’t believe they lost by 10 points,” Harry said to Draco. “They need a decent seeker.”

“I’m sure they’d give you a shot,” Draco said smiling. “Being a professional Quidditch player does have its perks you know.”

“The dressing rooms certainly aren’t one of them,” Harry remarked.

“That’s just here,” Draco said. “Some of the other moors have lavish accommodations for both players and fans. We’ll go to another one some time.”

“That’d be fun, Draco,” Harry replied.

“Are you tired, do you want to go home?” Draco asked.

“No, not especially,” Harry said.

“Would you like to get something to eat?” Draco offered. “Ice cream perhaps?”

“You need to get your mind out of the gutter, Malfoy,” Harry joked.

“You’re the one thinking of a hot fudge sundae, Potter, not I,” Draco joked back.

“Well, it’s been a while since I had one,” Harry retorted.

“You remember what that means, don’t you?” Draco said.

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “I’ll notice the texture of the nuts, how sweet the whipped cream is and what color the sprinkles are.”

“Sorry, I can’t help you with the cherry,” Draco said suggestively. “You know, you never did tell me what your favorite part is.”

“Perhaps I don’t like hot fudge sundaes,” Harry teased. “Maybe one was enough.”

“And then again, maybe it was the company,” Draco said. “Or maybe it wasn’t made properly.”

“Oh, I’d imagine you make a pretty satisfying sundae,” Harry said smiling.

“When I’m sober, you mean,” Draco said coldly. “Or when I’m not just out for everything I can get.”

“It’s the whipped cream, Draco,” Harry said staring pointed at Draco. “And I like it freshly made, not pre-made in the container; not too sweet either. I like to swirl it around in my mouth, let it melt on my tongue. I like to feel how smooth it is and how it slides down my throat.”

“You know, I was upset a minute ago,” Draco said.
“And now you just want to watch me savor my whipped cream while you bite into your sweet, juicy cherry,” Harry said.

“Something like that,” Draco said, laughing. “Fortescues?

“I’d love to,” Harry said.

They arrived at Fortescues and to Draco’s delight it wasn’t at all crowded. They found a small table near the back; it was a little cool to eat outside. After placing their order for two hot fudge sundaes, extra cherry for Draco, extra whipped cream for Harry, they settled back in their chairs.

“Do you ever miss playing Quidditch, Harry?” Draco said.

“No,” Harry answered shaking his head. “I love watching it though. I haven’t seen a match since school. I didn’t know you were friends with the players.”

“Their manager is one of Father’s old cronies at the Ministry,” Draco explained. “He likes donating to charitable causes, giving people the impression that professional Quidditch isn’t just about making money – perpetuating the illusion, actually. Anyway, after he heard my proposal, he was anxious to have his team involved. So far I’ve got only the two chasers from Puddlemere, but they’re very excited and appear genuine in their desire to make a difference. This project will take a great deal of coordination; finding a suitable match for the players and making all the arrangements.”

“Don’t you have an assistant?” Harry asked.

“Yes, but this is something I really believe I should be hands-on with, especially at the beginning,” Draco said. “If it’s successful that will encourage other teams and players to participate, so I want to make sure everything is in order.”

“What about the camp?” Harry said.

“Oh, I’ve installed the finest administrators and director, as I’m sure you saw,” Draco said. “I trust them implicitly; my job from here on is to keep the money coming in; continue to drum up donations.”

“It was very inspirational, the camp and your devotion to it,” Harry said sincerely.

“That reminds me,” Draco began. “I have a friend who has his own art school, not really a school, just several students he’s taken under his wing and he’s opening a gallery exclusively devoted to his students’ work. The opening is Sunday evening. I thought you might enjoy accompanying me. Andre has about 10 students right now. He accepts them based strictly on talent not whether they can pay; so on occasion money has become a problem. I suggested the idea of a gallery to give the young artist some initial exposure and provide a source of income for the school and perhaps even some for the students. Andre is one of the most gifted artists I’ve met. He’d love to meet you, seeing how taken you seem to be with art.”

“I’d love to,” Harry said.

“Wonderful,” Draco said happily. “We’ll go early and Andre can show you his studio. He’s the one who gave me the idea for the camp. He has a small restaurant on his property, perhaps we can have something to eat afterwards.”

“Sounds great,” Harry said.

After enjoying their respective hot fudge sundaes, both men walked outdoors a little unsure of how to say goodbye.

“Harry,” Draco said. “I had an absolutely fantastic time tonight. I hope you did, too.”

“I did, Draco,” Harry replied. “I’m looking forward to Sunday. Where shall I meet you?”

“Why don’t we try Davinci’s again?” Draco suggested. “Say 4 o’clock?”

“Sounds good,” Harry said.

“See you then,” Draco said, turning around and Apparating away.

End Chapter 10