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A Series of Malfoy Events	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11220 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Eleven—How To Up the Game
            Harry stumbled, pulling Malfoy with him. But Malfoy’s eyes stayed bright and focused, and his hands were so firm on Harry’s hips, and there was another hand on Harry’s cock again the instant he paused.
            I could just fall over.
            Or I could stop.
            But both options would probably reveal that something was up to Malfoy, and Harry didn’t want to do that unless he absolutely had to. The options tumbled through his head, and he gasped, disturbed and confused. He closed his eyes and tried to orient his thoughts, and had no more luck than ever as Malfoy’s hand gave him a little frisson of friction.
            Then he felt something spark through his bones and over his head. And apparently the Aurors had drilled some instincts into him even further than sex had, because he pushed Malfoy to the floor and dived on top of him, yelping, as something seemed to go off like a firework at the level of the tabletop.
            Malfoy groaned, and his voice was human for the first time since he’d started begging for sex. “Potter,” he whispered. “I don’t care if you charge off and save a dozen lives in the next minute. Please.” He rolled so as to bring their groins back together.
            Harry sprang to his feet and cast the spell he should have just cast in the first place, once he realized he was letting his erection control his thoughts. It made said erection subside violently, whether or not it wanted to. He smiled brightly at Malfoy, said, “Sorry!” and took off, pelting towards the window of the dining room.
            The attack had come from there. He was sure it had. And there must be at least one broken defensive spell to let it get through, although he might not have noticed it this time because he wasn’t as connected to the Manor as Malfoy was.
            Not to mention the…other reasons they might not have noticed.
            Malfoy gave a lonely cry behind him. Harry didn’t mind admitting that that cry tore at his heart. If he was anything of what he pretended to be, then he would turn around and give Malfoy the relief he was craving.
            But getting too involved in the game had only got him in a compromising position. He had come too close to doing what he said he would never do, sleeping with Malfoy under false pretenses. No. He wouldn’t go back.
            The thoughts flashed through his mind in much the same way as another attack flashed overhead. At least this one was at eye-height, and Harry was sure Malfoy was still lying on the floor. He ducked, looked briefly over his shoulder to make sure that the spell hadn’t caught tapestries on fire or anything like that, and then leaped through the window and landed on the small patch of grass right outside it.
            Broken defensive enchantments, yes. For one thing, there was no other reason for the attackers to be back here instead of by the gates.
            And there were a number of attackers. They began to scatter when they saw him, but Harry counted at least six of those heavy cloaks that so many Dark wizards seemed to like wearing to proclaim, “Hello, I am evil.”
            He whipped around and aimed his wand back at the window. “Defendere!”
            The window seemed to waver for a second like a picture disappearing underwater, and then it solidified. Harry nodded in satisfaction. The whole side of the house, including all the dining room windows, was now under a double-duty protective enchantment.
            And it was one that would repel spells from either side. Harry was proud of himself, proud of his Auror training, and not exactly watching out over his shoulder right then, which, he maintained later, was the only reason that they managed to sneak past his defenses at all.
            “Ha!”
            The spell caught him and spun him around. Harry shrieked—always a good thing to make your enemies think you were more wounded than you were, and that thing had bloody hurt—and rolled on the ground. Then he lay still and tried to assess the real damage, while his enemies tried to make up their minds to approach. Or not.
            The spell had clipped him near the spine, he decided. It felt like there was a small cut in his robes through which the blood steadily flowed. Not a huge cut in either cloth or skin, though. He was going to live.
            “Is he down?”
            They were creeping towards him. Harry listened to their footsteps and counted them in his head, along with heartbeats and moments when he thought the wizards might have paused, too scared to move at the idea of having killed one of the best Aurors in the Ministry.
            But you haven’t killed him, Harry thought, sang, and his hand closed on his wand hard enough that his fingers ached. It was lying beneath and beside him. He could do that.
            Finally, someone poked his buttocks with a wand. Maybe they wanted to cast another spell. Maybe they only wanted to see if he was dead.
            Harry didn’t give a damn what they wanted, and he didn’t intend to wait long enough to find out. He whirled and kicked that wizard—well, it turned out to be a witch—in the face instead. She staggered back, shrieking, and the hood dropped back from her shoulders as she clasped her bleeding nose.
            Pansy Parkinson?
            Harry’s stare didn’t last long, because the others were closing in from the sides, shouting warnings and threats, and Harry was on his feet and cutting through them, and he could recognize other people as their hoods tumbled back. Some were unfamiliar—a wizard with hair that looked artificially grey, a brown-eyed woman with a distinctive birthmark on her face, a white-faced and white-haired witch with a single raven lock near her cheek.
            Others, he knew. Either from Hogwarts or from Quidditch news stories in the past few years.
            There’s a lot going on here that I don’t understand, Harry thought, as he ducked a curse and used a Shield Charm to fend off another one. But what I do understand…
            Well. It made some sense of the attacks on Malfoy.
            People began popping out as they realized that Harry had recognized them, using the holes they must have already made in the Manor’s defensive perimeter. Harry began striking to disable as hard as he could, knocking out knees and hips and other vulnerable joints, and making people fall over. Then he cast a sweeping Stunner that took out several wizards at once.
            In the end, perhaps half the group still escaped. But Harry was left, wounded but master of the field, and master of some new intelligence, too.
            He used ropes to tie up the wounded and sleeping wizards and witches like a bouquet of flowers. Then he stormed towards the Manor.
            Malfoy had had enough being protected. Now he could do some explaining.
*
            By the time Harry walked into the dining room with the bouquet of people floating behind him, Malfoy had dressed again. Harry had a few fleeting thoughts about that, one of regret and one of relief that at least the prisoners he’d captured wouldn’t see Malfoy naked.
            Then he shook his head irritably, and spoke the natural counter to that thought aloud. “Why would you care if they saw you naked? Most of them already did, right?”
            Malfoy paused. His eyes narrowed into slits. Harry looked back at him, unimpressed.
            In some way, all the Malfoys he’d seen since Harry saved his life in the Falcons-Cannons game were the real ones. He thought Malfoy probably did expect people to just fall into line when he ordered them to date him. He thought Malfoy probably did want him, and was willing to put in some extra effort when Harry didn’t fall in line.
            But this Malfoy, indignant and wary over being found out, seemed like the most real of them all.
            “How enterprising of you,” Malfoy whispered at last, his voice dripping like a pan of spilled oil, “to have recognized some of my former lovers among the attackers.”
            Harry snorted inelegantly and gestured the bouquet forwards. He hadn’t managed to capture Parkinson before she Apparated, but there were at least two Quidditch players—from different teams—whose names had been linked with Malfoy’s in gossip in the past year. The only one Harry knew about for sure who was missing was Jessica Cassel.
            “They’re all your former lovers, I think,” Harry said flatly. “And that explains why they could get through the protections so easily, too. Exceptions that you built in for them and never took back out.” He paused. “Deliberately?”
            Malfoy’s breathing quickened a little. His eyelids flickered.
            “Yeah,” Harry drawled. He shook his head. “I know you have your reasons for distrusting the Ministry, Malfoy, but we honestly are trying to save your life. This doesn’t make it any easier.” He twitched the bouquet, and some people banged against each other and moaned. Harry set them on the floor instead, watching Malfoy all the while. “Is there anything you can say to excuse this?”
            “I can ask,” Malfoy said, straightening his shoulders, “why you referred to yourself as part of the Ministry just now instead of my fiancé, who’s watching out for me as part of your natural duties because you love me.”
            So my cover is blown. On the other hand, considering what he now knew about Malfoy’s attackers, Harry didn’t think that was a bad thing. He nodded. “All right. I didn’t want to do this at first, because your taking me to the party and proposing to me came by complete surprise, but you remember how I returned your ring to you?”
            “Which of the several times?”
            “The first one.” Harry held on to his control with both hands. If this was the end of his game with Malfoy, well, it was a disappointing one. But Malfoy had still played a part in endangering his own life, through sheer carelessness if nothing else. “When I told you that I couldn’t be your fiancé?”
            “You came back because…the Ministry told you to?”
            Harry paused. Malfoy looked so lost that it almost made Harry feel sorry for him. But then Harry thought about the way Malfoy had fallen from his broom, and the way that he could have died from the spell that had come through the window today, and he lost the majority of his sympathy.
            “Yes,” he said. “Kingsley decided that the chance to have me near you and working undercover, not suspected by your attackers, was too good to pass up.”
            “If I’d wanted Ministry help, I’d have asked for it.” Malfoy’s eyes were gleaming like the eyes of a painted demon Harry had once seen.
            “Probably too late, and been a pretty corpse.” Harry raised his eyebrows. “You could have done something on your own, you know? Strengthened your protections, or told me the truth, or told someone from the Ministry the truth?”
            “I want people to want me.”
            Harry thought for a second Malfoy was still talking about the trick Harry had played on him, and started to reply that way, but then he stopped. Listened. Actually thought about what Malfoy was likely to be objecting to.
            “Wait,” he said slowly. “Are you saying…that you knew this was your former lovers, and you didn’t do anything about them because you wanted them to harass you as proof of their devotion?”
            Malfoy slowly tilted his head. Harry wondered why, then decided that someone had probably told him once it was cute. That seemed to be the reason for a lot of Malfoy’s actions.
            “I wanted them to want me,” Malfoy repeated. “I didn’t want to die. But if I did, then I would have chosen the means and manner of my death, and that’s more important to me than merely living on.”
            Harry sat down hard. Luckily, one of the dining room chairs was behind him, and Malfoy hadn’t enspelled it to move out of the way. “You’re so confusing,” he whispered, and massaged his forehead.
            “I’m myself.” Malfoy moved towards him, but Harry only looked up when he was close enough that it seemed as if he wasn’t going to stop walking. Malfoy did stop then, but he was regarding Harry with a faint sneer. “I thought you understood that. If you didn’t, then you should never have let yourself be seduced by me.”
            “It came a lot closer than I thought it would, that’s for sure.” Harry saw no reason not to tell the truth, now that they were doing so.
            Malfoy shook his head and planted his hands on the arms of the chair Harry sat in. Harry regarded him calmly back. He’d taken the former lovers down without serious injury because there were so many of them they got in each other’s way, and none of them was as skilled as a trained Auror.
            Malfoy probably knew deadlier spells, and he was close enough to be a problem, but Harry would still take him down. Because Malfoy was a lying prick, and Harry was angry enough to overcome any difference in their skill right now.
            “You have no reason to be angry at me,” Malfoy whispered, although his eyes were hot in a way that said he plainly thought he had the right to be angry at Harry. “We both deceived each other.”
            “I’m not angry because of that,” Harry snapped. “Not the lie itself. The consequences, you idiot. You could have died, and you stand here all smug and preening because it proved people wanted you? Wanted you dead! Or maybe not dating someone else,” he added. The massed attacks had only happened after the announcement of Harry as Malfoy’s fiancé, after all.
            Malfoy stared at him. “But that was what I wanted,” he said. “To see that they still had devotion to me.”
            Harry shook his head and reached out to plant a hand directly in the middle of Malfoy’s chest. Malfoy’s eyes promptly fluttered closed, and he seemed to stop breathing. Harry snorted. Malfoy had a real problem letting his lovers go, it seemed, but he could also be paralyzed by the mere suggestion of sex.
            Harry shoved him back. Malfoy reeled and didn’t fall, but he swung to the side, maintaining his balance only with his hard hold on the arm of Harry’s chair.
            Harry sighed and stood up. “Then it’s no harm, no foul,” he said. “You weren’t actually harmed. I didn’t actually have sex with you. I’ll take these people in and report the ones I saw. By looking through old newspaper articles, I should manage to identify the ones I couldn’t be sure of.”
            Malfoy bared his teeth. “I’ll decline to press charges.”
            “Oh, that’s okay,” Harry said calmly. “They attacked me. And they can spend at least a few months in the holding cells for attacks on an Auror.”
            Malfoy stared at him. Harry stared back. He wondered if this was the cue for him to flounce dramatically out of Malfoy’s house and never see him again, or if Malfoy was going to do something even more dramatic than that, which would give Harry his cue.
            “You were never really attracted to me, were you?” Malfoy whispered. He sounded lost.
            Harry shook his head. “More attracted than I expected to be, especially right at first. But I did try to tell you, Malfoy.” He kept his voice as soft as he could. “I’m not gay. Not even bisexual. It was always going to be hard for me to stay as your fiancé and lover.”
            “You only pretended to be those things at all because of your duty to the Ministry.”
            “Largely.” Harry tilted his head to the side and sawed his hand back and forth. “Like I said, I got more attracted than I expected to be.”
            “You couldn’t back off until you solved the case.”
            Harry nodded. “Also true. But also, I was enjoying the game. That’s why I accepted your invitation to the game today and also cast the spell that made my robes transparent.”
            “You enjoyed teasing me.”
            Harry was starting to wonder when the interrogation would end. Malfoy’s voice was flat all the way through, and had the same monotone, with an utter lack of wonder in it, although Harry would have found some of the revelations pretty interesting himself.
            He nodded again. “I did. I came here tonight intending to tease some more. I wouldn’t have let it go so far as actually having sex with you, though.”
            “Why not?”
            With Malfoy sounding that way, there was no way to tell if he was actually interested in the answer or not. Harry held his eyes and gave it to him anyway. “Because I think having sex with someone is different from teasing or flirting with them. Who knows, though? If the conspiracy hadn’t attacked when it did, then I might have gone through with it. You are awfully hard to resist.”
            Even that revelation didn’t seem to please Malfoy or cheer him up. He wandered over and sat down on another chair near the table, bowing his head until his forehead rested in his hands. He sighed. The sigh was long and gloomy and desolate. Harry shook his head a little.
            “Please go,” Malfoy said.
            Harry nodded, stood up, and floated the crowed of Stunned people into the air again. “Someone may be by later to ask you about the names of other former lovers who were part of that crowd.”
            Malfoy waved a hand. Harry opened his mouth to ask what he could do, but then closed it, because it was clear what the answer would have been, and he couldn’t adore Malfoy to the obsessive point of wanting to destroy anyone else who started dating him.
            Or let him die himself at the end of a spell from someone who’d dated him.
            Harry shook his head, and took his leave. Malfoy went on looking at his hands and didn’t turn to him when Harry left.
            It couldn’t have worked out anyway, Harry tried to reassure himself as he stood on the stoop. Not when he was that mental and I’m not gay.
            But he still felt a little whiplash of regret for what could have been as he began Side-Along Apparating people.
*
Severus1snape: If Draco was one whit less strange, he might have managed.
SP777: Only one Draco was giving tacit permission to continue, basically.
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A Series of Malfoy Events