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The Rising of the Stones	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13237 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Sixteen—Catching Up With Luna

            “So you’re sure the Minister has no idea of your true allegiances?”

            Draco rolled his eyes a little. It was hard not to. Potter’s voice was hard and wary, and he hadn’t touched the lunch Draco had made sure to prepare for him before he came to the house that day. And he hadn’t even noticed Draco’s goodness in inviting Lovegood over for him, so he didn’t have to send an owl that might be intercepted.

            No, instead he was utterly focused on Draco’s conversation with de Berenzan and whether Draco had actually managed to fool the Minister.

            “Yes, or he would simply take my access to the Ministry away now,” Draco pointed out. “He doesn’t have to keep me on as an Auror. I’ve seen plenty of Aurors denied access to case files or their offices if they do something the least bit suspicious, until they can be investigated and cleared. de Berenzan would do that if he suspected me, and he wouldn’t even have to explain.”

            “But…”

            Potter’s fingers rapped the edge of his plate, nearly tipping the delicately carved slices of pork into his lap. Draco felt something inside him snap. He stood up and walked around the table, and Potter tilted his head back, frowning, to regard Draco.

            “When someone serves you lunch,” said Draco, in a polite voice he knew his mother would have scolded him for keeping too polite, “the courteous thing is to eat it.”

            “He might be keeping you as bait.”

            Draco swallowed in indignation, but there was nothing in his mouth, which meant he swallowed around his tongue and needed a moment to sort out the resultant stinging. “What?”

            “As bait for me,” Potter said, and brooded at Draco. Someone had evidently told him Draco would be impressed by it, and Draco was going to find that person and dispose of them as soon as he could. “If he thinks we’re allies, then maybe he’s just keeping you close and thinking that you’re playing him until he can spring a trap.”

            Draco leaned slowly back and sighed at the ceiling. The sigh went on until even Potter, who almost never looked offended by anything, looked offended. Then Draco turned back to him with a patient smile. “Potter,” he said, “you should know how ridiculous that sounds.”

            “I don’t.”

            “You gave me a masterful analysis of the Minister’s fears and the reasons that he might want you vanished forever when I finally convinced you to talk to me. And you admitted that I could analyze his motives, too. Why do you think that now he’s changed his mind and wants to trap you? And that he could somehow suspect me of discovering the truth and yet wouldn’t take immediate steps to prevent me from communicating that truth to anyone else?”

            Potter’s fingers played with the edge of the table, which might be an improvement over the edge of his plate. Draco wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

            Yes, you are. Draco smiled as confidently as he could and shook his head. “Not at all. But listen, we have to proceed with our plans. Do you still want to meet Lovegood today?”

            “There’s a choice? You told me you’ve already invited her over.”

            “But you could put her off. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, and she’s a loyal enough friend to you not to publish anything in that rag of hers until we tell her to.”

            It astonished Draco that Potter stared at him then. The man never seemed to have heard of the notion of putting anyone off or trying to ease inconvenience to himself. Maybe that was one reason he’d run away without telling his friends the truth, Draco speculated idly. Make things as inconvenient to himself as possible; only then could he feel that he was doing right.

            That irritated Draco for reasons it would take too long to name, so he waited, and finally Potter said, “Luna’s all right. And the Quibbler’s not a rag.”

            “It’s a step up from what I usually call the Daily Prophet,” Draco reassured him, and then stood as the door resounded to an odd pattern of knocks. “That must be her.”

            “Check first,” Potter advised him.

            “My wards would have warned me if it was someone uninvited.” And after yesterday, Draco had added other Aurors to that list. It might make him look a little suspicious, but he would rather have the warning.

            The odd pattern of knocks repeated, and Draco frowned a little as he went to open the door. None of what he remembered, or remembered hearing, about Lovegood said she was that impatient.

            But when he opened the door, the slender woman standing there nodded at him and said, “I was knocking to frighten the last of the nargles away. I don’t want them to spy on our conversation.”

            Right, the reports also said Lovegood was obsessed with nonexistent magical creatures. “It’s all right. Come in.”

            Lovegood walked in and turned around gravely three times by the fireplace. Draco decided he wasn’t even going to ask, and stepped aside as he watched Potter’s face light up when he saw Lovegood. He also wasn’t going to speculate on why his stomach churned as he watched Potter hug her.

            “I’m glad that you took the risk,” Potter said, and sat down at Draco’s table with her, taking her hand as if she was the only one who existed in the room, or even the one who had taken such risks so that Potter could get his story out. “I know the Ministry probably watches you.”

            Draco held back a snort. Of course they didn’t. The chances that Lovegood would print something real in the Quibbler were the chances that Rita Skeeter would become seriously interested in politics. It was one reason Draco had agreed to approach her at all. She would receive less scrutiny than Doge, until it was too late.

            But look at Potter glowing at her, like she’s a heroine.

            The least Potter could do was glow at people who deserved it, people who had actually taken risks to help him in his crazy little crusade.

            Or even convinced him to start the crusade in the first place, Draco thought, and forced his face into a pleasant expression as Potter and Lovegood turned towards him.

            “You can’t think how worried I’ve been,” Potter was saying. “I wanted to involve you from the beginning, but I was also worried about what the Ministry would do to you if they knew you knew.”

            With a jolt like a rusty nail piercing his skin, Draco realized that Potter had already told Lovegood all about the news they should have shared together. He scowled at Potter, who lifted his hands and smiled back in a superior way.

            Even if that could be seen as evidence of Potter coming out of his shell, it irritated Draco more than it pleased him.

            “I’m happy to help, Harry,” said Lovegood in that dreamy voice she had, and those unfocused eyes turned and settled on Draco. “And I’m glad some of the Ministry’s Aurors are finally breaking away from the Purple Coin Conspiracy.”

            Draco decided not to even ask, on the sure and certain knowledge that the answer would make him shriek like a Dementor. He gave Lovegood a temperate smile, the politest one he was capable of, and asked, “What kind of audiences do you think you can reach that the Daily Prophet doesn’t?”

            “None.”

            Draco noticed Potter concealing a smile, and stopped. He supposed audibly grinding his teeth was beneath his dignity, but he had hoped for one answer that wasn’t tangled in Lovegood’s crazy thoughts like a wreck in seaweed.

            Stupid to hope for, Draco told himself sternly, and tried to sound bland and earnest at the same time as he asked, “But there are people who trust the Quibbler more than they trust the Prophet?”

            “Of course there are.” Now Lovegood looked at him as if fearful for his mental health that he even had to ask. “Do you need some help with the nargles, Draco? I thought I got rid of them when I knocked on the door, but they’re swarming around your head so thickly that they might block your ears.”

            “I thought that was Wrackspurts.”

            “Usually it is. But his nargles don’t need any help from the Wrackspurts this time.” Lovegood actually took what looked like a silver quill from her pocket and held it out towards Draco. “Hold onto this and say your name three times backwards. It’s an emergency treatment for nargles this thick.”

            Draco wanted to refuse in a way that would send the quill flying up and might just pierce her eyeball, but from the stern way Potter was looking at him, he wouldn’t get any praise if he did that. Sulkily, he took the quill and muttered some nonsense that he hoped sounded like his name backwards. He was not actually going to—

            “You have to say your name,” said Lovegood, while her eyes shone sternly at him. “Not Harry’s name. And backwards.”

            It hadn’t been Potter’s name, either, but one look at the far-too-amused expression on Potter’s face warned Draco that it wasn’t going to be worth fighting about. He adjusted his grip on the quill, still indulging his fantasy of stabbing Lovegood in the eye with it, and said, as clearly as he could, “Yoflam Ocard.”

            Although, of course, nothing happened, Lovegood beamed and clapped her hands, and Potter’s eyes softened. Draco handed the quill back over and said, “So what’s going to be our first strategy?”

            “Telling people about the lives of prominent Dark Lords who had soul-marks,” said Lovegood, in the kind of patient voice that she’d used to explain about the nargles and the Wrackspurts. “And pointing out that people who can cause evil can still be bound to others as their soulmates.”

            Potter stirred as if he wanted to say something, but Draco had no fault to find for that program. He supposed one reason Lovegood got away with as much as she did was that she mixed nonsense and common sense. Someone who ignored her for the one was in danger of missing the other.

            “Good idea. And after that?”

            “It’ll depend on the Ministry’s actions and the way that people are reacting to the article in the Prophet. You’re getting Doge to write that?”

            Draco nodded, and after that, he and Lovegood drifted into a discussion of strategy and how many people knew already, and whether people would be likely to accept the knowledge that someone could be born without a soul-mark and still have a soul.

            “I don’t, though,” Potter interjected at that point. “I mean, I don’t think I’m a horrible person, but I don’t have a soul. I really, really don’t, or Dementors and rain unicorns wouldn’t ignore me the way they do.”

            “You’ve met the rain unicorns?”

            “I told you I’d spent some time with the soulless people who are allied with them.” Potter sent Draco an intense glance and turned back to Lovegood. Maybe he thought it would be more productive arguing with her than with Draco. “We have to tell people the truth, or the Ministry will find it easy to make them turn on us. I don’t have a soul.”

            “But you’re breathing and blinking,” said Lovegood, the same objections Draco had brought up, although Draco didn’t think he would have phrased them quite that way.

            “It’s not—a soul is something other than the vital force keeping you alive,” said Potter, with a faint sigh. “It’s the thing that makes you able to do wand magic and have a soulmate.”

            “Then it sounds to me like you’re defining a soul as simply what you don’t have,” said Lovegood, which made Draco blink again. There was yet another instance of good sense. “It would alienate people too much to tell them you don’t have a soul, Harry. Let’s stick to saying you don’t have a soul-mark, which is true and provable.”

            Potter firmed his mouth, but nodded, and said nothing through the rest of the conversation Lovegood and Draco had. At least by the end of it, Draco was convinced that she could act sane, and that was the most important part right now.

*

            “Thank you for having me over,” said Lovegood as she stood by the door, ready to leave. Her blonde hair hung down her back in one neat braid; Draco knew it hadn’t been like that when she came in, but honestly couldn’t remember what it had been like. “I think this was a productive day.” She smiled at them both and laid her hand on the door.

            “Luna. Wait.”

            From the tone of Potter’s voice, Draco thought he was going to try to convince Lovegood to keep out of it after all, which would be a waste. But Lovegood only looked at him and said gently, “No, Harry.”

            “What? I can’t talk—”

            “The answer is, no. It’s wonderful having Rolf and all, but I can’t say that we have a perfect life.” Lovegood had clear, shining eyes as she studied Potter. Draco wondered where she put that look when she wasn’t wearing it. “And I don’t even know what you want me to tell you,” Lovegood went on in a musing way. “That we have a perfect life, a perfect soulmate love, or that we don’t? What do you want, Harry? Honestly? Do you want me to tell you that you’re missing something wonderful and hurt you that way, or do you want me to damage the beliefs you’ve lived with for years?”

            Potter shut his eyes. His face was etched with lines so tight that Draco took a step towards him before he thought about it, before he remembered that he couldn’t do anything to ease those lines away. He didn’t believe soulmates were perfect.

            “I want to know what it’s like,” Potter said anyway. “To have that love.”

            “It’s like anything else,” said Lovegood. She still wore her mask of common sense, which made Draco listen with more interest than he would have had otherwise. “I don’t know what to tell you, Harry. It’s bruises and laughter and knowing that Rolf is exasperated with me because the nargles have got to him.”

            Draco had to bite his tongue savagely. He had often thought that anyone would be a better soulmate than the woman his fate had paired him with, but at the moment, he had to acknowledge Lovegood would have been a worse choice for him.

            “It’s not perfect.”

            Potter flinched as though Lovegood had dealt him a body blow. Lovegood reached up and patted his cheek with one hand. Her eyes were steady and serene and knowing. “It’s not perfect,” she repeated. “You know what I think? I think soul-marks just give us a chance. They show us someone we could be happy with. It doesn’t mean we will be. It doesn’t mean it’s perfect. That’s just something we came up with. Soul-marks mean something, but no higher being ever came down and told us what. We only have our own theories. And maybe we’re wrong.”

            Draco blinked. That was one he hadn’t thought of. And he wondered, as he watched Lovegood pat Potter’s cheek one more time and march out the door, whether her words would have more impact on Potter than anything Draco could have said.

            He would have found the thought annoying a short while ago. Now he welcomed help in combatting Potter’s delusions.

            Potter walked back into the house and sat down at the table again, looking blankly between his hands. Then he shook his head and gave an artificial little laugh, turning to Draco as if he invited him into his amusement.

            “That’s Luna. She says so many airy things you tend to dismiss them all, and then she makes the truth all the more devastating when she does say it.”

            Draco smiled faintly, but kept his eyes on Potter as he asked casually, “You think she’s right?”

            “It would explain things. But—she’s so happy with Rolf. I’ve seen them. The way they smile at each other. The way her eyes glow when she’s listening to him talk about the creatures they study, and the way he smiles at her when she’s talking about the nonexistent ones…”

            Potter trailed off, and he looked almost sick. Then he sat up and said, “Sorry, Malfoy. Getting sentimental again. As long as our strategies with the Quibbler and the Prophet will work together, that’s the important thing.”

            “You have a lot invested in this idea of perfect love and somehow getting it for yourself, don’t you, Potter?”

            “Who wouldn’t want to be loved?” Potter said softly. “To know someone really loves you? And I’ve had less chance of that than most people.”



            Draco opened his mouth to say that was a load of bollocks, then hesitated. The way Potter had phrased it, it might not be. Who knew how many people had pretended they loved him, or were loved by him, to get some advantage or fame?

            “You can’t know what someone else’s marriage is like,” Draco said, the only comfort he could offer. “Not unless you’re in it. I think Lovegood and Scamander probably always had this less than perfect love, this is just the first time that you’re hearing about it.”

            Potter shrugged, that shrug that made Draco want to hit him, and stared at the table. “The strategy?”

            “We need a different strategy right now. To stop you moping.” And me from hitting you. “Take me to meet the rain unicorns and their allies.”

            Potter’s spluttering after that was, at least, quite entertaining, and he seemed to have forgotten to sigh about everyone in the entire world getting a soulmate except him. Draco settled down to the serious business of persuading Potter to take him someplace where Draco might be in danger of being sacrificed to unicorns.

            It’s less annoying than listening to him moan about soulmates, at least.

*

            Rrose: Thank you! I think Draco might be a little less witty here, but it’s only because he’s so exasperated.

            SP777: Draco certainly thinks so. ;)

            What, more horribly depressing stories? (No, I know what you mean. But that’s the kind of story it’s hard to do without a prompt).
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The Rising of the Stones