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The Marriage of True Minds	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 55082 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Eighteen—With the Same Goals

            “I see that we once again don’t have the same definitions of the same words.”

            Draco turned around from checking the protective spells on his own door and glanced at the tray that had appeared on the table next to the bed. It was laden with what looked like normal fare to him: small chocolate pastries, peanut butter biscuits, steaming mugs of a spiced drink that the house-elves never made except late at night, and a few orange-flavored scones. He lifted an eyebrow at Harry, silently asking what was wrong.

            “A snack is something you eat in between meals,” Harry said, and stared at the tray as if he didn’t know where to start first. He was sitting on the bed, because Draco wasn’t stupid and didn’t want him falling over and hitting his head before they’d had a chance to talk. “Not a meal in and of itself.”

            “We share the same definition,” Draco murmured mildly, and walked over to take the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Only the amount of what we mean differs.”

            “Right,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, but he reached for one of the biscuits. Draco concealed his smile and picked up a small scone to keep him company. He wondered if he could get Harry used to the luxuries of the Manor by stealth, feeding him sweets like this until he automatically looked around for them and showing him how coarse Weasley cooking was in comparison with Malfoy.

            Then he shrugged. He couldn’t be too self-conscious about the war he was conducting, or Harry would figure it out and get upset. He moved on to other subjects.

            “I have a list of the women I could ask to be my wife,” he said. “I’ve put notes on it that might help you distinguish one pure-blood girl you’ve never heard of from another. Will you do me the honor of looking at it?”

            Harry paused to lick at his fingers before he answered. Draco didn’t quite manage to suppress a shudder, and pushed a napkin towards him. Harry took it, but not until after he had finished cleaning his fingers with his tongue.

            Among the stealth training, we will need a definite course on manners, Draco thought.

            “Yes, I’ll help you,” Harry said, and gave him an approving look. “I think you should try to find someone who fits you better than Astoria, anyway. You never seemed happy when you talked about her. What was it that made you choose her in the first place?”

            “She was of the right blood, the right fortune, and made the right overtures when I contacted her,” Draco said. “It’s not as easy as you might imagine, finding a pure-blood woman who will accept someone from a family in disgrace. It helped that the Greengrasses were also suspected, although nothing was ever proven. They couldn’t afford to be too picky themselves.” He felt his shoulders fall down and his breathing even out. He blinked. Does it help that much to speak with someone about it? I hadn’t realized.

            Harry made a humming sound. “And if Voldemort had won the war? Would you have more luck finding a wife?”

            “Of course,” Draco said dryly. He didn’t like thinking about that extremely unlikely possibility—or for how long it had appeared likely. “Among the Death Eater circles, and those who would have scrambled to be admitted to them, of course. But then, my father would say that those were the only people worth courting in any case.”

            “Do you agree with him?” Harry looked up, and his eyes were brilliant with a light that made Draco shift in place. He didn’t know exactly whether the light burned him or stung him or enchanted him, though. “I mean, now? I know that you didn’t have much choice as a child, when you had no serious reason to question him. But now? Do you agree that marriage should be between partners of similar blood?”

            “Obviously not,” Draco said, and smiled at him. “Or I wouldn’t have seriously proposed our staying together.”

            Harry tensed once, then seemed to force himself to relax. “All right, I deserved that,” he said. “But I was actually thinking about me and Ginny, and what you thought of that marriage. She’s a pure-blood, even if you consider her a blood traitor. My mother was Muggleborn. She’s got some grief from a few of the pure-bloods in Gryffindor, even considering my status and that we won the war. What about you?”

            Draco hesitated, but he didn’t think the guidance his mother had given him was sufficient for this situation. What was one to say when one’s forced, bound husband asked a question like this? Should he go with honesty, and probably lose Harry’s impression that he was a decent bloke, or should he go with a lie and risk losing Harry’s trust if he discovered it?

            Harry smiled at him, a relaxed, confident expression Draco couldn’t remember having seen on his face before. From what he said next, it was probably his interrogator’s smile. “I’m not asking you this question to trick or trap you,” he said gently. “I’m asking you to answer according to your beliefs about blood status. I want to know how much you’ve changed since the war, how much you’ve freed yourself from beliefs that you might not share and how much actually is you.”

            Draco spent a moment trying to feel out the bladed nuances in the words, then gave up. If he really did trust Harry the way he said he did, then he had to ignore the sense of danger growing in the back of his mind, because Harry wasn’t trying to trick him. What he wanted was what he said he wanted: to know what Draco thought.

            “I think it’s dependent on the power and the status involved, then,” he said, holding Harry’s eyes. “She’s not an aspirant to the circles of society that I’m a part of, so our judgment doesn’t matter as much. And you have fame and power that ought to be good enough for anyone. Although I thought that blood was the only thing that mattered, recent…events…have shown me that my father controlled my education more than I thought he did, and more than is entirely good for my mental health, in any case. Yes, I think that you make a good match for each other in terms of sheer qualities.” That I don’t think you love her is beside the point, he wanted to say, but that part, he didn’t need his mother to tell him was a bad idea. He picked up a mug from the tray and drank instead. The spiced drink inside stung his throat going down, but it tasted as lovely as ever, cinnamon mingling subtly with heated vanilla.

            “Thank you.”

            Draco peered at Harry. “What?” The faint smile had become a real one, and Harry was leaning forwards, his hands clasped on his knees.

            “Thank you for telling me what you really think,” Harry said. “No, I mean it,” he added, when Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “It helps me know how honest you are, and that helps me know what kind of qualities you’ve been looking for in a wife,” he explained simply. “Plus, it is nice to know you better.”

            Draco sipped some more of the drink to give himself time to respond. No one had ever made him feel as uncomfortable and as valued, within a short time, as Harry had.

            It was true; he could have ignored Draco as long as he spent a minimum amount of time in the house so that the bond wouldn’t hurt them. He could have continued arguing with him. He could have decided that there was no way for Draco to change, because he was a Slytherin and a Slytherin was always evil. He could have refused to ask for Draco’s opinion on the Weasleys, because he might hear something that would make him angry.

            Instead, he asked and seemed pleased with the answer. Draco didn’t know what to do with that, so he circled back to something Harry had said earlier in the conversation that he didn’t think was true.

            “You said that I was a child and couldn’t help but follow my father’s ideals,” he murmured. “I don’t think that’s true. You managed to make your own decisions despite all the adults trying to influence you.”

            Harry snorted. “Yeah, I was a real clever and careful thinker. That’s why I noticed where and who the real villains were all the time.” He gave Draco an apologetic look.

            Draco shook his head. “I was thinking that you seemed instinctively to do the right thing. I heard the professors talk about rules as often as you did—”

            “And probably broke them less.” Harry leaned forwards and took a biscuit from the tray, seeming to forget his prejudice against this much food this late at night. Draco concealed a smirk behind the mug of his drink. His evil plan to seduce Harry to his side with sweets was working, then.

            “That’s not what I meant,” Draco said. “Of course you broke the rules; I don’t think you would have survived if you tried to follow them. But you broke the important rules when you needed to, and you survived dangers that would have made most of your fellow Gryffindors run away screaming. If you could do that when we were the same age, why couldn’t I? Trying to excuse it because I had parents and you didn’t is a bit odd.” He paused, as another thought struck him. “Unless the family you lived with taught you about that. Who were they, anyway? I know that you went somewhere when your parents died, but I also know that it wasn’t anywhere in the wizarding world. My father would have found you if it had been, the frantic way he was looking.”

            “And what would he have done if he found me?” Harry asked, although his face had turned pale and his smile was stiff. His biscuit dangled in his hand as though he’d forgotten it. He stared at Draco intently.

            Draco frowned, wondering what he’d said. “Well, probably killed you,” he admitted. “But we’ve already made it clear that I’m not my father, and that I don’t believe what I used to anyway.”

            “That’s not what I mean,” Harry said. “Well, wait, yes, it is what I mean.” He took a large bite of the biscuit as if to cover his confusion, but Draco had already seen it and was trying to work out what it could mean. The questions seemed simple enough to him. Harry swallowed and went on. “Anyway, I think a lot of that comes down to individual personalities. You know, the way I would, not believing in the power of blood and all.”

            He looked like that when I asked about his relatives, Draco thought. He tried to remember what he could about Harry’s family, but all he really knew was their Muggle background. He leaned forwards. “Did your relatives teach you to risk your life like that?” he asked, keeping his voice no more than mildly curious. It was an effort. “It would explain a lot about you.”

            Harry snorted. “You could say that.”

            Draco listened, but he couldn’t make out any emotions except impatience in Harry’s voice. Something was off here, but he still didn’t know what, and he hated not knowing what. Harry knew more about him than anyone except his parents, but Harry had more people who possessed some share in his secrets. Draco should surely have a larger share than he did.

            Before he could ask a question that would make Harry reveal some of them, Harry sat up, finished the biscuit, and asked briskly, “So, where’s this list of names and notes that you wanted me to take a look at?”

            Draco hesitated, but he couldn’t think of a good means to prolong the conversation, and so he stood and went to fetch the list. His heartbeat sang in his ears while he did, as though they had been doing something much more dangerous and important than simply asking each other a few idle questions.

            What, though? Was it because the questions hadn’t been idle on his part, but had on Harry’s, or perhaps the other way around? Draco didn’t think the expression Harry had worn when asking about his current beliefs on blood purity was trivial.

            In the end, he decided that he could not push, as he would have tried to do before his talk with his mother yesterday. He did think that he deserved to know more about Harry than he did, but they had the future for that.

            No need to be impatient, he thought, as he turned around and watched Harry stifle a yawn. Except, perhaps, that we might need to hurry so he doesn’t fall asleep in the middle of this consultation.

*

            Draco had said that it would be easier and make more sense to hold the list between them while they both bent their heads over it, and they couldn’t do that on the table because his chair was lower than the bed and the food was in the way. So far, Harry agreed that that made sense.

            He didn’t think that it made sense for Draco to have somehow ended up on the bed beside him, head bent next to Harry’s so that their hair practically mingled, his breath sweet from the spices in the drink as he pointed out notes and explained his reasoning to Harry. But on the other hand, that was Harry’s problem.

            We’ll get through this, Harry reassured himself, and shifted his arm forwards so that his hand slid onto the bed. In the position it was in, he kept bumping Draco’s elbow whenever he shifted, and Draco’s hand kept coming near his scars, and both bothered him.

            “I don’t think Delilah Moonborn would seriously entertain my suit,” Draco said, and bent closer, his free arm wrapping around Harry’s waist. Harry rolled his eyes at himself for the way he tensed. The arm was miles from his back, and if Ginny saw them like this…well, she would just have to understand, that was all. “None of the Moonborn clan or relatives, really. They’ve always held themselves aloof from politics, and managed to maintain power despite it. Even if we had been on the right side of the war, they might think us compromised by the fighting.”

            Harry nodded. “All right. What about this one?” He tapped the name closest to the top of the list, which only had a single, solitary scribble beside it. Harry had already noticed that Draco didn’t have nice, neat handwriting when it came to something like this, private notes meant for his eyes alone.

            And the eyes of at least one other person. The notes are for your benefit.

            Harry shivered, then told himself not to be stupid. It was no different than the way that Ron wrote notes for him on the common reports they filed. He squinted again, but still couldn’t make out the name.

            “Laura d’Alveda.” Draco made a thoughtful sound. “I didn’t think much of her at first, but more and more, she’s looking like the best choice.” He took the bottom of the sheet of parchment in one hand, making it crinkle.

            “What are your objections against her?” Harry asked, and got some distance by leaning over to pick up his own mug of spiced drink. It was incredibly good, and the only bad thing about it was that it made him yawn frequently. “Not the blood thing, or you wouldn’t have put her on the list in the first place.”

            “No.” Draco was silent for a moment, frowning. “I’ve met her several times now. She’s stoic enough for me, and business-like. She deals with some of the same Muggles I do,” he added, when Harry glanced at him for an explanation. “Nothing wrong with her beauty or her connections. But—well, her family doesn’t seem to care. They don’t have a high position that no one questions, like the Moonborns, and they didn’t fight for one, like my father did. They just drift along, making money and not caring if they interact with us or not. And yet they always seem to find husbands and wives just fine. More often in Spain than in England, that’s true, but they always come back to England to live.”

            “Could she make you happy?” Harry asked. The question mattered to him even if he didn’t to Draco.

            “Perhaps,” Draco said. “I think I would have to know her better first.”

            Harry nodded, tried to stifle a yawn, and didn’t succeed. Draco cast him a swift glance and a faint smile, then turned back to the list. Harry told himself that was good. It would mean a lot to someone who was looking at them, like Ginny or Hermione, and prove that they weren’t getting inappropriately close.

            Why do you always think about the way that someone looking in from the outside would see you, rather than the way you do?

            Harry sighed. He was as tired as fuck, and had only agreed to talk about the list in the first place because he wanted to spend a little more time with Draco before he went to sleep. No wonder his thoughts didn’t make much sense.

            “Can we arrange a meeting?” he asked. “And would you have to tell her that you were considering a marriage, or do you wait on that? I don’t know the etiquette.”

            “Obviously.” Draco snorted. “Of course one tells a woman—or a man—that one’s considering a marriage. We can use deception on our political enemies and on members of our own families when there’s a good reason, but this is more in the nature of courting an ally. Laura wouldn’t trust me if I approached her under some other banner and then told her what I wanted later.”

            Harry frowned and shifted his weight on the bed. Draco backed away from him, taking the list, and looked as satisfied as though Harry had helped him come to some real conclusion, instead of one he’d had in mind all along. Harry didn’t know if that was true, of course, but it would be nice to think so. “When will you start courting her?”

            “The start of formal courtship is different from meeting with her,” Draco corrected, casting him a gentle, amused glance. “But I think I’ll send an owl soon. She’s a few years older than me, and her parents, as I said, show little interest in the outside world. She shows more. It will be appropriate to talk directly to her, while I did most of my negotiating for Astoria with her parents.”

            “Is that because she was a woman, or because she was younger than you, or what?” Harry asked. He found himself strangely interested. On the other hand, he had once read that going without sleep for a long time could make you act drunk. That was probably the reason he felt this weird focus on Draco’s actions within himself.

            “All of those, and more,” Draco said. “And because the Greengrasses are a different kind of family. The kind that moves more in our circles.” He lowered his head and looked self-satisfied, his eyes lidding. Harry knew that “our” didn’t refer to himself and Draco just then, but to the Malfoys.

            He was on the outside, looking in, the way he had sometimes felt with the Dursleys when Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hugged Dudley and told him how wonderful he was while Harry sat ignored in a corner.

            He shook his head. He seriously had to get some sleep. The two situations weren’t at all comparable. Draco and Narcissa weren’t trying to shut him out on purpose, while that had been one of the points the Dursleys tried to make to him all the time. Harry would get paranoid if he wasn’t careful, and the last thing he wanted to do was mix up one of his families with another.

            If they’re even my family.

            “It just seems so weird to me,” Harry said, to distract himself from the thoughts that he would get up to if left to himself. “To negotiate with her parents when she’s an adult and can make the decision for herself. To care so much about relative social standing when it’s not a forced marriage bond and that doesn’t determine how someone becomes part of the family.” Draco’s gaze rested heavily on him, just then. Harry met it and thrust out his jaw. “To treat the whole thing like a business negotiation.”

            “Ah,” Draco said softly. “I think I see what’s wrong, for you. You’re thinking of this as a meeting between individuals, or a bond between individuals.”

            Harry snorted. “The next thing you’re going to tell me is that every pure-blood I meet is actually the representative of a corporation.”

            “Not a corporation,” Draco said, although he smiled as if he liked the metaphor. “The family. My actions could shame the Malfoys. The family acts through me; I act for them. And it was the same way with Astoria. She could act the way she wanted if she had no relatives, or if she didn’t care about the scandal that would come upon them because of her. But she has them, and she does. It’s the same way with me. I have to consider whether Laura d’Alveda would accept me, of course, but also whether she would accept my family, and how she would act in response to the demands of hers.”

            He leaned forwards, uncomfortably close, and gazed thoughtfully at Harry from a few inches away, his hands folded beneath his chin. “You’re lucky, in a way,” he said. “You do act alone, without any more Potter relatives for people to judge you as a representative of, and even if you had them, the fame you’ve achieved would eclipse anything else that people might presume to judge you for. Your position isn’t—I wouldn’t trade what I have for it, but I can envy you.”

            Harry stared at him. The softness in his eyes, and the way his face shimmered around the edges, and…

            And he had to look away, and think about the fact that Draco had said something about pure-bloods that actually made sense.

            “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can see why you’d have to be careful about who you associated with, if you were thinking the whole time about the way someone else would judge your parents. Or at least your mother,” he had to add. “I mean, sorry, but I don’t think that I can really care what people judge your father for at this point.”

            “Oh, you shouldn’t,” Draco said easily. “He’s out of the family, so you don’t have to worry about him.” He paused. “And you can see, now, why my mother and I are concerned with you? You are part of us, for at least as long as the marriage bond lasts. So we worry about your actions and your safety and your—past.”

            Harry rolled his eyes. “If you’re right and my fame’s as important as all that, then you don’t have to worry about my bringing disgrace to the family, right?”

            Draco nodded. “Yes. That is why what we worry about is how you suffer and how we can help, most of all.”

            Harry really did stare at him this time. Draco looked pleased beneath the attention, but also calm, and serious, and as sincere as he knew how to be.

            Okay. So pure-bloods have feelings after all. Just coming from a different place than the ones I’m used to.

            “I get it,” Harry said to the blankets and his hands. “I get it now.”

            As he watched, one of Draco’s hands moved into his field of vision, covering his, fingers winding around his wrist. It didn’t feel like a manacle, the way it sometimes had, like when Draco dragged him outside to see the Malfoy statues, but like a normal, gentle gesture, a sharing of touch and warmth.

            “I’m glad,” Draco murmured.

*

            unneeded: Draco doesn’t think his honesty is very Slytherin, but, well, it might be if it means that he can win Harry over faster.

            SP777: Well, Draco certainly thinks that about Harry and Ginny in this story.

            And Harry doesn’t want anyone to look at the scars, end of story, so if they can be healed, no one knows about it right now.

            undisclosedtoyou: Thank you! I’m really glad that you got so into the story.

            Night the Storyteller: I would distrust at least a bit of what Draco is telling himself. He doesn’t know his own soul as well as he thinks he does.

            Yes, Lucius does consider love a weakness unless it’s for someone who’s already family.

            Harry just thinks that he’s in love with Ginny, and there’s nothing more to question than that.
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The Marriage of True Minds