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Providence	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 15841 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this writing.

Chapter List
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Thank you for all the reviews! Just to answer a few
questions: I�ve never read or seen Cyrano, so this was inspired by it only
indirectly; and it is a comedy, not a tragedy.

Chapter Two�What Draco
Malfoy Read

�� No one, Draco thought, as he nodded and
smiled across the table at his latest date, understands
how boring it is not to be opposed.

�� Anne
Carter, of course, his date, didn�t notice the boredom behind his smile either.
On she chattered, turning her head from side to side and flashing the diamond
earrings that Draco had bought as if she thought he�d forgotten spending that
much money on her. Of course, it was really for the benefit of the restaurant
they were in, and to make other women jealous, and to make them think how much
they would want to be sitting in her place,
but they couldn�t, because�

�� Draco
clenched his jaw muscles hard, stifling the yawn before it began. He�d got
quite good at that.

�� When he was
sure Anne was deep in the middle of a conversation with herself about
flirtation and the surprising adventures it involved one in, he leaned back in
his chair and stared around the restaurant. As always, he hoped to distract
himself by finding one interesting person. Just one was all he needed. If that
person got up and left the restaurant in the next minute, Draco could exist on
the slender morsel of bread he�d been offered.

�� As always,
there was no one. Oh, Draco knew some of the people in here; there were always
those who followed him around hoping for his attention. But if he had found
them interesting, he would already
have been dating them. There was little Astoria Greengrass, her eyes bright
with hope and adoration like a kitten�s for the last person who fed it, and
there was Celestia Halcombe,
lowering her gaze demurely to the plate when Draco turned in her direction, and
there was Brutus Adorno, who stumbled over his feet
in interviews with Draco trying to come up with good business propositions. He
was powerful enough among the Muggleborns that Draco
had spoken with him more than once, but that didn�t mean he wanted to do so
again.

�� And then she said��

�� Draco
clenched his jaw muscles against a sigh and picked up his glass. He was doing
this, he whispered into the sweet wine, for his family and not himself. His
mother needed money to protect her in case something happened to him; she
needed good reputation and standing to store up against the time that Draco
left England, as he would have to, because everything here was so intolerably boring. And his children, if
he had any�a prospect that was becoming increasingly unlikely when he couldn�t
find a woman he wanted even to go to bed with, let alone consider as a Malfoy
mother�would appreciate what he had done for them.

�� In the name
of his family he had pretended to turn his back on his father�s beliefs; in the
name of his family he had spent time rubbing shoulders with people who made his
flesh crawl and pasted bright smiles over his face whilst the cameras flashed.
At least the sanctuary he had set up for war trauma patients afforded him a
certain smug satisfaction. Everyone gushed with praise over his actions in
providing whatever therapy they wanted and never noticed the hefty price tags.
And being such a good liar that everyone assumed some sort of soul-deep
�redemption� instead of a plan to get his family respected again was its own
reward.

�� But there
was no one who could share that reward with him. His friends were either in
Azkaban, furiously pursuing social redemption schemes of their own, or living
abroad. His father would never see the sun again. His mother�s shattered health
assured she barely left the house, and though she would exchange smiles with
Draco about the success of his schemes, that was not the same as discussing
them.

�� Or opposing
them.

�� Draco had
once envisioned having everything his own way in Hogwarts, the teachers bowing
down to him just as his tutors did and other students acting like house-elves.
Only now did he realize how much that would have suffocated him. It was one
thing to dream about life as an endless parade with no enemies to fight, and
another to experience it.

�� He�d
experienced it for three years now. He was drowning in ennui.

�� No one to
tell him he was wrong. No one to criticize his arguments; debating the Muggleborns had been fun at first, but ever since he�d
pretended to agree with them, as he must if he was to regain the rightful
Malfoy position in society, they�d been all smiles. No one to steal a Snitch
from him in Quidditch, for God�s sake. Draco would have settled for that if
nothing else, but the few times he�d tried to play Quidditch since his
�redemption,� there was barely a decent Seeker on the field, and they hesitated
in actually defeating him.

�� That was
why Draco thought he would have to leave England, in the end. On the
Continent, he must be able to find some city
where his money and beauty would win him the attention he found indispensable
but there weren�t all the complications of reputation.

�� Draco, are
you listening to me?�

�� That was
bad. Normally Draco�s mask never slipped enough to let anyone else realize he
was paying attention to the infinitely more interesting person, himself. He
leaned forwards with a sympathetic smile. �And so you rowed with Sarah?�

�� Not so
much a row as a quarrel,� Anne said, her feelings relieved. �And then she said��

�� Mr.
Malfoy? An owl for you.�

�� Draco
turned and looked up in surprise. This particular restaurant, the Hunter�s
Delight, had a set of wards up that captured all incoming owls, told the
waiters who the letters were for, and let them decide if they wanted to
interrupt the diners or not. Draco wasn�t usually interrupted when he ate here;
the manager ferociously protected his privacy.

�� But he
could see, at a glance, why this waiter had decided on such an unprecedented
course of action. The bird on his arm was an enormous great horned owl with
shining dark feathers, talons that looked as if they could puncture human skulls,
and a ferocious glare. Owls like that didn�t ordinarily consent to serve
masters who were inclined to wait. And none of the waiters at the Hunter�s
Delight would want to be responsible for losing Draco Malfoy, social darling,
another chance to make a difference.

�� Excuse me,
Anne,� Draco said, giving her that made her flutter her eyelashes like she was
about to faint. He took the letter the owl extended to him with a jerk of its
foot and opened it.

�� Dear ferret-face.

�� Draco felt
his mouth fall open at the �salutation,� whilst his eyelashes fluttered like
Anne�s. The next moment, a rush of adrenaline kicked through him, and he looked
for the signature he was sure must be there.

�� He snorted
when he saw the blind. Clever, Granger,
but you should have considered that the beginning would give you away.

�� He read
through the letter slowly, anyway, savoring the half-taunting, half-admiring
words. The �mystery� would not last long, but that Granger found herself
hopelessly in love with him and thought to intrigue him like this was an
interesting novelty.

�� He rose
when he was done, tucked the letter away in his pocket, and offered his most
charming smile to Anne. �I�m afraid I must leave,� he said. �But please stay
here and treat yourself to whatever wine you like. I�ll pay,� he added, with a
subtle nod at the waiter. Yes, please
stay here. Perhaps enough wine will shut that chattering mouth of yours.

�� Anne
blushed again. She was always doing that. Draco couldn�t stand girls who
blushed so much. �Thank you, Draco.�

�� And there�s a simper. At the very least, if
dating Granger was even a remote possibility, I could be certain she wouldn�t
do that. Draco turned away with a shudder and stepped towards the doors.

�� Astoria
Greengrass intercepted him.

�� She had her
eyes downcast as usual, and as usual she looked stunning in a sheer
silver-white gown that hinted without in the least being transparent or
offensive. Draco drew in a sharp annoyed breath. If she had only had the kind
of sparking, diamond-like personality that her robes promised, he would have
been interested. But no, she was insipid, and so he would be polite, but no
more.

�� Excuse me,
Miss Greengrass,� he murmured, taking the time to construct a proper expression
of sorrow. �I can�t stop. I�m on my way as a matter of somewhat urgent
business.�

�� I
understand.� Astoria
lifted her head and looked him in the eye for the first time since Draco could
remember. �Is it about a new house, perhaps? Or a new pet? Perhaps a ferret?�

�� Draco
gasped, the first time a woman had been able to make him do that since he saw
how his mother was wasting away at St. Mungo�s. Astoria flushed, but much less than was her
custom; she kept her head up, which Draco would have thought her incapable of
if he hadn�t seen it, gazing at him in inexorable challenge.

�� She�s speaking�she�s speaking as if she�s
the one who sent the letter.

�� Which was
impossible, Draco knew. But the writer said that she had particularly good
sources of information, and was it more impossible than Granger having decided
out of midair that she had a fancy for Draco?

�� My dear,�
he said softly, �the business is not that. Which I am persuaded you might have
an idea of.�

�� Astoria�s color mounted a
little higher, but still she didn�t blush in that disgraceful manner that
usually caused Draco to discount her. �Do I?� she said, and ducked her head so
that he had just enough of a glimpse of eye through her eyelashes and sweeping
hair to catch him. She was a beautiful woman; that had never been his problem
in relating to her. And now, now he began to think that perhaps a mind to match
that beauty burned behind it after all. �I�m so glad.� She paused as though to think, then added, �But surely
you should leave now, since you said the business was so urgent?�

�� Not so
urgent as�other things,� Draco said, and glanced over his shoulder. Anne Carter
was staring at them with her mouth half-open. He sighed. He couldn�t pursue the
matter with Astoria
now, however much he would have liked to, or he would probably gain a
reputation for not treating his dates well. The Malfoy reputation was too
important to sacrifice even a splinter of it like that. He faced Astoria and held out a
hand. �Yes, I had perhaps better proceed to my business. But we will speak
again later.�

�� Yes,� Astoria said, and a thin
smile crossed her lips. �But I am persuaded that I will set the time, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps within the next
fortnight�perhaps not.� She raised her eyebrows in a delicate arch, nodded
once, as regal as his mother, and then turned and glided out the door. She
hadn�t even given him her hand to kiss, which was an invariable feature of
their other encounters. Draco gazed after her in wonder.

�� Then he
turned, blew a kiss to Anne that he felt more deeply than normal, and aimed in
a different direction, so no one could say he was following Astoria even though he had left the
restaurant. He still thought a visit to Granger important and amusing enough to
arrange.

�� A new
thought rustled in his head and demanded his attention, and Draco smiled in a
way that would have shocked most of the people who knew him.

�� Things are changing.

*

�� Harry
grinned and had to keep from flinging off his Invisibility Cloak to do a dance
of triumph right there in the restaurant. He�d been sitting in an excellent
position to observe Draco�s expression when he read the letter.

�� He�s intrigued. He�ll pay attention. He�ll
flirt and woo and let himself be flirted with and wooed. And did you see the
way he looked when Astoria
spoke to him about ferrets? He can be suspicious, because that is some damn
specific information about his past, but I�ll still have the advantage because
he�ll want to listen. And now that Astoria seems to be a
good writer as well as a good talker, he�ll become more and more interested in
her, until he falls in love with her.

�� Harry
experienced a momentary stab of guilt. After all, the letters were lying to Draco, in a sense. And the
sentiments started with him and not Astoria, so
it was making Draco think things about Astoria
that weren�t true.

�� But then he
shrugged. Of course it wasn�t perfect. But in a perfect world he would have
been able to date Draco, and that wasn�t going to happen. At least he could put
Draco with someone he knew would make
him happy.

�� He sneaked
out the doors and then Apparated to the point�a neglected corner of Diagon Alley with some heavy walls around it�where he�d
arranged to meet Astoria.
She was pacing back and forth when he got there, and her eyes were alight. She
spun around to meet him with her wand drawn.

�� Harry
raised his hands calmingly, raised his eyebrows, and smiled.

�� Did you see him?� Astoria burst out, and did an impromptu dance
of her own that swung her expensive gown around her. Harry smiled wider. He
half-wished Draco could see her like that, with her eyes bright and her cheeks
flushed and her mouth slanted in laughter. It did her more good than all the
gowns in the world. But this was Draco Malfoy, and at the moment he needed a
polished surface, like a mirror, to attract him. Astoria�s real beauty would put him off as
much as Harry�s gender would. �Did you see his face when he read the letter?�

�� Harry
laughed and nodded. Yes, he thought Draco�s face in that moment would remain
one of his most treasured memories for the rest of his life. His eyes had
widened and his nostrils had flared as though someone had dared to pinch him, and his hands had closed on the letter and torn
a corner off the top. Then he had begun reading with a kind of attention that
Harry had never seen him give, even to debates with Muggleborns
where he wanted to win and look respectful at the same time. He had jumped up
from his chair as if stung when he was done reading.

�� He�s not perfect, Harry thought smugly. If he was, this plot would do no good at
all, because he wouldn�t need anyone to complete him and he wouldn�t need
interference in his life. But he still has that pride of his, and it needs to
be humbled a little. Being lied to will be good for him.

�� I couldn�t
believe it.� Astoria
clapped her hands, then clasped them together and smiled at him. �I was a
little uncomfortable at first, because I couldn�t believe he wouldn�t figure it
out. But now��

�� I know,�
Harry assured her. �I knew he�d immediately suspect my friend Hermione, because
not a lot of people know about the time he was Transfigured into a ferret and
he couldn�t imagine a man daring to
write him a love letter.� He felt a small pang as he said that, but resolutely
squeezed that emotion out of his heart. That was just the way the real world
was. �But when you start dropping references, it�s easier to think it must be
you.�

�� I owe you
so much,� said Astoria,
and her eyes had gone soft and misty.

�� Harry
kissed her cheek. �Just be ready to receive the reply he sends me,� he said,
and Apparated home while Astoria
was still nodding.

�� Yes, the next best thing to being able to
have Draco for myself is to be able to give him to someone like that.

*

�� Granger.�

�� Five years
since the war had not improved Granger�s looks a whit�or so Draco thought,
until he got close to her and saw the coldness of her eyes. It appealed to him
in a way that Astoria�s
young-girl openness (until tonight, anyway) had not. She gave him a short nod.
�Malfoy. I was working late, which is the only reason you�ve got an interview
at all. What is it? Do you need to know more about house-elf laws?�

�� Draco sat
down in a chair across from Granger�s desk, trying to decide what the best way
would be to ask her about the letter. Granger looked back at him impassively.
They were in the office she had long since earned in the Ministry. Draco found
it easier to think about the office than about her position, the title of which
shifted from week to week. Sometimes she was a special Undersecretary to the
Minister; sometimes she worked with the Department for the Control and
Regulation of Magical Creatures; sometimes she was part of Law Enforcement. It
depended on what her pet crusade was this time.

�� Draco would
say one thing for her. Granger was an expert at winning crusades, not simply proposing them.

�� And that might be a reason she sent me this
letter. Draco had wondered if it was Granger after all since Astoria confronted him,
but he had to ask. Now he thought he might have a motive for it, if she had. A
woman well-suited to winning crusades might decide she could win the heart of
any man she wanted, even one considerably above her. He took the letter from
his pocket and handed it to her. �I need to know if you wrote that,� he said
quietly.

�� Granger�s
eyes narrowed as she read. She said nothing, and the coldness of her expression
didn�t change. Instead, she set the letter down on her desk, drew out a
parchment, quill, and ink, dipped the quill, and wrote several quick lines,
which she handed over to him.

�� Draco
understood her point when he read the transcription of the first paragraph of
the letter. Her handwriting looked nothing like the sample he�d received. And yet. �There are handwriting charms,�
he said.

�� Granger
waved her wand, still without uttering a sound. Her words on the paper swirled
and changed. Draco compared them with the letter, and they looked nothing
alike. Then Granger cast several more common disguise charms, and each time,
her handwriting became unrecognizable from her original copy�but still nothing
like the letter Draco had received.

�� Draco
looked closely at her and cast a small charm that would tell him if Granger�s
heartbeat or breathing changed in the next few moments, which were some of the
telltale signs of a lie. �Did you send it with another disguise charm,
perhaps?�

�� Granger
finally spoke, and her voice was icy and disdainful enough to make Draco admire
her. �That you immediately decided on me
as the plausible explanation irritates me beyond belief, Malfoy. For the
record, no, I did not write you this letter. Plenty of people saw you
transformed into a ferret; it happened in the open, remember? Now, whether all
of them remembered that incident, I
can�t say. But I know Ron has talked about it in the Ministry before and even
enchanted an inkwell to bounce like you. Anyone could have overheard him.�

�� Draco bowed
his head slightly and stood. Astoria
looked like the more likely suspect after all. �Thank you, Granger, for
granting my request for an interview.�

�� Granger
smiled tightly at him and flicked her wand again. The sample of her handwriting
Draco clutched dissolved into ashes. �You�re welcome, Malfoy,� she said, and
turned back to her files.

�� If Granger was a pure-blood, with greater
beauty and more money and less of a work ethic so that she could devote herself
to me, Draco thought, as he took his leave, I might not mind her being the letter-writer.

�� And then he
shook his mind free of that thought, and free as well of the plan to use his
Auror connections to get Weasley sent on a humiliating assignment next week. He
had a letter to compose.

*

�� Harry�s
throat tightened when he opened the window to Grimoire,
who had flown to Draco�s house for an answer this morning. Even though Grimoire wasn�t a snowy owl, his eyes still looked far too
much like Hedwig�s for comfort.

�� He sighed
and accepted the letter, tossing the owl a scrap of his bacon as thanks. It was a long time ago, Harry, and you need
to stop thinking about it. Draco would probably say that you�re weak for
feeling that emotion.

�� Yet another reason that Draco and I will
never belong together.

�� Harry shook
his head and tore open the envelope. If he should stop thinking about anything,
it was what he couldn�t have and had already reconciled himself to not having.

�� He paused
when he got a whiff of the letter. Draco had used scented paper. Harry didn�t think he recognized the smell, but it
was musty and woodsy. He sneezed, then raised an eyebrow. There�s probably some symbolic significance there that Astoria would recognize in a moment.

�� He couldn�t
savor the scent, and he had no excuse for putting off the reading, so he looked
at the letter.

�� My writer,

�� I must call you that as you have given me no
name.

�� You might think the pronoun �my� presumptuous,
possessive, paralyzing. But I do not. You are proposing to enter into the most
intimate of relationships with me�that of opponent and critic. Many people have
aspired to enter that position in the past, but not so many in the last few
years. I warn you, my standards have only grown stricter rather than
slackening. I want someone who can understand the thoughts that pass through my
head, who will use me as a whetstone and allow me to sharpen myself on her.

�� Harry
smiled a little. �Astoria
will understand those thoughts,� he said aloud, but his eyes had already
skipped down to the next paragraph.

�� That you have chosen to approach me in
mystery adds an intriguing potential to your offer. One can see this as
weakness; you do not feel yourself strong enough to speak openly�

�� Harry
snorted and rattled the paper. �Keep dreaming, Malfoy.�

�� But one can also see it as strength. You
fling me a challenge of your own, and dare me to dig under the surface. If I
cannot find out who you are and pin the letters to you beyond the shadow of a
doubt, then I am as unworthy of you as many others would doubtless say you are
unworthy of me.

�� I could never resist a challenge. And in the
last few years I think I have shown myself more than fit to meet one.

�� The dance is begun, my writer. I will find
you. I will make you confess, in the end, that you have written these letters.
I will make you soften the mouth that you would use to speak harsh criticisms
and open it to admit my tongue.

�� I am coming.

�� My writer,

�� I am your

�� Draco Malfoy.

�� Harry
swallowed at the end of the letter, and closed his eyes. Part of him didn�t
want to show this to Astoria.
It seemed so intimate.

�� And part of
him was worried that Draco would keep his word and track the letters to their
real source.

�� Then Harry
shook his head. Astoria
is their real source, and you�re
worrying over nothing. And he thinks he�s writing to a woman, remember? Or he
wouldn�t be that open with the flirtation. There�s more than one reason he�ll
never figure out that it�s you.

�� Hermione
had told him about Draco�s very strange visit to her. She had, of course,
recognized his handwriting on the letter. And she had warned Harry sharply
about playing games with Malfoy, but she hadn�t given him away or told him to
stop.

�� And there
had never been a sign, she said, that he had considered Ron or Harry as the
letter writers.

�� Men aren�t even on his map as lovers. He
thinks the writer must be a woman, and that will have him looking in the wrong
direction. And even if he did find out some distant day, by then he�ll be in
love and willing to forgive what happened. If he despises me, it�s no more than
he already did.

�� Before he
copied the letter and sent the copy to Astoria,
Harry did trace two words with one lingering finger.

�� My writer.

�� But then he
sighed, and went to make the man he loved happy.

*

�� Word_Slave: Thank you!

�� yaoiObsessed: Thanks! I have no intention of giving up this
story; it�s my comedic break from the darker and angstier
story I�m writing.

�� paigeey07:
Thank you!

�� butterpie: Thank you! I think it does help that Astoria is a willing
participant in the scheme, rather than Harry trying to use her as a recipient
of Draco�s love without involving her.

�� Thrnbrooke: Thanks for reviewing.

�� chatonne: No fear of that; I haven�t read or seen Cyrano.
Mostly, this is a comedy, though with some light touches of angst.

�� SP777:
Thank you!

�� No, this is
not a challenge. The sanctuary is more to give Draco something to do than
anything else.

�� And this
story is a comedy, based on Harry and Draco�s reactions to the situation.

�� I�ve
thought about it, but I know just about nothing about sports and so I�m afraid
I�d embarrass myself.

��
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Providence