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Starfire Nights	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3526 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
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�� I may have a chance at being free.

�� That was
the first thought Draco had when he awoke the next morning. He lay still for
some time, looking up at the ceiling of his room. It was made of marble, like
most of the other ceilings in the Manor, his parents being such traditionalists
in some matters that Draco wouldn�t dream of asking them to change. But there
was wood around the edges of the ceiling, and Draco had left his personality
behind there as best he could, by casting spells that worked the wood into
bright abstract patterns.

�� He stood up
then and shook his head. It was ridiculous to let so much hope ride on Potter.
After all, the man was only doing as Draco had asked because Draco was
blackmailing him.

�� But it was
more than he had had the day before, and Draco kept that in mind as he went to
shower and then downstairs to eat breakfast with his parents in the cavernous
chamber that was the central dining room.

�� His mother
already sat at the table, her eyes bent on a blue flower in front of her that
had certainly come from the gardens. Draco didn�t know what kind it was, and he
didn�t know if he wanted to know why his mother was staring at it so intently,
tilting her head to the side sometimes as if listening for a voice to speak to
her in return. He kissed her and sank down into the chair across the table from
her, looking at Lucius�s empty seat. �Has Father been delayed?�

�� He went to
inspect the gardens,� his mother replied, not lifting her gaze. �There was
heavy wind last night. You know that he likes to make sure that not too many
bushes were denuded of their leaves and blossoms by weather conditions like
those.�

�� Draco kept
his silence and his opinions to himself, but he knew the real reason his father
had gone outside. It was to walk and meditate, to think of ways for restoring
the Malfoy name or ways of keeping control of Draco or ways of looking better
to the pure-blood social circles that still surrounded him and considered him
part of the center of their world. The house-elves were perfectly capable of
taking care of the gardens, and would already have cleaned up any damage.

�� But his
father was incapable of doing anything simple. He always had to dress up the
relatively normal things he did in talk of the majestic. Draco considered it
his major fault.

�� They waited
until the glass doors at the far side of the room opened and Lucius strode in,
the expression on his face implacable. If
he was walking among flowers, Draco thought, arrested as usual by the
contrast between the way his father looked and the amount of power he actually
wielded, he�d be trampling on them.

�� Good
morning,� Lucius said emptily into the middle of the air, to no one in
particular, and then took his usual place a chair down from Narcissa. Food
appeared at once, along with the plates. Lucius picked up his fork and began
eating without glancing left or right.

�� Draco felt
a muscle tighten in his cheek as he applied himself to his own toast and eggs.
Ordinary food, but his father ate it as if it were a matter of life and death
how many times he chewed.

�� Then he
sighed. This was only one of a number of poses that his father ran through, as
regular as water tumbling downhill. If anything, Draco ought to be used to it
by now and to have forgiven Lucius all the little sins that he went through in
pursuit of power. He was quite ready to do the same thing to make large amounts
of money and to have his freedom.

�� The difference between me and my father is that
I don�t expect anyone else to believe it with me, Draco thought, tracking
his tongue around the outside of his lip to capture a bit of toast that had
escaped. I�ll do things on my own and
then ask people to evaluate my efforts. Father expects respect before he�s done
anything.

�� Don�t lick
your lips like that, Draco,� Lucius said, without looking away from whatever
middle distance fascinated him as he ate his breakfast. �It�s undignified for a
Malfoy.� And he bit into his eggs precisely, to show how it should be done.

�� Yes,
Father,� Draco said meekly.

�� His mother
glanced at him. She didn�t do it sharply, but that she did it at all, instead
of spending the breakfast communing with her flower, was unusual. Draco knew
she would want to speak with him when the meal was done.

�� Lucius placed
the plate back on the table when he was finished, announced, �I am walking in
the front gardens now,� and strode out of the dining rooms by the front doors.
His plate vanished as the elves moved in.

�� You ought
to be more patient with him,� Narcissa said, when the doors had closed and
there was less chance of Lucius hearing them. Unless he had left eavesdropping
spells in the room, of course, which he had done before, but Draco had already
cast a spell that cleared the room of those when he came in. He had developed
his own repertoire of tricks and habitual poses. It was only ever his mother
who noticed they were poses, though.

�� Why?�
Draco demanded. �Moping around like this won�t give him the respect he craves.�

�� But it is
his privilege,� Narcissa said, leaning back in her chair and clasping her hands
on her lap. Her plate vanished as well. �The way he chooses to live. The way he
puts up with not having that respect. And you know every variation of those
moods. What is it that plagues you now?�

�� Draco
hesitated. There had been a time when he had thought he could tell his mother
everything. Then he had thought it was nothing. Now he knew the truth lay
somewhere in between, but he could not always tell where the line lay.

�� Narcissa�s
eyes only grew brighter, and she leaned forwards. Draco knew then that he might
as well confess as much as he had set up.

�� I think I
have a means of promoting my business,� he said.

�� Narcissa
tilted her head to the side, and, just like that, Draco�s triumph became a small
vanishing point of light.

�� There are
other things you could do,� she said, so gently that it hurt like a knife in
the gut. �You could achieve your own political position in the Ministry. There
are people who would listen to you, people who would place money in your hands
if you made speeches. And I have told you about the artifacts that my family
stored in hidden places which might��

�� No,� Draco snapped. �I�ve told you
before, Mother. I want freedom on my own terms, not the terms of the family.�

�� You can�t
escape the blood in your veins,� Narcissa said, �though it seems that you
oftentimes try. What I am giving you is a means of being less ashamed of it.�

�� Draco took
several deep breaths before he could answer. �Yes,� he said, �perhaps you are.
And perhaps I�m the one who�s violating the terms that you taught me, and who�s
disloyal to ideals I should believe in.�

�� Narcissa�s
tiny arch of her neck said that she had always believed that, and was glad that
Draco was finally coming around to the side of wisdom.

�� But it�s
still what I want,� Draco said. �Not respect, the way Father does�or no respect
but his, which he�ll never give me while he thinks of me as a possession. But freedom. The freedom to act as I will,
to make money in my own way. If I�m going to coerce them, let me at
least coerce them in my own name.�

�� He
finished, and shut his eyes while his mother looked at him in wonder. He hadn�t
meant to show his dreams like that. His mother would treat their exposure much
like the exposure of undergarments.

�� But who
gave you those dreams, Draco?� she asked at last, her voice as soft as the
banners that Mrs. Wade had hung at her party last night. �Who taught you that
those things mattered? Not me. Not your father. I know that your professors at
Hogwarts only spoke to you like that when they were trying to entice you to
join Dumbledore�s side of the war. You didn�t learn it from your yearmates, since you were intelligent enough not to listen
to the ones who weren�t in Slytherin. Where did it come from?�

�� Draco shook
his head, eyes and mouth still shut. He couldn�t tell her about the burning
desire that had grown in him during the war, when he had been nothing but a
tool that the Dark Lord used to torture people. Sometimes
other people, sometimes Draco himself, but never more than a tool. He
could have been a whip; he could have been a hammer. Nothing
more than that.

�� He had
changed. The more the yearning for freedom had to retreat into his heart, the
more intense it grew. And he came out of the war with the desire to soar to a
height from which he could overlook the world on his own,
a desire that had only increased when he realized his father had no intention
of granting him his wings.

�� His mother
was the best friend he had in the world. They understood each other at levels
too deep for speech. But she was still unaware of this desire, or at least its beginning, and Draco wanted to keep it from her. He wouldn�t
have shown her this passion, made the speech he had, if he�d been in possession
of his senses.

�� He waited
until the silence grew gentler, and then his mother said, �I will not ask, if
you prefer not to answer me.�

�� Draco
opened his eyes and saw her standing on the far side of the dining room, the
way Lucius had come rather than the way he�d gone, leaning her hand against the
door and studying him with wide, interested eyes.

�� But
someday,� Narcissa continued, �you will need to speak of it, and then it might
help if you had practice.� She hesitated, then added, as if it had suddenly occurred
to her that she might need to, �I could never despise you, no matter what
happened.�

She went into the gardens, and
Draco was left to lean his head against the back of his chair and breathe.

I
have a chance at freedom. And Potter is going to give it to me.

*

�� I couldn�t
believe that he got away.� Ron was shaking his head as he told the story of his
latest adventure in trying to capture a Dark wizard. Sometimes it seemed to
Harry that more wizards got away from him than he captured. �What kind of idiot
climbs out a window he�d have to starve himself to pass and then over dozens of
razor-edged wards?�

�� Harry
laughed because he knew Ron expected him to, and took another sip of
Firewhisky. Right now, he was ordinary Harry Potter, drinking with his best
friend in the kitchen of his best friend�s house. Ron was the only one home
right now, since Hermione was staying late at the Ministry to work on a case.
They�d had dinner together, and comfortable
conversation. Or at least Ron had a comfortable running monologue, and Harry
listened.

�� He was
ordinary Harry Potter on the surface. Under the surface, he was putting Lionel
Truth together more and more by the moment. Now Lionel had weight and heft, and
Harry knew the reason for his charming smile, for the way he moved, and that he
was an excellent dancer and preferred wine to Firewhisky.

�� Harry
grimaced for a moment. He didn�t like wine much, himself. But when he was being
Lionel, it would taste good in his mouth. That was the depth of his art, the
thing he most loved and would never share with anyone, his precious secret.

�� Are you
all right, mate?� Ron had picked up on the grimace.

�� Harry chose
gentle reminiscence from the closet
of masks that he kept for Ron and Hermione and looked up. �Just thinking about
someone else who got away,� he said. �Remember when we confronted Pettigrew at
Hogwarts?�

�� Ron
grimaced in turn and shook his head. �We should have killed him then and there
and saved ourselves a lot of trouble,� he muttered. �Maybe Sirius would still
be alive.�

�� Harry
nodded, and was sad, but the sadness bounced around the inside of his head like
an echo in an empty room. Lionel hadn�t had a relative to lose. By the time his
parents had died, he had convinced himself he had never cared much about them.

�� And
Remus,� Ron went on, with a faraway look in his eyes. He started drinking more
heavily, gulping from the glass, and Harry relaxed. Ron drank like that when he
thought about the war. Hermione wouldn�t thank Harry if she came home and found
her husband drunk, but it did lessen the chance that Ron would find out in any
degree that Harry was in charge of Metamorphosis. �That was a waste. And Fred.�
His voice hushed on the last name, and he stared into the glass.

�� Harry
reached across the table and took the glass away, so that Hermione couldn�t say
he hadn�t tried. Lionel flinched at the smell of the Firewhisky and looked
around for something finer. Harry put the glass on the table and cocked his
head at Ron. �Did you want to go see Teddy? You look as if you need to.�

�� God, yes.� Ron surged to his feet and smiled at Harry.
�You�re so good at reading people.�

�� All part of the job, Harry kept himself
from saying, and went to fetch his cloak.

�� In his
head, Lionel complained about the smell clinging to him and the taste in his
mouth, and behind him, a hundred other people patiently awaited their chance to
be born.

*

�� Draco
grimaced and shook away the taste of candyfloss that
seemed to spring into his mouth almost immediately whenever he arrived at
Unruffled. It was the name of the place that did it, he was convinced. It
seeped into the atmosphere, and made it almost as cloying and cutesy and coy as
the person who had named it imagined it did.

�� Unruffled
had probably originally been a manor house, but was now a silver-colored
palace, topped with twisted minarets that were for decoration only; there was
no way they would support the weight of someone who might want to walk on them.
In front of Unruffled was a placid, silver-blue lake, where white swans glided.
Always pairs of swans, and never less than perfect. If not for the fact that
Draco didn�t think Urania Talleyrand had the skill to
create such glamours, he would have suspected them of being illusions, not real
birds.

�� The grass
was perfectly neat and short, and such a flat green that Draco instinctively
attempted to walk across it carefully, thinking it might be slick. It was
covered with star-shaped white and golden flowers that looked no more real than
anything else on the estate. Now and then a slender white birch would unfold
from the darkness, with branches so delicate it looked as though one could snap
them between a thumb and forefinger. Tame white deer wandered in all
directions, looking at the world through big blue eyes. Draco had even seen
unicorns, though he was sure those
were illusions.

�� For the
Midsummer�s Eve party, Draco was disgusted to note, Talleyrand had cast some
spell that affected the sky itself. As soon as Draco passed through the
spun-sugar gates, the sky turned a dark blue dotted with unrealistic silver
stars, as though he was walking through the inside of a sapphire. Elves�not
house-elves, but the delicate, impossible creatures that some people thought
house-elves were descended from�giggled and danced in the bushes, shot the
guests with heart-tipped arrows that didn�t hurt, and then faded away when
someone came near. There were garlands of swaying flowers on the birch trees,
around the necks of the deer, and�Draco gagged�around the necks of the swans
that swam in solemn procession on the lake.

�� It was
really too much. Draco decided, as he strode past the lake and up to one of the
numerous tables laden with glasses of wine, that he
would not be responsible for his actions this evening if someone dared to
comment on how pretty it all was.

�� He scooped
up a glass of wine and drank it without tasting. That proved to be a mistake.
It tasted foul, and Draco spluttered several times until he managed to get
himself under control. Then he turned around and scanned the crowd restlessly
for Potter.

�� He didn�t
see Potter, but he did see someone else, who made him blink. �Blaise!� he
called, as soon as he got over his surprise. �I thought you were out of the
country.�

�� Blaise
loped up to him, grinning. He wore that grin at the most inappropriate moments,
sometimes, but Draco was glad to see him. Blaise was one of the few people he
had remained friends with after Hogwarts; Pansy was the other. At times he
envied Blaise his freedom. Blaise had the power to travel to another country
any time he wanted, since he had no great name to keep up and no restrictive
parent. His mother enjoyed freedom and the benefits of it too much herself to
restrict her only child.

�� I was,�
Blaise said. �But I have to tell you, no one in Italy knows how to throw a
proper Midsummer�s Eve party.� He reached out and picked up a glass of wine
from a server carrying a tray past, so neatly that Draco doubted the server
would notice it was gone until she reached her destination, whatever that was.
�So I came back to England for the Starfire Nights.�

�� Draco
rolled his eyes. �Blaise, no one calls them that anymore.�

�� Yes, they
do,� Blaise said. �I do. So that makes one more person than no one.�

�� Draco
fought to keep from putting his head in his hands, but it was hard.

�� Why are you here?� Blaise asked. �I thought you
said once that you�d never set foot at Unruffled unless they paid you.�

�� I�ve hired
someone to help me market Malfoy�s Machineries,� Draco lied smoothly. That was
truthful enough, after all, and that the person was Potter and the terms of the
�hire� not exactly traditional need not concern Blaise. �He suggested that we
make our debut at parties like this.�

�� Blaise
looked around in interest. �Well, that would be something different at
Unruffled, at least,� he admitted. �Where is he?�

�� Draco
preserved a cool expression of superiority, because he was not sure that he
wanted to admit that he had no idea what his hire would look like. Perhaps he
could recognize Potter through a disguise afterwards, but Potter would probably
take pains not to show any of his real traits tonight. �Coming.�

�� He found
out afterwards how accurate his words were.

�� Something
leaped the fence around the estate like a falling star and galloped madly
towards them. Draco stared with his mouth open until he realized what it was,
his eyes making sense of angles and edges of light.

�� When he
did, he felt like laughing.

�� It was a
tall man with a grey cloak blowing behind him, green eyes several shades
lighter than Potter�s, and long, light brown hair that tumbled above the cloak.
He rode a silver-shod unicorn�a glamoured horse, Draco told himself, it has to be a glamoured
horse�and carried an enormous bunch of white flowers. He was simultaneously
part of the atmosphere of Unruffled in a way none of the other guests were and
a wild, total contrast to it.

�� He tugged
on thin strips of moonlight that encircled the unicorn�s head like reins, and
the beast tossed its shining horn and jarred to a stop. Potter leaped off and
bowed to no one in particular, or perhaps the entire circle of gaping
spectators, and then tossed his bouquet of white flowers into the air. They
grew wings as they rose, and a ring of sleet-colored butterflies fell down
around him. Several of them clung to Potter�s hair and shoulders; others soared
towards the buffet tables; more flew off towards the lake, where the swans
arched their necks up to see them.

�� The
�unicorn� was cropping the grass. Potter patted its neck, which made Draco all
the more sure that it was a horse, and then strode towards them. He halted an
inch away from Draco and nodded familiarly. Draco managed to make himself nod back, but it was a near thing. He was dazed.

�� Potter does know how to make a fucking
entrance.

�� Greetings!� Potter said, his voice
audible to everyone in sight without being loud. Draco couldn�t decide if that
was glamours or just the way he had chosen to pitch his voice. There were
probably lessons that could make you sound like that, though Draco had never
taken them. �My name is Lionel Truth. I�m here to help a good friend of mine. I
suspect that many of you have never heard of the business that he�s setting up,
and that�s simply wrong. If it�s
benefited me, what couldn�t it do for you?� He ducked his head and looked up at
the watchers through lowered eyelashes.

�� There was a
delighted laugh, and Urania Talleyrand herself came
forwards to take Potter�s hands. She was clad in floating white, of course, and
there was a garland of silver flowers in her hair. Draco thought he saw one of
the white flowers Potter had tossed up there, perhaps transformed back from a
butterfly. She was shaking her head, and she returned Potter coy look for coy
look.

�� Anyone who
can do something like that is welcome here,� she said. �Even
for an effort at promotion.�

�� Potter
ducked his head and kissed Talleyrand�s knuckles. �My
dear lady,� he murmured. �I would have asked your permission, but of course
that would have spoiled the surprise.�

�� Of course
it would have,� she said, and squeezed his wrists again, peering into his face
as though that would tell her who he was. �I�m delighted that you didn�t. And
now, tell me. Is your name really Lionel Truth?�

�� Of course.�

�� The thing
was, when Potter said it, Draco believed it.
His voice was slightly deeper than Potter�s, his accent faintly different, but
rich and full of fun. He sounded�in an indefinable way�like someone who had
lived the kind of life that his clothes and actions and magic proclaimed he
had.

�� Then
doubly welcome,� said Talleyrand, �for giving my little party something of the
ornament of the absurd.� She curtsied to him, spreading her robes wide around
her, and then glided off.

�� There was a
prompt explosion of talk and laughter. Potter�Draco found it simpler to keep
thinking of him that way, rather than granting him the name he had
adopted�turned to face Draco and nodded.

�� We were
going to discuss promotion efforts,� he said. �Did you want me to tell them how
Malfoy�s Machineries has changed my life, or did you want something a bit more
subtle than that?� His outrageous, conspiratorial smile said that he knew he
had already dug subtlety�s grave, with the way he entered.

�� This isn�t Potter, Draco thought, even
as he knew it was and forced his mouth to respond to Potter�s conversational
gambit. Potter can�t lie so perfectly. He
can�t subsume himself so perfectly.

�� But the
evidence of the Wades� party said he could. Draco knew that he would never have
suspected Miranda Goldreyer of being other than she
was if he hadn�t happened to see that one movement from the corner of his eye.
Even then, he hadn�t been sure.

�� Potter is an actor.

�� He was, but
it caused a strange mix of emotions in Draco, even though at the moment it was
helping him. Admiration for Potter�s powers. Wonder
that he had never done the same thing in school to get out of trouble, if it
was so easy for him.

�� Uncertainty
about what would happen next.

*

�� You might
as well tell them how it changed your life,� Malfoy said, and his eyes added a
final murderous comment: Since this is all made-up anyway.

�� Harry
wanted to laugh giddily, and wasn�t sure if that was his merriment or Lionel�s.
Really, Malfoy should have known how it would be. He had hired someone from
Metamorphosis, someone who could help him.
The quiet personas Harry could have called up wouldn�t have done anything
worthwhile, and of course having the famous Harry Potter beside him would make
everyone stare and ask how Malfoy had managed that, concentrating on Harry instead of the products.

�� I hate it when they concentrate on me.

�� But, like
this, he could walk among them and no one would ever know he was there. And he
had spent the day becoming familiar with Malfoy�s Machineries. One of Lionel�s
key traits was that he could quickly acquire superficial expertise, enough to
sound knowledgeable in the face of people who didn�t know much about the topic.
He was going to do that now.

�� He turned
around, considering whether they had a big enough audience to begin, or whether
he should do something to attract attention. There was Blaise Zabini, of all
people, and a scattering of pure-blood witches and wizards that Harry
recognized from other parties, including some who had hired him in the past.
And Urania Talleyrand continued to linger nearby,
only distracted as necessary by people coming up to tell her how much they
enjoyed the party. That was more than enough to begin with.

�� Harry
struck a dramatic pose, lifting his arm above his head and snapping his
fingers. Another bouquet of flowers was in his hand in instants, this one dark
blue. He would have blushed with embarrassment to do something like that in an
ordinary situation, no matter how powerful his magic was, but Lionel loved
being the center of attention. He turned in a slow circle, so everyone could
see how big the flowers were and note the silver centers. There were a few low
laughs of anticipation.

�� You see
this?� Lionel asked in his soft, eager voice. �Anyone can conjure flowers. The
trick is keeping them alive around the house after they�ve been brought into
existence. A vase and water? Anyone can try that, but
most of the time it doesn�t work. So how do you do it?�

�� Most of us
use house-elves.� That was Mary Auburn, a sniffy
witch whom Harry had worked for before and didn�t like. She had wanted someone
from Metamorphosis only to appear as arm-candy at several parties, and Harry�s
skills were worth more than that.

�� The ones
who can afford it do so, certainly.� Harry tilted his head in respect at her. �But what about the half-bloods and Muggleborns who can�t, or who
don�t have the good fortune to inherit house-elves? Even some
pure-bloods are in that situation.�

�� The crowd
shifted smugly, mentally dividing the universe into two kinds of people, those
who could afford house-elves and those who couldn�t, and placing themselves on
the right side of that line. Harry turned again in a circle, still waving the
flowers, though less hard this time because he didn�t want the petals to fly
off. That would do his demonstration no good whatsoever.

�� He caught a
glimpse of Malfoy watching him, eyes so intent that they would have been
uncomfortable under any circumstances. Harry grinned at him. Probably wondering how in the world I can do
this and get away with it.

�� Leaving him
to wonder, Harry reached out and took the vase he�d purchased that afternoon
from a knapsack on his shoulder. The knapsack was glamoured
to appear as part of his robes until he opened it, and then the watchers
noticed. That was important. Harry didn�t want them to believe that he�d
conjured the vase like the flowers. This was Malfoy�s product, and he had to
promote Malfoy�s business.

�� The vase
was simple in form, a crystal affair with a rose worked into the side. It
appeared to have no magic about it. Harry admired the skill in that. Malfoy had
probably decided that few pure-bloods who would buy his products wanted
something ostentatious, and many others would probably want it to seem as if
they simply had the ability to perform whatever minor miracles they wanted,
rather than the ability to invest in powerful spells.

�� Now,
watch,� Harry said, and placed the stems of the flowers carefully in the vase.

�� There was a
soft gurgle, and a mild sparkle that could easily be taken as light playing off
the water that the vase was filling with. Harry smiled and turned around in
another circle so that everyone could see that the water was spreading out from
the bottom of the vase, rising until it was a neat distance beneath the lip,
and then stopping.

�� This vase
is designed to keep flowers alive,� Harry said. �No matter
what.� He turned the vase over.

�� The flowers
didn�t fall out, and neither did the water. In fact, they only swayed a little,
like the toys on a mobile pushed slightly by inquisitive fingers. The vase
sparkled more brightly, and the flowers appeared to grow healthier.

�� That�s impressive,� someone admitted, far enough back in the crowd
that Harry couldn�t easily see his face. Harry smiled Lionel�s smile. That�s so he doesn�t have to look like a fool if
this doesn�t work. �But what happens if someone smashes the vase?�

�� Show them,
Truth,� Draco said, his voice so cool that part of Harry�s admiration shifted
to him.

�� Harry set
the vase down and backed away several steps, then aimed his wand at the vase. �Reducto!�

�� The spell
flew towards the crystal. It bulged when the magic hit it, and sparkled more
brightly than ever, but it didn�t shatter. In fact, the sparkles won, and the
last, lingering traces of the spell in the air vanished.

�� Several
people applauded, looking less embarrassed about doing so because Urania Talleyrand was leading them all. �Splendid!� she
called out. �But how has it changed your life, exactly, Mr. Truth?� She smiled
at him in a way that let him know she suspected that wasn�t his real name.

�� Suspect all you like, Harry thought,
smiling back. After he finishes helping
Malfoy, Lionel Truth vanishes, more�s the pity.

�� Well,� Harry
said, lowering his voice confidingly and looking around as though he was afraid
of someone overhearing. The circle around him promptly drew tighter. That trick
worked almost every time. �I�m too poor to have house-elves, you see. I know my
place.� He lowered his eyes modestly. �But I do like to have a fine house and
fine clothes and general finery around the place. This lets me have them, while
at the same time not expending a lot of money or time or energy trying to
obtain something that I shouldn�t have anyway. It�s removed a small but
permanent worry from the back of my mind.�

�� Heads
nodded. They would be more impressed by that than by more extravagant claims,
Harry knew. Pure-bloods were willing to pay a lot for convenience, or rather
not to be inconvenienced.

�� And in the
meantime,� Harry said, �I can give you testimonials about other things, if
you�re interested in them.� He fingered the cloak over his shoulders, which had
also come from Malfoy�s shop, and then paused. �But I think I�ll leave you to
think about it and experience it for yourselves.� Not too much at first, he
judged. This crowd would resent being pushed in a certain direction. Harry
would offer the option, dangle the temptation, and then leave it to them to
decide what they wanted to do. �I�m always here if you have more questions, of
course.� He swept a flourishing bow and turned towards the food tables.

�� People
started to call out inquiries about prices and manufacturing ability, but Harry
laughed and shook his head. �Those are the
sorts of questions you should direct towards the owner,� he said.

�� They
shifted to Malfoy. Malfoy straightened and met them. Harry watched him with the
same sense of detached admiration he used when he thought about the spells
Malfoy put on his inventions. He�s very
good at what he does.

�� Malfoy, as
busy as he was with giving out information and defining his inventory, found
time to give Harry another of those long, intent stares. Harry shrugged back
and picked up a plate of food. Malfoy could stare all he liked. It wasn�t as
though he didn�t know exactly who Harry was and why he had agreed to do this,
and he couldn�t want more specific information about Harry�s glamours and
Transfigurations than Harry could want about his spells on objects. It was
enough that both existed and were good.

�� Besides, he
was still working for Malfoy, in a way, even as he ate pasties and biscuits
with tiny bits of white chocolate in the middle. He was flirting scandalously
with Urania Talleyrand, and where she drifted and
laughed and bestowed her attention, other people would follow.

�� And yet
Malfoy went on staring.

�� Harry
rolled his eyes. What else did he imagine he�d buy for blackmail?
My undying love?

*

�� Do you
have a ring that cleans itself and doesn�t tarnish?� The woman in front of him,
one of the Ullertons from Draco�s observation of her
face, although he couldn�t remember her name offhand, ran one lock of dark hair
through her fingers and smiled at him. �Or haven�t you made such things yet?� Her
expression said that she thought him incapable of doing so.

�� Of course
I have,� Draco said. He hadn�t come prepared with all the goods that he
thought, or hoped, people might want to buy from Malfoy�s Machineries after
Potter was done; it would be useless, since he would always leave out something
that they might request. But he had brought a pamphlet, and he pulled it out
and turned to a page that displayed an excellent photograph of a silver ring.
�Rather like this?�

�� The Ullerton witch frowned and looked just the slightest bit
disappointed as she bent forwards to study the photograph. Then she sighed and
said, �Yes, although that one looks rather small for my fingers.�

�� They
self-size, of course,� Draco said smoothly, watching from the corner of his eye
as Talleyrand laughed like a braying donkey. Potter bore it well, and in fact
said something else that set her off again. Talleyrand�s
flowers had slid down her head, but she didn�t seem to notice. She was totally
involved in Potter�s conversation.

�� The man was
unnerving, Draco thought. Somehow he had changed, and Draco didn�t know how.

�� It was
silly, when he thought about it in more rational terms, his expectation that he
would know if Potter changed greatly from the man he�d been in school. Why should
he? They were separated by years of growth and years of growing stability in
the wizarding world, where most people had tried to shove the war behind them
and get on with their lives. And if Potter was such a good liar, then Draco
couldn�t blame himself for being taken in by his
deception like everyone else.

�� But still
the conviction was there, and if he didn�t know where it came from, he still
had to work around it.

�� Do you
have cloaks?� That was Blaise, pressing forwards with a bland expression on his
face and wildly sparkling eyes, pretending he was just another customer. Draco
looked at him warningly, and Blaise nodded. �So you don�t, then.�

�� Yes, we
do.� Draco produced another pamphlet, and gave it to Blaise when he showed no
inclination to lean forwards. Blaise had such a grave look as he gazed down at
the pamphlet that Draco ground his teeth. He was going to ruin the game if he
didn�t watch out.

�� But other
people were asking other questions now, and Draco had to answer them�questions
about bathtubs, about other clothing and jewelry, about the vase that Potter
had demonstrated, about sinks that washed their own dishes, and about machines
that he didn�t have yet but could create with a minimum modification of spells.
He had no time for worrying about Blaise or keeping an eye on Potter.

�� When he
next got a breather and could look around, it was to see the objects of his
worry together. Blaise was speaking to Potter in a casual, friendly manner that
wouldn�t have fooled anyone who knew him, nodding even before Potter replied to
his questions. Draco drifted in their direction, and paused to choose among the
food close enough that he could hear every word.

�� Truth,�
Blaise said. �I don�t remember hearing of anyone with your name.�

�� Well, of
course you haven�t,� Potter said, in that generous false voice that he seemed
to have adopted because it could convince almost anyone of almost anything.
�I�m not a pure-blood. And I�m afraid my father was�� he glanced around
theatrically, then lowered his tone ��a Muggle.�

�� Even
then,� Blaise said, �you have to admit it�s an unusual name. Especially
when combined with your first one.�

�� Draco
winced. Lionel. Yes, indeed. Potter, why couldn�t you have
chosen someone who was a bit less flamboyant to represent met?

�� But the
answer came almost immediately, and it was so obvious that Draco couldn�t have
asked Potter to do anything else in good conscience. Because someone less flamboyant would have sold less of your products. Draco
was certain that he would make several sales tonight, and all to pure-bloods,
which would boost his profile immensely.

�� Potter
laughed, and his laughter wasn�t false or affected in any of the ways that
Draco had been trained to listen for. Whoever Potter had chosen to give him
lessons in acting and control of the voice, Draco thought absently as he chewed
on his pasty, that person had been good.
�Yes, that was my mother�s fault. She was so excited at marrying someone with
the last name of Truth that she chose an unusual first name to complement it.�
He shook his head. �I have thought of changing it, but then I wouldn�t really
be the same person. Your name defines so much of your personal identity, don�t
you find?� He leaned in towards Blaise the way the Ullerton
witch had bent to read the pamphlet.

�� Blaise
danced a little backwards, a small line of contempt curving the corner of his
mouth. Draco knew what he was thinking. Someone who believed that would believe
many other things, none of them probably that sane. �I don�t find it so, no,�
Blaise said. �But there are plenty of beliefs in the world.�

�� Yes,�
Potter said, shrugging and taking a bite of a tiny sandwich on his plate. �And
those are mine.�

�� Blaise
still had a half-meditative look, but he left Potter alone and nodded to Draco.
�Good luck,� he said. �Your products do look expensive.� And with that
ambiguous tribute, he wound his way back into the crowd.

�� Draco
stepped towards Potter and lowered his voice. �Does anyone here suspect you?�

�� Of course
not,� Potter said, still using Truth�s voice. Draco found himself
unaccountably irritated. The other night, he had sounded like himself, and not
like Miranda Goldreyer, at least once Draco found him
out. �Why would they? I familiarized myself with your products thoroughly.
Anyone would swear that I�ve used them for years, except your business hasn�t
been around for years.�

�� Not that,�
Draco said. �I meant, does anyone suspect�the other thing.�

�� Potter
laughed again. �What other thing would that be? I assure you I�m not your
friend, and no one has questioned me on the depth of our acquaintance. But I
can make up a plausible lie if they do.�

�� Who you are,� Draco hissed. He couldn�t believe
it was so hard to drag an acknowledgment out of Potter that he was playing a
role. He seemed to vanish inside it so completely, as if he abandoned himself
to it.

�� Why? When they were in Hogwarts, Draco
had thought that no one else was as indomitably individual as Potter was.

�� I�m Lionel
Truth,� Potter said, and there was a slight, mean pleasure in his eyes for a
moment. Then it vanished, and it was Truth who patted Draco�s arm and said,
�Don�t worry about it. The rumors of how I arrived and what I said should have
spread into the rest of the party by now. I�m going to follow them and see if I
can sell anything.� And off he went.

�� Draco
stared fixedly at his back. His hand slowly closed on his plate, and he didn�t
notice or care, until he was startled by the sound of something ringing. He
blinked, looked foolishly at the ground, and realized that he had broken a chip
off the porcelain edge of the plate.

�� Tsk, tsk, Draco,� Blaise
murmured, standing beside him with another full wineglass and a devilish grin.
�Anyone would swear that he�s an old lover of yours who agreed to be here under
duress, the way you look at him.�

�� Draco
scorched Blaise with a glance. His friend was one of the few people in the
wizarding world who knew that Draco liked to sleep with men as well as women.
�Only one half of that statement is true,� he said.

�� He was
your lover?� Blaise let the wineglass dangle from his fingers and whistled
softly. �What�s he like in bed?�

�� Ferocious,�
Draco said, knowing that this was foolish and not caring. Potter would surely
feel insulted when Blaise went up to him with this information, the way Draco
knew he would. But not insulted enough to reveal his identity, Draco thought.
He might as well get some revenge for the moments of uneasiness Potter had
handed him tonight. �An experience.�
Blaise�s eyes grew dark, and Draco laughed outright. �You covet him?�

�� He�s
handsome,� Blaise said. �And it�s more than that. I know he means to be charming, and it ought to
put me off, but it doesn�t.�

�� Draco
nodded, wordless. He knew exactly what Blaise meant. Who would have known that
Potter bore that seed of glory within himself, the light that could draw other
people to him based on the sound of his voice alone?

�� Maybe it�s not Potter who has it, but Lionel
Truth.

�� Draco
frowned. He had heard of serious actors who became absorbed in their roles, to
the point that they lost sleep over the character�s problems or refused to eat
food that their character had an allergy to. Could something similar have
happened to Potter? When he was on the job, he was the person he imitated, even if that person didn�t exist?

�� That would explain my irritation. I thought I
was hiring Potter, but I only hired one of the people he can be.

�� If you
don�t care,� Blaise said casually, watching Draco�s face the whole time, �and
you�re thoroughly done with him, I might take a look.�

�� Draco just
nodded. One of the reasons Blaise spent a lot of time in other wizarding
communities was that he had a disdain for England�s disdain of anything other
than plain heterosexuality. �Do as you like. Don�t expect him to accept you
without question, though.�

�� Blaise
sauntered away, grinning. Draco watched him go, and tried to comfort himself by
thinking about what would happen when straight little Potter was suddenly
confronted with the implication that he�d been Draco�s lover, and no easy way
to deny it.

�� That is enough, Draco thought as he turned
back to answering questions. Revenge will
have to be, because God knows Potter won�t give me anything else.

*

�� Truth.�

�� Harry
turned around. He had been trying to coax people into asking more definite
questions about Malfoy�s products, but it seemed all they wanted to talk about
was his arrival at the party and the spells he had used to conjure the flowers.
He would have shaken his head at their backwardness if he hadn�t thought that
doing so would jeopardize sales of Malfoy�s Machineries.

�� Yes?� he asked, when he saw Blaise Zabini standing there. �Did you
want to know more about Malfoy�s Machineries?� Of course he knew the man was a
friend of Malfoy�s and would have probably already heard all there was to hear,
but Lionel would hardly know that.

�� No,�
Zabini said, with a slow smile that Harry could have found attractive under
different circumstances. �I�m here for another reason.� He paused, but both
Lionel and Harry would have politely baffled expressions at this point in the
conversation, so Harry maintained his. �I know you were Draco�s lover,� Zabini
went on, lowering his voice. �I wonder if you�re interested in becoming mine.�

�� Harry
understood what had happened at once. Malfoy, not content with blackmailing
him, wanted to humiliate him. He thought Harry would begin to hyperventilate
the way most people raised in the wizarding world would have�the way Ron would
have�and refuse in a fit of self-righteousness. Or else he would have to stand
there and be uncomfortable, because contradicting Malfoy�s lies would make
Zabini too curious.

�� Luckily for
Harry and Malfoy both, Harry had been comfortable with his sexuality for six
years. He looked at Zabini for a long, silent moment, and made sure that Zabini
saw his appreciation, before he shook his head. �I�m not looking for a regular
lover right now,� he said. �I have certain requirements, and most people can�t
meet them.�

�� Zabini�s
pupils dilated. The pulse at the base of his throat was beating faster now.
�Tell me what they are,� he said in a husky voice. �Merlin knows I�d try to
meet them.�

�� Harry
concealed a snort with some effort. Did Zabini think that perhaps Harry wanted
to be tied to the bed? Well, time to disillusion him without betraying the
fiction of his and Malfoy�s former acquaintance or experiencing the discomfort Malfoy had intended for him.

�� Someone
who wants more than just sex,� Harry said, and then turned away as a young witch came up to ask him questions about the crystal vase.
Zabini had the sense to wait until she was done before he spoke up again.

�� I could do
that,� he said. �For the right person.�

�� Harry found
the grin coming to him more easily this time. �I�m sure you could,� he said.
�But I don�t want you to force your soul into contortions for the sake of lying
down with someone who might disappoint you. This face conceals more than you
know.� Like a scar and a past that you already
know about.

�� How do you
know that I mostly want sex?� Zabini cocked his head, his voice sounding far
more interested than insulted.

�� You mean, I need some other indication than the way you didn�t deny
it when I suggested it?� Harry asked.

�� Zabini
laughed. �Honestly, I do date, but I don�t see the sense in promising forever.
We don�t know when we might turn into different people. I could wake up
tomorrow and decide that my lover doesn�t attract me anymore. Am I supposed to
lie about that, or let them labor under a delusion?�

�� Some
people think forever is more than just a fantasy,� Harry murmured, despite his
private agreement with Zabini�s position. He could never give himself to one
person, because he would always turn
into a different person tomorrow.

�� And you
do, too.� Zabini sighed regretfully. �Well, as you wish. But do let me know if
you change your mind.� He winked, and then turned away and sauntered off,
perhaps in search of more willing prey.

�� Harry saw
him leave the party with the young witch who had asked the question about the
crystal vase, in fact. He smiled. It was nice to know that, while some things
were forever forbidden to him by the nature of his past and his job, other
people could find happiness.

*

�� Draco glared
at the letter Potter had sent him. It was utterly anonymous, with the writing
disguised by a charm that Draco had already tried to penetrate and failed.

�� Do you wish me to promote your products
again at the Haggertons� party or the Kellisons�?

�� It was
signed Lionel Truth.

�� Blaise had
come back from his little conversation with Potter full of regrets, but not
laughter. Potter had convincingly faked being gay, and never given a sign of
himself away to someone who had known him at school�though, Draco had to admit,
Blaise had probably never watched Potter the way Draco had.

�� Which meant he was gay�

�� Or could
pretend he was.

�� Draco shut
his eyes and leaned back in his chair. That�s the crux of it.
I can�t be sure of anything with him. How am I to know that he resents having
to help me? The sound of this letter is that he doesn�t.

�� He sighed,
sat up, and wrote his reply. He wanted Potter�s �help� at both the Haggertons� and the Kellisons�,
as they were the two most important parties remaining before Midsummer�s Eve
itself. He hoped that his letter at least made Potter frown a bit in
disappointment and mourn his lost freedom.

�� And meanwhile, I may hope to have mine.

�� New orders
were coming in ever since Potter had done his promotion work at Unruffled,
several from pure-bloods who had attended the party there. Potter had done his
work. Draco had no cause to complain of his behavior.

�� Which didn�t explain the discomfort and dissatisfaction sifting
through him like volcanic ash through the air.

�� I thought I knew him. I really didn�t.

�� Draco ended
up folding Potter�s letter and putting it carefully away so that he would know
where it was if he wanted it. He had other letters to write, contracts to
negotiate, and new machines to design. He was moving closer and closer to the
point where he would have his freedom because he could declare his economic
independence of his parents, if for no other reason.

�� The
dissatisfaction remained in the back of his mind nevertheless, like a cold he
couldn�t shed.
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