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

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Chapter Two—Who’s Allowed to Date Draco Malfoy
            Harry cocked his head at his wardrobe, and then nodded and pulled out the robes from the back of it. The robes that had been a gift from a grateful admirer not long after he’d started Auror training, and which looked…
            Well. Harry turned and stared into the mirror, swirling the robes back and forth in front of him.
            They were rainbow robes. There were big stripes of red and blue and purple, and some smaller ones of green and yellow and orange. The person who had sent the robes had explained enthusiastically that the colors represented all the different emotions they’d experienced during the war. The blue was for sorrow, and the red for anger, and the green for joy, and so on.
            Why am I still remembering this sort of shit years after I read the letter they wrote?
            Harry snorted and slipped the robes on over the normal shirt and trousers he had learned to wear from hard experience. People thought it was a “harmless” prank to Vanish his robes on occasion so they could get a look at what was underneath.
            It’s a good thing I do remember that sort of shit. I can entertain Malfoy with their speculations. It’s on a level that he’s likely to be familiar with.
            Harry shook his head. The further away he got from Malfoy, the more the strange atmosphere that Cassel had told him about faded. Now he wondered why in the world he was going along with this, and why Malfoy’s teammates had gone along with it in the past. Was Malfoy that good in bed? Or did he have them all terrified of his legendary rages that supposedly happened every time he thought someone was getting more attention from the press than he was?
            Harry sighed a little. He had never thought this was going to be a real date or anything but a waste of time. At least he was going to make it as fun for himself as possible, he thought, looking into the mirror once more to make sure that the robes hung properly.
            After all, it wouldn’t do to have Malfoy think he was less than completely serious.
*
            “That’s a surprise.”
            Malfoy was taking a step back from his front door, his gaze utterly fixed on Harry as he moved in. Harry was trying to return his look instead of gaping at the little of the Manor he could see beyond Malfoy. And not because it was opulent.
            “What is?” Harry asked, and turned to study Malfoy. He could feel the smile that Hermione would probably describe as his trouble-making one cropping up around his mouth. Maybe his pretense of seriousness would be enough to fool Malfoy completely and Malfoy wouldn’t even change his robes around when they went to the Crocodiles’ party.
            “I’d only ever heard of you dating women.” Malfoy reached out and picked up a fold of Harry’s robe, holding it out and turning it back and forth.
            “You made it clear that I didn’t have much choice,” said Harry dryly. He peeked at the walls beyond Malfoy again. Dozens of reflections flashed and turned, because everything Harry could see was totally covered with mirrors.
            “Yes, but you’re wearing rainbow robes,” said Malfoy. “Rainbows are a sign that you’re gay.”
            Harry turned and gaped at him. “What? Is that a Muggle thing?”
            Malfoy looked down his nose without even changing his expression, which Harry had to admit was a pretty impressive trick. “Would I know what it was if so?” He studied Harry’s robes again, then shook his head. “No, I’m afraid that I still have to change them. The green in them doesn’t match your eyes. Come this way.” He turned down the corridor with a brisk snap that reminded Harry of some of the motions he made on his broom when he was going after the Snitch.
            “I never heard of rainbows as a sign that you’re gay,” Harry protested, trailing after him. No matter how much he wracked his brains, he was sure he didn’t remember that.
            Of course, the Dursleys were the sort of Muggles that would keep him far away from all sorts of things like that, because they didn’t want to encourage “freakiness” of any sort. And he remembered Hermione mentioning rainbows once, but he had thought they were American. Or at least the wizards she was talking about were.
            “Why rainbows?” he added, and shied away from the mirrors. It was dizzying to watch all those dozens of selves pacing him.
            “I have no idea,” said Malfoy. “But I am glad that you’re willing to describe yourself as gay to all and sundry. It lessens some of the tensions that even someone as prominently placed as myself does have to worry about.”
            Harry told himself not to giggle. And he managed with considerable aplomb, helped by the fact that they’d entered Malfoy’s bedroom and he had to gape instead.
            The mirrors were represented by only one of them on the wall here, although it was still so enormous that Harry would have taken it for a window in a normal house. There was an enormous wardrobe made of what looked like solid gold taking up the wall opposite the mirror. The third wall had a door that had—well, if it wasn’t a doorknob made of solid diamond, Harry didn’t know what diamonds looked like. And he’d been pelted with enough of them by people desperate to marry him that he really should.
            The fourth wall was taken up by the bed. Or was the bed. Harry couldn’t actually see the wall. Only the plush curtains, and the pillows large enough to hold several baby dragons, and the sheets that were in some dazzling shade of silver. Harry said the first thing that came to mind. “You like to sleep on precious metal?”
            Malfoy took a moment to look at the sheets as if it was a long time since he had considered them properly. Then he spun around and stared down at Harry in that strange way he had again. “You are making some pun that you think is clever on my name,” he said.
            Harry blinked. “Huh?” He hated to sound so stupid, but Malfoy had once again gone leaping off into pale giraffe-land and Harry couldn’t understand him.
            “A pun,” said Malfoy. “What sleeps on precious metals in all the old Muggle stories? Dragons. And Draco is Latin for dragon.” He folded his arms and sneered at Harry in a way that was less impressive than his other ones, because this time he actually had to change his face into a different expression. “That was what you were going for.”
            Harry blinked again, then held up a hand. “That kind of complex thinking is beyond me,” he said. “Just the way you always thought it was when we were in school. And can I say that you seem really familiar with Muggle things?”
            Malfoy puffed up in a way that made it seem as if he was about to spit poison. Harry gave him a helpless smile and waited. Maybe this would end with Malfoy sending him out of the house and attending the party alone. Or calling up some Slytherin friend of his and demanding they accompany him at the last minute. Or spreading the word that he and Harry had been dating but had broken up after Harry saved his life—
            He honestly didn’t expect Malfoy to seize his arm and drag him in front of the mirror on the wall, studying him with critical intensity.
            “So,” said Malfoy, and then drew his wand and cast a few complex charms. Harry saw a thick yellow aura appear around him in the mirror. Automatically, he looked down at his hands and arms, but they didn’t glow. The aura seemed to exist only in the glass. “Yes. Perhaps more insight than I thought, less sarcasm.” He flicked his wand again, and this time the aura in the mirror turned blue. “But less political insight. Well, of course. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been surprised when I said that only someone close to me could save me.”
            Harry shook his head, looking at his glowing reflection. He had to admit the blue color looked nice. Perhaps he would get some robes made in that hue. “What are you talking about?”
            Malfoy ignored him, and this time the aura changed to green. “More magical strength than is absolutely necessary. A lack of education, but we can remedy that.” Harry looked around immediately for the “we” Malfoy was talking about, but didn’t see even a house-elf in the room, which left the horrible suspicion that Malfoy thought Harry was interested in learning about pure-blood politics from him. The aura became red, and Malfoy said thoughtfully, “Oooh. More than enough passion.”
            “Did you make Cassel and all the rest of your paramours stand in front of the mirror this way?” Harry finally demanded. Not that he believed Malfoy was somehow reading all those qualities from auras. He was probably making shit up to sound impressive.
            Malfoy twisted his head slowly to the side and stared at him. Too bad for him that Harry had encountered slow stares like that from the older Aurors and had ceased to be impressed by them. He only watched back with his own eyebrows creeping up his face, and Malfoy frowned and looked away.
            “Hmmm,” said Malfoy, and this time the green aura came back when he shook his wand like it was on fire and he wanted to put it out. “More education than I thought.”
            “What are you talking about now? I’m still not more educated about why you wanted to plunge to the ground and make a pretty corpse.”
            “And more insight,” said Malfoy, and the aura turned yellow again. “Yes. That will do nicely.”
            This time, the aura disappeared when he moved his wand, and he folded his arms and explained in a tone that was probably meant to be “gracious Lord Malfoy condescends to the peasants,” not “arrogant Lord Malfoy begs for a head-smashing.” “Your usage of the word ‘paramours.’ It means that you have a bigger vocabulary than I thought you did. And you realized my corpse would have been pretty. Not as much insight as would be demonstrated by the word ‘beautiful,’ but enough to raise your score.”
            “My score?” Harry shook his head. “You can’t use just that to judge your dates, or you wouldn’t have said that we were dating out on the Quidditch pitch without this mirror.”
            “More and more insight,” Malfoy murmured. “The mirror and the fact that you knew something else was happening there. Well.” He paused and gave Harry an absolutely dazzling smile.
            Harry felt an answering smile pull at his lips despite himself. He could see how someone who was attracted to men would want to date Malfoy.
            “But we’ve already spent half an hour on the initial assessment,” said Malfoy, in a brisk voice, and turned Harry to face the mirror again. “Now. For your robes.” He flicked his wand, and the rainbow robes turned a solid green.
            Harry made a face at it. He hadn’t thought Malfoy would bother commenting on it, since he seemed content to talk to himself most of the time, but at once he said, in a sharp voice, “What is wrong with that shade?”
            Harry paused in startlement for a second, and then wanted to laugh when he realized what it was. Merlin forbid he question Malfoy’s taste. That was probably worse than saving his life when he didn’t want Harry to.
            And Harry knew how he could talk Malfoy out of using that color, too.
            “Oh, nothing,” he said hastily, looking over his shoulder. “Only everyone always tells me it matches my eyes. Hermione. And Ron. And Ginny, when I was dating her. And Cho Chang, when we renewed my relationship. And random people in the street.” He reached back and managed to pat Malfoy’s shoulder, aiming only in the mirror. “But it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with having the same kind of taste as everyone else.”
            Malfoy’s hand seized his wrist, and Harry blinked a little, then grinned. There was the quickness that everyone told him Malfoy had as Seeker, but which Harry hadn’t had much of a chance to see him display yesterday.
            Or ever, really. Malfoy must have improved a lot since his days at Hogwarts to impress a professional team.
            “The robes are not staying this shade,” Malfoy said, and his voice was low and impassioned. “I’m changing them to a shade that complements mine.”
            “Oh, what robes are you wearing?” Harry asked, trying to seem innocent and inquiring and no more than that. Otherwise, he would ruin his act.
            “These,” said Malfoy, and pulled out robes from apparently nowhere, although Harry saw his wardrobe door bang and recognized the crackling signature of a wandless Summoning Charm.
            Harry looked at them and nodded. “Nice. Silver is one of my favorite colors.”
            Malfoy moved an aggressive step closer and stood there glaring at him. This time, he didn’t look like a pale giraffe. He had moved on to a boggling octopus.
            “They are grey,” he whispered. “Just like my sheets are grey. And my eyes are grey.”
            “And your hair is grey?” Harry asked, cocking his head as if he wanted to consider Malfoy’s hair from the side.
            Malfoy spun on his heel and glanced hastily into the mirror. Then he turned back to Harry, all wounded pride, and said, “You must have a hard time recognizing Galleons, Potter, if you think gold is grey.”
            “I don’t,” said Harry, happy to feel something almost delirious bubbling up in him. He could play Malfoy’s game and play it pretty well, when he wasn’t concerned about what other people would say as a result. “I think gold is gold. And I’m pretty good at distinguishing between gold and silver.”
            Malfoy wavered back and forth as if he didn’t know which insult to address first, and then visibly calmed himself down, hung his robes on a hook near the mirror, and considered Harry from several different angles. Then he nodded decisively. “No. Grey wouldn’t suit you, considering your striking coloring.”
            “What about silver?” Harry asked, innocent again, and met Malfoy’s eyes in the mirror with a widening of his own.
            Malfoy abruptly gave him a soft smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve never had someone spoil you with clothing, have you?” he asked in a voice as soft. “Never had someone who helped you form your own taste?”
            “Oh, people tried,” said Harry. “But most of them were more interested in augmenting their own wardrobes.”
            Malfoy blinked for the smallest moment. Harry held back a snort. Yes, he could hardly have avoided reading about that breakup of Harry’s in the papers.
            An instant later, though, Malfoy was back to soft and seductive pale octopus. “No one truly has,” he murmured. “That means that you don’t know you would look good like this.” He waved his wand, and Harry’s robes changed again.
            This time, they were a pretty ordinary blue. Then Harry shifted his weight slightly, and they shimmered and changed. They were a deep royal blue, the light discovering unexpected depths of color in them.
            Harry couldn’t help smiling, and it seemed Malfoy could tell the difference between an approving smile and a taunting one. “You like them,” he said.
            Harry was never going to say that in so many words, not when Malfoy’s smugness was thick enough to act as the building blocks for a whole new Manor. “They’re very…colorful,” he said, and let the pause in his voice suggest all sorts of things.
            Malfoy’s hand tightened on him for a second, and then he turned and said, “I need to put on my robes, or else we’ll be late. Don’t try to peek in on me in the bathroom, Potter. We’re not at that level of intimacy yet.” He paused and added over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him, “And besides, the sight would stun you unconscious, and I don’t have time to revive you.”
            Harry waited until the bathroom door was shut, and cast a careful charm to muffle his laughter. Yes, he was amused. But having Malfoy know how amused would blow the whole game.
            Besides, it probably wasn’t the right kind of amusement for their level of intimacy.
*
            Having people roar when he came into the room, and knowing it wasn’t for him, was the kind of experience Harry could have more often.
            He was parading on Malfoy’s arm. Of course. The party was in a huge dome-shaped building that someone had probably modified from a manor house sold cheaply by a desperate pure-blood family after the war. Of course.
            And this being the Crocodiles, there was a gigantic green illusion of a crocodile dancing on its tail in the center of the dome, with their motto flashing beneath it in red letters: “Quidditch players make us grin so wide!”
            Harry was wondering idly what Malfoy would say about that when he felt Malfoy pinch his arm. Harry turned around to tell him what he could do with that, and found starry-eyed fans and reporters crowding around them.
            “Why are you here with Auror Potter, Mr. Malfoy?” one of them yelled.
            Oh, right. Harry supposed he was to offer a smile to the cameras and tell them about him and Malfoy dating. He opened his mouth, but Malfoy was already speaking, in a voice that was deep and resonant and made him sound more like a crocodile himself than an octopus or a giraffe.
            “Because Auror Potter has kindly agreed to marry me, and it is appropriate for fiancés to accompany each other to parties like this.”
            Not all the noise around them died away, but it felt like a lot of it did. And Harry didn’t manage to keep from turning around and offering a gape that was probably also inappropriate for their level of (alleged) intimacy.
            Malfoy glanced at him, then added, “Oh, yes, of course,” and swept his hand around the way he had when he Summoned his robes. In his hand now rested a small, dove-grey box with a gleaming platinum ring in the middle of a velvet cushion that was probably also grey. “Marry me, darling?”
*
starr: I hope so! It’s already fun to write.
SP777: Thank you!
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A Series of Malfoy Events