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The Same Species As Shakespeare	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16108 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter Twenty-One�Action
Is Eloquence

�� Draco
probed his teeth gingerly with his tongue. He thought Potter must have loosened
some of them when he popped Draco back into his house, through the wards.

�� He had
power. More than Draco had estimated, enough that it had probably left Potter
panting on the floor when he exercised it, since lifting another Auror into the
air with it had exhausted him.

�� But that
was small comfort when Draco knew he had been the target of that magic,
dismissed from Potter�s presence like a naughty child.

�� He took a
deep breath and sat down on his bed, rubbing his fingers absently over his jaw.
What he would have liked to do was clench them into a fist and punch the wall,
but that wasn�t permissible. Potter had won two victories over him so far: he
had forced Draco to doubt his own emotions and face how much he didn�t really want to enact his revenge,
and he had made him accept that convenient and easy lies wouldn�t be enough
anymore. He would not force Draco into childish expressions of anger.

�� So. He
couldn�t lie. It had seemed so easy when he stood in front of Potter and saw
the shock mixed with simmering adoration�even now, even after�in those green
eyes. He could win Potter back if he played on his affection and told him that
Draco had simply acted to secure their future together. Potter would have to
believe it. He was too enthralled to the love he had constructed mostly in his
own mind. He had rejected Draco because the betrayal to the Prophet had been too great a disruption
of the perfect confidence he thought lovers should share, but when Draco came
back, humble and penitent, he would have to change his mind.

�� And Harry
had shown him it wouldn�t be that easy.

�� Draco
swallowed. Somehow, he would have to
manage a confrontation with no one around, so that he could speak freely. Confessing
his weakness and his mistakes would be hard enough in front of the one person
who deserved to hear the apology. In front of someone like Weasley or Granger,
impossible.

�� I never
knew someone could hurt me this much,� he whispered into the echoing silence of
his bedroom, staring at the conjured bed that Harry hadn�t slept in for two nights
now and which looked emptier than Draco�s own bed after a month elsewhere. �When
did that become possible? The moment I started my obsession? Or the moment I
brought him here? Or some other time?� He paused, distracted from his own
thoughts by the remembrance of the flinty shine in Lucius�s eyes that morning. �And
if my father felt something like this for my mother, how did he ever stand it,
in life or in death?�

�� For the
first time in years, Draco felt a flash of pity for his father.

�� But it didn�t
last long. He was busy planning ways to win Potter back, and he needed all his
attention, all his cunning and cleverness, for himself.

*

�� It�s nice,
isn�t it?�

�� Harry
smiled as he looked around the cottage. It was actually bigger than his flat,
but then, that only made sense; he spent barely any time in the flat, what with
working on cases and entertaining friends and lovers and allies, and he would
be living here. The walls were long, the ceilings low, and it sprawled off into
the distance like a labyrinth. Harry could hear water flowing and the loud
calls of exotic birds. He hoped absently that magic had only replicated the
sound of the birds, and not actually Summoned them. He had swallowed enough
feathers trying to recapture that hippogriff that the imposter had let loose.

�� Come on,�
said Ron, who was hovering in the doorway whilst Harry and Hermione entrained themselves
by looking at the cottage. �Come in and see the rest of it.�

�� Harry
ducked through the door, and blinked in surprise when he straightened in the
small entrance hall and found out the ceiling had lifted to accommodate his
head. Ron grinned at him. �It adjusts itself to the most comfortable size for
its inhabitants.� He gestured, and for the first time, Harry noticed that the
ceiling above his head was higher
than the rest of it. �Mum would have killed for something like this when she
had seven children at home in the Burrow.�

�� Harry
nodded fervently, thinking of what his childhood would have been like if he
could expand his cupboard at will, and turned in a circle. The hall was covered
with blue paneling, trimmed with pale wood painted with even paler decorations,
a subtle bending pattern of flowers that turned to one of vines and interlocked
sheaves of grain, then to stylized birds, then to leaping animals that Harry
thought might be gazelles or unicorns, which melted back into the flowers as
they renewed the circle. The ceiling rippled softly, also blue, either the
magic or the velvet that covered it making it look like a bubble ready to pop
at any moment. Harry wandered into the next room, the drawing room, and the
ceiling promptly drew up and the walls pulled back. He found himself staring
into yet another shade of blue, this one as pale as sun-shadows on a morning
expanse of snow. Windows gazed out at cliffs, some of them gray, some black,
some dazzlingly white. Harry wondered for a moment, absently, which was the
true view that actually surrounded the cottage. He�d had time to see that the
area was mountainous when he and Hermione Apparated in, but not much else.

�� The
library�s full of books,� said Hermione behind him. Harry could hear the faint,
rapid rap of her nails on her satchel, which she used when she wanted to keep
from bouncing with excitement. �There�s a private indoor Quidditch Pitch for
entertainment, too, if you get bored. And plenty of��

�� Ron made a
shushing noise, and Hermione obligingly shut her mouth. Harry felt a smile tug
at his lips. He made sure to give Ron a small nod before he made his way
further into the house, looking up at the ceilings, trailing his hands along the
walls.

�� This was
the place that might be his home for the next several weeks or months, for all
he knew. There was no telling how long it would be until the Aurors caught the
imposter�particularly without Harry there to help them�and even then, Harry
could see himself wanting to remain here until he had proof Draco had lost
interest in him and moved on to some other innocent to swindle and trick.

�� Malfoy. His name is Malfoy.

�� Harry
snarled to no one as he investigated the library, which was exactly as stocked
as Hermione had promised, so filled with bookshelves that Harry had a difficult
time finding a place for his own feet. He would eventually learn to call Draco
by his last name again, but until he did, he thought, he would have to accept
that he was more stubborn and backwards than his friends wanted him to be.

�� Look at
this one.� Hermione darted past him and reached for one of the books on the
lowest of the shelves. From the shining glance she cast him, Harry decided that
she was physically unable to keep silent any longer. He smiled, reluctantly and
in spite of himself drawn in as Hermione showed him the drawing of a golden
wheel on the leather cover and explained that it was an exploration of
wizarding history and the points where it touched and bled into Muggle history.

�� You�ll need longer than a few days to get
over Draco, yes, because you�re the only one who knows how much he could have
been worth. But you also need a commitment to getting over him, instead of
brooding on him. And there are worse pursuits, as Hermione would say, than
reading history whilst you wait for your heart to change.

*

�� Draco hesitated,
turning his wand in his fingers. He didn�t particularly want to enter this
place again. But he had seen the ease and courtesy with which the proprietor welcomed
Potter, and he had to believe that if someone could tell him some valuable information
about him, it would be this woman.

�� Weasley and
Granger would be even more valuable sources, of course, but Draco had a desire
to survive the initial encounter with
the person who would tell him about Potter.

�� He stepped
into the Imperatrix and waited for the dizzying flash of the wards to crawl
over him and then slow down. He released a slight breath when he found himself
standing in the brilliant entrance he had seen once before. Though Potter had
said that people could find the restaurant who had been invited or entered with
someone who was, Draco hadn�t been sure the permission would extend to embrace
him if he came unescorted.

�� From the
cold strength on Faustine�s face as she walked out to confront him, it should
not have.

�� I have
heard what you have done,� she said, a trace of a sharp accent coming out in
her voice that Draco hadn�t noticed before. �You will not get away with it
here. I will give you no information to the disadvantage of a dear friend, and therefore
you might as well go away again.� She folded her hands in front of her. Draco
saw the rings that shone on her fingers, and winced as the edge of light poking
out from one like a sword cut into his eyes. They bore powerful enchantments,
ones that he would be reluctant to confront even with the weapons that he
carried hidden about him�if only because using
those weapons would advertise their existence to his enemies.

�� You don�t
understand,� Draco began.

�� I understand
more than Harry does, more than you do.� Shadows moved and flickered on
Faustine�s face like the light of the moon moving over a stormy sea. �I understand
that you find yourself weak in his shadow, and you sought to destroy him because
you thought your life would improve if he weren�t looming over you. You have a
small soul, of course, that cannot change its size.�

�� Draco seized
the anger twisting him and held himself fiercely still. It would avail him
nothing now if he made a mess of things again,
this time by destroying the one tentative contact he might still have with
Potter.

�� And if I
wanted to change its size?� he asked.

�� Faustine
lifted her head. A gold tracery along the side of one eye flashed and caught
Draco�s attention, and he felt a reluctant admiration stir; the woman had inlaid
one of her scars with magic. Draco had heard of such things, but he was not
quite desperate enough to sacrifice his beauty to power. �Such things may be
done,� she said. �But with difficulty. Dangerously. Expensively.�

�� You know I
can afford it,� Draco said, glad to hear a reference to money. It moved the
conversation back onto ground he was more familiar with than he was with this
talk of souls and the rest.

�� Not in
that way.� Faustine looked distantly amused, which Draco wanted to rage at.
This time he had to bite his tongue hard in order to draw a little blood and
make himself listen politely. �It costs the person making the change. Are you
prepared to overthrow your assumptions, to humble your pride, to bow your head
and admit you were wrong?�

�� Of all the things
she could have chosen, she had to put her finger on the one that was the most
painful to him, the reason he had lied to Harry the last time he saw him. Draco
exhaled hard, his eyes falling to the ground. �My lady�� he began, and saw her
shake her head warningly. She didn�t want empty courtesy. She wanted an answer
now.

�� Yes,� he said,
anger giving him the strength to stare at her and lean forwards so that she
could see the sharp lines that bent his eyes at the corners. �Yes. Is that what
you want to hear? Yes.�

�� Faustine
gave him a maddening smile and turned away. �Then you won�t mind coming with me
and passing a small test so we can be assured it is so,� she murmured.

�� Draco
followed, because what choice did he have?

*

�� What do
you really feel for him?�

�� Harry
started and looked up from the meal of soft baked fish he and Ron had started
eating half an hour ago. In all that time, no sound had passed between them but
the soft scrape and clink of fork and spoon on the plate. Ron had seemed
perfectly content to stare at nothing and daydream whilst he ate, and Harry had
welcomed the silence so that he could put his thoughts in order.

�� But now Ron
leaned forwards, the mug of butterbeer dangling from his hand, and stared so hard
that Harry knew he wouldn�t get out of this inquisition.

�� He
swallowed and looked down at the plate again. �I despise him for what he did to
me,� he said. That much was easy to say, because he knew that Ron expected to
hear it, and yet it still scraped at his throat. If he despised Draco, wasn�t
he contributing to that littleness of spirit that was the thing he despised? Draco would not grow better for his scorn. �It�s
so�so self-serving. I know that he was softening around me by the end. He took
me to a private place, a place of pure magic, that I can�t believe he would
have allowed me to see if he only felt hatred towards me.�

�� Malfoys
have done some incredible things in the name of hatred,� Ron said thoughtfully.

�� But they
haven�t profaned what they considered sacred, have they?� Harry looked up at
him. �At least, I don�t think so.�

�� And what else
do you feel for him?�

�� Harry grimaced.
Trust Ron, at least the newly sensitive Ron of the last few years who paid
strict attention when he discovered Harry was hurting, to pick up on the fact
that contempt was not the end-all and be-all of his emotions towards Draco�Malfoy.

�� I still
want him,� he said. Ron made a horrible face, rolling his eyes, but said
nothing, so Harry didn�t snap at him. �I still think he�s beautiful, and
talented, and could make something more than even an impressive architect of
himself, if only he would try. But
since he won�t, then I don�t see why I should keep on trying for him. I wanted him to be larger than
he was, and trusted he would go in that direction. And I think I saw the desire
to rise, to become as generous and open-hearted as his reputation in the last
few years pretended he was, in his eyes. But something we shared that night
frightened him away.�

�� It�s so
odd to talk about this with you,� Ron muttered, swirling the butterbeer in his
mug. Before Harry could retort that Ron shouldn�t have brought up the subject
if he didn�t want to talk about it, Ron met his eyes again and smiled wryly. �I
always thought you�d get over your obsession with Malfoy and go on to someone
else.�

�� You could
think that?� Harry leaned back in his chair and sipped his own pumpkin juice
slowly. He rarely drank it now; the wizards and witches in charge of distributing
food in the Ministry seemed to feel it was the food of the enemy, and what he
could find for sale in the shops never matched his own memory of the freshness
of the drink at Hogwarts. But the house-elves, or automatic shopping pantry, or
whatever else supplied the food here�Harry hadn�t been into the kitchens yet�fetched
juice just the way he liked it. �When you had an obsession of your own?�

�� It was
more than lust, to be close to her.� Ron�s voice took on a hushed, religious
tone for a moment, and then he added, �But yes, I did think you would balk at
being that vulnerable to Malfoy, when it came right down to it.�

�� Harry
sighed and toyed with his mug. He reckoned he could understand that. Ron had
always needed to be the strong one, in control; he had dealt badly with it when
some criminals captured them and tortured Harry, tying Ron up so that he could
only watch helplessly. He had never learned Harry�s lessons in childhood, that
just because you gave in and let other people do what they wanted to you for a
time didn�t mean that you abandoned your emotional control.

�� I didn�t,�
said Harry. �I think he balked at
being so vulnerable to me, and that was the main reason he ran
away and didn�t change.� He smiled a bit when he saw Ron�s blink. Yes, he
understood this explanation, whereas he had looked baffled at Harry�s previous
talk of being larger and rising.

�� But you
were the one who was�uh.� Ron suddenly the found the bottom of his mug
interesting. �The powerless one.�

�� Do you
think Hermione�s powerless when you�re having sex?� Harry raised his eyebrows.

�� No!� Ron�s
face was flaming. �But that�s different.�

�� Why?�
Harry hid his grin behind his juice, whilst Ron�s mouth opened and shut several
times. He was baiting Ron; he knew some of the differences, both the ones that
existed and the ones that people assumed did, since he�d been in relationships
with both men and women himself. But every now and then, it was good to make
Ron think beyond the automatic assumptions he picked up from God knew where.
Hermione wasn�t telling him anything so simple, that was certain.

�� Because it
is,� Ron muttered finally, and returned to the attack. �But you scared him�that
surprises me.�

�� Does it?� Harry
put his cup down again. His appetite was gone. He was remembering the sharp
shine in Draco�s eyes, the way that Draco had trembled above him and arched his
head back, half-screaming in protest as he came. His fingers had ripped at the
grass. Harry had wondered then if that was merely a substitute for the clawing
at Harry�s flesh Draco would have liked to do; now, he was certain of it. �I
think you�re right, and he was a coward in school. That hasn�t changed much. Draco
still doesn�t like to risk himself for the sake of a reward that he doesn�t know will be worth it. And I offered him
hope, change�risk. He couldn�t take the chance that he would try to change
himself and still fail. So he ran away, and put the temptation beyond his reach
by betraying me to the Prophet.�

�� But he
showed up at your flat.� Ron lifted his head and eyed Harry as if he thought
Harry might be trying to change the story on him. �Hermione told me that.�

�� I think
most of the motives I�m telling you about were subconscious.� Harry laughed,
and then stopped, because he hated how bitter it sounded. �Of course he isn�t
going to admit he�s a coward, is he? He thinks that he was taking revenge on
me, but it would be the best revenge
to make me come crawling back to him even after he�s hurt me so badly.�

�� Ron snorted
in disgust. �What a prick.�

�� Yes, he
is.� Harry finished his pumpkin juice with unnecessary violence.

*

�� Faustine
led him into a back room that made Draco�s shoulders stiffen with both
affronted professional pride and wariness. No practiced architect had designed
this room, which had walls with the wrong kind of sharpness and decorative
pillars in corners where they weren�t needed to support anything. And in the
middle of the room, to make it worse, was an enormous table made of a dark
red-black wood, as if it had been coated in spilt blood. Faustine stood on one
side of this alarming table and gestured for Draco to take a seat on the other
side.

�� I�ll
stand, thanks.� Draco was impressed with himself for keeping his voice calm and
cold and soft.

�� Then you�ll
forsake my help,� Faustine said simply, and retracted her hands from the shelf
she�d been reaching for.

�� Draco drew
an irritated breath and sat down in the chair, which was a massively carved
thicket of wood, branches sprouting out of the arms and legs to fence him. He
shifted uneasily and then told himself not to be so stupid. Faustine would be
sure to take advantage of any nervousness he showed. Caution was acceptable,
fear was not. �Do you want me to take Veritaserum?� he asked. �I would be
willing to do so.�

�� Veritaserum
has some disadvantages.� Faustine had lifted a box of the same black-red wood
from the shelf she�d reached towards earlier. When she opened it, Draco almost
cried out at the sense of magic filling the air. The wood of the box must have
muffled it before.

�� The object
Faustine lifted out was small enough to fit snugly in the curve of her palm,
but it prickled and branched like the chair, and had power that reminded Draco
of the repulse he�d encountered from Harry. He could see that it had an outer,
round rim, and wondered if Faustine held a carved wheel. But in the center of
it, a glimmering jewel flashed. Diamond? Pearl? He couldn�t see, with his eyes
gone dizzy and teary with the magic.

�� Veritaserum
cannot detect lies that the speaker believes are truths,� said Faustine. �And
given your reputation for deceiving yourself, I will not chance leading you to
Harry, only to see you start back at the last moment and hurt him again. This
time, we will make sure that you know what
you really want.�

�� Draco
opened his mouth to say that he hadn�t yet consented to anything other than
taking Veritaserum, but Faustine had already blown across the surface of the
jewel in the center of the object, and it rose from her palm and hovered in
front of Draco.

�� Yes, it was
a wheel, with spokes so sharp that Draco felt his soul recoil at the sight of
them. The jewel glittered with an overlay of red, with blue and green and
purple crawling behind it, and by that Draco knew it.

�� It was an
opal. Superstition, to hear Muggles talk, and excellent logic and Dark history,
to listen to wizards, connected the opal to misfortune.

�� Then the
jewel began to flow as liquid down the spokes of the wheel, tumbling like the
cascade of foam turned by a waterwheel. Draco felt himself freezing, his
muscles stiffening. His tongue lay heavy and dumb in his mouth. His spine ached
with the unnatural position he was forced to keep it in.

�� Ah,� said
Faustine, no more than a breath behind the words. �Now that you can�t chatter
your way out of this, we�ll see what happens.�

�� Draco
wanted to curse her, but the magic paralyzed the words of the wandless,
nonverbal incantation that he tried to form in his head. And then the liquid
jewel flowing down the turning wheel reared up, smooth and graceful as a snake,
and sent forks of light brilliant with the swimming opal colors straight at
him.

�� Pain
stabbed through his eyes and his cheeks, and Draco felt a pressure mounting in
his head that he knew would quickly knock him unconscious. Even as he struggled
against it, the new agony burst like a thunderstorm in his head.

�� The moment
before he fell to the floor, he heard Faustine chuckle darkly.

�� That�s the
least you deserve,� she said, �to have the truth torn out of you. At least that
way we know you can�t lie to yourself
or anyone else, with it hovering in front of your eyes.�

*

�� linagabriev:
Draco is certainly the least self-aware character in the story right now�but that�s
about to change, at least if Faustine gets her way.

�� Draco still
wants to take the easy route out, too badly to let his common sense prevail. If
he can overcome that, or if he will let his desperation for Harry overcome his
pride, then things might go right between them.

�� Paigeey07:
Actually, I do think they�re both stubborn arses, but Draco is less willing to
change than Harry.

�� Thrnbrooke:
Oh, yes, Draco did blow it.

�� The
imposter is deliberately confusing at this point.

�� Graballz:
Thank you! I can�t promise the ending is perfectly happy, but I think you�ll be
satisfied with it.
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The Same Species As Shakespeare