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Building With Worn-Out Tools	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 54266 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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 Thirty—The World on Fire

            Harry stared down at the information that Draco had assembled on Blaise. He licked his lips and said the first thing that came to mind. “Ginny can’t have known about this.”

            “I don’t really care whether she did or not,” Draco said in a satisfied voice behind him. Harry didn’t even have to look at him to know he was leaning against the wall of the room, his arms folded over his chest. “She will know about it, assuming he hasn’t already told her as a precautionary measure, when Skeeter publishes this article.”

            Harry opened his mouth to ask if Skeeter would publish an article that so badly defamed the Zabini heir, and then shut it with a snap. Of course she would. Defaming people was Skeeter’s livelihood.

            “This will make life harder for Ginny and her baby,” he murmured, tracing the papers with a finger.

            Draco caught his shoulder and spun him around. “Why are you feeling sorry for them?” he whispered into Harry’s ear, raising fine shivers among the hairs there. “That was the risk that Weasley took, not researching the past of the man she chose to take as her lover more closely. And even if she breaks away from him because of this, her family will support her.” His thumb rubbed Harry’s knuckles. “You shouldn’t need to feel anything for her.”

            “I shouldn’t need to, perhaps,” Harry corrected coolly. If he hadn’t known about the strength of Draco’s feelings and his own, he would sometimes have despaired for the future of anything they shared. Their moral convictions were poles apart, and Harry anticipated many, many rows in the future. “But I do, nevertheless. Ginny thought she would win, if only because Blaise’s tactics seemed designed to force you to your knees. And now she’s losing everything. And it didn’t even happen all at once, so she could be better-prepared for it.” Harry shrugged. “I do feel sorry for her. And even sorrier for the baby, who will probably grow up with a snappish mother and never see her father.”

            “It’s better if she doesn’t,” said Draco, and gestured to the pile of parchment again. “Would you want any niece of yours growing up around him?”

            Harry shook his head and faced the articles again, letting a feeling of coldness wash over him. If not for Draco, he might not only have lost the court case, because Zabini would assuredly have found a better Arguer than he could, but he would never have known how close to danger Ginny had come.

            Zabini had imitated his constantly marrying mother’s habits in one thing: he frequently “fell in love” with the wives of rich and powerful men, seduced them away from their husbands, and then urged them to divorce said husbands. Draco’s searchers had had so much trouble discovering what he was doing because he’d done it in other countries first, during and after the war with Voldemort—mostly Italy, Egypt, and Bulgaria, from what Harry had read. Perhaps he hadn’t felt bold enough to risk venturing into Britain until he was sure that Voldemort was defeated and that no rumors had sprung up about his activities there.

            And then he didn’t just abandon the women. Harry assumed he would have thought that was an unacceptable risk, more likely to get him caught. Each of the witches he seduced died in a “tragic accident” not long after they received the settlement.

            All that could have happened to Ginny if Harry hadn’t found a good Arguer. And Blaise was so good at making his lovers’ deaths look like accidents that it seemed he’d never been caught, prosecuted, or even suspected. That was another reason it had taken Draco’s investigators days to piece the pattern together.

            Yes, he was sorry for Ginny’s humiliation. But there was no question but that they had to publish it. If nothing else, Blaise might try again once the scandal of this divorce died down. If people knew, however, there would always be an eye on him.

            “Do you think Mrs. Zabini knows how well she taught her son?” he asked, leaning back against Draco’s shoulder.

            “I don’t know,” Draco said softly, one hand running up his spine as if he wanted to touch Harry and be lost in consideration of the question at the same time. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s maintained distance from his activities on purpose. If they happen in other countries, she can ignore them, after all. And that helps her look more innocent when he’s finally caught.”

            Harry shuddered. “I’m never going to understand the ways Slytherins think,” he muttered.

            “We’re more than just Slytherins, people like Mrs. Zabini and I,” Draco whispered into his ear. “We’re practical, strong, and willing to take what satisfaction and use what compassion we can, in between the demands of our lives.” He paused for a moment, and then Harry turned his head just enough to catch him in the act of shrugging. “Blaise isn’t like that. I think he would have been caught eventually. Just his venturing back to Britain shows that he was growing overconfident. People know his mother’s reputation here. He would have been watched more closely.” For a moment, he met Harry’s eyes. “And I think you would never have rested until you managed to uncover the real evidence behind Weasley’s death, however long that took you.”

            Harry nodded once. Then he said, “I wanted to speak to you about—about what I want to do in the next little while.”

            Draco cocked his head. “You’ve changed your mind about sitting in a small room and translating complicated legal documents for free, then?”

            “Yes,” Harry said. “I realized that the times I’ve felt most alive in the past few weeks are those when I was defending you from some danger, or helping to rescue your mother. I thought better, I moved better, I had energy I thought was gone, and I could make plans without worrying that something would go wrong the moment I did. I used to worry about venturing outside to garden, never mind do anything more adventurous.” He shook his head. “At the same time, I don’t think the formal legalities of the Aurors would suit me at all. I don’t like or understand Ministry politics, and they would try to find a way to exploit me for my name.”

            “I would not let that happen,” Draco said, softly, ferociously, leaning forwards to nuzzle into his neck.

            Harry tensed a moment, then leaned his head back and accepted the caress. He had become better at that ever since he and Draco had made what Harry couldn’t help but think of as the declaration of their feelings in the room at St. Mungo’s. “I know, but I’d rather not put you to the trouble in the first place.”

            “So what will you do?” Draco looped his arms about his waist. “I can’t imagine that it won’t involve some amount of trouble and risk, knowing you.”

            “It does,” Harry murmured, leaning back against him. “And this is the point where you’ll yell at me, I think.”

            Draco’s arms tightened around him just the least little bit. “Oh?” He bit the word off.

            “Yes.” Gently, Harry freed himself from the clasp and turned around, putting his hands on Draco’s shoulders. “I think I want to hire out as a bodyguard, a defender—of people, not places. I could help protect your clients during particularly dangerous cases. I could also help other Arguers—not the ones who would take cases opposite to yours, of course—and hire out for other things. Dueling lessons given in private, for example. I’ve had all this knowledge of spells and defense sitting in my head for too long. It should be used for something. And if I get bored of one job, such as bodyguarding, I can try something else. Perhaps even finding cursed artifacts in trapped locations.” He chuckled a bit, thinking of the Horcruxes. “You could say I’m a bit of an expert in that, too.”

            “I don’t like you risking your life.” Draco made the statement almost expressionlessly, but his hands had tightened on Harry again in warning.

            “I know.” Harry nodded. “On the other hand, your own profession involves a certain amount of risk, too, doesn’t it? You can never tell when one of your opponents thinks the best thing to do is threaten you, or try to assassinate your client. Or kidnap your mother,” he added.

            “I’ve never had all three happen at once,” Draco said obstinately, lifting his chin, “and I enjoy a level of safety I never knew existed before, now that my father is dead.”

            “I know that.” Oddly enough, Harry found himself growing calmer as the conversation proceeded. He had thought he would yell at Draco the moment their wills clashed, but he should have trusted his own affection more. Maybe, someday soon, he would be ready to do that. He trusted Draco more than he trusted himself, at this point.

            He shoved the confusing thoughts aside and pressed on with his main point. “But it can still happen. And none of the spells you told me about prevents Blaise from trying for direct revenge on you, other than that he won’t want to kill you. Please let me help protect you, Draco. I promise I don’t end up in hospital every time I do it, either.” He tried a smile.

            “Just the majority of the time,” Draco muttered. He had his arms folded, his body radiating tension.

            Harry took a deep breath, gripped the charging bull by the horns, and stepped forwards to wrap his arms around Draco. Draco wavered for a moment, blinking, as if he simultaneously wanted to think Harry was just playing with him and remembered that Harry was unlikely to use physical affection to do that.

            “I promise,” Harry whispered, “I won’t take unnecessary risks. But this is what I want to do, Draco. The first thing that sounds appealing, after years of nothing but staring into space and talking to three people almost exclusively. You’ve given me so much. I want to give back to you, too, but some things I need to take for myself. You’re wonderful with words. This is what I’m good at—and I can become better, since I’m sure that you have books in your library on Dark Arts and defensive spells.”

            Draco smiled, reluctantly. “Yes, I do,” he said. “I just—I don’t think your definition of unnecessary risk and mine match.”

            “Then we can talk it over,” Harry said calmly. “Can’t we?”

            After a moment, Draco’s hand started to smooth circles on his back. “I don’t know,” he said. “Can we? Are you ready to tell the Weasleys, let alone everyone else, that we’re lovers?”

            “Yes,” Harry said. He leaned back and stared into Draco’s face for a moment. “Were you worried that I wouldn’t want to? Draco.” He shook his head, amusement racing up his throat. He had a hard time preventing his laughter, but he did, lest Draco think he was laughing at his expense. “Who’s the Gryffindor here?”

            “As you said once,” Draco murmured, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair, “I know a lot about Gryffindors, but not much about you.”

            “That’s changed.” Harry caught his hand and turned to press a kiss to his palm. The more gestures he made without Draco rebuffing him, the more confidence he gained, and the further away memories of Ginny’s sighs and sudden tension when he touched her faded. This wasn’t a turn in his life he had chosen or would have predicted, but did that make it less valuable? “If you want to know something about me, ask it.”

            “You think it’s absolutely necessary to your happiness to do this?” Draco asked.

            “Not my happiness,” Harry corrected. “My joy in life. Yes. This is what makes me feel most alive—other than being in your company. And of course, I can’t sit at your side all day every day, though I’ll be happy to attend any of your court sessions that you want me to. This is what I want, and you’re who I want.”

            Finally, there was a spark of something like belief in Draco’s eyes. Harry gave a small chuckle, amused at both of them, though mostly at himself. Finally, as well, he had caught a glimpse of how his hesitation to acknowledge his own feelings and believe in Draco’s affection must have affected Draco.

            Well, honesty comes more easily to me than him, anyway. So at least I have that ballast as we go forwards.

*

            Draco had been surprised, but pleased, that Skeeter herself had insisted on waiting to launch the news of Blaise’s past, Narcissa’s kidnapping, and Harry and Draco’s commitment to each other until the third day after the last court session, when Judge Witherbone declared Harry officially divorced. He had thought her greed would prevail over her desire to affect the wizarding world with the news, but it seemed he had an ally in wishing a large part of that world’s assumptions to burn to the ground.

            An especially thick edition of the Daily Prophet therefore came out two mornings later. Draco opened to the front page with a high sense of anticipation, especially since Harry wasn’t downstairs yet and thus not clamoring to see the headlines.

            The first screamed the news in the most dramatic fashion that Draco could have hoped for.

            BLAISE ZABINI: SEDUCER AND MURDERER!

            Lover in Potter case has dark past

            The second page carried a photograph of Narcissa which emphasized the fragility in her face and eyes, and the news of her kidnapping. Draco could almost feel Skeeter’s satisfaction at finally being able to write about the Madwoman of Malfoy Manor leaking through the lines, and narrowed his eyes with a snort. Enjoy it, bitch. It’s the last time you ever will.

            The third page carried the news of Harry’s divorce, and an interview with Judge Witherbone in which she explained that Ginny and Harry were obviously much better off divorced, since their goals in life were incompatible. Draco snickered to himself. Is that what they’re calling it these days?

            And the fourth page…

            The fourth page carried a picture of him and Harry leaving the courtroom, one that Draco hadn’t known for certain anyone had snapped, but which he had charged Skeeter to secure anyway. Of course the Prophet would have had photographers watching; it was only a matter of finding the right one.

            This picture had Harry looking up at him, his face creased in a faint smile. Draco was bending towards him, hands flicking in animated motion, and the pictured Harry laughed and stepped smoothly closer. They did not kiss, of course, because no pictures of them like that existed yet, but Draco knew any fool with eyes could see the truth before looking at the headline that proclaimed it.

            Potter and Malfoy: The Surprising Love Affair

            Draco scanned the article quickly. To his satisfaction, it carried nothing about he and Harry becoming lovers before the end of the marriage—proof that Rita Skeeter did not know everything. There was only the statement that he’d sent her and Harry had approved, that the process of the divorce had brought them closer to each other and revealed they were physical and intellectual equals. The rest was pure Skeeter spin of the best variety: gushing speculation on how their mutual power had probably attracted them to each other, a reminder to Prophet readers on how Ginny Weasley had schemed to get her hands on Potter without bothering to know the man, a haughty comment on how Potter and his Weasley bride had married so quickly five years ago and how quick marriages in the flush of victory rarely worked out, and a sparkling closing paragraph on how “This reporter, at least, is sure that Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy have found something in each other that no one else could have offered them.”

            Draco felt as if he were radiating smugness out the tips of his fingers as he laid the paper down and began to eat. He laughed aloud, however, when he flipped through the rest of the pages, and found they concerned Pansy’s continuing trial and how the Weasley twins had issued a public apology to Harry in the form of sweets that painted WE’RE SORRY, HARRY in large flashing letters on the faces of everyone who ate them. They dominated the newspaper together.

            Draco heard footsteps on the stairs just then, and sat back with a satisfied little sigh. He had already lowered the wards to permit every letter through that wasn’t actually a Howler. He was somewhat surprised Harry had arrived before they had.

            Harry trotted in yawning, his hair mussed, but saw the paper and Summoned it with a flick of his wand. He looked a bit queasy at the headline on the front page, and looked at Draco over the top of it. “Did you suggest that to her?”

            “I might have had something to do with it, yes,” Draco murmured, and spread marmalade on his toast.

            Harry shook his head. “You do delight in smashing your enemies to small pieces, don’t you?”

            “It’s the only way to be sure they won’t stab you in the back,” Draco said, and took a bite of toast, and beamed at Harry.

            “Sometimes it seems unnecessarily cruel,” Harry murmured, and sat down in front of his own plate just as his food appeared. Harry gave it a half-smile as he picked up his spoon and began to eat porridge, never looking away from Draco in the meantime. “But I suppose you would say that it’s no more than he deserves.”

            “Far less than he deserves,” Draco said, and felt another spasm of disgust at Blaise shake his stomach. How stupid must the man be, to believe he could continue murdering women indefinitely? He was lucky that he hadn’t been caught for the three murders he’d committed before this, truly.

            Of course, perhaps the wizarding government of Britain would arrange to send him back to one of the countries where he’d committed murder. Draco snickered into his toast, imagining the scene.

            The first letter arrived then, an owl swooping directly to Harry and extending its leg with an impatient hoot. Draco recognized the bird as the one that had delivered the Weasley post the other day. He raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t try to speak, since he had a rather full mouth at the moment.

            Harry gingerly undid the envelope, and scanned the letter for a moment. Then his face relaxed, and he chuckled. Draco tilted his head; that was not a reaction that he would have imagined to Harry’s first communication from his surrogate family in the wake of this news.

            “What does it say?” he asked.

            “It’s Bill again,” Harry said, and waved the letter in the air, shaking his head. “Talking self-righteously about marriage being a matter of honesty, and now he understands why I can’t reconcile with Ginny, because I must be gay and the divorce process helped me realize it.”

            “And that doesn’t upset you?” Draco asked delicately. It wasn’t so long ago that Harry had been angry at the mere thought of being attracted to men, after all.

            “Not really, no.” Harry shrugged and laid Bill’s letter down beside his plate. “Bill’s opinion doesn’t matter to me, not compared to the opinions of some members of his family.” He looked up again as two owls came through the window, and the first bird hooted and hopped irritably out of the way. “No reply,” Harry told her, even as he tried to clear his food out of the way so the other owls could land, and she gave him a disgruntled look, but unfurled her wings.

            “And who are these from?” Draco asked, quietly amused as he watched Harry’s face break into a relieved smile.

            “Ron and Hermione,” Harry answered, holding up the second letter. “Ron’s ranting about you. Hermione takes over halfway through the letter and tells me that she’s very happy I have ‘someone special in my life,’ and she really should have known it when we showed up together at the press conference—I’m not sure how in the world she’s defining ‘together’—but that I must let her know the truth as soon as possible, so that Ron’s head doesn’t explode.

            “And this one’s from Rita Skeeter.” Harry shook his head. “Apparently, she hasn’t learned from my refusing many interviews with her over the years. She just wants to know if I’ll talk to her about how I found love.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s rather disgusting, the way she assumes that I’ll forget everything she wrote about me in my fourth year at Hogwarts.”

            “Well, she knows that we like each other now,” Draco said, delicately sniffing his morning ham so that he could be sure it was cooked all the way through, and secretly delighting in the open expression on Harry’s face. “And I was the one who passed her the majority of that information. Perhaps she thinks that if you can forgive one person involved in that affair, you can forgive another.”

            Harry opened his mouth to retort, but two owls arrived for Draco before he could say anything. Draco recognized Pansy’s bird, but the other was unfamiliar, a regal great horned owl that simply sat on the opposite side of the table and refused to approach until Draco had opened Pansy’s letter.

            Dear Draco, was all she said, I knew you fancied Harry Potter. You will give me cognac freely for the rest of my life if you don’t want me to tell him how early it began. And, of course, both of you will come on our next Continental holiday, because no one else can tell off the workers at bad hostels like you can.

            Harry watched curiously, but Draco only said, “Pansy. She’s pleased for us,” and then held his hand out towards the great horned owl.

            It hopped towards him as though it hoped to make him anxious with the sheer slowness of its movements. Not impressed, Draco simply rolled his eyes and tore the letter away from it. The owl retreated with an indignant hoot.

            The letter was from Ginny Weasley. She had used an owl belonging to Mrs. Zabini, Draco guessed, which was why he hadn’t recognized it.

            Malfoy:

            I thought I had reason to loathe you before this, but now I owe you for setting my family against me, an hour-long scolding from my mother with advice to keep away from Blaise, and turning my husband from me in addition to all the others.

            I see the truth now. I have blamed the wrong man all along. You must have begun seducing Harry long before the divorce case commenced, or he would never have succumbed to your charms so quickly.

            Draco couldn’t keep himself from snorting. He covered his face with one hand, and just shook his head when Harry demanded to know what was funny. He couldn’t, not yet. After a moment, when he thought he probably had himself under control, he opened one eye and peered cautiously at the letter again.

            You made my husband think he’s bent. That is worse than all the other insults. The letters and Howlers have already begun to come, many of them taunting me for thinking I could marry a gay man and change him. But Harry wasn’t gay when I married him. That was all your doing, all your fault.

            And I know, though he doesn’t—because he is innocent and trusting, and gives his whole heart—that you will tire of him eventually, and move on to another lover, and laugh at him when he complains. And he can never find sex with a man as fulfilling as he found sex with me. The Prophet will report your dramatic leaving of each other in a month’s time, I know it.

            I will hunt you down as soon as Harry is safely away from your side. Fear me.

            Ginny Potter.

            “What?” Harry demanded, because Draco was laughing too hard to say anything by the letter’s end.

            Draco held it out to him then, and watched Harry read it, his eyes widening in incredulity as he went on. He finally laid it on the table, with a dazed shake of his head, and said, “She blamed you for making me bent and she assumes that I’ll go back to sleeping with women in the same letter. She—she really doesn’t want to admit she was wrong. Ever. I mean, I knew that she hated apologizing when we married, but this is beyond—anything I suspected, really.”

            “She may know the truth,” Draco said cheerfully. “She probably does. But as long as she can imagine that someone else is at fault, she will. I think this letter is more about venting her emotions and trying to persuade and frighten me than anything else.”

            “You’re probably right.” Harry grinned then. “Hell, you’re almost always right. And she’s wrong.” He leaned across the table to kiss Draco. Draco held still, tilting his head just a little to get all the advantage of it.

            It was the first deep kiss Harry had initiated since their days of unsatisfactory sex. Draco could feel the passion behind it, trembling like water held back by a dam.

            It wouldn’t be much longer, now, before that passion won free, and Harry moved to take what they both wanted.

            Draco would wait. He would rather enjoy not having to do all the work of chasing, for once.

            And in the meantime, he would enjoy the fires that he had lit. Another letter was coming already. Draco returned the kiss for one more instant, and then drew away, eager to find out what praise or futile yapping he had earned now.

*

            Dezra: Bill worked out his own problems with Fleur over his being a werewolf, so he assumes every married couple can do the same.

            Sheree: True, but wizarding divorce is not anything like normal divorce. On purpose, of course, so that I could milk it for the plot.
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