Changing of the Guard | By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 58627 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- 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. |
Thanks again for all the reviews! I know this chapter’s a
bit early, but I won’t have as much time to write tomorrow as I thought I
would.
“The
flowers are looking well.”
Narcissa
started and looked over her shoulder, then came laughing to Draco and put her
arms around him. “Naughty boy,” she murmured into his neck. “You know that you
weren’t supposed to be here until tonight, and you definitely weren’t
supposed to see the flowers I’d arranged until then!”
Draco embraced
her with one arm whilst he critically studied the flowers hanging in a gathered
knot on the walls every three feet. They were all pale—lilies, white roses,
narcissus, and a variety of white snapdragons his mother had developed in the
Malfoy gardens. Draco smiled, a little. The flowers complemented the décor of
the Manor and the pale colors of Malfoy hair and skin, but they also spoke a
very particular language that most of the people at the party would understand:
Draco was pure in magic and bloodline, with no major scandals attached to his
name since the Wizengamot had declared him innocent of willfully helping the
Dark Lord twelve years ago. A fine husband, the flowers would suggest in their
own, sly way. A fine father for children who would also be unspotted in magic
and in bloodline.
Draco did
wish there was a way to break with his father without hurting his mother.
On the other hand, Narcissa’s choice of flowers showed why that was impossible.
Narcissa had ignored hundreds of gentle hints in the last few months that Draco
was uninterested in early marriage, and probably wouldn’t choose a bride, if he
took one, purely on the basis of magic and family. Draco had spoken bluntly
more than once when he found out gentleness didn’t work, and still Narcissa
shut her ears and did not listen.
She had her
vision of the perfect son, even as Lucius had his. Hers was less slavish than
Lucius’s, but still didn’t include a Draco with an independent thought in his
head.
“The
flowers do look beautiful, Mother,” Draco said with perfect truth, and kissed
her on the cheek. He stepped back and cast a glance at the door of the large
ballroom that was kept shut up most of the year, other than for the
house-elves’ weekly cleaning. Narcissa immediately stepped in front of the door
and made a shooing motion at him.
“You go get
yourself ready for the party,” she said. “Make sure your robes fit. Make sure
your teeth are clean.” Draco rolled his eyes. He’d showed up to one dinner
party when he was four with a piece of egg still stuck in his teeth, and
his mother had never let him forget. “And make sure your date is on time.”
Narcissa spoke those last words with a soft smile.
That was
another thing, Draco thought, as he gazed steadily and sadly at his mother for
a moment. He’d said more than once that neither of his parents knew the person
he’d arrive with tonight, and yet Narcissa had somehow convinced herself it
would be Pansy, mainly because Pansy didn’t dare take her Muggle lover out in
public and Draco still spent some time at her house.
And because
Narcissa wanted it to be Pansy so badly.
Draco loved
his mother, but her desires and wishes did rather get in the way of reality.
“My date
will be here on time,” Draco murmured, turning away to climb the back staircase
that led from the ballroom to the upper floors of the Manor. “Which is to say,
fashionably late.”
“Of course
she will be, dear,” Narcissa said happily from behind him. “I’m sure her mother
taught her well.”
Actually,
I’m the one who suggested that, Draco thought, and let his mind caress and
sweep over images of Brian, now that his back was turned and his mother
wouldn’t see his smile.
*
Harry
looked at himself in the mirror, and frowned. No, he didn’t like the hang of
those dress robes after all.
And he was not
being fussy, he told himself, as he cast off that set of robes and
Levitated another out of the closet in his bedroom at Number Twelve Grimmauld
Place. He simply wanted to make a good impression at a pure-blood party; no one
should be able to accuse Brian of a lack of taste or class. He’d spent this
much time before on costumes for meetings with other clients.
A whoosh
from downstairs made Harry straighten, eyes narrowing. There was always the
chance that this would be the day some reporter figured out a way past his
wards, or connected Metamorphosis with Harry Potter.
But then
Ron’s voice called up the stairs, “Harry? You there, mate?”
A flick of
his wand, and Harry banished the robes to his closet, then concealed the closet
door itself. In a moment, his bedroom looked like the ordinarily messy room Ron
knew it as, and not a second Metamorphosis. Harry leaned out the door and
shouted down the stairs, “Up here!” Ron grunted, and Harry heard him clomping
up the steps. He cast a glance at the mirror, just to make sure he hadn’t
already altered the lines of his face or changed his eyes to blue and then
forgotten them—but he hadn’t. He relaxed.
Neither Ron
nor Hermione knew he ran Metamorphosis; nor did Ginny, for that matter, though
she had been with him long enough to see how fascinated he’d become with
glamours and disguises as a way of hiding from the press. Harry had tentatively
broached similar ideas with them a few times in the past, when he was just
starting to run the business. Hermione’s disapproval had been immediate. “You
should be yourself, Harry.” She’d even tried to urge him to come out
publicly before she saw a few real examples of what his life would be like if
he did. And Ron agreed with Hermione, as he did on most things that were not
Quidditch.
Harry needed
Metamorphosis—needed to be free to move away from the bland, forgettable, residual
life he had as Harry Potter—but he couldn’t expect either of his friends to
approve that need. It didn’t matter. When he was Harry, and he always was
around them, he loved them dearly.
Ron entered
the room, and Harry set the thoughts aside. He was not Brian at that moment, or
the Manager of Metamorphosis, or anyone else his friends didn’t know. He was
Harry Potter, recluse, former hero, unfortunately gay friend of Ron Weasley and
Hermione Granger. (Hermione had kept her last name even though she’d married;
she’d said matter-of-factly that there were quite enough Weasleys working in
the Ministry already).
“Hey,
Harry.” Ron smiled at him and leaned against the doorway. “Mum wanted me to
invite you for dinner tonight.”
Harry
grinned at Ron. Ordinarily, he would have accepted; his assignment with Draco
already looked to be more of a day-focused than night-focused job, because
Draco wanted Brian to appear with him in public as often as possible and to as
many people as possible, and visiting popular tourist sites would do that
better than visiting isolated dinner parties. “Sorry, but I can’t, Ron. Already
got an engagement to go over the legal documents for the Charity.”
Harry, so
far as his friends knew, devoted most of his time to the Charity, an
organization that tried to mitigate the worst excesses of the Ministry under
Voldemort. In reality, whilst a good deal of the money from Metamorphosis
entered the offices of the Charity, it almost ran itself; the people Harry had
hired were more than competent and cared passionately about their work. But it
was a convenient mask.
Ron rolled
his eyes. “You do realize that normal people have a life beyond work and
a few visits with friends during a week, Harry?”
Harry
laughed, genuinely amused. “And you’d put me and ‘normal’ together in the same
sentence?”
“Well, no,
probably not,” Ron had to concede.
“And
Hermione? You know she works even more than I do.”
Ron’s face
broke into a grin, and he did a little tap-dance. “Well, she’s got more of a
life now than she’s ever had,” he said, and winked.
Harry
raised his eyebrows, then launched himself across the room at his friend and
hugged him hard. Ron hugged him in return, pounding his back. Ordinarily they
avoided touching so much since Harry had announced his orientation to his
friends, but this was a special occasion.
“Congratulations!”
Harry said, drawing back and grinning at him. “So Hermione finally decided her
career was slowing down enough to have a baby?”
Ron nodded,
flushed with obvious pride.
“When’s she
due?”
“Six months
from now.” Ron laughed, this time probably at Harry’s surprise. “You know
Hermione. She used every spell and every test—even one of those Muggle
things—to be sure she was actually pregnant. And she also found a spell
that tells the baby’s sex.” Ron beamed at Harry. “We’re going to have a little
girl.”
“Wonderful,”
Harry said. “And let me guess. You’ll name her Lavender.”
Ron’s
flush, in retreat, returned, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Never going
to let me forget that, either of you,” he muttered.
“It was one
of your stupider moments,” Harry said comfortably. “Or should I say months?”
Ron snapped
back, and they enjoyed a few more minutes of banter before Harry urged him
gently out of the house. Then he turned, opened his closet, and reached for the
set of robes he’d decided on as he was ribbing Ron about his obvious drooling
over a blonde witch a few years before. He swept the robes around him, checked
the hang in the mirror, and smiled slowly.
Yes. The
robes looked even better when he’d acquired Brian’s eyes and face again. Draco
hadn’t told him any specific color to wear, just to choose something tasteful.
“It is tasteful
to have half the room panting after you,” Harry told the mirror, in Brian’s
voice.
*
Draco
glanced towards the ballroom with a small smile. Twice now Lucius had urged him
to enter, no doubt hoping that Draco would fall over when he saw the number of
guests his parents had invited and the effort the house-elves and his mother
had put into decorations, but Draco had resisted on the very good grounds that
his date wasn’t here yet. Lucius, grumbling, had finally taken Narcissa’s arm
and entered, to the sound of aborted cheers as the crowd realized Lucius wasn’t
Draco.
Draco was
wearing a set of very pale blue robes, so pale they could be mistaken as
off-white in certain lights. They were in a pure-blood cut that had been traditional
when his great-grandparents were children. He knew he looked like an ice
statue, and that he would impress some of the marriageable women no doubt
gathered here to impress him.
I’ll
just have to make it clear I’m taken.
Right on
cue, a set of brisk footsteps advanced up the path that led from the gardens to
the back of the house, where Draco had waited. He turned around expectantly.
Brian
stepped out of the shadows.
Draco felt
the breath blasted out of him. Brian had chosen dark blue robes, in a color
that made his eyes shine with an almost unearthly glow. They were tight enough to hint at scandal,
but not quite invoke it. At the same time, Draco could see the soft shine of
built-in loosening spells; Brian could adjust them for dancing and no doubt for
dramatic effect. At the moment, the dramatic effect mostly came from the cloak
he wore, also a brilliant dark blue, edged with silver. Brian handled it with a
grace that Draco had only ever seen rivaled by Severus Snape.
An
unexpected nostalgia for his old professor struck him, but that quickly melted
in the face of Brian’s quiet, delighted half-smile on seeing him. Severus had
been dead for twelve years, and Draco had made his peace with the memory of
him. This man in front of him represented the height and richness of life.
“I trust
this is acceptable?” Brian said, and reached out to clasp Draco’s hand,
lowering his eyelashes in an absurd parody of a shy maiden.
“More than
acceptable,” Draco murmured, pulling him closer, “and you know it. Let’s have
no false modesty, shall we?”
Brian
grinned at him. They were almost the same height, a rare thing for Draco—he was
a little past six feet—and to have those brilliant eyes only a few inches from
his own shook him. He knew he didn’t show it, but for him to feel the emotion
at all was startling and disconcerting.
“Of course
not,” Brian said. “I know I have a lot to be proud of.” He ran his eyes
down Draco’s body for a moment. “And I’m not the only one.”
Draco
quirked a smile. Once again, it wouldn’t do to show how affected he was, but
Brian did make him feel more than he’d felt around anyone in a long
time, and there was no reason he couldn’t admit that—to himself, of course.
“Then I
assume you are ready for our first venture into public as a couple?” he
inquired, and held out his arm. Brian put his hand on his elbow and gripped
firmly, a grasp that quieted any fears Draco might have had about Brian being
less than masculine.
“Let’s go
impress the shit out of them,” Brian said.
Draco bit
his lip to stop laughter at the vulgar word combined with the neatly-cut robes
and the glittering decorations of white and silver and ivory hanging around
them, and led Brian towards the ballroom. They paused for one moment outside
the door so Draco could tap out the code that alerted his parents he was about
to enter, and he heard the thick, expectant silence ebbing back and forth on
the other side, broken by excited giggles and hisses of admonitions to be
quiet.
Brian stood
relaxed and quiet at his side, as poised as a cat. Draco nodded at him and cast
the spell that would fling the door open.
They
stepped into the middle of a shout of, “Happy Birth—“
And then
the shout died as they realized the robed figure striding along beside him was,
in fact, male. Draco and Brian paced up an aisle of staring guests towards his
parents, and except for the stamp and thump of dragonhide boots, the room was utterly
silent.
Deliciously
so, in Draco’s opinion. He raised his eyes to see how his parents were taking
this, and nearly laughed aloud.
Narcissa
had both hands clapped to her mouth, like a Muggle woman startled by a mouse.
Lucius stared back and forth between his son and his son’s date with his jaw
literally dropping, a sight Draco had never seen in his lifetime.
Then
Lucius’s eyes narrowed and he stood taller, as poised in his own way as Brian.
Draco knew the thoughts flashing behind those gray eyes, because he knew his
father. Lucius would be thinking this was some kind of trick or joke. The
“male” date on his arm was really Pansy Parkinson Polyjuiced. Or Draco had cast
a complicated glamour and would remove it in a moment to reveal his chosen
fiancée; this was simply his rather scandalous way of introducing her, to be
sure his parents knew his choice was firm.
Something
more would be needed to convince his father, Draco knew.
And then
Brian’s arm curled around his shoulders, and Draco realized his thoughts had
been anticipated. He turned, lifting his head in response and half-closing his
eyes.
*
Mrs. Malfoy
looked as though the roof of the ballroom had fallen in and the beautiful
ivory-colored cake on the far table had begun to melt. Lucius Malfoy, on the
other hand, looked as if he wanted to kill someone.
For a
moment.
The very
shortness of his reaction told Harry what kind of denial they were dealing with
here. He’d seen it in Ginny’s eyes when he’d first confessed he was gay, even
though she’d suspected. No, not really, Lucius’s brain was telling him.
His son could not really be gay, to the destruction of all Lucius’s
hopes for him.
Time for an
undeniable demonstration.
Harry
reached out and put his arm around Draco’s shoulders. Draco turned towards him,
reading his mind, flowing in accordance with his thoughts. The feeling was
extraordinarily eerie, but Harry allowed himself to dwell on it for just a
moment. Then he was Brian, daredevil Brian, full of generous good-hearted ideas
combined with a cool understanding and love of high culture, and with not a
care in the world for his public reputation, because he aspired to neither
political power or marriage.
Harry
leaned in, thinking like Brian, moving like Brian, and kissed Draco Malfoy for
the first time.
It was a
perfectly aligned kiss, as Draco could not display any weakness before his parents
and Brian would display no weakness before these people who would tear him
apart if they had the chance. Harry’s hands cradled the back of Draco’s head.
Draco’s hands rested along his cheeks. Neither of them appeared weak. Neither
of them appeared as if he were simply leaning back and letting himself
be kissed, as if he were the girl in the relationship—an outsider perception of
gay relationships so prevalent that Harry knew he would have to combat it, no
matter how untrue it might be.
Harry had
intended a perfectly chaste kiss, too. Let Draco’s parents and guests
understand that passion between men could be calm and dignified.
And then
Draco’s mouth opened, and Harry realized the change in plans—Draco must have
decided they were to play a couple so strongly joined that his parents would
not have a hope of separating them—at the same moment as his tongue curled
around Draco’s.
Thought
drowned for a moment. Harry gloried in a taste that made his nerves greedy. He
pushed closer without thought, and felt Draco stand firm and push back; he
wouldn’t allow himself to be bent backwards. Draco’s hands had by now buried
themselves in Harry’s hair.
Let
them, Harry thought dazedly. It’s not a wig, it doesn’t matter—
Draco
tugged demandingly and leaned forwards. Harry met him, angling his nose out of
the way.
The taste
rushed back into his mouth again, along with Draco’s tongue. It didn’t have a flavor
that Harry could describe, though he had kissed some men who actually
tasted like salt, like mints, like various combinations of fruits. It had the
exciting, fleshy taste of the inside of a cheek, but Draco didn’t simply stand
still and let himself be kissed. He strove, he dived, he twisted; he was
kissing Harry as intently as he’d ever played Quidditch at Hogwarts.
Harry
called on stern self-control as well as his hold on Draco’s shoulders to keep
himself standing. Finally, slowly, they drew back, Harry licking his lips to
make sure no strings of saliva connected them. Really, that would be all they
needed now, when the silence had broken into furious shouts of protest.
He met
Draco’s eyes, and nearly staggered at the heat in them. Draco had deliberately
dropped the mask of control so Harry could see how the kiss had affected him.
So far as Draco was concerned, Harry knew, the chances that they would go to
bed together had just jumped.
And Harry’s
own anticipation of his pleasure when they did so was so keen that he had to
take a moment to recover Brian’s poise. When he did, he winked at Draco and
turned cheerfully away, stepping forwards to extend his hand to Lucius.
“You must
be Lucius Malfoy,” he said, dropping his voice into a husk a few degrees away
from flirtation. “It’s obvious where Draco gets his good looks from.”
*
Draco had
to work very hard to keep from laughing aloud when his father recoiled from
Brian’s hand the way he would have from a reaching serpent. No, scratch that,
Lucius would have been more pleased with the serpent; he had kept magical
snakes as pets more than once.
And then Brian
had said the perfect thing to convince Lucius that his son’s date was
shameless about his sexuality. In fact, Brian stood there with the perfect
little puzzled smile on his face, too, as if he could not comprehend why Lucius
had refused the compliment.
Then he
shrugged and turned to Narcissa. Draco met his mother’s eyes and felt a stab of
guilt when he saw the tears in them. But he had known this would happen. If
Narcissa had been a little more alert, a little less resistant to Draco’s hints
that his future included more than a marriage exactly like his parents’, he
wouldn’t have had to do this.
“You’re
Draco’s mother, of course,” Brian said, and his voice was soft and gentle. He
might not like women sexually, Draco thought, but he could care for them.
“Draco’s told me so much about you. Can I shake your hand, please, if you won’t
allow me to kiss it?”
Narcissa
fell back on the social instincts that had served her so well in the past for
surviving embarrassing situations. She held out her hand, and Brian, after a
glance into her eyes, clasped it in both of his and shook it instead of kissing
it. He knew that would be a presumption right now, Draco thought.
He knew an
awful lot.
Including exactly
the right way to kiss. Draco was grateful his robes were no tighter.
Where
has he been all my life?
He stepped
forwards and put a hand on the small of Brian’s back, turning him to face the
others—old schoolmates, friends of his parents’, pure-blood wizards who had
emigrated from the Continent to Britain when so many of their distant relatives
died in the war and left houses and lands vacant. Their faces were without
exception blank, or stunned, or filled with loathing. Draco wished, for a
moment, that Blaise had consented to come to the party. Draco would have
enjoyed the sight of one person laughing his arse off.
“This is
Brian Montgomery,” Draco said, “my partner and my lover. I considered this
night, a decisive one in so many ways, the perfect time for introducing him.”
He smiled
blandly in the face of the increasing expressions of disgust. They only look
like that because they’ve never kissed him. Even if it was only once. He
tightened his hold on Brian’s waist a little.
“Are
festivals normally this silent?” Brian asked in a loud whisper. “I thought this
party was to celebrate your birthday, after all, not mourn it.”
And there
was the perfect way to move past the awkwardness, Draco thought with gratitude.
Brian was charging into the thick of things, taking the brunt of the guests’
dislike on himself. It was a Gryffindor thing to do, or whatever House he’d
been in at the Five Dragons.
“You’re
absolutely right,” Draco said. He turned his head to the side to slide his lips
through Brian’s hair. Soft and clean and wild. Draco wanted to brace his
hands in that hair and tug.
I’ll have the opportunity later, he promised himself. So far as he was
concerned, Brian wasn’t leaving tonight before they did something to ease the
tension throbbing between them and in Draco’s groin after that kiss.
“I promised you music, didn’t I?”
Draco continued, though they hadn’t agreed on any such dialogue. It built
naturally off the way they stood beside each other and the horrified silence
around them—the shouts had died when both Draco and Brian refused to respond to
them—and, yes, the tension. “I promised you dancing?”
“Yes, you did.” Brian caught his arm
and grinned up at him. “What about the Estival?”
Draco’s mouth moved in a smile
entirely without his permission. The Estival, named after a word for “summer-like,”
was a fast, lively dance with a constant change of lead. Brian could
have chosen nothing better to show that they didn’t care about the
emotions around them.
“Done,” he
replied, and flicked his wand. The first notes of the traditional Estival tune
began to sound from behind the large mirror hanging on the far wall.
And then
Draco took Brian’s arm and led him to the dance floor. Brian moved with an
easy, rolling stride, his eyes brilliant. Draco gave up after a moment of
battling and let his exhilaration consume him; he could always work it out in
the dance, after all, and no one else would have to know.
I like
him. I want him. I do not at all object to his presence at my side.
Of course, saying
that was an impossibility at this stage. Brian was a skilled actor and
liar; Draco could not forget that, no matter how many times he seemed to move
in time with Draco’s secret thoughts. Draco had to find out more about him
before he let him further into his affections.
And Draco
was very good at getting truth from his dancing partners.
Now
let’s see if it’s more than an act to him.
*
SoftObsidian74:
Thank you! Harry and Draco here are more mature than in my other stories, so
while they will get more than they bargained for, they’ll act a different way
about it.
You could
ask how Harry can trust Draco, either; they are both very good liars.
I’m glad
you like their dynamic; as you can see, there’s more of it here.
Qwerty,
Hi-chan, Mokushi Ryuu, angelmuziq,
Luvdonite:
Well, remember that Draco hasn’t met Harry for twelve years, and hasn’t had
much reason to think about him since. He also knew Harry Potter wasn’t a very
good liar, so it could take him a long time to become suspicious.
Mariahs_fantasy:
Harry may have done so, but only with clients who could please him, sexually.
Most of the jobs he’s taken have been bodyguarding ones—where sex would be an
unprofessional no-no—or pretending to be the straight fiancé of a gay woman or
man (he’s played women too). Not much room for sex there.
Mangacat:
This story may not be as angsty as you think it is, just because Harry and
Draco are very different characters from the ones I’ve created in the past.
Takumi
Fujuiwara: You’re welcome!
Banner:
Heh, Harry thinks he is being very controlled.
Yume111:
Thanks! In this case, Harry regards the masks as a form of play, and Draco is
certainly having fun, so it’s bound to be more humorous than the other stories.
Harry has
no thought of getting back at Draco. He really doesn’t hate him anymore. He’s
just enjoying the hell out of interacting with a man he finds attractive, in a
guise he enjoys playing.
Night the
Storyteller: Draco is being cautious. He doesn’t suspect it’s Harry Potter
there, but he knows Brian is too good to be true.
Harry
simply cannot bow his head in an encounter like this, or Draco would steamroll
over him. Harry has no intention of letting him do that.
SP&&:
Thanks! You may think you know the way the story is going to play out,
but I wouldn’t count on it 100%.
Purity does
seem to attract several fans. I wonder why?
I’m in my
20s. And yes, AR means alternate reality.
While AFF and its agents attempt to remove all illegal works from the site as quickly and thoroughly as possible, there is always the possibility that some submissions may be overlooked or dismissed in error. The AFF system includes a rigorous and complex abuse control system in order to prevent improper use of the AFF service, and we hope that its deployment indicates a good-faith effort to eliminate any illegal material on the site in a fair and unbiased manner. This abuse control system is run in accordance with the strict guidelines specified above.
All works displayed here, whether pictorial or literary, are the property of their owners and not Adult-FanFiction.org. Opinions stated in profiles of users may not reflect the opinions or views of Adult-FanFiction.org or any of its owners, agents, or related entities.
Website Domain ©2002-2017 by Apollo. PHP scripting, CSS style sheets, Database layout & Original artwork ©2005-2017 C. Kennington. Restructured Database & Forum skins ©2007-2017 J. Salva. Images, coding, and any other potentially liftable content may not be used without express written permission from their respective creator(s). Thank you for visiting!
Powered by Fiction Portal 2.0
Modifications © Manta2g, DemonGoddess
Site Owner - Apollo