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Providence	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 15842 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter Four�What
Harry Potter Decided

�� But the
game�s all over now.� Harry hated how quiet Astoria�s voice was, and especially
hated the way she stared at her hands, folded in her lap, as if she thought
that staring at them would relieve her of responsibility for dealing with this
problem. �He knows that I�m not really writing the letters. I don�t see what
good it can do to go on pretending that I am.�

�� There�s a
difference,� Harry snapped. He was pacing in front of Astoria, and he hated
that, too. Usually, he went out of his way to prevent people from seeing him
upset. But it didn�t really matter this time, he thought. He was upset, and Astoria had guessed that
before she even saw the letter.

�� Besides,
she was so distracted by her own worries at the moment that she was unlikely to
notice if Harry was a little out of temper.

�� What
difference?� She looked up at him, and Harry could see how desperately she
wanted his reassurance, how much she wanted to believe him. That was a good
start, and encouraged him to stop pacing and smile at her. This would have been
much harder if she had sat there sulkily weeping, or
stormed out the door and declared that they had been fools to try and deceive
Draco in the first place.

�� He says he
knows the writer isn�t you,� Harry said. �But he doesn�t know the writer is me.
He�s sure of a negative, but not a positive.�

�� Astoria�s
face fell again. �But it�s still one that will prevent him from wanting to date
me again. And maybe that�s for the best.� She cleared her throat. That didn�t
keep Harry from hearing a faint note of relief in her voice. �If he needs these
letters to be interested in me, then how disappointed would he be when he finds
out that I couldn�t write anything like them?�

�� Harry
snorted softly. �More of Draco�s existence is lived in real life than on paper.
I think you should be more worried what would happen if he found you boring
there.�

�� But this
does matter to him.� Astoria picked up Draco�s letter again, which rested on
the chair beside her. �You�re the one who said he had to be coaxed and enticed
to notice me. The hook is more important to him than the bait, though.� She
sighed and stood, sweeping her robes close about her. �I think we should simply
accept that this scheme failed. I won�t have my chance
with him.�

�� You can�t
walk out the door and be done with this,� Harry reminded her. �Draco knows you
know something, now that you�ve quoted from the letters. He would still come
and question you. Do you think you could resist one of his interrogations?�

�� Astoria
opened her mouth, then paused, looking thoughtful.
�Probably not,� she admitted. �But I don�t know what to do.�

�� I have a
plan,� Harry said. And he did. It had formed in his head as he paced, as if the
frantic speed of his feet had forced his thoughts to run faster. He knew that,
in some ways, that was the way it worked. It was why
he had a pacing room. He smiled at Astoria, who looked both intrigued and wary.
�And it will keep the letters intact, and
it will keep his interest in you intact.�

�� I hardly
see how it can do both,� Astoria said tartly.

�� Harry Summoned a sheet of parchment and an inkwell. He already had
a quill on the table across the room. �That�s because you haven�t seen what I�m
going to write yet.�

*

�� Draco
raised an eyebrow and closed the book. Tracking spells on owls were more
difficult than he had anticipated. And it seemed that great horned owls were
particularly resistant to that type of magic.

�� A pity. But at least it does show how clever my
writer is, that she would choose such a bird to carry her post.

�� And it shows how impossible it is for my
writer to be Astoria, who would never think of such a tactic.

�� He stood
up, stretching, and wandered over to the corner of the gardens where his mother
was resting. She was asleep when he reached her, and Draco stood watching with
a quiet smile for a few moments. His mother rested much better at home in the
Manor than she ever had in St. Mungo�s, which was one reason he had insisted on
fetching her when he did, apart from general distrust in the Healers� efficacy
and their interest in a Malfoy patient. Her breathing was soft and even, her
face regaining some color and fullness.

�� I would do anything for her,
and anything for my children.

�� Draco
paused suddenly, and turned to thoughtfully glance up through the broad fronds
of the garden�s ferns at the glass ceiling, through which sunlight poured.

�� Would I be willing to put in the same amount
of effort for my wife, I wonder?

�� It was a question
he had never considered before. Somehow, his imagination had leaped often to
his future children without touching on the wife who would have to come before
that. Draco was not fool enough to surrender to passion or pure physical
necessity and have bastards. Bastards could be legitimized, yes, but he wanted
children with a true claim to the Malfoy fortune.

�� But his
wife would not be a member of the family by birth. Would he be as loyal to her
as he knew he could be to someone born of his blood?

�� He didn�t
know. And that was disturbing.

�� Draco
frowned and folded his arms, pacing in a soft, smooth circle around his
mother�s bench, carefully not making enough noise to awaken her. Why haven�t I considered it? It�s a natural
thing to think about. And why can�t I give an answer? At least I should be able
to say, �My children are more precious to me than my wife,� and accept the
existence of that preference. I cannot give the excuse that she is imaginary so
far, because so are my children, and I have put in much work and effort for
them.

�� After some
minutes of walking and pondering, Draco believed he had the answer. At least,
it was the only one that survived the immediate brutal testing of his own questions.

�� I knew I would marry someday without believing
I would. I need a woman who is worthy of
me to marry, and I didn�t really believe I would ever find one.

�� Draco
paused and spent a moment scanning the air for signs of a great horned owl, a
small smile touching his lips.

�� But perhaps my writer is.

�� And as if
his wishes had conjured the bird into being, Draco saw the owl coming towards
him now. He reached up, caught the letter handily, and let the bad-tempered owl
fly away into a corner to find shelter from the sun. It gave a sullen hoot at
him. Draco ignored that in favor of tearing the envelope open.

�� He
expected�

�� A declaration of surrender. An admission that the writer was
not Astoria and a step closer to the real
business of this writing, which Draco knew must be a meeting with him. An admiring acknowledgment of his power of penetration.

�� None of
that was what he got.

�� I have spent years thinking you were a
clever man. Many people spoke admiringly in front of me of your intelligence,
and certainly, if you are as bored behind your mask as I think you are, you
have a certain brute cunning to have fooled everyone into thinking you are
content.

�� But at least I can admit my mistakes. That cleverness is a pathetic deception.

�� Draco
stared at the letter with his mouth open. Then he reminded himself that a true
Malfoy would never be caught like that, and quietly brought his jaw up.

�� What? How?

�� He couldn�t
even finish his own thoughts. He sank back on the bench he had risen from and
went on reading furiously.

�� You still have no idea who I really am. I
can see that much from the sneering arrogance of your letter, which attempts to
define negative knowledge as positive, and cast one hasty decision as the
defining feature of my life.

�� Tell me, if I were not the person you name,
would such a letter as yours encourage me to confess? Did you really think that you could intimidate me by using
words on paper?

�� I have told you what I am. I am a conqueror.
I require someone who can change and challenge me, and who changes himself in a
dance with life that I begin to think you incapable of truly engaging in. That
is knowledge from the quill that you claimed to believe because it would betray
me to you. But you must not believe it, because you tried to cow me as you
would a child.

�� Truly, Mr. Malfoy, you disappoint me. I
begin to wonder if I was wise in writing to you at all. I had assumed that part
of your public appearance was a deception, that you
were not as humble as you presented yourself to be. But for
you to be all pride and conceit?
I did not anticipate that.

�� I should have. I know you. I knew you when
you were a student in Hogwarts, and I remember how you struck out against
people whose only crime was not bowing to you, as if that was on a par with
actually attacking you.

�� But I gave you more credit than you deserve.
I thought the years must have made you more flexible and capable of accepting
contenders with some amusement. And yet, each time, you speak only of
surrender, not of enjoying the contest.

�� Competition is the essence of life to me. I
want an equal, a partner.

�� You do not. You want someone you can
control, someone who will lie down beneath you and spread her legs and moan at
you when you push into her. That is becoming abundantly clear.

�� Has it occurred to you that part of my behavior
is a test? That perhaps I may be different in person than on paper? That I
wanted to see the differences between your own public mask, the focus of
admiring eyes, and what you put down in a letter that you think will be read by
only one other?

�� You have failed the test. That, too, is
becoming abundantly clear.

�� In memory of what could have been, I do
offer you this last letter. Grimoire has been instructed not to wait for a
reply.

�� Draco spun
around. Sure enough, the owl was flapping heavily up through the trees and
towards the skylight by which it had entered. Draco cast a quick Summoning
Charm, but apart from a small wriggle of its tail feathers, the bird took no
notice.

�� His teeth
clenching so hard that they hurt his jaw, Draco looked back down and read the
last paragraph before the signature.

�� Perhaps I will contact you at some time in
the future, if I think you have made up for your faults with some truly
gentlemanlike conduct. But that contact will be under my power and of my
choosing. If you ever want to capture a wife who appreciates your (tiny)
virtues, then I advise you to subdue your arrogance.

�� A sincere friend.

�� Draco found
it hard to breathe for sheer rage for long moments; it was like trying to
swallow smoke and not cough. He flung the letter down next to him and raised
his wand, ready to cast Incendio on
it.

�� And then he
stooped and gathered up the parchment again, running his fingers over the words
that spelled out exactly what was wrong with him.

�� Competition is the essence of life to me. I
want an equal, a partner.

�� Draco came
to the second uncomfortable realization about himself in an hour, then. That
was what he wanted, too.

�� But he had
gone about showing his desire for that contest in a bloody poor way.

�� Draco
frowned and tapped his finger against his teeth. Was it possible that, in the
long parade of people praising him and bowing to him and allowing him to take
his place in society again, he had lost the edge that would allow him to win a
competition like this? He had pitied Lucius�s poor decisions that had led him
to become a Death Eater and wondered how they could have happened. But here he
was, making decisions of the same quality, if not as devastating for the
family.

�� It was
hard, to think that his pride was perhaps not justified. And it was harder
still to think it was up to his writer�or Astoria, if it was truly she�to
contact him again, since Draco had no means of finding the owl.

�� Then Draco
jerked his head and whirled towards the tree where the owl�Grimoire�had been
sitting.

�� Unless�

�� He ran to
the tree and ran his fingers gently over the bark. In a moment, he had located
what he wanted: a single dark feather, tipped with a spot of white that Draco
thought was shaped like a teardrop. He wondered if that was a good sign or not.

�� Then he
smiled and spun the feather between his fingers. He might have to change his
mind and humble himself a little, but he would not become superstitious and
start thinking that random marks on owl feathers meant he was doomed to shed
tears himself or something of the sort.

�� There was
sympathetic magic that could be performed to locate a creature or a wizard
based on its body leavings: blood, nail clippings, and the like. It was rarely
performed much anymore because it was considered so basic and lowly, which,
ironically, meant that Draco would have to spend some time studying it.

�� But he was
a true Malfoy, and not the caricature of one that he had become in his writer�s
mind. He would not disdain to use the smallest weapons to win this contest.

�� And how sweet it will be, he thought, as
he jogged into the Manor and towards his private potions lab, to show my writer that I can reach her if I
wish? That is not the same as making a statement that I know who she is. It
should be strong enough to intrigue her, but not forceful enough to irritate
her.

�� If someone
had outlined this situation to Draco a day before and asked him what he would
have felt if he was in the middle of it, Draco would have laughed. Pride was
the center of his being. He could not sacrifice it for a woman he didn�t know,
especially someone who might be the insipid Astoria Greengrass.

�� But he was
smiling now.

*

�� I haven�t
asked you this before, Harry.� Hermione put her glass down and leaned forwards.
�But I have to now. Are you sure that
you know what you�re doing as regards Malfoy?�

�� Harry
sighed and spent a moment toying with his own glass, which contained a soft,
sweet wine, the perfect accompaniment to the chicken he had cooked. Draco would
probably think his tastes were plebian, but Harry didn�t care. He was too proud
of himself for making meals that were fit to eat. He�d never had to do anything
so complicated at the Dursleys, even when Aunt Petunia made him make the meals,
and his lack of talent for Potions wasn�t a good sign, either.

�� At least I know she didn�t ask me before
because she was too busy eating. Harry looked up into his friend�s eyes and
answered honestly. �I�m not sure. Not anymore. After the last letter, he
started suspecting that Astoria hadn�t written it.�

�� Hermione
raised her eyebrows. �That quickly? Harry, what did
you do?�

�� Harry
bristled. �Why do you assume I did anything? Why couldn�t it have been
something Astoria did, or just Draco exercising general cleverness?�

�� Because
you wouldn�t look quite as forlorn if it was someone else�s fault.� Hermione�s
fingernails rang as her hands folded together, and she leaned across the table
to stare directly into his eyes. Her voice had become quiet, and Harry
recognized the tone that she used when she especially wanted to persuade
someone of something. Of course, Hermione usually wanted to persuade someone of
something, so that wasn�t much different from her usual tone. �Harry, even if
you get his attention, do you really want to start a relationship with him
based on deception? I can�t see him forgiving that.�

�� Harry
rolled his eyes. �I explained this already. I�m
not starting a relationship with him. Astoria
is starting a relationship with him.�

�� That won�t
work, either.� Hermione shook her head. �Why are you doing this? Why are you
trying this?�

�� And I
already explained that, too.� Harry ran a hand through his hair, wondering why
no one was listening to him. Astoria had reluctantly agreed to his plan to send
a mocking letter back to Draco, even though Harry knew it was perfect and the
only way to convince Draco he was mistaken about the writer�s identity�or,
rather, to get him to ignore that issue. �Because she�s the
one who can make him happy.�

�� Hermione
shook her head, and her eyes had softened. This was the side of her that most
people didn�t get to see, Harry knew. Years of working in the Ministry, often
in capacities that other people would like to see her demoted from, had hardened her. �You don�t know that, Harry. Maybe
there�s some other woman out there.�

�� Then she
hasn�t come forwards,� Harry said stubbornly, inflexibly. �And I don�t have
time to look for her.�

�� Time?� Hermione raised her eyebrows. �Does he have some
deadline for getting married?�

�� I mean, I
don�t have time now that I�m sending the letters.� Maybe, Harry acknowledged ruefully, other people are having trouble understanding me because I�m not
explaining myself well. He stood up, pushed his chair back, and began
pacing restlessly. The dining room was too small to be ideal for this, but
Hermione thought it was ridiculous that he had a room only for pacing and
refused to eat there. �Astoria is the best candidate. She understands what I�m
doing and she wants Draco badly enough to take all the risks that come with it.
Someone else would have to be fed the explanations all over again, and in the
end they might decide to tell Draco the truth.�

�� All
right,� Hermione said. �So her stake in this is equal to yours; I get that.�
She spread her hands. �But I still think it would be best to go to Malfoy,
explain why you started this in the first place, and find out if he�s
interested in men at all.�

�� I know
he�s not.�

�� So
confident a declaration,� Hermione said. �From someone who also thought that Malfoy would never see anything wrong with the
letters and would just tamely fall in love with Astoria.�

�� I was
wrong about that,� Harry admitted. �But I�ve never seen him in a situation like
this, so it was natural to be wrong
about it.� He couldn�t figure out why Hermione smiled then, so he pushed
doggedly on. �But I�m not wrong about this. I think Draco would probably make a
big announcement if he wanted to date men. He would show that he�s modern and
progressive enough�for a pure-blood�not to care so much about children and
marriage. But he hasn�t.�

�� Maybe he
just wants Astoria for a mother of his children, then,� Hermione said. �Have
you considered that?�

�� Harry
snorted. �Of course I have.�

�� Hermione
looked wrong-footed for once, which made Harry grin, because it was hard to catch her by surprise. �And is
that really the kind of wife you want to help him win?� she asked carefully.

�� If she�s
agreeable to it, and it�ll make him happy,� Harry said, not really
understanding what the point of the conversation was, �why not?�

�� Hermione
closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead as if trying to massage away a
headache. �Harry,� she said in a low voice, �it matters because she might
deserve more than just to be a mother to Malfoy�s children.�

�� She�s a
pure-blood, too,� said Harry dryly. �I think she expects to have children, or
at least one. Narcissa Malfoy just had one.�

�� You make
it sound so sensible,� Hermione
muttered. �But it�s not. I know it�s not.�

�� Harry
shrugged cheerfully. �If it ends up making Draco happy, and Astoria happy, then
who cares? Who else would be left to be hurt?�

�� You,�
Hermione said, staring at him.

�� Harry shook
his head. �But I never had a chance at the deepest possible happiness anyway.
At least I�ll get the secondary happiness of helping the man I love.�

�� Hermione
spent the rest of the evening looking at him in concern, but since she didn�t
actually voice an objection, Harry
presumed he�d got away with it.

*

�� Darling?�

�� Draco
glanced up. He had one small portion of the owl feather isolated under an
upside-down bell of blue glass, and was watching intently as it cycled through
a red potion. If he had done the calculations and performed the spell
correctly, the potion should be able to tell him where the owl was at this
moment.

�� It was a
surprise to see his mother standing in the door of the potions lab. She usually
never came here, saying that it reminded her too much of St. Mungo�s. But maybe
this was a good sign. Maybe she was recovering. It made Draco�s belly ache as
if he were going to vomit to see his proud mother so broken and weak.

�� What is
it, Mother?� He made sure to shield the potion with his body as he stepped
forwards, just to keep her distress down to a lower level.

�� I found
this in the garden,� Narcissa said, holding out the piece of parchment, �and I
thought it was very unusual.�

�� Draco
cleared his throat when he realized it was his writer�s letter. In the
excitement of finding the owl feather, he�d left it behind. �Well, yes,� he
said, and tried not to picture his mother reading the section where his writer
had talked about Draco wanting a woman who would writhe beneath him and spread
her legs. �Er. It�s a letter from someone who won�t
tell me her name. Supposedly it�s Astoria Greengrass, but I have my doubts.�

�� Narcissa
drew herself up with a small snort. �Well, I certainly would, in your place!�

�� Do you
know something about Astoria that I don�t?� Draco asked in interest. �Or the Greengrass family?� He thought he would know Astoria
better than his mother, since he�d been in her company more often in the past
few years, but on the other hand, his mother was much more familiar with old
pure-blood secrets.

�� His mother
gave him an unreadable look for long moments. �Darling,� she said at last, �if
I had to guess, with no prior knowledge and no name to guide me��

�� Yes?�
Draco asked eagerly, wondering if he was about to steal the ultimate march on
his writer.

�� I would
say,� Narcissa said, enunciating every word as carefully as though it were
testimony about Lucius�s crimes before the Wizengamot, �that this letter was
written by a man.�

�� Draco
staggered and caught at the table behind him. He felt as though one of his own
potions had exploded, with no noise but a great deal of force and white light,
into his face.

�� I�see,� he
said.

*

�� yaoiObsessed: Thanks! I think it�s
definitely too early for a confrontation, but I can promise you that things won�t
work out as neatly as Harry thinks they will.

�� Thrnbrooke: Well, now Draco might be on that track.

�� butterpie: Astoria has allowed
herself to be persuaded, but it�s really against her better judgment.

�� Hermione
and Ron are not going to help Harry right now, because Hermione is horrified by
the entire thing and Ron would yell the house down if he knew.

�� Luvdonite: Thanks! I�m kind of sad I didn�t get to write a
Draco letter in this chapter, because I do enjoy them so.

�� MewMew2:
Glad you�re liking the story.
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Providence