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Roses, Made by Hands	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7790 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

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Title: Gifts, Glittering and Jeweled

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairing: Harry/Draco pre-slash

Warnings: Angst, Hogwarts "eighth year" fic.

Rating: PG-13.

Wordcount: 1950

Summary: Potter's gift has left Draco in something of a dilemma about what return to make.

Author's Notes: Fifth in the "Made by Hands" series, sequel to "Roses, Made By Hands," "Sculpted Light," "Leaves, Constructed to Make Anew," and "Gold, As Captured Flame." This won't make much sense without the others.

Gifts, Glittering and Jeweled

            What can I get him?

            Draco sat in his bed, the curtains drawn around him so he didn't have to look at other faces, and stared at the golden cauldron Potter had got him. It still shone just as much in the dim light of the dorms as it had in the brighter ones of the Great Hall. He reached out to touch it because he couldn't help himself, and his hand slid along the rim and down the smooth side as though on oil. He knew from experience that cauldrons that smooth offered brighter brewing.

            He didn't know if Potter knew. Or it might be something he had only learned when he was researching cauldrons in order to buy one as a gift for Draco.

            I need you to be like yourself, the person you can be now that you're in this world, on the other side of the war.

            Draco shivered at the memory of Potter's words. He had said them right after Draco admitted that he didn't think he could be what Potter needed him to be, that no amount of gifts would change the sheer cowardice that were Draco's inheritance as a Malfoy and a Slytherin.

            And Draco had given him a gift, calling him Harry.

            But now that he thought about it from a distance, that was less than adequate. However much pleasure his gesture had given Potter, it was fleeting and not something he could touch later and remember, the way Draco could with the cauldron. He let his hand stray along the side again, and thought of the potions he could brew in it. Potter had given him something that would make the future more pleasant, not just the past.

            Draco had to do the same thing.

            There was another side to it, too, as he could admit after he thought about it a bit. He wanted others to see him giving the gift and Potter accepting it, the way Potter had waited to give the golden cauldron until they were in the middle of the Great Hall and others could watch how Draco opened it.

            Draco knew exactly why Potter had done that. It was the clearest message he could send that he believed in the rehabilitation of the Slytherins and would fight for them even against members of his own House. Draco's message would be an acceptance of that, and let all the Slytherins who dared spit at him for being so weak as to accept Potter's help.

            Draco would have another message, though, and sophisticated eyes in the crowd would understand. He would warn anyone who cared to look that, as much as he could, he extended protection back to Potter, that he was not a debtor but someone worthy of the gestures Potter was making in and of himself.

            And with that decision, he solved his problem. The perfect gift slid into his head, and Draco found himself breathing softly, bowing his head the way he would do in the face of a newly completed potion.

            For the first time since the cauldron arrived--for the first time since the beginning of the year, really--he rolled over and dropped into untroubled sleep. And that was a gift he had given himself, as much as Potter had played a part in it.

*

            Draco had thought and thought of a different place to give Potter his gift, but in the end, he had chosen the Great Hall for the same reason, he suspected, that Potter had chosen it. It was an easy place to reach, and everyone would be there at a time of day when post was delivered to see it.

            Potter's friends would also be there, and they could explain the hidden messages of the gift in the event that Potter didn't understand them--a high likelihood, considering that the gift was an artifact of a kind of bargain that wasn't practiced anymore.

            Draco waited with his hand wrapped around his goblet, casting charms continually on his food to defeat the other Slytherins who were upset enough about Pansy's arrest to try and poison him. The best emotion to show them was indifference. His father had told him that long ago, and Draco had sometimes regretted not being able to follow the lesson better, with Potter, or simply decided that it didn't matter and wasn't true, with people like Pansy.

            But now, it was best, because what the other Slytherins wanted was a reaction. Draco wouldn't give them one.

            Or, at least, he wouldn't give them one in the traditional manner. He could make them have one, and he would when the gift arrived. He smiled as he saw the heavily-laden post-owl struggling through the window. He had chosen to use a common one instead of his own, to ensure that the surprise would remain a surprise until the last possible minute.

            And to spare the chance that one of the over-protective Gryffindors would recognize his bird and curse it before it could get to Potter, too. Potter had an open mind and a hand stretched out to Slytherins, but the same was definitely not true of everyone at his table.

            There were murmurs and gasps when the owl stooped down and let the gift fall in front of Potter. Potter took a close look at it, not touching it, and cast a few spells that made the paper flash.

            Granger said something Draco couldn't hear properly, not all the way across the Hall, but which included the word "secrecy." Potter shook his head, an intent expression on his face that Draco didn't entirely understand, and cast another spell.

            This time, the light which came back from the package was white, and Draco smiled as he understood. Potter had used spells at first that only looked for Dark curses or hexes. This one had revealed the artifact's innate protective magic.

            And Potter looked up, straight at him, and smiled in a way that made Draco feel as though he was supported by water instead of bones. He held his breath, then let it go in a little whoosh that made him annoyed with himself, as Potter peeled back the paper and string and revealed the half-moon shape inside.

            "What is it?" Weasley demanded, and then choked as Potter fully shook the paper away. As well he should, Draco thought smugly. He was counting on Weasley as the one who would explain the tradition to Potter in a way that he could understand.

            Potter turned the silvery half-moon of metal back and forth in silence. Draco saw the moment when he realized what body part it was meant to fit, and narrowed his eyes as he searched, silently, for hesitation in Potter's movements.

            There was none. Potter slid the gift up and around his neck, the crescent-shaped "wings" overlapping his collarbone. Draco was glad he had made the adjustments correctly. It would have been a little big for Potter's slender neck otherwise; some of Draco's ancestors had indeed been big, bull-chested wizards.

            Now that the gift was correctly in place, everyone in the Great Hall could see it for what it was: a silver torque, set with glittering emeralds at either end and moonstones down the middle, along the curve. Potter reached up and curled his fingers around the metal as though wondering when it would begin to be warmed by his skin.

            At once, Draco thought, and then shook his head for thinking something like that. There was being responsible and offering aid to Potter when he had offered aid to Draco, and then there was being ridiculous.

            Potter was looking at him, though, and his face fell a little when Draco shook his head. Draco realized what he had done at once, and smiled, nodding. Potter, who had been reaching up to the ends of the torque as though he intended to remove it, paused.

            "I gave it to you," Draco mouthed across the Hall to him. Really, with the way that so many people were staring at Draco and then back to Potter, Potter should have got it, but he was dim sometimes.

            Potter swallowed and shut his eyes. Draco didn't think it was because the torque made swallowing difficult, either.

            "Holy shit, mate," Weasley was saying in the meantime, loudly enough to be heard by everybody. Draco didn't think that was on purpose, but he had also counted on Weasley's lungs being powerful when he made the announcement, and so it worked. "Do you know what that is?"

            Potter shook his head without looking away from Draco. Weasley didn't seem to notice, and although Draco didn't like the way he just had to touch the torque when he leaned forwards to examine it, he could put up with it.

            "It's a duelist's torque," Weasley said, still loudly. Even a few professors were looking down the Hall now, although they might have been doing that all along and Draco just hadn't noticed them. Gifts to Harry Potter were being watched closely. "It's something a wizard's second would get them when they were about to be in a dangerous duel. It protects your neck and chest and prevents someone from hitting you there with any kind of Blasting or Cutting Curse. You couldn't wear armor in duels, it was considered unsporting, but something like this was allowed." He moved his hand towards the moonstones, and then pulled back when they flashed a warning. "I reckon it still works. Wicked! I've only seen pictures of them in some of Percy's history books."

            Draco raised his chin as Potter's gaze came back to rest on him. Everything was up to Potter's reaction now. Draco had done what he could to make it reasonable, and useful to him.

            And a gift to Potter. There was that, too.

            Potter smiled at him, that same open smile that had dazzled Draco before, and spoke. "Thank you, Draco."

            The first name, more than anything, made the Great Hall buzz. Draco knew that.

            But he couldn't look away from Potter's brilliant eyes, as brilliant as those emeralds on the ends of the torque, as brilliant as light. Draco raised his head higher in response, trying to look like someone worthy to receive Potter's congratulations and fight at his side, the way that the torque declared him.

            Trying to look like himself, like the Draco Potter saw.

            "You're welcome," he said. Nothing more than that was needed. He sat down and resumed his breakfast.

            And Potter did the same thing on the other side of the Hall, ignoring further questions about the torque, but stroking it and making it flare with color whenever Draco thought he might have forgotten it. Nor did it escape Draco's notice that Potter's hand was shaking a little when he did it.

            It worked.

            Draco swallowed a piece of toast that had never tasted so good, and raised his goblet in a silent toast. Potter did the same thing across from him, eyes still direct and clear and smile still brilliant.

            To the future, Draco thought, and they drank.

            The End.
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Roses, Made by Hands