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A Series of Malfoy Events	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11220 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Five—What Lurks in Malfoy Manor
            Harry glanced around what Malfoy had said was the grand dining room, nodding in appreciation. The windows looked out over the nearest stretch of grounds, with gorgeous grass and flowers probably tended by house-elves. The table stretched down the middle of the room, black wood so shiny that Harry wouldn’t be surprised if it reflected the ghosts of Malfoys past. Chairs with uncomfortable spindly backs—which was how you knew they were height of fashion, probably—paraded alongside the table.
            Any dinners in this room would be unspeakably stuffy. But that was the kind of air you breathed when you were a pure-blood. Harry hadn’t had an education in Ministry politics for nothing.
            He did raise his wand and cast a few elementary protection charms in the direction of the windows. They blazed once, then settled down to a steady hum that created a small system of runes in the air as it played. Harry studied the runes, and then grunted and turned around. “You’ve only spelled the windows against breakage?”
            Malfoy swayed a step closer. Harry wasn’t sure what kind of animal he resembled at the moment, only that it wasn’t as impressive as it liked to think it was. “What else should I spell them against?” he demanded, and his voice was a little shrill. “They’re expensive glass. Look at the molding on that one!” He waved his hand at a window that, to Harry, looked exactly like all the others. “That’s genuine Friesco. You’re not going to get molding like that anymore.”
            Harry didn’t know who or what Friesco was, and had no interest in learning. He raised one hand. “All right,” he said peaceably. “But they could also be spelled against hostile magic, you know. Or Dark Arts.”
            “They could be,” Malfoy agreed, and then stood there and radiated, with folded arms, what he thought of that possibility.
            Harry wanted to roll his eyes and tell Malfoy there was someone after him, and having his windows better-protected than they had been so far was a good idea. But he couldn’t do that without breaking his cover, so he settled for dropping a lazy smile on Malfoy and murmuring, “Fine. Then I won’t do anything to them.” He moved a step closer and looked up at him with eyes that were—well, he thought they were soft. He didn’t know if he managed “adoring.” “I just want to give you some gift, and defensive magic is the only thing I’m good at.”
            Malfoy unexpectedly narrowed his eyes. “Liar.”
            Harry blinked. “Well, I’m not good at playing the devoted boyfriend, so you can’t accuse me of that.”
            Malfoy exiled the statement to another reality where he didn’t get troubled by it, much as he had the question of whether he should spell his windows, from Harry’s point-of-view. He grabbed Harry’s arm and steered him instead towards the far door from the dining room. Harry wondered if that was to impress Harry with how many times his reflection would leap out from the table.
            “I’m accusing you of thinking I’m blind. I saw the way you—rescued me.” Malfoy still choked on that word. Good, Harry decided cheerfully. “You’re incredibly good on a broom.”
            Harry hadn’t thought of that, or the way that Malfoy would decide he was insulted because Harry hadn’t referenced it. Then again, probably not even Merlin could decide what Malfoy would be insulted by, since the convoluted workings of Malfoy’s mind were a mystery known only to Malfoy.
            “Not professional Quidditch player good,” Harry demurred.
            “Yes, you are.” Malfoy turned around and focused on him. “I’ve heard my teammates talk about you. Some of them have seen you play in those piddly little games with your friends. They say you’re good enough for the team.”
            “You don’t talk about me, though,” Harry said, still blinking. “So you must not think the same thing.”
            “I have better things to do than gossip.” Malfoy’s face had decided to imitate an iceberg now.
            But not better things to do than listen, Harry thought, which he decided not to say. Malfoy was already tugging him out, anyway, through the door that turned out to open unexpectedly on the grounds.
            “You cost me a game. The least you can do is help me practice. Broomy!”
            Harry had to consider whether Malfoy had invented a new adjective for all of two seconds before a house-elf appeared. He smelled of polish and had a skirt that seemed to be made of broom bristles tied around his waist. He was also bowing repeatedly. “Master was calling?”
            “Master was,” said Malfoy, with an intonation so nasal that Harry stared at him, surprised he didn’t get a nosebleed. “You will bring us two brooms immediately. And Potter’s is to be a little worse than mine.”
            Still worried about losing to me even though he doesn’t listen to gossip, I see, Harry thought, and rubbed his mouth to cover a smile.
            “Stop smirking, Potter. It’s unattractive.”
            “But you smirk a lot,” Harry muttered, unable to help himself.
            “That doesn’t matter. My face was formed for it.”
            Harry smothered laughter this time as the elf appeared with two brooms, holding out one to each of them. The one Harry took was one of the new Nimbuses; he thought it was the Nimbus Star, which a fellow Auror named Rick Raleigh, who he sometimes played with, used. Harry climbed onto the broom and felt the solid pulse of magic between his legs. He nodded and looked over at Malfoy.
            Malfoy had the most peculiar expression. “You aren’t going to object?”
            “To what? You’re probably right, and I do owe you this game for costing you the other one.”
            Harry had thought it was a nice boyfriend-like reply, properly compliant and all the rest of it, but Malfoy still frowned and turned away, kicking himself into the air on his Comet Blaze. Harry knew it was a better broom than the Nimbus he rode, since Ron had been salivating after it for months. But he didn’t care. The point wasn’t to win, he thought, as he followed Malfoy into the sky.
            Although winning would be nice, and maybe beneficial to Malfoy as well, since it would finally put an end to the posturing, simpering, smirking way he approached everything.
            Harry had those as idle thought as he lifted off, but they became real a second later, when he saw a Bludger approaching at top speed. Harry twisted to the side, orbiting around the broom as though it was the central axle of a wheel, and watched the Bludger crash past him into one of the strung-up wards that served as nets along the edge of the pitch.
            Malfoy called, “You have to be faster than that if you want to be a professional!”
            Harry saw no point in objecting that he didn’t want to be one. It was obvious that Malfoy had decided on what fronts the game would be played.
            Right, Harry thought. So the only thing I can do is up the stakes, the way I did when he proposed marriage.
            Harry aimed his wand at the Bludger. Malfoy started to shout something, probably objecting to the use of what he would assume was cheating magic, but then went silent as Harry’s spell multiplied the Bludger. Now there were four of them careening around the pitch.
            “You know,” Harry called out helpfully to Malfoy. “To practice.”
            Malfoy said something, but his voice was too soft for the height and the winds. Harry leaned sideways, which made him rotate around the broom again, as two Bludgers focused on him. Malfoy yelled something perfunctory. Harry was still riding for the win, looking around for the Snitch, and really had no time to spare for Malfoy’s little announcements. He suspected Malfoy would corner him and talk to him on the ground soon enough.
            But before that, he made himself a spectacle in the air.
            Harry had to watch as Malfoy pursued a swirling course around the Bludgers, dodging and sweeping so gracefully that he seemed to know where they would go next. Harry nearly got thumped in the ribs and the face, he was so busy watching. But he was able to duck his head and just go about the business of searching for the Snitch.
            He didn’t dance on his way to it, like Malfoy did. But that meant he had all the more time to appreciate Malfoy’s skill.
            Malfoy ended up high above the Bludgers, gesturing with one hand. Harry didn’t know if it was meant as a warning or a distraction. His own instincts screamed at him, though, and he plummeted straight down.
            One conjured Bludger flashed past him. The other was coming up from below, and Harry spun, once, twice. The Bludger strayed close to his head, then ended up smashing into the other one. Harry laughed and took off towards a distant gleam of gold.
            Malfoy was racing along beside him, near him, past him. The broom was faster, and Malfoy was a professional player, after all. Harry watched with nothing but admiration as Malfoy scooped up the Snitch and turned around to face him.
            A second later, Malfoy’s eyes widened.
            It could have been a trick. Harry would never know, since he was relying on his own instincts. He heeled forwards, ducking beneath the Bludgers, and then saw all four of them soaring straight for Malfoy.
            “Ventus!” Harry cried at once, because it was the right move, and he knew that with all his Auror training. His wand whipped down at the same moment.
            A strong wind, blowing sideways from the right, caught the Bludgers and carried them over Harry’s head, and Malfoy’s, to smash into the wards that ornamented the side of the Quidditch pitch. Harry sighed in relief as he heard the harsh sparking and snarling of the magic, and the wards swarmed over the Bludgers and destroyed them.
            When they were utterly gone, Harry turned towards Malfoy. “Sorry about the real Bludger. I’ll pay for the one I destroyed, if you want.”
            Malfoy’s hair seemed to stir more with the breath rushing past his lips than the wind around him. Then he jerked his head abruptly and turned for the ground. Harry followed, mildly curious as to whether he was going to get a scolding for destroying the Bludger or saving Malfoy’s life.
            Or maybe a scolding for losing the game and disappointing him. Malfoy would probably want a boyfriend who could challenge him more than that, if only so he would have a prettier ornament to show off when he went to parties.
            Malfoy leaped off his broom when it was still moving, and opened his hand. As the Snitch fluttered out, Broomy appeared and grabbed it, grabbed the broom, and disappeared with a soft inclination of his head. Harry let go of his broom and watched Malfoy in curiosity as Broomy cracked into being behind him, snatched the Nimbus, too, and then cracked out again.
            Malfoy stood with his head tilted away from Harry, his eyes closed in the manner of someone listening to invisible music. Then he leaped and whirled around in a way that made Harry crouch, hand instinctively on his wand.
            “You didn’t think about the inconvenience to me of having my Bludger destroyed,” Malfoy said.
            “Sorry,” Harry repeated. So it was to be a scolding about the Bludger after all.
            “You didn’t think about what I’ve already told you when it comes to dignity in the way I die.”
            Harry only raised his eyebrows. Malfoy wanted to combine scoldings, then, badly enough to ignore things like Harry being his “fiancé” now, which supposedly would make it okay for him to save Malfoy’s life.
            “And you lost the game.” Malfoy put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes.
            Harry nearly laughed, because this time he knew who Malfoy looked like: Molly Weasley confronting George about his latest prank that had exploded all over the Burrow when Bill and Fleur’s children sneaked it out of hiding.
            “Very sorry,” Harry said, and swept and held a long bow. It would help to hide his laughter, and Malfoy would probably be preening himself at the respect within a few minutes.
            “Why did you decide that you could use the wards on the edge of the Quidditch pitch to destroy the Bludger?”
            Harry did blink as he came up, but Malfoy seemed resigned to him being slow today. “Did I somehow damage them, too?”
            “No,” Malfoy said, and his voice had slowed down, too. “What I mean is, you couldn’t have known they would destroy a Bludger.”
            Commitment to accenting one word in every four, whether or not it makes his sentence sound strange. Impressive. Harry did his best to achieve a contrite expression. Since he thought he’d last worn one in 1998, he wasn’t sure he succeeded. “Yes, I could,” he said. “I recognized them when we came out. They’re the sort that stop birds flying into the Quidditch pitch and hostile spells from the audience. Definitely powerful enough to end the magic on a Bludger.”
            “And why did you use that spell?”
            Only one word emphasized this time, Harry thought, and frowned at Malfoy. I disapprove of the consistency of his performance. “Because it was the only one that would be strong enough to catch and move the Bludgers out of the way in time, while having a wand movement simple enough that I could do it in a few seconds.”
            Malfoy turned away again. Harry made a private bet with himself about how many words Malfoy would emphasize when he turned around this time, and was disappointed when Malfoy only said, “You came up with the right spell very fast.”
            “Why wouldn’t I?” Harry thought this whole thing was weird. Malfoy had known he was an Auror. Even if Harry had never saved his life at the Quidditch game, he wouldn’t be able to ignore what the papers reported in a whirlwind of confetti and breathless sighs. “That’s the kind of thing I was trained for.”
            Malfoy took a step towards him, then checked and stood looking earnestly into Harry’s eyes. It was the same kind of unreadable earnestness he had shown Harry outside the party when Harry wanted to return the ring.
            “You don’t understand our proper roles in life,” Malfoy explained.
            “Of course I do,” Harry said, deciding that this was a prime opportunity to sabotage something that it sounded as though he wasn’t going to like. “You do what you want, and I stand around and admire you for it.”
            Malfoy reacted as though someone had tied his spine to an iron rail. “No,” he said. “I am a Quidditch player. I provide the grace and the speed and the beauty. And the money.”
            “One,” Harry muttered.
            “What?” Now apparently someone had taken the iron rail away again.
            “Oh, nothing,” said Harry, and smiled at him. “A private game I like to play when I’m bor—I’m sorry, when I lose track of what someone is saying because they’re using too many big words. You were saying.”
            “I only used words of two syllables or less.”
            “Yes, but all my strength has gone to my wand arm, with not much left for my brain,” Harry explained, and made it even more earnest.
            Malfoy eyed him. Harry eyed him back, and didn’t drop the dazzling smile. He was uncomfortable with the emotions that he thought would have covered Malfoy’s face otherwise. Everything between them was tolerable, even fun, as long as it was a game.
            If it turned into something serious, then Harry would be bound to a boring assignment that he might end up not doing his best job on because he would be worried about deceiving Malfoy, even in the interests of undercover work.
            “I think you have a measured amount of strength in your brain,” Malfoy finally said judiciously. “It could stand to increase.”
            One, Harry thought, but this time, Malfoy continued before Harry could make up his mind about how he was going to needle Malfoy.
            “It’s up to you to provide the glass,” Malfoy said.
            “Pardon?” Harry started the wand movements that would conjure a mirror, concerned that Malfoy had been without one too long and was going to faint from the lack of blood to the brain. Malfoy chopped down a restraining hand.
            “The mirror,” Malfoy said. “The reflection of me. The admiration for my speed and grace and beauty. And it’s up to you to take advantage of the money and provide me for ideas with spending it.”
            If he ever needed to Polyjuice himself as Malfoy in order to get something done, Harry thought, then he was going to remember Malfoy’s fondness for the word “provide.” He assumed another sincere expression and said, “But I can’t be a mirror. I’ve already saved your life.”
            “Hence,” Malfoy said, “the need for change. You must let me pamper you for an evening. Then maybe you will learn your proper glassly duties.”
            Harry would have reacted with outrage in many similar situations. But Malfoy had changed his perspective a little. Now he thought first how he could use laughter instead of righteous indignation.
            He clasped his hands in front of him and whispered, “Would this involve—fine meals?”
            “The finest.” Malfoy was once again inviting Harry to inspect how clean his nostrils were, from the angle of his nose. Harry wondered if he had an elf called Snotty whose duties included cleaning them out.
            “Would it involve—a comfortable bed?”
            “It would.”
            One each, Harry thought. Let’s see if I can make him stress both of them.
            “Would it involve—an even prettier ring?” He looked down at the diamond ring and sighed as he glanced back at Malfoy. “It’s just—I could use real gems instead of Transfigured ones, you know. There’s just something about a real one…”
            Malfoy took a step forwards. His eyes were fiery with challenge as he stroked the ring on Harry’s finger and then pulled his hand back.
            “Of course.”
            Yes, I win, Harry thought, and smiled at Malfoy. “Then let’s go!”
            I’ll give the ring back when this is done, of course, Harry thought as Malfoy strutted into the house in front of him. But if I have to be here and acting ridiculous anyway, I don’t see why I shouldn’t get at least one good meal and one good night’s sleep out of it.
*
starr: That’s what Harry wants Draco to believe, anyway!
moodysavage: Harry wouldn’t like it as much as he likes baiting Draco. ;)
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A Series of Malfoy Events