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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 Seven—The Next Six Days

            Harry woke from a dream he couldn’t really remember to find the sheets sticky between his legs. It seemed his body had taken its own steps to solve the problem he’d gone to bed with last night.

            He grimaced, rolled his eyes, and pried the sheets away, then jumped badly as he saw a house-elf standing next to the bed and holding a tray laden with eggs, toast, and bacon. It had been so long since he’d lived with a house-elf that he could barely remember that they had no sense of shame, embarrassment, or their masters’ dignity. Dobby had spent his time since the war at Hogwarts, and he seemed so happy there, working for the two Galleons a week that McGonagall paid him, that Harry hadn’t wanted to disturb him.

            “Yes?” he said.

            “Master Harry is eating here?” the elf asked.

            Harry nodded, then took a deep breath. “What’s your name?” he asked as the elf carefully set the tray on a side-table, more to distract himself from the mess in his robes than anything else.

            “My name is Heeky, and I am being Seeky’s sister,” she said, with a little bow. “Master Harry will call for Heeky at once if anything is out of place?” She snapped her fingers, and a cup of tea popped into being on the side of the tray, the one thing Harry would have said was missing.

            “Yes, I will,” said Harry, and smiled at her until she vanished. Then he pulled his night robes off, cast a warming charm on the food, and went to use the shower.

            It was the first chance he’d had to really inspect either the loo or the bedroom that Malfoy had chosen to give him, and he had to admit, they were impressive. The loo shone as if the house-elves regularly bathed the tiles in bleach, and the shower was made of a material that rang like glass but was so perfectly translucent Harry blushed as he showered, just in case someone came in and looked. Designs of dragons, feathered serpents, griffins, and unicorns chased around the ceiling—and they moved. Harry found that out when he realized that the exact same golden-horned unicorn he’d taken his eye off a moment before to reach for the towels was now grazing patiently just above the sink.

            The towels were thick, soft, and worth, Harry thought with a little groan, coming to the Manor for all by themselves. After he’d dried himself thoroughly and rubbed as much water out of his hair as would come, he wrapped the towel around his waist and wandered back into the bedroom.

            He had to shake his head. The ceiling went up so high it looked more suitable as the setting for a concert than a bedchamber. Everything was a cool blue-green color that Harry thought probably had a fancy name like “ultramarine.” The bed was big enough for two—

            And the edge of that thought stung.

            Harry took a deep breath and searched through his trunk until he uncovered casual clothes. He was in the process of doing up his robes when the door opened and Malfoy walked in without knocking.

            “Do you mind?” Harry hissed, as he hastily ducked his head to hide the patch of bare skin on his torso, and his fingers flew over the buttons.

            “Not really,” Malfoy said. “Since I do own the house, and everything in it.” Then he leaned against the doorway and watched Harry with lazy eyes.

            Harry took a deep breath and shook his head. He was determined not to get angry at Malfoy. “Any news about what Zabini and Ginny might do next?” he asked, sitting down on the bed and pulling the small table where Heeky had left the food towards him.

            “Actually, yes.” There was a rustle of paper as Malfoy pulled out something that was probably the Daily Prophet. “There seems to be an article here about Harry Potter’s house being sold—“

            “Fuck,” Harry hissed, standing so fast that he tipped the table over and sent his breakfast flying before he’d had a single bite of it. He gave it a mournful glance, but his mind was working fast. He had forgotten that, even if Ginny couldn’t get into the house, she still owned half of it. He’d cut her off from the Potter vault when he sent Malfoy’s payment to him, but she was still heir on the legal documents.

            Which probably explains why Zabini tried to kill me, too. If I die as things are, then Ginny is the one who inherits most of my property.

            “I generally prefer offers of fucking made by someone in a less agitated state,” Malfoy drawled. “I deserve to be concentrated on, not ignored in favor of a patch of carpet.”

            “Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry said absently. Part of him was relieved that he was too busy to feel much discomfort over Malfoy, even given the incident last night and the fact that he’d almost surely had a wet dream about him, but most of his mind was turning over and over the fact that Ginny might succeed at what she was doing, and he wouldn’t have a home to go back to. “I need to go to Gringotts.”

            He had just reached the door when Malfoy put a hand on his shoulder. “Not alone, you don’t,” he said calmly. “And not just like that.”

            Harry tried to shake off the hand. It wouldn’t be shaken. In fact, it tightened, and Malfoy gave him an annoyed look. “It doesn’t look good if my clients die before I win, Potter.”

            Harry felt a stab of relief. Malfoy wasn’t really interested in him that way, then. He was still just a source of money and a chance to humiliate a Weasley—and maybe fun, if Malfoy’s sense of irony was keen. Harry could take his unfortunate attraction and tuck it away, unnoticed.

            “You can’t help me with this, Malfoy,” he pointed out. “You’re an Arguer. Do you know the first thing about altering wills and other legal documents so that your wife is no longer an heir?”

            “Actually, I do,” said Malfoy. That was the moment when Harry decided he was the most infuriating person on God’s green earth. “And I know what to listen for, too, when the goblins natter on and on about ‘expenses’ and really mean charges they shouldn’t be inflicting on you. In fact, I’d suggest finding a wizard for this, and I know several.”

            Harry sighed. “Fine. Let’s—“

            “When you’ve eaten,” Malfoy said, and proceeded to call up Heeky and order another breakfast. Harry’s magic didn’t do anything, but that was mostly because he was more stupefied than angry.

            And then Malfoy sat and watched him while he ate, licking his lips whenever Harry caught his eyes.

            Malfoy is just strange, Harry thought as he swallowed the last bite of toast, and resigned himself to putting up with the strangeness.

*

            At least Potter had shed that stupid look he’d had on his face, eying Draco as if he were a dragon of some kind. He did keep inconveniently out of reach even when they Apparated to Diagon Alley, though Draco had courteously offered to Side-Along Apparate him. And he walked into Gringotts as if he owned the place, with Draco following a few steps behind.

            Is he doing it to put me off, perhaps? Draco snorted. He ought to know that the harder they run, the more I like to chase.

            Potter called for a goblin at the front desk in Gringotts, and one appeared at once, his face as unpleasant as they usually were. Draco eyed him coldly. He didn’t like dealing with nonhumans, at least if they weren’t deferential like house-elves. Centaurs, goblins, merfolk, giants…all of them only wanted one thing, and that was to harm a wizard any way they could. The goblins were just subtler about it than the others.

            “I need any legal documents with the names of Harry Potter and Ginny Potter on them,” said Harry, his voice loud enough to make several people turn their heads. “As soon as possible.”

            He handed over his vault key when the goblin asked for it, and then they were grudgingly admitted to a back room filled with iron boxes. The goblin asked them to wait while it sought the documents. Potter paced slowly back and forth, deep in thought. His magic was wrapped more tightly around him than usual, and Draco supposed his intense concentration took the place of anger.

            Suddenly, Potter lifted his head and said, clearly, “Shit.”

            “What?” Draco asked. What mistake did you make now, Potter? he added in the confines of his head. He would never have supposed that Potter was stupid enough to leave his wife’s name in the will, let alone anything that would allow her access to the house.

            “The Black vault,” he breathed. “I never trusted her with the key physically, but she knows where it is. I think she—“

            “Then that’s our first priority,” Draco interposed smoothly. “Or, rather, mine, since you have to stay here and satisfy them that you’re really Potter.” He snorted and shook his head. “Tell me where the key is, and I’ll retrieve it.”

            Potter spun on one heel and stared at him. “And why would you think I’d trust you with it?”

            Draco let a smile stretch his lips. “Because you’ve already paid me a thousand Galleons?” he suggested softly. “Because you know that I couldn’t pass myself off as someone with a right to the vault, since we aren’t married?” He paused, then winked. “Because I’m so handsome you can’t resist?”

            Potter turned his head away again, his voice gone noticeably cooler. “You’re part Black, Malfoy. You might try to gain access to the vault.”

            Draco shrugged, admiring the sight of Potter’s fair skin flushed with anger. “They wouldn’t let me in. I meant it. Only if my name was already entered on your legal documents would you have to worry about that, and it’s not, so you don’t.”

            Some moments passed, and then Potter let out a sharp breath. “Fine.” He stepped close, apparently under the impression that he should whisper the location because some evil goblin might steal it. Draco didn’t correct the misapprehension. He didn’t object to having warm breath tickle his ear and cheek, after all. “There’s a turning stone in the corner of Diagon Alley between Madam Malkin’s and the little shop next to it—I think it’s an apothecary. You’ll recognize it because there’s a mark scratched on it that looks vaguely like a lightning bolt. Tap your wand against it three times and then say my name, as near the same as my own pronunciation as you can achieve. The stone will turn, and you can retrieve the key.”

            Draco nodded, then turned his head, nearly fast enough to catch Potter’s ear with the corner of his chin. “A clever hiding place,” he murmured. “Though it would have been better to hide it in your house, which she can’t access.”

            “I never knew that I’d have to distrust her when I arranged this one,” Potter said shortly, and then turned around and went back to the goblin as it pulled out a thick iron box of the necessary documents.

            Magnificent when he’s angry, Draco decided cheerfully, and then went to retrieve the key.

*

            Harry listened to Malfoy leave, and relaxed a little. He thought better when he didn’t have the git’s constant distracting presence around.

            He did remember what Malfoy had said about intensity, and, as he stared at the complicated tangle of legal terms in the top paper, which happened to be the will, he decided that he could do worse than look into the law. He wouldn’t learn enough about it in the six days left before their next court date to make a difference, of course. But it was a subject that Malfoy had to own books on, and this news about Ginny gave him the excuse to study it.

            “You’ll be needing to remove them from the bank, sir?” The goblin who had brought him here hovered next to Harry, as if he badly wanted to take the documents away and shut them in their iron box again.

            “Yes,” Harry said firmly.

            The goblin looked doubtful.

            Harry sighed, and settled down for some gentle persuasion. At least his magic remained calm and tucked under his skin, without anyone to irritate it.

*

            Draco tapped the stone three times as instructed, then said, “Harry Potter,” thinking of the way Potter’s lips and mouth moved when he was saying it. He’d made enough casual studies of that mouth in the last day that he thought he had it almost word-perfect.

            It was perfect enough for the block, at any rate. The stone revolved neatly, flipping back into the wall and revealing a hollow behind it.

            An empty hollow.

            Draco raised an eyebrow, then snorted. Well, as long as he took Potter to the solicitor he had in mind early enough, neither Potter’s house nor the Black vault should suffer. Much. Of course, there could be people so eager to buy Potter’s home that they would be at Blaise’s house already, but the news of the divorce had been all over the Daily Prophet for days now. Most wizards and witches would at least question the Weasley bint’s legal authority to sell the building.

            “Malfoy. Fancy—“

            “Seeing you here.”

            Draco went carefully still. He recognized the voices behind him as the Weasley twins’. There had been a chance they would run into them, of course, since they kept their joke shop in the Alley. For some reason, though, he hadn’t thought it would happen without Potter beside him.

            And he had thought Potter would be the one needing protection from them, not the other way around.

            He turned, concealing the hollow behind the stone with a casual pose that also brought his hands and his wand in front of him. “Weasley. Weasley.” He nodded to them both. “What brings you out today?”

            “Oh, you know,” said the one on the left. Both wore fine robes, cloaks, and boots now, the near opposite of their clothing when they’d been at Hogwarts, though not a patch on Draco’s. Both still smirked at him in a distinctly dangerous manner, and both still looked absolutely indistinguishable from one another. “The usual. Buying new supplies—“

            “Testing new products,” said the one on the right.

            “And killing vermin,” they said together.

            “Regrettably,” Draco said, “my own business concerns none of those. I’m sorry I can’t help you.” He nodded again and made as if to take a step away from the wall.

            As he expected, they both moved together, blocking his way out. Their smirks had become darker still.

            “The Arguer—“ said the one on the right.

            “Who’s got our little sister so upset?” said the one on the left. “I think you can help us—“

            “Malfoy,” finished the first one, and drew his wand. “After all, poor Ginny hasn’t had a laugh in ages. Imagine what we could tell her if—“

            “You agreed to help us.” The one on the left inched closer, and he was also holding his wand now. “Better for the baby, that, than stress all the bloody time, the way you and our poor, misguided Harry—“

            “Are doing to her.”

            Draco grimaced. They were drawing attention, but since the Weasleys could excuse whatever happened under the guise of “testing pranks,” and they undoubtedly had a better reputation than he did, the crowd was likely to be on their side. And he knew relatively few defensive spells that weren’t Dark. The last thing he wanted now was Aurors swooping down on him.

            He did, however, know one particularly embarrassing spell that he had learned to perform nonverbally. And since it wasn’t common, the little wand movement he made beforehand wouldn’t tell the Weasleys what had happened.

            “What will it be?” the one on the right pressed, with a wide, false smile. “Feel up to helping us—“

            “Draco?” asked the second, and stepped forwards as if he would clasp his shoulder. A gleam of something metallic came from his left hand.

            Draco thought, the word careful and clear in his mind, Convomere.

            The Weasley reaching for his shoulder staggered. Draco stepped swiftly back. His twin reached to help him, but then bent over himself, trembling.

            Draco shook his head. “I don’t think I should,” he said. “Not when you don’t look well yourselves. Are you sure that last pair of sweets you tested for the shop agreed with you? You look—“

            And then both twins began to vomit, with spectacular force and speed. Draco hid a smile even as he wrinkled his nose in fastidious disdain and backed away. The crowd cleared quickly; the vomit had a particularly strong smell, one that made Draco think they had been testing sweets for their shop by eating them themselves.

            “Perhaps later,” he said, with a slight shrug, and then walked back towards Gringotts, humming absently under his breath. Someone might try the countercurse on them, but probably not soon, with the rate at which they were vomiting, and it would be long minutes before the Weasleys could manage on their own.



            “Malfoy?”

            Draco glanced up into Potter’s startled face as he stepped out of the bank. “Potter,” he said, with a slight tilt of his head, and then turned to walk beside him. “Ready to visit the solicitor?”



            “The key was gone?” Potter asked, sounding resigned.

            Draco frowned. He really should have more fire than that. How in the world can he win the case if he won’t fight? “Yes, it was. And I think that only makes it more urgent that you talk to my friend Benjamin. You’ll need his help to make sure that your vault isn’t taken from you as well as your house sold from under you.”

            “Yes, I should visit him.” Potter shifted the documents he held from one arm to another as he pushed his hair out of his eyes in a genuinely distracting manner. “Malfoy? You have books on law at the Manor, don’t you?”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “Why, yes, I do. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of imitating Blaise and becoming your own Arguer.”

            Potter rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I’m not that smart—“

            “Stupid, I would have said.”

            Potter laughed, and though it wasn’t much compared to the laugh he’d given over dinner last night, it still sounded good enough to quicken Draco’s breathing. “That, too. But I meant I’m not smart enough to understand everything you deal with on a daily basis.” He flicked his hand. “No, I’d rather look into other sorts of law. Understand what I can of this crisis I’m going through.”

            Draco nodded slowly. Perhaps Potter didhave that fire Draco thought he lacked. A dedication to law was a good place to start.

            “We don’t want to go that way,” he added, seeing Potter start to head towards Madam Malkin’s. “Bit of a mess.”

            Potter turned to him with narrowed eyes. “What did you do, Malfoy?”

            Draco might have resented the implication that he was at the heart of any mess, but he was too satisfied to see Potter looking at him as if he actually existed. “The Weasley twins came after me,” he said casually. “Something about testing their new products. I used the Vomiting Hex on them. Nothing permanent, but it’s rather long-lasting, and somehow I doubt they’d be too pleased to see us right now.”

            Potter stood still for so long that Draco wondered if he had gone deaf. Then he growled under his breath and shook his head. “I can’t believe they’d do that,” he muttered. “It’s one thing when they go after me, but youdidn’t have anything to do with the divorce.”

            “I’m helping you win your case,” said Draco, and permitted himself a sly smile when Potter looked at him. “Cases like this usually create enmity between whole families, have I mentioned that? And, often, close bonds between the Arguers and their clients.” He dropped his voice and leaned nearer to Potter.

            The git backed off again, simply saying, “I’ll take your word for it,” and then waiting for Draco to give directions to Benjamin’s office.

            Draco rolled his eyes and told him the Apparition coordinates. Really, he kept practically handing Potter signed invitations, and, though obviously intrigued, he kept refusing them. Draco would break that resistance eventually, he knew, but it was irritating to receive rebuffs when so many people would have slobbered on themselves for a chance to fuck him.

*

            Benjamin Kapok was small enough to remind Harry of Professor Flitwick and had an enormous smile and a tireless voice. He assured Harry that the changing of the documents was a simple thing, and in two hours Ginny had no legal authority to sell the house in Hogsmeade or access the Black vault. The moment the Black key came into their possession, he reassured Harry, the goblins at Gringotts would send it back to him via owl.

            Harry nodded, and mentioned casually that he’d appreciate understanding the jargon himself. Benjamin had brightened at once, and rattled off the titles of several books, all of which proved to be in the library of Malfoy Manor.

            And, from there, Harry’s plan had worked, seamlessly. Malfoy was pleased to see him “showing an interest,” as he put it, and Harry was left largely in peace to study the books he’d picked out.

            And his magic obeyed him, receding into his skin nearly every day, and staying there for hours after he’d finished with the books. It wasn’t the most fascinating reading in the world, but it demanded as much of Harry’s concentration as Potions once had, and so he had no attention to spare for anger.

            He still ate meals with Malfoy, but he brought a book to each of them, reminding himself of Hermione, and that proved an adequate defensive tactic. Even when he did hear the prat’s flirting, he could pretend not to have heard it, or only make a distracted, “Hmmm,” sound.

            By the end of the six days until their next courtroom battle, Harry knew Malfoy was irritated himself—the narrowed eyes and set jaw proclaimed it—but it wasn’t as though he could complain of Harry. Harry had kept everything professional, and had been a polite house-guest. He’d deferred to Malfoy in all legal matters, been kind to his mad mother, and not attempted to free any of the house-elves.

            Best of all, some of his own helpless feeling over Ginny, and his damn attraction to Malfoy, had largely subsided.

            Harry lay in bed on the eve of their next court date and smiled at the ceiling. Tomorrow was the first true test of Malfoy’s Arguer skills, always assuming Zabini had managed to file the accusations correctly this time.

            Harry had to admit he looked forward to standing around and admiring while Malfoy took down Zabini and his former wife.

            But not in a gay way, he reassured himself, and shut his eyes.
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Building With Worn-Out Tools

Chapter Seven—The Next Six Days