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Providence	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 15841 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this writing.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Seven�What
Harry Potter Felt

�� Harry
slammed the door of his house behind him, flung off the Invisibility Cloak, and
went straight to the pacing room. He knew better than to slow down and go to
his bedroom when he was like this.

�� But even a
few minutes of dizzy pacing didn�t help. Nothing, he thought, could cure the
disaster that he had just seen coming.

�� Seen coming. And caused.
Really, it was happening all the time, but I was too much of a coward to face
up to that.

�� Harry
halted near the wall which he had stumbled into when he came up with the plan
to write letters to Draco, and resisted�barely�the temptation to slam his
forehead into a part that wasn�t cushioned. He dug his hands into his hair instead,
and shook his own head, whilst altering his voice into Hermione�s.

�� You should
have known better than this, Harry.�

�� Yes. I should have.

�� He had
thought that Draco either wouldn�t find out about the manipulation or wouldn�t
care if he did. After all, he himself used manipulation in his ordinary,
everyday dealings with all kinds of people. He might appreciate the tactic
being used against him, in an odd way. Besides, he could accept being Astoria�s
victim if not Harry�s. Harry had seen that he treated the women who managed to
deceive him for a while more kindly than the ones who were too open and
honest�one of the reasons that Harry had taught Astoria the glamours that
concealed her blushes.

�� It was why
he had considered his plan perfect. No, it wouldn�t have worked for someone
like Hermione or Ron. But Draco wasn�t his friends.

�� Draco is not your friend at all.

�� And that
meant that Draco wasn�t likely to forgive him for a mistake like this, the way
that Hermione and Ron would have. Harry groaned again and smacked his forehead
with the palm of his hand.

�� I was so stupid. I did take his choices away
from him, and try to impose my own will. And perhaps he admires people for
short deceptions, or accepts it as part of the courting game, but the letters
weren�t an ordinary courting game. Could he have put up with being tricked into
falling in love, if I�d managed that? I don�t think so. And that puts Astoria
in an awkward position, too, one that I should never have asked her to take. I
hurt more than one person with this insane idea.

�� The more he
thought about it, the worse he felt. He winced as his words in the letters came
back to him�honest and open, yes, far too much so. They were probably
embarrassing for Draco to read. Harry had written them in a blaze of energy,
but if he could, he would have Summoned every letter
back to him then and torn it up.

�� How could I be so stupid?

�� But the answer to that was simple, of course,
and it was one that Hermione had told him more than once when she realized the
real state of his feelings for Draco. Love
makes people stupid. You more than most, Harry. Remember the way you broke up
with Ginny because you were convinced she would be safer that way?

�� Harry
sighed. Yes, he remembered. And Ginny had been left at school with Snape as
Headmaster and Death Eaters as teachers. She had enough Gryffindor spirit and
desire to help Harry that she�d also got in danger on her own account. She�d
survived, but she would carry scars from that year. At least they could have
shared some common experiences and maybe more sympathy if they�d been together.

�� I lied to Draco. I tried to manipulate him
into falling in love with Astoria. I wrote letters that he has to have found
insulting, personally challenging in a bad way, and pushy. And then I showed up
at the restaurant and ran away from him like the coward I am.

�� Draco would
have found it hard to forgive even one of those things. All together, Harry
knew he had caused a wound unlikely to heal.

�� And how much worse would he feel if he knew
it was Harry Potter who�d done this to him? No, the least I can do is leave him some of
his pride. I have to stay away. I have to stop writing letters to him, no
matter how much it hurts. At least I left a note with some kind of farewell and
explanation in it.

�� Harry sank
down to the floor and took several deep breaths. The thought of the pain he�d
caused Draco caused him pain. His
bones ached and his mouth was dry. He concentrated, turning the thoughts over
in his mind until he believed he understood the full ramifications of what he�d
done.

�� Not that that can make up for the way you
hurt Draco. But at least you might refrain
from doing things that stupid in the future.

�� The thought
of Draco�s pain went on and on for long moments. Harry was an Auror. He had
saved people during the war. He had done what he thought was the right thing
for as long as he could, and changed his mind when he found out it wasn�t the
right thing (like treating Slytherins as the enemy). He was proud that he hadn�t
caused casual pain in years.

�� And now he
had done it to the one person in the world he would have given anything to
avoid hurting.

�� He didn�t
know how to start feeling better about that.

�� But, maybe
because the pain was just too intense to stay at the same pitch it had so far,
at last he began to feel a little better. He couldn�t erase the past, but he
could try to make up for his stupidity. He would apologize to Astoria. He would
avoid interfering in Draco�s love life at all, ever again. He would have to
find someone on his own, like anyone else, and Harry wasn�t stupid enough to
think he would never find anyone.
Draco had cleverness and to spare. If he grew bored enough with waiting for
someone to choose him, he�d hunt the perfect mate down.

�� In fact, it would probably be the best thing
if you stayed away from Draco altogether.

�� Harry
winced as he stood up, but more because he wanted to instinctively reject the
idea than anything else. He�d spent a long time learning about Draco, and
watching him, and admiring his exploits when they appeared in the newspaper. Giving that up would leave a blank in his life.

�� But if it prevents you from acting like an
idiot over him again, then it�s the best solution. And you�ll find something
new to fill the blank eventually.

�� Harry felt
his shoulders finally relax. He spent a few moments considering whether he
should write Astoria a letter of apology, but shook his head in the end. No,
that would be as cowardly as running away from her in the restaurant and
leaving her to bear the brunt of Draco�s temper alone. He would firecall her.

�� And he
would try to keep his distance, and stop regretting.

*

�� Draco
waited until the next morning to visit Astoria. He had to let his temper cool
and the embarrassment at being fooled and escaped fade from it. He wanted only
clear, glass-like hunger when he went hunting his writer.

�� And Astoria
knew who his writer was. Draco intended to make her give him the name. It would
be by far the simplest solution and save him time.

�� The sooner I know, the sooner I can start
taming him and accustoming myself physically to the idea of a male lover.

�� There were
other measures he could try, yes, but he would have been the idiot his writer
called him to avoid the simplest one. So he stood in front of Astoria�s door
and gave her servant his name. He concealed his snort when the girl�s eyes
widened. This was why he avoided human servants in favor of house-elves; they
weren�t pitiable for showing their anxiety, since they could hardly help it.
Draco couldn�t have trusted someone he despised.

�� What happens if my writer is someone I
despise?

�� Draco shook
his head as he walked up spiraling staircases and past walls entirely covered
with paintings, landscapes of volcanoes and tropical seas; it seemed Astoria
had a fondness for art. There would be points in his writer�s character that
were deplorable, and he needed answers as to why the man had fled from him last
night, but anyone who could write him letters like that had enough admirable
points to compensate.

�� Astoria
received him in a large, airy room with, Draco thought at first, enchanted
windows on either side. It was only when he looked closely that he recognized
them as more magical paintings, landscapes of rippling pampas grass with light
subtly moving across them. They looked like simple sunlight on air unless one
studied them.

�� Draco. A pleasant surprise.�

�� Draco
studied her narrowly, but she met his eyes with no signs of embarrassment. Of
course, now that he was alert for concealing magic after the encounter with his
writer, he could see the glamour that hid her blushes, but he liked her the better for thinking of it.

�� I need to
know who my writer is,� he said. She knew why he was here and he knew that she
knew, so there was no dignity to be gained by dancing around the point.

�� I�m not
going to tell you.�

�� Draco
blinked. Then he wondered why. Had he expected her not to meet bluntness with
bluntness? Or perhaps he had thought his mere presence would overpower her and make her confess, since he knew she was attracted to him.

�� He couldn�t
tell what he�d been thinking, and he wasn�t about to waste more thought on it
when there was a writer to be claimed. He would have to switch tactics.
�Perhaps you might think I want to hurt him,� he said. �I don�t. I simply want
to know who he is.�

�� Ah,�
Astoria said, with a sharp ironic edge to her tone that Draco had never heard
before. �And then you�ll hurt him.�

�� Draco took
a deep breath. He would have liked to clench his hands together the way he did
when reading an insulting letter, but that was too obvious a gesture and
therefore not one he could use in front of other people. �I want him. I might
scratch and bite, yes, but I assure you it would be in a mutually desired
context.�

�� A faint
blush moved behind the glamour and darkened her cheeks then, but she maintained
her calmness. �I still won�t help you. He�s told me himself that he�s sorry for
involving me in this and that he won�t come near you again. I think you should
respect his decision. He admits the letters were a mistake. Think of them that
way, and you�ll be able to move on more easily.�

�� I won�t
allow him to determine the extent of the contact we have.� Draco narrowed his
eyes. �It�s my choice as well.�

�� Astoria
laughed softly, which was not the reaction Draco was used to receiving to one
of his decisions. �I don�t think he�ll think that way. He�s in love with you,
Draco, and deeply remorseful about hurting you. The way he sees it, if he talks
to you again, or writes you any more letters, or even reveals his identity,
he�ll hurt you. Your pride, at least.�

�� Why?�
Draco demanded, baffled and pleased both at once. It was a good sign that his
writer was in love with him and had
meant his words in the last letter, if he was so worried about hurting Draco,
but at the same time he ought to have known that being deprived of his presence
would hurt the most.

�� Telling you that would be the same as telling you who he is.�
Astoria shook her head. �He�s decided to end it. You�ll have to, as well.�

�� I do not have to,� Draco said, and this time he
let his voice rise in sharpness. Maybe Astoria would talk to his writer again;
maybe he was hiding here now. Draco had to fight hard, when he had that idea,
to keep from looking around the room. Either way, Astoria should know he was
serious. �I want him, and I am accustomed to getting what I want.�

�� That�s the
second time you�ve said you want him,� Astoria said. �But you�ve never dated
men. It was the reason he approached me in the first place, because he was sure
you would need a woman to be writing the letters.�

�� His gender
is a barrier to me, yes,� Draco said. �But now I need him.�

�� Astoria
looked at him with her mouth slightly open, then shut it and smiled. �Well,�
she said. �That would surprise him.�

�� So you�ll
tell me who he is?�

�� You do come on strongly,� Astoria said, and
regarded him with a slightly jaded expression. �I think I�m no longer quite as
infatuated with you as I was. I should thank him for curing me of that.�

�� Draco
curled his fingers into his palm. Every fresh reminder that Astoria could
communicate with his writer and he couldn�t stung him
like a whip tipped with salt water. �Then at least tell him I want him,� he
said. �And that I�m searching for him, if you want to give him some advance
warning.�

�� At the
moment, he�s staying away from me as well as you.� Astoria cocked her head to
the side with an expression of mock concentration. �And I rather think you
won�t find him, because you have no idea where to look.�

�� I know
that he owns an�� Draco began furiously, and then
stopped. He took a few deep breaths and chided himself for stupidity. He had
nearly told Astoria all the evidence he had, which in turn could have told his
writer what steps he needed to take to cover up his identity. Astoria was
cleverer than she looked.

�� It doesn�t
matter where he runs, where he hides,� he said at last. �I intend to have him,
and so I will.�

�� Astoria
gave him a faint smile that could have hidden any number of emotions. The only
one Draco could be sure she felt was amusement. �You are going to a great deal
of effort to avenge your injured pride.�

�� If I say
something three times, will you take it as true?� Draco raised his eyebrows. �I
want him.�

�� Not
enough,� Astoria replied, and Draco knew that any chance she might have told
him his writer�s identity was gone. Not that he cared, he told himself. At
least he knew this route was closed, and he knew some of his writer�s
objections to contacting him again.

�� Though they are stupid
objections.

�� He would
bear them down as he had borne his writer to the ground last night. And he
moved his mind carefully and instantly away from that image, because the last thing
he wanted was to get hard in front of Astoria. His writer was the only one who
deserved to see that.

�� Farewell,�
he said.

�� Farewell,�
said Astoria. �And I think that you would be better-advised to give up this
chase. You don�t know how powerful his conscience is.�

�� Draco
didn�t bother replying. There was another route he could take, and he had
hesitated less because of the chance of getting information out of Astoria than
because he knew he still didn�t understand sympathetic magic very well.

�� But his
patience and his intelligence had served him before where simple knowledge had
failed�as with the Vanishing Cabinet in Hogwarts.

�� As for giving up�

�� There are forces in the world more powerful
than conscience, and I am one of them.

*

�� Harry shook
his head and pushed yet another report away from him. He�d read the same
sentence five times now. He linked his hands together behind his head and
leaned back in his chair, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.

�� It was
harder than he had realized it would be not to think about Draco.

�� Today,
Harry had forced himself to shove away every newspaper that came, all with
stories about Draco probably somewhere inside. He hadn�t lingered to listen to
gossip in the shops or the small pub where he went to lunch the way he usually
did. He�d concentrated on Auror work, joked with Ron, and requested copies of
old files from the Archives; sometimes he still tried to solve crimes that the
previous generation of Aurors had given up on. Anything he could do to help
people, he wanted to do.

�� And thinking about Draco hardly helps
anyone.

�� Harry sat
there for a few minutes casting about in his mind for something that would, and suddenly blinked and sat up.

�� Kingsley
had been bothering him for years about doing more to help the reputation of
British wizardry abroad; there were some magical communities in other countries
who weren�t impressed that the Ministry had done so little about Voldemort.
He�d wanted Harry to take �holidays��really publicity tours�in those
communities and explain the situation. They were more
likely to listen to the person who had finally got rid of Voldemort than a
random Auror, though he had sent random Aurors when Harry refused, which he
always did.

�� What if he was to take one of those �holidays?� It would get
him out of the country for a while, removing him from the temptation to contact
Draco again, and it would give him other things to think about.

�� Smiling,
because for the first time in three days he felt like doing something rather
than just sitting around, Harry picked up his quill and looked around absently
for parchment.

�� A piece of
it hit him on the head.

�� Startled,
Harry reared back and stared upwards. A spectral figure hovered there, glowing
blue. It looked like the ghost of an owl, but so faded that Harry could barely
make out the talons. The only really clear thing was the beak, which had
clutched the parchment it had dropped on him.

�� Is this a new form of sending memos? Harry
raised an eyebrow and picked up the parchment. I don�t think I approve.

�� No, he
discovered when he opened the parchment. It was a letter.

�� Harry felt
his blood freeze as he recognized Draco�s handwriting. For a moment, he
couldn�t breathe and struggled against a strangling sensation. How in the world did he find me?

�� But he made
himself calm down, especially because the letter began My writer instead of his name, and the first few lines also seemed to
indicate that Draco didn�t know who he was quite
yet. He looked back up at the spectral owl, and this time, when he
concentrated, he could see something dark washing through its body like a dead
leaf in a river. It resembled a piece of Grimoire�s
feathers.

�� Harry
grunted in understanding. Yes, he had heard about this kind of sympathetic
magic, and even seen it practiced in a murder case. Using a bit of an owl
bonded to one owner, rather than a common postal bird, could send a letter to
that owner. The spectral owl containing the feather would act like a homing
pigeon. But Draco still didn�t know who he was, and Harry knew from experience
that the ghostly birds flew so fast he couldn�t have followed it.

�� And he
couldn�t summon the bird back, either. Sure enough, as Harry watched, its blue
body collapsed in on itself in a shower of sparks.

�� Harry
slowed his breathing down and flexed his fingers several times before he
relaxed fully. So, Draco had been clever, but all he could do was contact Harry
once, not know who he was or follow the letter up. His
pride had probably pushed him to have the last word,
Harry thought, rolling his eyes, and began reading the letter.

�� My writer,

�� You are a coward and you have caused me
pain, but that only makes me more determined to hunt you down. Astoria said
something about your conscience being powerful, perhaps the most powerful part
of you.

�� I am sorry for you if that is true, but of course Astoria is a common girl, even though
pure-blooded, and one cannot trust what she says.

�� Harry
narrowed his eyes. No matter how much Draco wanted to scold him,
that was no reason for him to insult Astoria.

�� My will is the strongest piece of my own
constitution. And at the moment, that will is bent to taming you.

�� You think that because you caused me pain I
would let you go? I thought you knew my character better. I need vengeance when
someone has wronged me. And in your case, I have decided that the vengeance
that would please me best is having you in my control and teaching you to obey
me.

�� Harry
hissed under his breath. Draco hadn�t listened to or learned a thing from his
letters, had he? Harry had demanded an equal, and Draco was blithely
disregarding that, assuming that Harry would become his slave because he loved
him.

�� I felt you beneath me the other night, and
that is enough to make me interested in exploring further. You were too hasty
in assuming that only women excite me. A man may do the same thing, provided he
knows his proper place�under me. Here I must congratulate you. You have made an
excellent beginning.

�� Harry
slammed his hand down on the desk.

�� And lest you think I presume too much, let
me remind you of the extra evidence projecting into my erection. You find
submission to me exciting, and that compensates for the lack of a general
submissive streak. Perhaps you do not surrender in ordinary life�in fact, I
would think it unlikely�but then, I would not want
someone who falls to his knees for just anyone. For me is quite enough.

�� Harry
snarled, and felt his magic boiling up and down at the edges of his control.

�� My writer, it is not your place to make
decisions for me. And so I will not accept your choice�or is it a plea, because
the firestorm of passion you felt for me stunned you?�to cut off contact. I
have many pieces of your owl�s feathers left. I will send each one to you, and
continue my study of sympathetic magic, until I can grasp your wrists with my
hands and press my lips to yours.

�� Yours, but never in the same way that you
are mine,

�� Draco.

�� Harry flung
the letter away from him, spun around, drew his wand, conjured a glass of
water, and hurled it against the wall so that the glass shattered and water sprayed
everywhere. There came a startled shout from down the corridor, probably Ron,
but at the moment, Harry couldn�t care less. He was breathless with rage.

�� How dare he? How fucking dare he?

�� Harry
wanted an equal, a partner. He�d said that over and over again. And Draco
smugly disregarded that and nattered on about how he wanted someone who fell to
his knees at the mere sight of him.

�� He�d
interpreted Harry�s erection, the sign of Harry�s excitement at being close to
the man he loved, as a sign of submission.

�� He was an
arrogant, unmitigated bastard, who had taken the metaphor of his being Harry�s
conqueror all too literally.

�� Harry spun
back to his desk and snatched up a clean piece of parchment. He dashed out the
letter at white heat, the fire inside him burning away all his careful,
cautious resolutions to have nothing further to do with Draco.

�� Master of nothing but your own stupidity,

�� I�ll never yield to you. I�ll never be
submissive to you. I�ve killed my share of Dark wizards, and I could destroy
you as easily.

�� It�s a good thing we�re not together,
because quite obviously you could never satisfy me. I require something other
than simple domination, and I�ve had
enough experience to notice that sadists are the worst lovers�which, no doubt,
is why they�re so often paired with masochists who care more about pain than
sexual performance.

�� You couldn�t hold me down. You couldn�t hold
me. I don�t really know why I�ve spent so
much time mooning over you, if this is your real character.

�� I can, in fact, make decisions for the both
of us, the way that it�s always been done when one person is mentally
incompetent to do it for himself. And
I�ll never reveal myself to you, never give myself
away to you.

�� Yours in disgust,

�� A writer (who rejects any
sort of possessive pronoun).

�� Harry was
panting when he was done, and he stormed from the room to find a postal owl. At
least he wouldn�t be giving Draco access to any of Grimoire�s
feathers.

�� If any more letters come after this, I won�t
open them, he promised himself as he watched the tawny owl flying away with
his response. He can�t send that many. If
he breaks up the feathers into too many pieces, they can�t support the body of
a ghost owl.

�� But I had to do it this once. I had to. It�s
part of the process of winning myself free from the
son of a bitch.

*

�� Draco
laughed quietly when the tawny owl soared through his bedroom window and landed
on his arm. A happiness as pure as sunlight poured through him as he took the
letter away, offered the owl a treat, and then waved his wand. A second copy of
the letter popped into existence, and Draco laid it carefully aside. He would
save it and savor it as he had his writer�s other letters.

�� The
original must be torn up, because its parchment�parchment his writer had
touched not an hour before�would form the ingredients for much more powerful
sympathetic magic.

�� Sympathetic magic that, in the end, would lead Draco directly to
his writer.

�� Draco had
chosen the course that would most enrage his writer and force him to respond. There was nothing he liked better than when
his prey contributed to its own entrapment.

�� He read the
letter through, smiling slightly at each insult, and in the end brought the
parchment to his lips and kissed it. He could afford to be gentle when he was
winning.

�� You won�t
give yourself away,� he whispered, �but you will
give yourself to me.�

*

�� butterpie: Well, plenty of people
do own Invisibility Cloaks. Harry�s is special, but you can�t tell that just by
feeling it.

�� And Astoria
can hold her own against Draco, I think, but she�s not in a position to betray
Harry (and she doesn�t think it would be right to do so).

�� yaoiObsessed: Thanks! I do think
Harry is sad in this chapter, but he finds it very hard to forgive himself for
hurting people.

�� snappy pants: Yum, cookies!

�� Thrnbrooke: Draco will need to put that together with other
clues first.

�� tar21: Thanks
for reviewing.

�� MewMew2:
Thank you!

�� tiggator: Thanks! And Astoria is
probably thanking her lucky stars that she�s out of there.

�� DHnotHD: Thanks! Maybe Harry could have got the Polyjuice
if he�d had a few days, but he was anxious to carry off the scheme right away
and so he didn�t have time to get hold of any.

�� I think
Astoria heard more than Harry meant her to, hence her feelings in this chapter.

�� Izzy: Thank you!

�� Yami Bakura: Thanks! I can
promise that not everything goes Draco�s way, though at the moment it looks as
if it might.

�� Luvdonite: Hey, Harry was the one who brought Astoria into
it! But yes, she�s better off out of the way.

�� And Harry
has a lot of thinking to do before he can realize that making a mistake is forgivable.

�� SP777: Thank
you! It killed me to leave the story there, but hey, I could have done worse
and ended it in the middle of the chase.
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Providence