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Anarchy as Art	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 12618 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
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Chapter Seven—Modified Wiles

            Harry stepped back and frowned down at the book in his arms. He was fairly sure that the charm he had found was the key to removing the photograph of Malfoy from his wall, but the last three spells he had tried had only made the photograph wink faster, or cling more firmly to the place Malfoy had stuck it. He wondered if he should cast this one, when the consequences might be worse.

            Then he shook his head. The fact was that he was sick of the picture winking at him night and day, and he couldn’t trust anyone else with this for fear that they would collapse and die of the giggles. He raised his wand.

            “Evanesco Maximus!”

            The power of the spell seemed to shudder through his home. Harry watched the photograph stop winking and open its eyes wide as the magic struck it. Harry snickered in spite of himself. He knew this picture wasn’t the real Malfoy and that he wouldn’t affect the real one by affecting it, but it was bloody satisfying to see anyway.

            Then the charm dissipated, as though someone had cast a Finite on it, and the Malfoy in the photograph stopped holding onto the sides of the frame and relaxed against the background, which showed a tree in winter. It shook its head chidingly at Harry, and resumed its winking.

            Harry ground his teeth. At least the charm had had a more positive, or less destructive, effect on the rest of his property. He would keep trying and see what he could discover in the same line.

            His Floo flared, and Harry hastily moved forwards so that he obscured the sight of both the book and the adjustments Malfoy had made, as usual. “Open,” he said, when he had made sure that it was the Floo and not someone playing a prank on him or the fire flaring up on its own.

            Thorin’s face appeared in the fire, and Harry stifled a groan even as he knelt down to see him better. What had he done now? He hadn’t even filed his preliminary report yet.

            But maybe that was a good thing, if Thorin was about to demand the bloody thing in triplicate. Harry swallowed, and did his best to smile at Thorin instead of cursing the way he wanted to. “Sir? What is it? Has there been a new development on the Malfoy case?”

            “I should say so,” Thorin said in a low voice that boded nothing good, usually used when someone had lost the paper clips. “Someone told me that you were kissing Malfoy in public, Auror Potter. Is that the sort of tactic that you usually employ to discover what your suspects are doing, Auror Potter?”

            His name repeated twice in close succession wasn’t a good sign, either. Harry swallowed all the useless explanations he could give and went for the one that might be of some use. “Malfoy is obsessed with me, sir. I discovered that today.”

            And you would have known about it before, if you’d paid attention, Ron’s scolding voice said in the back of his head.

            Harry did his best to disregard that. It didn’t matter. “And I thought that I might be able to get close to him and get him to confess his plans about the theft he’s announced if I played on that obsession. Thus I allowed him to kiss me. That’s all.”

            Thorin blinked. Harry wondered whether he had expected spluttering anger and denial instead of a plan.

            “I see,” he said at last. “Are you sure that you allowed him to kiss you, Auror Potter?”

            Harry smiled thinly as he met Thorin’s eyes. He recognized this ploy—apparently trying to give him an out by blaming Malfoy for everything, only to pounce on him from a different direction. “I’m sure, sir,” he said. “I’m a very powerful Auror, remember? I could have broken free from him easily, had I wanted.”

            Thorin again paused and blinked. Harry wasn’t playing by the script.

            And why is there a script? Harry thought, kneeling there, his mind buzzing as he stared at Thorin. He had always known the Head Auror disliked him, but then, he disliked most of the Aurors that he worked with who didn’t think paperwork was the most important thing since Merlin. It seemed odd that he would single out Harry in particular, when Harry had always tried to make sure that he obeyed the rules or had some brilliant reason for not doing so.

            Who changed his mind? Is he in Malfoy’s pay after all? Is that why he assigned me to the case?

            But that just made Harry reject the idea. Malfoy would be playing against himself if that was the case. So easily control the Head Auror, and he would have an easier time plucking Harry from the vine, if that was what he really wanted.

            And apparently it is, although really…

            Harry was the opposite of Malfoy in every way, and the things that Malfoy had detested him for in school, like his stubborn loyalty to his friends and his notion of doing right, had only grown stronger since he became an Auror. It seemed odd for Malfoy to desire him when Harry was a perfect caricature of everything he should despise.

            And then Harry dismissed that thought, too. Malfoy wasn’t here right now to question, or watch the way his face flushed. He had to deal with Thorin, the enemy in front of him.

            “Yes, that’s true,” Thorin said at last, seeming to have decided that it was the safest response. “Although I must say that I’m not impressed by your progress so far on the case.”

            “It’s only been a few days, sir,” Harry said soothingly, while all the time he watched Thorin’s green face for the subtlest of clues that might indicate he was in Malfoy’s pay. “Let me work a little longer, and I’ll have something for you.”

            “I certainly hope so,” Thorin said, and sniffed as he pulled his head back. “In the meantime, do try to counter the rumors that will certainly be flying about your sexual orientation and your ability to escape Malfoy’s wiles, will you, Potter?”

            “I’ll try, sir,” Harry said, and maintained the same bright smile until Thorin had vanished. Then he leaned back and shut his eyes, carefully revising the conversation until he had to sigh and shake his head.

            No, there was no sign that Thorin was in Malfoy’s pay. It might simply be that he disliked Harry, as Harry knew he always had, and saw less reason to hide it now that Harry was working alone and without an audience in his partner.

            For a moment, Harry wished savagely that he was still working with Ron. Ron would tell him that he was being an idiot when he had certain thoughts about Malfoy. Ron would rein him in when Harry ranted about Thorin even as he provided a listening ear. Ron would suggest they go out and eat lunch in a place where Malfoy might be unlikely to find them.

            But Ron was absent on his own case right now, and Harry didn’t really want to drag him back into this one and give him a double load of work that way. Harry had said again and again that Malfoy was really a thief, that he was the only one who knew it and the only one who could bring him to justice, hadn’t he? Then it was time that he proved that.

            And it was time that he accepted Malfoy might have a genuine sexual interest in him and used that as a weapon.

            Harry stood up, swallowing, and went in search of a letter that had arrived the other day and which he had cast into a corner simply because there was no time to incinerate it properly before he had to leave on his next case.

            Now was the time to accept the invitation it offered, as horrific as that prospect was.

*

            “Such a pleasure to see you, Mr. Potter, please come back any time…”

            Harry inwardly shuddered as he nodded to Madam Bounteous—as she called herself—and fled into the street. The aura of incense and silk from the shop followed him a short distance before it was cut off as the witch sighed and closed the door. Harry was fairly sure that she’d taken the chance to ogle his arse first, though.

            What a terrible experience, Harry thought, grimacing, and staring down at the bags that were slung over one arm.

            It had been. To stand for hours on a literal pedestal while people hovered around him who were putting him on a metaphorical one, staring at him with infatuated eyes, and sighing over him, and leaping to measure him again and again when he shifted his stance, and telling him that of course he needed more than one set of dress robes, and trying to tempt him with Muggle clothes when he knew they were just hoping he would undress…

            Yeah, it was horrible. But it’s over now.

            Harry turned in relief down the street that led to the nearest Apparition point, and then became aware that someone was walking beside him. Harry turned his head and opened his mouth, assuming that Madam Bounteous had sent one of her assistants after him in order to make him another of her “incredible offers.”

            He nearly swallowed his tongue when Malfoy reached out and ran a finger down the sleeve of the robe that was hanging out of the nearest bag, his eyebrows raised and his forehead furrowed.

            “Did someone really tell you that grey would become you?” Malfoy murmured, and then looked him up and down. “Well, perhaps if I saw it against your skin, then I would understand the appeal of that type of coloration. You look oddly nice, Harry.”

            Harry caught his breath and said, “Well, I was having a morning without much stress until you appeared.”

            “We can’t have that,” Malfoy murmured, lowering his head. Harry thought it was a given that he was going to brush his lips along Harry’s temple and shied, ducking his head and wincing away. Malfoy paused, and then laughed softly, his breath rattling in his throat. “And here I thought that those clothes might be for me, Potter,” he whispered.

            Damn it, they were supposed to be. Harry never would have made a trip to such a horrible place as Madam Bounteous’s Robes for the Discerning Wizard if he wasn’t trying to make himself more attractive to Malfoy.

            But he just wasn’t good at this. He got a lot more practice putting off people who wanted to flirt with him than flirting himself.

            He glanced up at Malfoy, and found the git regarding him with a steady, interested gaze. He seemed a lot less flighty than he had during the time that he’d broken into Harry’s home or offered him the stolen opal, and that settled Harry’s fluttering gut a little. Just maybe, he would get through this particular conversation without throwing up on Malfoy’s shoes.

            “They sort of are,” he said slowly, feeling his way through the words. Not that that by itself should be enough to alert Draco, he thought. Draco—think of him that way, and this became easier—would expect him to be all shy and hesitant when it came to asserting an attraction. “I thought about what you did when you—changed my house the other day. And there’s no reason to wear just Auror robes all the time, is there? I’m not on duty all the time.”

            Malfoy said nothing. Harry glanced up at him, wondering if he’d overdone it.

            Malfoy was smiling, a slow and delighted expression that Harry wanted to pretend he’d seen on the front page of too many newspapers to find impressive, but the truth was that this was different, and he knew it. This smile could persuade people that Malfoy hadn’t given money to to find him charming.

            It made his stomach turn over—and not in the way that Harry would have preferred that it turn over.

            Oh, fuck, no, he thought, and stifled the immediate impulse of panic that wanted him to spring away from Malfoy’s side. That wasn’t going to happen. Nothing was going to happen that he didn’t want to, because this was his job, and he was going to make sure that he was in control of his reactions to Malfoy, not the other way around.

            “That’s what I wanted to see,” Malfoy said, and his voice was so soft and caressing that Harry wanted to shake himself. It wrapped around him like the silk robes that Madam Bounteous had insisted in a loud voice he had to try on, and which Harry had taken off as quickly as he could because they made his skin feel odd. “Some consideration for yourself, beyond the demands of the job. A focus on your personal life.” His hand brushed Harry’s shoulder, so light that Harry doubted he would have noticed it if he hadn’t seen the gesture from the corner of his eye.

            Harry shook his head. “So that makes it easier for you to move in on me, right,” he muttered.

            “I want you,” Malfoy said, against his ear, and then turned and pulled him towards the wall of the nearest shop. Harry, aware of the eyes that could be on them, dug his feet into place and resisted, and Malfoy cocked his head at him. “Don’t you want to hear about the theft I’m planning?” he added, in a wheedling tone.

            Harry gritted his teeth. “You know everything, and you’re laughing at me,” he snapped.

            Malfoy paused, his smile disappearing. “You should explain what you mean by that,” he said evenly. “Why would I laugh at someone I want? That would make me ridiculous by association.”

            Harry sighed in irritation and resisted the temptation to bury his head in his hands and tug on his hair. “You’re ridiculous because you—because you want me in the first place,” he said, knowing it was a weak retort, but the best he could come up with at the moment. “But you know that I don’t want you in return, and that I’m chasing you because I’m an Auror and you’re a criminal, and you knew the real reason I bought these robes as soon as you saw them. Why do we have to keep on pretending? Why not just say what we really mean?”

            Malfoy paused again. His hands were on Harry’s shoulders still, the way they had been when he first began to tug him towards the wall. His eyes were on Harry’s, though, and he searched them with obvious rapt interest. “You don’t like games much, do you, Harry?” he asked.

            “You haven’t earned the right to call me that,” Harry snapped, reaching up to slap Malfoy’s hands off him. “And no, I don’t. Not when the people I’m playing with don’t even think to tell me the rules.”

            Malfoy smiled, and while this wasn’t as charming as his first one, it had a curling edge to it that made something in Harry’s stomach curl in response. Harry steeled himself and gritted his teeth. He refused, he refused, to feel what Malfoy wanted him to feel, even more than he refused to feel that one particular reaction in regards to Malfoy.

            “I’ll tell you the rules,” Malfoy whispered. “I’ll even tell you the target of my theft, for the price of one kiss.”

            “I’m already in trouble with my boss because the first kiss happened,” Harry said evenly.

            Malfoy smiled winsomely at him. “What? The one near the walls of my Manor? I can assure you that Head Auror Thorin sees nothing of what goes on there.”

            Harry paused, trying to listen for nuances in the words that would tell him whether Malfoy really was paying Thorin. In the end, though, he decided there was nothing he could sense, and shook his head in frustration. “No. I meant the one in the Leaky Cauldron.”

            “That was our second kiss,” Malfoy said. “And this one is our third.” He reached out and put his hand on Harry’s jaw, cupping it, pulling him closer, but carefully watching his eyes, as if ready to pull back if he didn’t like it.

            Harry didn’t trust that implicit promise for a moment, but he hesitated instead of pulling away, and said, “You really will tell me the target of your theft if I let you kiss me?”

            “Yes,” Malfoy said, and smiled, and ran a thumb down the side of Harry’s jaw. Harry found himself relaxing and opening his mouth without ever planning to. Malfoy sighed and dipped his head, tongue flicking out so that he could touch Harry’s lips with it. “Yes,” he repeated, in a distant, soft voice. “Let me in.”

            Harry cast a Disillusionment Charm on them, and did.

            Malfoy kissed this time as though he was trying to use his mouth to convince Harry of something, his eyes closed and his fingers sliding up and down, making Harry start as sparks of sensation leaped to life in his throat and shoulders. But he kept his own eyes open against the temptation to close them, and reminded himself that this could be the break in the case he needed. Malfoy didn’t seem able to help himself even though he knew exactly what was going on, probably because he thought he could escape any time he wanted. Harry would use this against him.

            Even if it was hard not to close his eyes and simply succumb to the sensations.

            Malfoy finally pulled back and opened his eyes with a languid sigh, his eyelashes sliding up and across his skin until Harry realized he was staring and turned his head away.

            “All right,” Malfoy whispered. “You. I’m going to steal you, and take you away from those stuffy regulations that make your life impossible and stress you out far more than you deserve to be stressed for refusing me.”

            Harry laughed before he could stop himself. “I knew that already,” he said. “I mean, you said that was your excuse. But what’s the real target?”

            Malfoy’s charming smile flashed again. “Why, Harry,” he answered, “don’t you believe me?”

            And his cloak swirled around him as he turned on the spot and Apparated.

            Harry spent some time standing there and feeling like a fool. Yes, Malfoy had insisted that was the truth before, hadn’t he? And Harry had fallen for his little offer to simply repeat what he had stated before.

            Harry lowered his head so that his eyes fell on the robes in the bags he had bought, and he felt his lips part in a snarl that made him tremble. He had bought these robes, and he was going to use them, and in a way that would force Malfoy to tell him the rest of the truth. Harry was a small prize; there was something else in the Ministry he wanted to steal.

            I’ll seduce him so well that he’ll gasp out the idea before he realizes.

*

            SP777: Yes. Arguably, Harry is throwing it right back.

            hotflower901: Oh, Draco would not like it. At all.

            Yes, I think you’re right; spells do nothing.

            unneeded: Finally, Harry may be mad enough to start ignoring the restrictions. At least, he can ignore them as long as he can say that that helped him in solving his case.

            Makoto_Sagara: I see what you were trying to see with your comment about Ron now. All is forgiven!

            Harry is always disappointed in himself when he does something that he thinks is silly, like apparently resenting his job and superiors when nothing will be changed by it. He wouldn’t matter so much if that would help him catch Malfoy or the like.
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