Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Acts of Life	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21189 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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Chapter Seven—Laughing
            “You don’t have to do this, mate.” Ron’s voice was calm, and he lay back on his bed and tossed a Galleon into the air. He had put some of the money he’d got from Draco’s fine into the joke shop; only some new resources to support new pranks and research had awoken George from his stupor over Fred. And he’d bought a new broom and robes, and taken Hermione out to dinner a few times since she got back from Australia. But he had saved enough Galleons that he could cover his bed with them in a thin layer and lie down on them.
            Harry didn’t understand why, but Ron didn’t understand why Harry spent a lot of his time protesting what the Wizengamot was doing. They worked around each other the way they always had.
            “No,” said Harry, and checked the hang of his robes in the mirror again. He didn’t care about it for itself, but he cared about the way that Rita Skeeter might twist things around if he met her with his robes disheveled. “And that’s why I’m doing it.”
            “Because you don’t have to?” Ron sat up and stared at him alertly, gold falling out of his hair.
            Harry nodded and met his eyes. “Because there’s no prophecy and no Voldemort chasing me. Because I could give it up and walk away if I wanted to.”
            Ron was silent for a long moment, tapping one nail against the Galleons. Then he smiled. “Yeah. I reckon I can see that. Good for you, mate.”
            Harry clasped him on the shoulder, long enough that Ron looked up at him. “If you think I’m getting too much into it,” Harry said, “just doing it for my own glory or something, then tell me to stop.”
            Ron snorted hard enough that Harry was surprised he didn’t bring up some bits of breakfast. “You? Yes, you’re doing it for the glory.”
            “I didn’t mean this, today.” Harry checked the watch that Molly had given him briefly. He was still on time for his interview with Skeeter, which was great. He didn’t want to go to all the trouble of arranging it and then miss it. “I mean in general.”
            Ron lay back on his bed of Galleons like some lanky dragon and studied Harry for a second as though he was a chessboard. Then he nodded. “Of course I will.”
            “Thanks,” Harry said, and went through the door, already rehearsing in his mind what he was going to say about the proposed new laws in front of the Wizengamot, requiring everyone who had fought in the war to register for restrictions on their wands, even if adults. The Wizengamot’s reasoning was that people who had cast violent spells in the past would be more likely to cast them in the future.
            The retort to that ought to have been obvious. Not every spell cast in the war was a violent one. Not every wizard who did have to use violence was on Voldemort’s side.
            But people wouldn’t speak up to say that, and the Wizengamot might get away with this transparent attempt to collect money—from bribes by people who could pay to avoid the registration, mostly—if someone of Harry’s fame and stature didn’t point out the counterarguments.
            Someday, I’ll probably get tired of doing this, Harry thought, lengthening his stride through the whirring snowflakes. But not today.
*
            “I never would have thought of doing this, dear. You’re brilliant.”
            Draco closed his eyes, silently bathing in his mother’s words. Then, as she slipped out of the room, Draco opened his eyes and studied the books in front of him.
            They were first-year textbooks used at Hogwarts in the last century, for everything from Charms to Astronomy. And they contained a huge number of spells, including some that hadn’t been taught at Hogwarts in the last fifty years, and others that had been taught to second-years or above later.
            But it wasn’t Draco’s fault that the Wizengamot’s restriction was so loose. They had said, in the letter sent to Draco after his release, “First-year spells shall be defined as spells found in first-year textbooks used at Hogwarts.”
            And these were.
            Draco smiled and glanced at the first one, silently giving thanks for the magpie-like tendencies of his ancestors. If it could be useful, it went to feather their nests, no matter how long being useful might take. This book was from his grandfather’s time, and among spells Draco had learned in his first year, like the Levitation Charm, were a few more powerful ones.
            Draco aimed the wand at his throat and murmured, “Voce feminae.”
            When he spoke again, his voice was his mother’s. “Yes? What can I do for you?”
            Draco smiled and cast the Finite, also part of the first-year textbooks in most variations. True, that particular charm that allowed a man to mimic the voice of his nearest female relative might not be the most useful, but it was a relief to Draco that he could still cast magic that was more than a few basic cleaning charms.
            And he could practice with his magic, learn and grow stronger. No, he wouldn’t be able to practice some of the spells that were defined as NEWT-level or higher, but a great deal of getting good NEWTS, as his father had taught Draco, was simply the flexibility of one’s magic, and the confidence that so many people lacked.
            Lack confidence, you can have all the training in the world and not be able to cast simple spells. Draco had a memory of his father standing by the window in this library, gazing out and saying that.
            He doesn’t look out of any windows now.
            Draco shook his head sharply. He couldn’t do much to help his father. In a way, Father’s punishment had also been part of the political campaign against Potter, who had argued strenuously that Lucius Malfoy’s crimes were more severe than his son’s. By giving Father only five years in Azkaban, the Wizengamot thought they were being clever and spiting Potter.
            It had redounded to Draco’s and his parents’ benefit. This time.
            Draco shivered, his vision going grey for a moment. He clutched the chair and waited until it passed. He was already learning how to deal with these—these convictions that he was back in Azkaban with a Dementor about to come around the corner any second. It was awful.
            But he was in front of a fire, and he turned towards the warmth. As he did, he saw that day’s Daily Prophet lying on the table. He blinked. Mother must have come in here to read it and then forgotten to bring it back out again so Draco could get the glimpse he liked to have of it. He reached towards it and picked it up.
            A second later, he was shaking with shock. There was a picture of Potter on the front page, and the headline was about him opposing a law the Wizengamot wanted to pass.
            And underneath was the byline of Rita Skeeter.
            Draco didn’t even think. He shouted for parchment and ink, and a house-elf popped up in front of him and bowed, frightened, already holding what he needed. Draco grabbed them and dashed off a heated letter to Potter, which he then snatched as he leaped to his feet and headed for the owlery. The elf was squeaking behind him in fear at not being allowed to take the message itself, but Draco needed to use up the energy somehow.
            The letter was fairly simple. Draco could feel the words burning behind his lips as he watched the owl leap into the air and fly north.
            How could you let a woman who hates you write about you? Are you engaging in the same political pandering that you always damn the Wizengamot for? I thought you were better than that.
*
            Harry read Draco’s letter through once, then again, before he permitted himself to burst out laughing.
            He had been sitting outside the Burrow with Ron and Ginny, wrapped in Warming Charms. They’d been discussing the latest improvements that George wanted to make to the joke shop, and whether they would be enough to keep him out of trouble, when Harry had spotted the owl winging towards him. He had known whose it was, and held out a confident hand. The owl still gave him a dubious look before it landed on his arm, but that was the owl’s problem.
            And then there was the letter, and Harry was howling. He felt Ginny take the letter from his hand and read it, but he couldn’t stop her. He slumped sideways, one hand over his face, tears making their way from his eyes.
            “What does this mean?” Ginny demanded, shaking the letter in front of his face. Harry bit his lip so he wouldn’t whimper again. “Who is it from? Why is it funny?”
            Harry wiped the tears away and made some effort to sit up straight. Draco hadn’t put his signature on the letter, which Harry had recognized from his owl as much as anything. He supposed he could see why it would be hard for someone else to understand.
            And Ginny sounded a little dangerous when she made demands like that. Harry knew he had to appease her.
            “It’s funny because it’s from Draco Malfoy, and he was the one who taught me how to play some of the politics with the Wizengamot,” said Harry, and broke out into a helpless chuckle again. Ginny’s eyebrows came together. Harry coughed and sat up. “I suppose he disapproves when he’s not there to guide me through the politics.”
            Ginny dropped the letter into Harry’s lap. “Are you going to answer it?” she asked shortly. Harry knew why. She didn’t really like him spending time on or with Draco. Given the way that Draco had tormented her family, Harry could see why.
            “Sure,” Harry said, and went inside for ink and parchment. It took him no more effort to write his letter than it probably had for Draco. When he went back outside, Draco’s owl even stood up and fluttered its wings suggestively.
            “There you go,” Harry said, and watched the owl jump up and fly away with the letter before he slumped back into his chair, rolling his eyes at Ron and Ginny. “The little shit.”
            “Was he using some spell that would make you laugh when you touched the letter?” Ginny tilted her head back, apparently thinking the owl would circle back and make a dive-bombing run at them. “I didn’t think that was a first-year spell.”
            Harry snickered, but immediately explained when Ginny glared at him. “No. Just the sheer ridiculousness of him making that demand.” He smiled and leaned back in his chair, bouncing his leg. “And that reminds me of something. Do you think we can get George to not sell Peruvian Darkness Powder, Ron?”
            With a glance back and forth between Harry and Ginny that showed how much he didn’t want to come in between them, Ron finally cleared his throat and muttered, “Well, if we can replace it with something he likes as well. But it probably won’t stop him from wanting to sell other blinding things…”
            Ginny crossed her arms. Harry sighed a little. Sometimes things went great between them, and sometimes they had arguments fierce enough that it seemed as if they were going to break out in huge wildfires. Harry was probably lucky this time that he’d been laughing too hard to argue back.
            But he couldn’t prevent a final smile when he looked up at the disappearing dot of Draco’s owl. He had issued an invitation. It was up to Draco whether he wanted to take advantage of it.
*
            Draco tore open the letter, and stared at it a little blankly. He had thought he would get either a long letter or a Howler in return, not a single line.
            If you’re upset with me for engaging in politics that aren’t the kind you taught me, then why don’t you start teaching me more frequently?
            Draco looked around at the library and the piled first-year textbooks. He had thought he would engage solely in studying magic from the books permitted to him and trying to qualify for the equivalent of NEWT exams in another country.
            He hadn’t counted on…politics.
            But then again, he couldn’t spend all his time in the library, either.
            Inexplicably cheered, Draco wrote his response, a single word, and handed it to the harassed owl.
            Yes.
*
ChaosLady: Thank you!
starr: Yes, I think Kingsley should be paying more attention to the Aurors, but at least Harry let him know.
moon: Thanks so much! I think some of the depression is lifting now.
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Acts of Life