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The Conservation of Fame	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 22392 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

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Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Nine—Arrangements

            “You all right, mate?”

            Harry turned around and stared at George. He had to keep his wand moving to perform the complicated round of interlinked spells that were toasting the bread, preparing the porridge, scrambling the eggs, and squeezing the orange juice into cups, but he didn’t have to look at them. “Of course,” he said, when he saw that George was staring at him with his lips wrinkled as though he’d taken a sour bite of something. That wasn’t the way he usually looked when he was about to spring a joke on Harry. Then again, why would he ask this as a serious question? “Do I look tired?”

            The spells tried to get out of control, and Harry forced them to stay by spinning around once and increasing the strength of the Heating and Stirring Charms. If he let them go and they splattered their breakfast all over the kitchen, then George would have the right to think there was something wrong with him.

            “I mean that you’ve been quieter than usual,” George replied, sliding into place at the kitchen table. “And more prone to drinking last night, too. It’s my job to put a respectable dent in the nation’s stockpile of Firewhisky.”

            Harry shook his head in wonder. George almost never referred to the “bad nights” when he needed to stay with someone who would make sure that he didn’t do anything—well, regrettable. For him to voluntarily mention his drinking meant he really was worried. Harry cracked another two eggs into a separate pan with two more flicks of his wand and then turned his wand over. Levitation Charms sprang into action, bringing a plate with two pieces of toast and marmalade and butter on the side over to land in front of George. A glass of juice joined it a minute later. George nodded his thanks and started buttering his toast, but never took his eyes off Harry.

            A second after that, Harry shrugged and smiled and decided that he might as well give up the pretense. He and George were friends who had seen each other at their worst. And if Harry had more than once talked George out of following Fred, well, there was the evening George had found Harry when he was about ready to find some privacy by escaping from all kinds of life, permanently. He could talk to George about this if he could talk to anyone.

            “I do miss Draco,” he admitted, and completed the last round of spells that would finish the eggs and bring his food over to him. He took several large bites before he continued, because food was food and came first. “And at the same time, I know nothing could ever happen between us because of the spell.”

            George frowned and cocked his head. “You think he’d be that upset when he found out who you really were?”

            Harry nodded. “Not so much because of who I was, but because of the combination of who I was and that I tricked him, as he saw it. He might think a fitting revenge was spreading the news of where I am.”

            George hesitated, then said, “I don’t know if Malfoy would do it. Not the way he is now.”

            Harry had harbored his own doubts last night, but he’d come to the same kind of gloomy answer he had to give George now. “Maybe not. But if there’s even the chance, I can’t risk it. This life is more important to me than anything else, George. Five years, seven years, down the road, it might not be. But for now, I like my life and I don’t want it to change.”

            Hermione would have persisted, and even Ron would have, although Hermione would have wanted to make Harry explore his feelings more and Ron would have wanted some reassurance that Harry would never take up with Draco again. But George knew how to let things go, a lesson Harry himself had taught him. They spent the rest of breakfast talking about Quidditch, the joke shop, Fleur’s next pregnancy, and how hard it was to date when your dating partners didn’t have any idea of who you really were.

            Harry waved to George as he left through the Floo and began to wash the dishes, slowly and thoughtfully. His friends had all come back unharmed from their wild flight with the robes and the decoy tracking spells, and Draco should be safe now until he could make contact with someone uncorrupted in the Ministry. Harry had his peace and his quiet and his privacy back.

            It was all he could wish for.

*

            Or so he thought, until a small grey owl soared in through his wards the next afternoon, hooting gently. Harry recognized George’s Perseus and held up his arm to use for a landing pad. Perseus was almost as small as Pig, but a good deal calmer, and polite enough never to shit on Harry’s robes.

            Perseus usually delivered ingredients that were too delicate to send with someone Flooing in, so Harry was surprised when he held out a letter instead. And that the handwriting on the envelope wasn’t George’s.

            Harry stared at those sharp, precise letters that looked etched or carved on the parchment instead of written, and shivered. He hadn’t seen any like them in over ten years, but he thought he knew what they were.

            He opened it.

            Dear Harry,

            Please don’t be angry that I contacted your friend in order to communicate with you. The twins seemed the most Slytherin of the Weasleys when I knew them, and I thought he might enjoy the joke, if nothing else.

            I have contacted the only one of my superiors at the Ministry whom I know to be immune to the promises and bribes of my enemies—he has a considerable fortune of his own and a dedication to collecting Dark artifacts—and explained the situation to him. He should be able to extract me soon and find out who in our Department is compromised. But I would like to see you again. If nothing else, you can deliver the mirror to me most safely, in three days, at the Ministry.

            And in everything else, I miss you.

            Draco.

            Harry blinked at the parchment, then snorted. Of course. Draco must have learned that trying to owl or Floo Harry when he didn’t have any way to get through his wards was useless, so he had to use the owl of someone Harry trusted instead. Harry hadn’t thought up ways to counter that particular measure, mostly because he hadn’t thought any of his friends would trust Draco enough to let him borrow their owls.

            But. Well. Now that Draco had reached out to him and Perseus had brought the message, Harry couldn’t say he was displeased.

            He was the one who had to be cautious, not Draco, Harry thought as he went to write a response. Draco had honest intentions as far as they went. They were just sneaky Slytherin intentions, too. Find out the secret, woo Harry—if he had really meant that part—and get the mirror he had risked his life for to safety.

            It was Harry who had to distrust every gesture that he wanted to make towards Draco, the temptation to reach out, the temptation to touch him and keep on touching.

            Sure, he might have a little pleasure in the short term, and he’d enjoy having Draco—the one he knew now—as a friend and lover. But inevitably, that would shatter the spell, and what he’d worked for in the long term would vanish.

            He could never forgive me. For seeing him at his weakest, for doing spells that he can’t do, for tricking him like that.

            So Harry wrote a letter that he thought of as restrained and calm, and sent it back with Perseus for George to pass on to Draco.

            Dear Draco,

            Sure, I can meet you in three days. Just let me know the place and the time. So far, I haven’t seen any sign that your enemies are still trying to break through my wards, so they might have given up.

            I miss you, too.

            Harry.

*

            Although he’d cast spell after spell around himself at the warded location where he’d stored the mirror and seen no sign that anyone was following him or hiding and watching him, Harry truly relaxed only when he stepped into the Ministry’s Atrium. There were corrupt members of the Department of Mysteries, sure, if he believed Draco, but from this moment on, the mirror was someone else’s problem. The Unspeakables would have to prevent the theft if it happened here.

            Harry was going to get back to his quiet life after this. Any day now.

            As promised, Draco and a cloaked Unspeakable with a glamour over his face that concealed any hint of his features were waiting to meet him. Draco wore a set of plain, dark grey robes that might mark him as a member of almost any Department—

            And a smile that flooded across his face the moment he saw Harry and made Harry freeze between one step and another out of the Floo.

            Harry shook his head, hard, in the next second, and walked towards Malfoy, as he had to think of him, holding out the locked and warded box in which he’d put the mirror. Draco reached out to take it from him with one hand. The other promptly brushed delicately up and down Harry’s wrist, and then turned over, clasping his hand and holding it.

            Harry’s face heated up, but he didn’t want to tear his hand away from Draco in a public place like this. For one thing, that could cause a scandal of sorts for Draco. No one knew who Harry was now, no one cared, but to have someone reject Draco so harshly would start the rumors circulating again that he was a Death Eater, or that he must have done something to make a total stranger back away from him. Harry wanted his bright, uninterrupted future, but he could care about Draco’s, too.

            For another thing, it felt really bloody good.

            “And this is what you risked your life for, Mr. Malfoy.” Out in the open, of course, the senior Unspeakable wouldn’t use Draco’s title, since it seemed sort of a secret that he was part of the Department, Harry reasoned. It helped him calm the way he wanted to bristle to Draco’s defense. “I see. Well. It does seem to be real.” The Unspeakable folded the box in large gloves and bowed to them both. “As requested, your holiday begins now.”

            Harry blinked at the man’s back as he walked away, and then Draco altered his clasp on Harry’s hand to one on his arm that slid slowly towards his shoulder. Harry turned to look up at him. Draco had cleverly almost insinuated Harry into his arms.

            Harry took a careful step backwards and fixed Draco with a stare he thought would bring out the answers. Draco stood there and smiled at him instead.

            “It’s so good to see you,” he murmured at last, in a voice that sounded choked. “Merlin.” He shook his head, his smile widening. “I wondered if you had glamour charms on your house to make you seem more appealing, but if anything, you’re even more attractive when you’re a little unsure of yourself.”

            Harry took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was still a powerful wizard who had survived the war and done Draco a favor. No reason to gape like this. “You don’t really know me,” he said. “Who I was. Who I am.”

            “I know that you’re stubborn,” Draco said calmly, the grip of his hand tightening. “That you’ll go out of your way to help a stranger in need. That you knew who I was from the beginning and that you hate my father, but you never acted as though you despised me because of it. That you’re clever, and accomplished, and enthusiastic about life, and a fairly good cook.” He leaned towards Harry. “I got them to agree that I could have a holiday the moment they received the mirror, since I can’t count the days I spent recuperating as days off work. Come out to dinner with me.”

            Harry regained his feet. This was a concrete action. Something he could say yes or no to. Something that didn’t have anything to do with the future he hadn’t yet glimpsed, and nothing to do with the feelings for Draco—were they?—that coiled and pushed under his breastbone.

            “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, but no.”

            Draco narrowed his eyes, and then shrugged. Harry thought he would let go then and step away, but it didn’t seem to be what he was made for. “First offer, perhaps I shouldn’t have expected you to agree,” Draco said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up. Do I have your permission to owl you directly?”

            Harry took Draco’s hand, folded the fingers into his palm, and squeezed gently. “Think about this objectively, Draco,” he said quietly. “Does this seem like something that will content you? Help you? Something we should be doing?”

            “I’m not used to thinking of my life in blocks of goals that way, whatever you may have heard about Slytherins.” Draco’s teeth were bared, and he looked simultaneously gentle and threatening. “I don’t concern myself as much with the proprieties as you might think.”

            Harry sighed, and squeezed his hand again. “Think about what I told you.” He wouldn’t mention the spell here, not in the open, even in the guarded way that he sometimes talked about it with Ron and Hermione. Too many listening ears. “Do you really want to date someone who holds that secret over you?”

            Draco stared at him for a few moments. Then he said, “Harry, what are you afraid that I would do if you told me the truth?”

            “Hate me,” Harry said, because it was the truth, although he did think it was a truth Draco could have figured out for himself. “Take revenge on me.”

            “Destroy your life, the way I might have done with a Gryffindor in school?” Draco shook his head. “If you haven’t picked up on it, I’m not that person anymore. It’s true that I might be disappointed or shocked, but that’s a far cry from destroying someone’s life.” He looked Harry in the eyes and repeated gently, “Have dinner with me.”

            Harry grimaced. He would have to risk this, would have to give away another piece of the truth. Luckily, Hermione had reassured him yesterday that there was nothing that would break the spell except Draco really coming to care for him. No matter how Harry hinted to him, he wouldn’t suddenly get his memories back that way. “Yes, all right. Disappointment, shock, those things I could live with, enough to tell you. Because I don’t like keeping this secret from someone I’ve come to—know.”

            “You were going to use a different verb than that,” Draco accused him, his eyes bright and lively. “What was it? Tell me.”

            “God, you’re exhausting,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Always digging for compliments, aren’t you? You can’t let it go. Dating you would be the same way.”

            “I do,” Draco said, pausing as though to evaluate the fairness of the complaint before he continued speaking, “always exhaust my partners. That much is true.”

            Harry rolled his eyes again and pushed with one hand at Draco’s chest. Draco swayed a step back, but maintained the hold, and the smile.

            “If those were the only things you would feel,” Harry said, doggedly returning to the original question, “then yes, I could put up with telling you the truth, and watching you walk away from me.”

            Draco shook his head. “Not that. You’d have to throw me out. And the next time I’m in your house, you needn’t think I’ll leave so easily.”

            Harry stared at Draco, knowing that he looked star-struck, the way that people had so often looked around him, his lips parted and his pulse speeding along in his wrist and his chest and his throat.

            And then he clenched his fists and reminded himself. These feelings weren’t genuine. Harry might have seen the real Draco, but Draco hadn’t seen the real Harry. He couldn’t connect all these ideas and emotions about someone who might as well have been a stranger to the old memories. It wasn’t fair, what Harry was doing to him.

            Harry ended up closing his eyes and sighing. “It would be one thing if you were surprised,” he repeated, voice thin. “But you’d hate me. I mean it, Draco,” he added, because he recognized the indrawn breath that said Draco was going to argue. “I was someone you hated. For the kind of reasons that both our sides hated each other in the war, but for personal ones, too. It’s not going to work.”

            Silence. Harry broke free of Draco’s holds on him, one by one, and then stepped back and met his eyes. Draco only shook his head a little, eyes wide and dazed and dark.

            “Who were you?” he whispered. “I want you, and I want you back.”

            At the moment, Harry wasn’t going to stay around to analyze all the things that word could mean. He just nodded, smiled, said, “I’m glad you’re safe,” and started walking.

            Draco didn’t call after him. Harry looked over his shoulder when he neared the Floo, though, hoping Draco had gone back to the Department of Mysteries, and found him watching Harry instead, staring, his arms folded.

            Harry sighed. A gesture like that was at least a sign of anger, and he thought he could work with that. It might allow Draco to get over his temporary obsession. He waved at Draco and stepped into the Floo.

            It does nothing for me, though.

*

            kit: A combination of both, I think? Although arguably Harry hasn’t given in yet.

            Artemis_Lecter: Thank you! I’m glad you appreciated it.

            moodysavage: To track Harry’s wand, he really would have had to hold it longer than he did. But yes, George is sympathetic enough to provide the conduit.

            SP777: Harry does miss him, yes, but he thinks he has to hold strong to avoid hurting Draco even further.

            No comment!

            I’ll see. I’m going to be really busy in the next week, so who knows when I’ll have time.

            unneeded: Not unless he fulfills the conditions Hermione laid out.

            LeaniaSTL: Thank you! As far as Harry’s attitude towards Draco’s attitude goes, the problem is that he thinks the only chance he would have had for Draco to forgive him is if the spell ended immediately. Draco’s just going to hate him even more now, or so Harry thinks.
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The Conservation of Fame