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The Same Species As Shakespeare	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16106 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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.

Chapter List
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Title: The Same
Species As Shakespeare

Disclaimer: J. K.
Rowling and her associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and
not profit.

Pairings: Draco/Harry,
Hermione/Ron, Lucius/Narcissa

Rating: R/M

Warnings: AU; ignores
DH except for a few minor details. Violence, profanity, sex, major angst, major
creepiness, WiP.

Summary: Harry
has been casually fascinated by Draco Malfoy for a long time. Draco has wanted
to get one over on Harry Potter for the same length of time. When a person who
seems intent on getting Draco in trouble for crimes he didn�t commit throws
them in each other�s way, neither is exactly averse to the situation. But
obsession, whilst perhaps a good idea in the abstract, is going to prove a very
ugly reality.

Author�s Notes: Dedicated
to hpstrangelove, who made a very generous contribution to the fight for
marriage equality as part of the LJ community livelongnmary, and provided me
with the prompt for this novel in return. The title comes from the following
quote by Aldous Huxley: �Single-mindedness is all very well in cows or baboons;
in an animal claiming to belong to the same species as Shakespeare
it is simply disgraceful.� The chapter titles come from various Shakespeare
plays; the name of Tudor Palliser is a play on Anthony Trollope�s character of
Plantagenet Palliser.

The Same Species As
Shakespeare

Chapter One�Though This
Be Madness

�You�re
certain.� Kingsley rapped his fingers on the desk for long moments before leaning
back in his chair. He looked as though he was a few minutes away from folding
his arms and pouting. Harry worked hard to smother a grin. He could understand Kingsley�s
reaction. Until Harry had told Kingsley what he�d sensed, it seemed certain
they had proof that Draco Malfoy was involved in the release of a wild
hippogriff.

Among a long series of minor crimes that he
appears to have been involved in, Harry thought, but shook his head. No,
what he�d felt this afternoon simply didn�t admit of Malfoy actually having
been present at the crime scene.

�I am, sir,�
he said. When Kingsley scowled at him, Harry did let a small smile slip out,
but added, �Sorry.�

�Explain to
me again what Ollivander explained to you.� Kingsley drew a piece of parchment
and a quill towards him. Harry hoped he would write it down this time. Kingsley
forgot the wording each time Harry explained, because the world would be so
much simpler if it weren�t true.

�Yes, sir.�
Harry stared pointedly until Kingsley gave the sigh of a martyr expected to
contribute to his own stoning and started writing. �He told me that I could use
Draco Malfoy�s wand during the war, after I acquired it during the Battle of
Malfoy Manor, unusually well. I asked him why. He said that the affinity in
this case came through the wood, just as the affinity between my wand and
Voldemort�s came through the cores. The hawthorn tree that made Malfoy�s wand
and the holly that made mine grew close together.�

Kingsley
gave him a skeptical look. �And that�s really enough for you to tell when
Malfoy is nearby?�

Harry gave
a little shrug. �Ever since the war, it has been. I never stopped �listening�
to his wand, as Ollivander puts it, once it taught me how to listen�though as
far as I�m concerned, the feeling I get from the wand isn�t really audible. And
I was close enough to the suspect this afternoon to feel the vibrations when he
cast the Tripping Jinx at Ron. That isn�t Draco Malfoy�s wand.�

�He might
be using another,� Kingsley said without much hope.

�Because he
knows I can sense his?� Harry shook his head. �Ollivander swears that he hasn�t
given him that information, sir, and I believe him. It�s not something that can
be known unless it�s told, or unless Malfoy had handled my wand in return,
which he never did.�

Kingsley
added a final ferocious scribble to the end of the parchment and stared at it
as if it would do him the courtesy of bursting into flame. When it didn�t, he
turned to Harry. �The Department Head is getting rather insistent that I find
the perpetrator of these crimes, as you know,� he said. �Whoever he is, he�s
been moving steadily closer to Muggle areas.�

Harry
nodded solemnly. After the Battle of Malfoy Manor, which had very nearly
revealed the existence of the wizarding world to half the Muggles in Britain, paranoia
about secrecy was higher than ever. Wizards and witches now went to Azkaban for
crimes like Muggle-baiting that once would have carried only a minor fine.
Without Harry to give evidence that Malfoy hadn�t been there this afternoon,
Hit Wizards would already have descended on Malfoy Manor.

�But if you
say it�s not him, it�s not him,� added Kingsley. �The last thing I want is to
arrest innocent men and women.�

Harry
nodded as he stood. �Is there anything else, sir? Only I need to finish the
report on the crime before I forget important details.�

Kingsley
simply looked at him. Harry stared back as long as he could, then stuffed his
hands into his robe pockets and looked away.

�You should
have let me arrest her,� Kingsley said quietly.

�It was a
personal matter,� Harry snapped, and then tried to soften his voice. Kingsley
was a friend, even if he was being an interfering busybody right now. �The last
thing I need is the Daily Prophet trumpeting
that I use the Aurors as my own personal wand to curse anyone I don�t like.�

�You�d
rather they trumpet what she told them instead?�

Harry
grimaced. No, it had not been a fun two weeks in his life whilst Penelope
Armitage told the Prophet everything
she knew about Harry�s sexual preferences. Harry had dated her for six months
and tried a few things with her he wouldn�t have tried with a less adventurous
partner. And he had been paying for that trust ever since.

But still,
having Kingsley arrest Penelope wasn�t the answer. Harry had suffered through
the storm of laughter, scandal, and faked outrage until he and Ron arrested Ernest
Paddington, the notorious �Child Catcher.� Photographs of the arrest, and then
of the victims, had displaced the news of Harry Potter�s sex life from the
front page rather quickly. And then the parents of the victims had sued the Prophet for printing those pictures
without permission, and Rita Skeeter had to employ her quill in her own defense
for once.

�I�d rather
they ignored me entirely,� said Harry, forcing a lightness he didn�t feel into
his tone. Penelope wasn�t the only lover of his who had betrayed him like that,
but she�d done it more thoroughly, and had hurt him more than�well, more than
anyone had since Joshua, the very first. The Prophet pounced on the revelations like a ravening wolf each time. Harry
had kept his attention to admiring but not touching for a long time before
Penelope, and it looked like he would have to do the same thing again now. �But
that won�t happen, so at least I can avoid giving them more fodder.�

Kingsley sighed
again, in that way that meant he disagreed but didn�t intend to press the
issue. Harry had learned everything about Kingsley�s sighs that he needed to
survive during three years of Auror training and two years� work as a full
Auror. �All right, Harry. Then go write your report, and have a good weekend
after that.�

Harry
managed a real smile this time, and wandered out of the Head Auror�s office
back in the direction of the one he shared with Ron. He felt glances on his
back, envious and admiring and everything in between. He ignored them. At least
staying out of office politics was less difficult than finding a lover who wouldn�t
tell all his secrets.

It helped
that he had something to occupy his thoughts during his every spare moment.

Finding out
he could sense Malfoy�s wand had led him to write to Ollivander, and Ollivander�s
answer had made him observe Malfoy more closely during the last few years. Of
course, everyone knew Malfoy was fabulously wealthy and successful, so articles
about him were in plentiful supply, and Harry could learn what he needed to
know without getting too near. And if he kept those newspapers a little longer
than normal, or sometimes mentioned Malfoy to his friends in unrelated contexts�it
wasn�t as though he would ever do
anything about it. Harry might respect what Malfoy had made of himself since
the war; he was certain Malfoy still felt the same as ever about him.

When he
ambled into the office, he found Ron confronting an owl. Harry raised his
eyebrows and leaned against the wall to watch.

The owl was
a large gray bird with white edges to its feathers and rings of black
encircling its golden eyes. It sat with wings spread and talons splayed across
Harry�s desk. Whenever Ron took a step towards it, it gave a series of soft but
threatening hoots, and darted its head forwards to snap and bob. Ron would
mutter curses, among which, �Stupid bird,� could be heard most prominently.

�Am I
interrupting something?� Harry asked at last.

Ron leaped straight
up in the air and yelped. Since the war, he was rather easily startled. Harry
made sure his grin was in place when Ron landed and whipped around, glaring. Of
course Harry was gentle with his friend�s startlement and its consequences when
it got really bad, as Ron was always sympathetic about Harry�s lovers betraying
him. On the other hand, a certain amount of teasing about such things had
always been necessary and natural between them.

�That owl
is the most malevolent, stubborn, stupid bird I�ve ever met in my life,� said
Ron, and pointed a finger dramatically at Harry�s desk. �It hasn�t given me that
letter even though it�s been here for ten minutes.�

On cue, the
owl opened its wings, took off from the desk, and landed on Harry�s shoulder,
taking the time to deliver a nip to Ron�s ear as it flew past him. It held out
its foot tamely, and let Harry take the letter attached to it. Then it cooed
and pressed its beak against Harry�s cheek, before swooping out the door into
the corridor without even asking for payment.

�It seems
you didn�t get the letter because it was intended for me,� Harry pointed out,
and ripped the envelope open. It was a fine envelope, he noted with mild curiosity,
and the outside bore curving golden script. Of course, he received such an
invitation on an average of once a week. The main curiosity here was that he
didn�t recognize the writing, and in the past five years he�d learned to know
all the charities and good works whose functions he felt like attending. The
ones that didn�t impress him learned not to keep sending invitations.

�That bird
was still malevolent,� Ron muttered, and took his seat behind his desk.

�Terrifying,�
Harry agreed gravely, and stared at the letter.

A moment
later, he was still staring. A few more moments, and Ron lifted his head and
looked worriedly at him.

�All right,
mate?� he asked. �Is it another disguised Howler from Penelope?�

Harry shook
his head. �It�s�it�s an invitation from Malfoy to the Palliser House,� he said.
Ron stared at him blankly. Harry rolled his eyes. �You know, the new manor
house he just designed? He wants me to visit on Sunday, when the owner intends
to hold a public viewing.�

Harry went
back to staring at the letter in wonder. It was one thing to know that Malfoy
had become a famous and respected architect of numerous manor houses for
wizards who didn�t have a grand home but wanted one, and another to find himself
commanded in appropriately haughty language to come and see one. And it was
clear now why the owl hadn�t waited for a response. Malfoy simply assumed he
would come.

�You�re not
going, right?� Ron asked. �I mean, it�s probably a trap, considering the way he�s
always felt about you.�

Harry
smiled at the letter.

�Harry?
Mate?�

Harry
hummed under his breath as he walked over to his desk and sat down, placing the
letter in front of him where he could reach it easily.

�Sometimes I
worry about you,� Ron said flatly, and presumably went on worrying, but Harry
was daydreaming and didn�t hear him.

*

�It�s
grand,� said Tudor Palliser, tilting his head back so that he could admire the
vaulted ceiling Draco had put in the entrance hall of his home. �Grand�
appeared to be the only term of praise that Palliser, a nervous if wealthy and
congenial half-blood, could commit himself to using. He turned to examine the
far side of the hall, where the ceiling dipped and became part of a pillared
walkway open to the wind. �And, ah, you�re quite certain that the watchstones
will guard me?� He visibly stopped himself from looking over his shoulder at
Draco.

�Yes, they
will.� Draco rocked on his heels and glimpsed the ceiling above their heads
again. An enormous vault, precisely balanced on its gleaming marble walls, and decorated
with shining mosaic tiles that depicted pivotal events of wizarding history, it
deserved better than �grand.� But at least Draco would not have to live in this
house and hear it deprecated so. Draco always carried away an experience that
the people he sold his houses to could never duplicate: he dwelt in them
imaginatively for so long that he learned to value their beauty and their
strength, their flaws and purely utilitarian features, as parts of a whole. He comprehended it. People like Palliser,
who tended to overvalue one room or wing at the expense of others, and find
themselves overwhelmed by the very grandeur they had ordered Draco to construct,
dwindled into shadows in the house�s immense light.

And, of
course, the secrets Draco learned during his consultations with the owners, the
positioning of private rooms and treasure vaults, the hidden exits they wanted
and the fears they revealed by their choices of certain security spells, fed an
appetite most of them didn�t imagine he had.

�A
wonderful invention, watchstones.� Palliser sighed noisily. His ginger
moustache�and Draco had had to comment on that privately to himself the first
time he met the man; what proper wizard grew a moustache instead of a beard?�fluttered
in the wind from his nostrils. �They should ensure that we can never be taken
by surprise again.�

�Yes,�
Draco murmured. He was less impressed with watchstones, invented in the wake of
Voldemort nearly revealing everyone to Muggles. He understood their limitations
too well after installing them in twenty of the houses he�d built. They
prevented Legilimency, possession, Occlumency, and any other form of mental
magic in the houses they guarded, and they would sound alarms that could not be
evaded if people with harmful intentions towards the home or its owner
approached.

What no one tells you, Draco thought in
contentment as he watched Palliser stare happily at the bulbous gray
watchstones studding the sides of the walkway, is that the architect can command them to ignore his own Legilimency.

�And of
course you�ll be here at the presentation.� Palliser turned and regarded him
with the haughtiness he�d been trying to copy from Draco�s own manners since
they first met. Draco had to admit that he came closer this time, which meant
his performance was merely embarrassing instead of cause for moving to France
and adopting a new name. �It�s to be two days from now. I�ll need you to escort
my visitors around the house and recite all those technical terms I can never
remember.�

�Surely,�
Draco said. Then he paused, a small hesitation creeping into his movements
which Palliser picked up on at once. If Draco had to make his signals a little
broad for someone like Palliser to notice, well, that was the price of dealing
with the lesser orders.

�What is
it?� Palliser demanded. �I�m willing to pay you extra Galleons to be here, you
know that.�

�Oh, I
know,� Draco said. �You�ve been more than generous with your money.� And your confessions. Palliser had less
sensitivity to Legilimency than most people, and Draco had been able to stroll
through his mind whilst still holding a conversation. �I was wondering if you
would mind my giving an extra invitation to a special guest.�

�I�m afraid
that I can�t associate with�� Palliser started, obviously thinking Draco wanted
to invite either his mentor or his father.

�I know,�
Draco said patiently. �One must preserve the reputation and the cleanliness of one�s
house.�

�Exactly!�
Palliser beamed at him. Draco resisted the temptation to sneer, with effort. Fool. The Malfoys had built their first
manor when your ancestors were starting to think caves might be just the thing
to keep off the rain.

�It�s Harry
Potter I wish to invite.� Draco lowered his voice to a confidential tone and
lowered his eyes to the floor. �He and I have bad blood between us, but I think
it�s time he saw I�ve made a good effort at reintegrating myself into society
and bringing beauty, instead of destruction, into the world.�

Palliser,
of course, ate it up. Like most people who weren�t pure-blood, he had a weakness
for pretty rhetoric and often didn�t think to listen to the content of the
words rather than the metaphors. He smiled mistily and clapped Draco on the
shoulder. �Of course you may invite him. I�d thought of it myself, but I didn�t
think he�d consent to come to the private viewing of a house. He�s so busy with
public good works.� Fawning awe tinged his words.

Draco held
himself rigidly still, to give the spasm of spite and envy time to pass. Then
he inclined his head. �I think he would come if I made it clear that this was a
special favor. He likes to see people who fought on the wrong side of the war
redeemed. And I have to admit, I presented him with small chance that he�d ever
see that from me.� He smiled modestly.

�Then let�s
give him the chance!� Palliser smiled at him, but Draco could slip beneath the
surface of his eyes without effort now and see the truth unfurling across his
mind. Harry Potter! What a coup! The
reporters are sure to come here and photograph the house if they know Potter
spent time in it. I�ll be able to sell guided tours. There might be a picture
with him, if I can coax him to hold still long enough�

Draco broke
the Legilimency link gently and turned away, so that he could control his
expression.

*

Draco
strode quickly along the corridor that ran beneath Malfoy Manor, where no
corridor had run five years ago. It was made of heavily flagstones, piled
together and sealed with mortar that had the blood of dragons mixed into it. As
Draco walked, small shadows darted and rippled beneath the surface of the
stone, keeping pace with him; glittering heads with brilliant red eyes thrust
out and flickered forked tongues in the air. They vanished beneath the walls
again when no danger appeared.

Draco
smiled tightly. This corridor to his own
secret room had been his first experiment in magical architecture as well as
magical security, if one didn�t count the minor wards he�d cast to hide his collection
of wanking material whilst still a teenager. He still didn�t believe he�d
bettered it. Too many of his clients prized beauty over usefulness, and wouldn�t
listen when Draco suggested combining both. But here he�d been able to follow
his own tastes and desires.

The
corridor curved as it descended lower, moving in a spiral pattern, though one
would have to ignore the subtle distortions of the walls and the overwhelming
effect of the monotonous gray color on the walls to grasp that. Draco wasn�t
above placing glamours and hexes that induced despair to guard his secret.
There were worse traps as well, but they didn�t trigger as long as a stranger
didn�t walk this corridor.

At last, he
halted before a door made of a single solid plate of polished cobalt, with a
dragon�s head in the center. A circle of braided gold surrounded the dragon,
and rubies marked its eyes. Draco closed his own eyes and stepped forwards,
using the same brisk stride he�d used to cover the distance so far. He made
sure to breathe noiselessly and to chase fear from the surface of his mind.

Flames
flickered around him, or at least their heat stroked the sides of his face and
singed his hair. Twisting whispers hissed in his ears, promising treasures and
the fulfillment of perverse lusts; listening to them meant insanity. The ground
beneath his feet tipped more than once, propelling him forwards further than he
would have liked or than seemed possible.

But so long
as he wasn�t afraid and he didn�t look, nothing here could hurt him.

Draco
opened his eyes when the whispers and the sensations of heat ceased. He stood
now in a room he had copied from his father�s sitting room, still his
definition of comfort. Cushioned chairs with wide, flat arms perfect for
cradling a wineglass sprawled around the hearth, which blazed with a cheerful,
self-sustaining fire no house-elf had to tend. The walls glittered and
flickered, here mosaic, there tapestry, here polished wood, there black marble
with veins of gold, providing stimulation for the brain or rest for the soul
depending on the direction in which one looked. The ceiling was a perfect representation
of the constellation Scorpius. Draco had liked the symbolism of the scorpion
since childhood.

And his
collection occupied a series of glass cases in front of the most comfortable
chair.

Draco moved
quietly forwards and dropped into the chair. At one point, the reverential hush
which he always preferred to preserve here had embarrassed him. Then he had
remembered that no one living would ever see this room but him, and he could
act as he liked.

He absorbed
the collection in the cases with silent, greedy eyes. Photographs, most of them
newspaper clippings, were the dominant objects, but he also had hairs, old
robes, and the shards of a broken broom. Ancient letters lay on crisp beds of
velvet, carefully guarded by strong preservation spells. Here and there were
rings; at one point, the person who was the focus of Draco�s collection had
tried them on in shops, when he still seemed to seriously entertain thoughts of
marriage. There were souvenirs from the restaurants he�d eaten at most frequently,
including some salvaged food that had known the touch of his lips. Cups,
napkins, combs, quills, parchment�nothing was too small if it had at one point
belonged, or come into contact with, or been in the same room with, Harry
Potter.

The
centerpiece of the collection was the portrait in the largest glass case, on a
platform of jade which lifted it above the rest of the room and let it observe
the other objects. It was a portrait of Harry Potter, done privately and at
great expense, so that it lived as much as any portrait in Hogwarts Castle ever
had. The portrait showed an outdoor scene on a pitch, but as usual, the Harry
Potter in Gryffindor Quidditch robes who stood there was hiding in one corner
of the frame, his face twisted in a mixture of terror and loathing.

Draco
saluted him as he conjured a glass and Summoned a bottle of the wine he kept on
a shelf in the corner for moments like this. Sipping after he poured, he closed
his eyes and murmured, �There�s going to be something else to join you fairly
soon.�

The
portrait would be glaring at him, because it always did that.

�A victory
is coming,� Draco said softly, opening his eyes, �that I�ve wanted for a very
long time.�

The
portrait opened its mouth and screamed at him, though the Silencing Charms on
the frame ensured he couldn�t hear a thing.

Draco
smiled. He permitted the pictured Potter to think that one day he would bring the
real Potter here and keep him a prisoner forever, because that was amusing. But
in reality, Draco had no use for permanent possession of his enemy. What he
wanted was at once simpler and less palpable.

Harry
Potter had saved his life during the war, not once, but three times. He had
taken Draco�s wand, defeated Voldemort with it, and then returned it with the
same careless ease he did everything. He could raise more money for charity by
playing in a single Quidditch game than Draco could earn by building three
manor houses. He always, always won.

Draco
wanted to win just once, and crush and humiliate Potter in the process, so
deeply that he could not grow back from the root.

Just once,
and then he could give up his collection and burn the portrait.

He knew it,
because he had succeeded at everything else he turned his hand to. Defeat was a
heavy weight, but his vengeance would purge it. He would be free and able to
turn to the rest of his life without thinking of Potter, whilst Potter would
remember him every day.

Draco drank
his wine, and smiled.
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The Same Species As Shakespeare