Midsummer
“I assume that you have everything ready for the dissolution of our bond at Midsummer.”
Lucius’s voice was neutral, his head turned aside. Harry tried to catch his eye across the breakfast table, but it was impossible as it always was at this time of day.
And most other times of day, too, Harry admitted to himself.
“Yes,” he finally said, giving up. “I have a hair from my head for each month we’ve been bonded and a ring my father wore.”
Lucius nodded and examined the Daily Prophet with the same expression of disinterest he showed in everything. “That will be sufficient.”
Harry leaned back against the chair and watched Lucius. He thought he could get away with it, since Lucius was still invested in pretending to ignore everything outside his little bubble.
He was handsome, and that was the problem. Harry could have remained friends, and no more than that, with someone who was merely tolerable-looking. But Lucius had pale hair that he kept exquisitely groomed, and a face that was a lot less pointy than Harry had once thought it was, and deep, lustrous blue eyes.
Listen to me. I sound like a second-year at Hogwarts!
But Harry had to admit there was a reason for that. Even though Lucius didn’t show him warmth and probably never would, if Harry was realistic, he was gracious. He never showed any resentment for the strange handfasting that had let them get out of the magical topaz. He never stared at Harry and rolled his eyes. He never said anything about the blood purity beliefs that Harry sometimes thought he still harbored.
If Ron and Hermione came over, then Lucius would stay in the room reading, or make a few remarks. If Ron started talking about Malfoys, or Hermione about house-elves, Lucius would get up and leave, with a quiet dignity that drew Harry’s eyes far more than he would have imagined when he was flapping around after Cho and Ginny.
But he had changed, and so had Lucius. It was inevitable. Harry didn’t want to turn back the clock and pretend the change had never happened, either, which he sometimes thought Ron would have liked.
“Why are you looking at me?”
Unusually, Lucius was apparently going to take some notice of him. Harry answered honestly. “I like looking at you.”
Lucius paused, and lowered the newspaper. His blue eyes had widened a little. He reached out a hand as though he was going to pick up his plate, and put it down again. Harry frowned. He’d said things like that before, and Lucius had never paid attention. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t understand,” Lucius said, and shook his head. “You have said things like that before.”
“Yes,” Harry admitted cautiously.
“I thought you were going through a phase of infatuation, and would stop soon,” said Lucius, and Harry had to work hard not to splutter. He knew his own feelings better than that, thanks. “And then I thought that perhaps you wanted to convince me to stay in the marriage.”
“That’s what I would like. To give it a chance. To see what would happen.”
Lucius went on without deigning to notice this. “But when I said nothing, when I sometimes actively discouraged you with a stare or by leaving the room, you went on saying it. Why? What would you have to gain from it?”
“What do you mean, what do I gain from it? I gain honesty and maybe making you think that I am being honest.” Harry was getting a little irritated now. Was Lucius always going to be this—this stuck? All the changes, and this was what he couldn’t get beyond? “And if you don’t ever get to the point where you might give the handfasting a chance, still, you might take pleasure in knowing that I think you’re handsome.”
“Take pleasure,” Lucius said flatly.
“Well, yeah. I don’t know if you will. If you dislike it, I’ll stop. But you didn’t say anything one way or the other, so—”
Lucius stood up and left the room without another word.
Harry closed his eyes and, carefully, didn’t yell or break anything. Finally he sighed and reached for the omelet that he’d largely been ignoring.
It was stupid, was what it was. Lucius ought to know by now that Harry was honest. He wouldn’t pretend to an interest he didn’t feel. He wouldn’t try to extend the handfasting because he had something political to gain from it.
We’ve changed, all right, I get that. But Lucius should be able to see that I could never change that much.
*
The boy puzzled Lucius, perhaps because he was no longer a boy.
That was the thought passing through Lucius’s head as he watched Potter practicing his spellwork in the garden of the small house they were sharing. Lucius had inherited the house from a distant cousin who had hated him but would never have thought of leaving the property to anyone but blood. With a few house-elves to complete the dusting and refurnishing before they moved in, it had been more than tolerable.
Potter had never said anything one way or the other that would indicate he was used to living in more luxurious surroundings.
And neither was he practicing solely offensive spellwork, something Lucius had assumed he would without question. Potter rolled and ducked and leaped under the wands of a variety of imaginary opponents, but he used Scouring Charms in response, sometimes, and Tickling Charms—although admittedly with a twist to the incantation Lucius had never heard—and a momentary Stunner that flickered in and out of existence so fast Lucius was not sure of the red color. Defensive charms, mostly.
The way to get killed. That Potter had lived so far did not mean anything. There was always the future.
Potter finally trotted back into the house, panting,although it was mild at best outside. He tilted his head at Lucius when he saw him through the window, but didn’t pause, only waved and walked to the back door.
Lucius felt a sharp shiver run through him, a spasm of annoyance that he let out of his mouth when he heard the door shut. “Ignoring your handfasted?”
Potter appeared in the doorway, his eyebrows raised. “Er,” he said.
The epitome of elegance, Lucius thought with a sneer, but when he turned to face Potter, he realized there might be some things better than elegance.
Potter had a sort of haze around him, a glow of well-being and sweat that made Lucius eye him before he could stop it. He had never favored that sort of exercise himself. Dueling with words outdid dueling with wands.
“Is something wrong?”
“You ignored me.”
“You spied on me.”
Lucius paused. He still wasn’t quite over the way Potter responded, as if he had the perfect right to reply and answer and retort and counter. Sometimes he didn’t even bother with words. A raised eyebrow over the newspaper or a snort into his teacup—making droplets fly several meters—was all he would give.
“Why did you agree to stay with me?” Lucius asked.
“You said it was the thing to do in handfasting,” Potter said, and his eyebrows crept up another tilt. “You said that we should behave honorably and you wouldn’t have anyone saying you agreed to this simply to get out of the topaz, and—”
That is what I said. That is not an explanation for you agreeing.”
“Because I really don’t want to expose you to ridicule,” Potter said, very gently. “You’ve done nothing to deserve it. I’ve made my feelings clear, that I think you’re handsome and I’d like to have a chance. If you don’t want to, that’s all right.”
“Not fine?”
“No, because I do want a chance. But all right.”
“There is no alternative but marriage at Midsummer, Potter,” Lucius said, and was proud of the way his voice rasped like a dragon’s. “You cannot want that simply because you think I’m handsome and it would be ‘all right.’”
“That’s not true. We could handfast for another year.”
Lucius paused. It was true that multiple handfastings have once been practiced, although the custom over time had become a trial period and then marriage. But handfasting again was nothing against honor, or custom, or tradition, or anything else he could think of.
“Why would you want that?”
“I told you,” Potter said, and raised his eyebrows at Lucius, and walked out of the room.
Lucius wondered where his ability to have the last word had gone.
*
“Are you sure this is a good idea, mate? I mean, you’ve already talked to him about it, and you said he was dead set against it—”
“No, he just seemed surprised when I talked about having multiple handfastings.” Harry shrugged and stole Ron 's glass of Firewhisky, which he hadn’t had a chance to take a drink of yet. Ron glared at him, but it was at the point in the evening when his aiming his wand would get him a chastisement from Hermione, so he instead he walked away to get another one from Tom. Harry sipped the drink and sighed.
“You seem so unhappy, Harry,” Hermione said quietly, leaning across the table and lowering her voice. “Do you really want to stay handfasted to Lucius Malfoy?”
Harry rolled his eyes. It was also the point in the evening where he worried less about hurting his friends’ feelings—and where Hermione lost some of her brilliance. “I’ve said it over and over, Hermione. What I want is the chance. If we do another handfasting and it goes horribly, then in a year I can walk away.”
“A year is an awfully long time to spend in misery if it goes wrong.”
“But I don’t know that it will,” Harry said. He reached over and tapped his glass against Hermione’s forehead, ignoring the way she jerked back in offense. “Besides, it’s not like I would just be glued to his side and unable to do anything else. I have the Aurors and my cases. I don’t even spend every night at—home now…” He trailed off.
“What?”
“I hadn’t realized I do think of that house as home.” Harry stared off into the distance, which in this case meant into the smoke and grease of the Leaky Cauldron, and then shook his head. “Huh.” He drained the rest of the Firewhisky.
He became aware that Hermione was staring past him with her jaw dropped. He turned around. “What? Is Ron bothering someone?”
But no. Instead, Hermione was staring at Lucius standing in the entrance of the Cauldron, his lip curling with theslight, perfect amount of disdain. Harry put down his glass and straightened carefully, hand on the back of the chair. It must be something urgent for Lucius to have come to fetch him like this. Maybe someone had attacked the house.
He wavered his way over, ignoring the way that Lucius’s lip curled harder when he saw him. It wasn’t like he didn’t already get that look on a daily basis. “What is it?”
Lucius grabbed his arm and leaned in so that Harry was the only one who could hear him. “If you are going to be my husband in truth,” he hissed at him, “I refuse to indulge such ridiculous behavior as this, drinking in public when you have work tomorrow morning.”
“What about when I don’t have work tomorrow morning?” was the only thing Harry could think of to ask.
Lucius said, “You were the one who wanted to try this.” His voice remained low, and he was glaring beyond Harry at what was presumably Ron coming back with his drink, or maybe Hermione making up her mind as to whether she needed to intervene. “Are you going to come quietly, or do I have to drag you?”
“‘d have to cast a Sobering Charm first,” Harry muttered, giggling a little at the thought of Lucius dragging him down Diagon Alley.
The quick narrowing of Lucius’s eyes said he was perfectly willing to try that. Harry rested one hand. “All right, I’ll come with you. Just let me say goodbye to his friends.” He turned around and waved at them.
“Can you walk back all that way?”
“That’s why I waved,” Harry explained in a calm, superiortone, and he was glad that he was so drunk that Lucius’s tone wasn’t going to have its usual effect on his body.
They stepped out into the cool spring evening. Lucius arranged his cloak so that the folds were crisper around his shoulders, or something. Harry had to admit he wasn’t really in the position to notice fine details right now.
“You are remarkably hard to find,” Lucius murmured, keeping pace with him, even letting Harry lean against him a little as they proceeded towards the Apparition point. Harry might have leaned harder than he needed to, but it wasn’t like Lucius could tell.
“I left you a note telling you that I was going drinking with Ron and Hermione!”
“You neglected to mention where.”
“The same place I always drink,” Harry said, and felt a jolt of sadness that not even his drunken state could hide. He pulled back reluctantly from Lucius, only for Lucius to catch his arm and keep him close. “I’ve told you that before. I didn’t think I needed to mention because—I thought you would know.”
This time, the silence wrapped them until they reached the Apparition point. Harry only looked at Lucius when he had to turn so he could get into Side-Alonging position, and then his eyes darted upwards without permission.
Lucius gave him a careful look, and then said, “I might not have paid as much attention to your activities as I should.”
And he took Harry’s arm, and Side-Along Apparated him before Harry could absorb that that was meant as an apology.
*
Harry did always take care to tell him where he went after that.
Lucius watched. He listened. He hadn’t realized how often Harry talked to him, even if it was only putting his head around the corner to say, “I’ll be late on a case tonight,” or “I thought the house-elves could make those beans and rice you liked so well for dinner,” or “Is that a new hair potion you’re using?” All the time. He was just there. Lucius had got used enough to it that he might not have noticed if the chatter had stopped.
But now, he would have. Harry tried to talk to him more often for a few days after Lucius’s necessary visit to the pub. But then he slipped back to his former levels, and to cautious glances at Lucius from under his eyelashes when he seemed to think Lucius wouldn’t notice.
Lucius had to exert himself more. Harry had come as far as he could. He seemed to think that, Lucius’s words at the Leaky Cauldron notwithstanding, Lucius didn’t want more, or it had been only a ploy, or he had decided against continuing his newfound interest.
So Lucius waited until the next time Harry suggested that the house-elves could prepare a roast he liked, and then nodded. “That would be acceptable.”
Harry, already halfway to the front door, started and turned around. “Really?” he asked, a faint red flush climbing to his cheeks. Then again, he had just been training outdoors in another practice session.
“Yes. Of course. Did I ever give you the impression that I disapproved of your culinary choices? I always eat it.”
“Yes, but that’s the only sign of approval you give.”
I had forgotten that someone else—”
Lucius cut himself off, but Harry was watching, and Lucius knew he wouldn’t get away with that for long. “Forgotten what?”
“Forgotten that someone might know me less well than Narcissa,” Lucius said, because he had to.
Harry paused, then said quietly, “Of course. I’m sorry. I forgot.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how, but I forgot.”
“Forgot that I was married?” Lucius had learned to see through some of the glittering facades that Harry created. Harry might play the bumbling Auror or self-impressed Boy-Who-Lived to fool some criminals. Such tactics had not worked on Lucius, because he willed them not to work.
“No. I forgot that you have perfectly legitimate reasons for not wanting to stay handfasted another year.” Harry was staring across the large, open drawing room towards the windows that opened onto the garden. “I’m sorry. I—don’t know how I convinced myself otherwise.” He turned and slipped towards the front door again.
“Wait, Harry.” Lucius stood, and, when that didn’t work because Harry still seemed intent on opening the door, he cast a spell that stuck it shut. Harry didn’t try to open it, but simply stood there, shoulders bowed as if he was accepting the inevitable. Lucius found he did not care to see that, and his voice sharpened to the blade that would pierce Harry’s indifference and force him to open his mouth. “You are no doubt supposing something foolish. I would like to know what it is now, so that I can spend the least possible amount of time dealing with it.”
Harry turned around, and his cheeks were flushed with anger now. It was—becoming on him, Lucius had to admit. Now that he had begun to entertain these thoughts, it was hard not to go on thinking about them, not to admire the turn of Harry’s wrist or catch his breath when those green eyes flashed.
“I forgot that you were married to a woman, and wouldn’t want a man,” Harry said. His voice was dusty, croaking, but he said the words. He didn’t look away from Lucius while he said them, either. “Like I said, I don’t know how I convinced myself otherwise.”
“I said I wanted to decide for myself who I bonded to.”
“Yes. I remember. In the topaz. And—”
“I meant I was choosy,” Lucius said. “I can afford to be. Not entirely uninterested.”
Harry blinked at him, and simply stood there as Lucius moved forwards and laid a considering hand on his cheek. His breathing got a little faster, but he didn’t look away and he didn’t break. He was stronger than that, truly.
Lucius had thought so. He had simply wanted to see how Harry would react to his touch.
He leaned forwards and kissed Harry. Harry was quiet and shuddering in disbelief for long seconds. Then he flung his arms around Lucius’s shoulders and kissed him back.
Lucius let their tongues touch for only a moment before he retreated. He was choosy, as he had said, and he wanted some more pursuit, not a hasty kiss and grope in the middle of the drawing room that Harry might regret later.
Before you assume anything else about me,” he said, and stood there for long enough to watch Harry swallow in reaction to the wetness on his lips, “you should ask.”
Harry remained still long enough for Lucius to count almost to seven. Then he nodded and smiled, and went out the door, on his way to work.
It was an ordinary day in many respects. Lucius, as he sat down with his paper again, though that he had also forgotten that he himself possessed the power to change such a day if he wanted to.
*
fuck
the end
continue from part 3
