Learning to Live

Chapter 17: Tricky Manoeuvres

He stood forlornly outside the house, watching the warm glow of the windows reflect upon the decorations they had still not taken down. Inside he could see Hermione, showing a bit now, walking from the kitchen to the parlour. She had to be able to see him, standing outside with the dawn nearly upon them. Why else was she still up so late? He could scarcely remember what they'd rowed about. But the bartend had been right; marriage wasn't love and butterflies. It was more like trying to enjoy yourself while avoiding the spiders.

He stared down at the bottle of firewhiskey and took a steady swig. It felt like water now, sliding down his throat. How many bottles had he had? How much longer was he going to continue standing out here, March? "Hermione," he called out. "Please don't be angry! I didn't mean it!" The pacing figure inside stopped, and he could tell she was facing him, looking at him. He must be pathetic right now, still in Auror robes, a dark figure against the dawn, holding an empty bottle of firewhiskey, liquid amber clinging to his unshaven stubble. Was this the man she married? Ronald Weasley knew it couldn't be. But it was what he was, right now, without her, and he knew he couldn't stand another night in the pub, or facing work knowing she was still in the East London branch, refusing to talk to him. Just a simple Floo away. She'd closed the grate. He had to Apparate to his front walk.

"Hermione, please! Don'be like this!" he yelled out to her, alcohol on his breath. This was doing him no good. He'd have to be the man, the wizard, the Auror...he trooped up to the front door, his front door, as steadily as he could, and banged on the wood. The wreath shook and let out an exhausted, off-key note. It sounded worse than he felt. "'mione, I'm sorry, I rilly'm. You're the love of my life and I'd never really mean those things. I wos jus'bein'...I was being petty." All right then. Time to throw away stubborn pride. "I was being stupid, an' mean, an' low, an' I shouldn't have said any of those bloody things at all!"

To his surprise the door opened.

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"...which, in other words, wouldn't quite provide an accurate enough identification of aforesaid jinx, would it? Is there something you would like to share with the class, Mister Moreau?" Draco asked the fifth year Slytherin.

"Professor, you're...er..." stammered the poor boy. The rest of the class was giggling maddeningly.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, impatiently waiting for the answer. And then he felt it. A small tingling on his head. Somewhere in the backwaters of memory he knew what it meant. It was a feeling he couldn't possibly forget as a child, and besides, he'd only told Harry of it only a few days ago. Something was changing. "Oh." He retrieved a mirror quickly, and realised the problem as he felt fur start to grow in his scalp. Long white ears had emerged, those of a hare, on top of his head.

"And behind you, sir!" Roget Moreau tried to stifle his laughs. Draco closed his eyes, and knew, with utmost certainty, why Harry had given him his slice of pie, claiming to have to get Draco to eat more food. There was most certainly a round ball of rabbit tail on his bottom, sticking out of the stylish slit up the back of his midnight blue Karmani designer robes, and those were rabbit ears growing out of his head, and he was sure his nose was developing more of a twitch than usual. Hopping seemed like an easier form of mobility than walking at the moment. Ah. A Weasley Wizard Wheeze, no doubt, probably their new Hare Helpings.

"Well, I hope this demonstration teaches all of you not to wildly accept food from anyone. You never know where Dark Arts might be hidden, although this was a harmless joke," he said smoothly, nose twitching. He tried to continue on with the lesson, despite the unusual amount of giggling whenever his back faced the class. He was sure his tail was doing some unauthorised wiggling. So. This was how Harry wanted to play it, eh?

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First came the slap. All right, if she was going to be that way, he'd take it. She was pregnant with his child, after all, and maybe it was just hormones. Did Blood Lollipops bring out a lot of violence in you? He rubbed his own unshaved cheek and winced.

She looked him up and down sternly, and he waited with bated breath. "I'm sorry," he said, very softly, making a move to go in. She stopped him with her hand pressed against his chest, looking at him carefully. She had been crying, that much was true, and he lifted his hand to clean her face of her tears. Even now, she was so beautiful to him. He tried to stroke her cheek, only the whiskey bottle got in the way. She noticed, and looked at him again, as if the first time hadn't been enough.

"Oh Ron..."

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This was positively delightful. It was two days since Draco had had a repeat of his five-year old experience. The tail hadn't gone away yet because Harry had asked the twins to put an especially high concentration into the vial, although the ears weren't so long anymore. The rabbit-wizard didn't take the hex off, though. He seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry and Draco were even on the subject of pranking, and Snape had given him another day of teaching all by himself! Excellent, really excellent.

"Aimee, could you tell me the sequence of directions for stirring today's potion?" he asked the fourth year as their cauldrons bubbled and brewed.

"Clockwise for two turns, counterclockwise for four...then...continue on for three more cycles until it stops simmering. Then we turn clockwise until the potion is green," Aimee Conlon replied, and for an instant Harry thought he pulled a Mad-Eye Moody and saw through her clothes. Was that a leopard-skin brassiere? He turned bright red at once. "Oh no, um, until it's purple instead? I studied, Professor, I really did!"

"No, uh...you're absolutely right, green it is," Harry said, nodding very quickly. She seemed to be entirely clothed. Had he witnessed the intersection of some freak dimension? He moved his gaze quickly to Robert Greenwich, who seemed to be wearing nothing but leather underpants. Rather well-built, too. There was a loud slap as Harry covered his face at once, his glasses pressing painfully against the bridge of his nose. "Ouch."

A few of the students rose in their seats. "Professor, are you okay?" Grant asked.

"What's wrong, Professor Potter?"

"Uh, no, I'm absolutely..." he risked a peek through his fingers, and saw that several other students seemed to be of the same buxom, barely-clothed variety, or very well-built. "Fine?" His voice hadn't risen so high since third year. Malfoy. It had to be Malfoy. Who else would mess with his mind like this? "I'll be right back; Miss Conlon was correct in her initial assertion, so five points to Gryffindor..." He couldn't get himself out of the dungeons fast enough. Harry's legs pounded the stone all the way up to Draco's office, where he was marking papers. Icarus Blake sat beside him, feeding a kappa cucumbers. The Slytherin's punishment had long been over, but to give Snape the impression that he was truly sorry, he continued to occasionally help Draco. At least, that's what the DADA professor assumed. There was no cause to spy on him anymore at all, and he could use the assistance. The two got on as best they could.

"Draco!" Harry gasped out breathlessly, hardly able to stop his chest from heaving.

"Hmm?" Draco asked, demurely, giving one of his Hufflepuffs a perfect score for once. He folded his hands and looked up at Harry pleasantly. Blake did what a Slytherin was best at--continued on his own business and kept an ear so sharp you could slice a quill with it.

"I could not be more disgusted with you, Draco Malfoy! Charming the students to...to..." Harry stammered to a halt. Draco wasn't dressed either, except in a black bow tie and leather pants that went too well with the bunny ears. "Er..."

"Why would I want to charm any students, Harry?" Draco asked slowly, as if speaking with a child. Blake was smirking horribly beside him, wearing pink hot pants. And nothing else. Harry swallowed hard, and blinked.

"You jinxed me, didn't you?" he accused instantly, a sinking feeling in his gut making him fully aware he'd just left the Potions classroom without an adult wizard to supervise. "Are they really wearing--that is, are you really--is he--" Draco had put a hand up.

"Really now, I thought it would make your day more interesting if I used some confiscated Playwizard and Playwitch magazines and charmed your glasses to superimpose the images. I must say, I am surprised it only started working just now. You mustn't have had a very good day, as they were supposed to start working the moment you were pleased," he explained, then pointed his wand at Harry. "Finite Incantatem. There, no more celebrity models in front of your vision. Are you done?"

"Yeah. With all this, too; let's call a truce," Harry said, offering his hand. Draco looked as if a dead fish had flopped onto his desk, and his nose twitched.

"Are you sure? I was looking forward to be transfigured into more animals," he grinned. Harry didn't reply, but motioned insistently with his hand. Draco's ears moved aside from each other, accompanying his shrug very well. "All right then, Harry. No more sabotage, but you'll have to make it up to me." He shook Harry's hand at last.

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The door slammed in his face.

"Hermione! HERMIONE!" He banged on it again, but there was no answer. The lights turned off inside. Someone was climbing up the stairs, no doubt to scream into a pillow. "Fuck!" He flung the bottle away as hard as he could, where it bounced on the hard ground and crashed somewhere in a tinkle of broken glass. He kicked the door, but suddenly regretted the scuff marks his boots made. "I said I was sorry."

With a sigh he shook himself all over and Apparated to work to meet the long-overdue stack of files that had become his latest paramour.

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The entire school had become accustomed to Draco's new appearance by now, so it was no surprise if he sat down and ate more helpings of carrots than usual, or if, from the back, you could still see his white fluff of tail sticking out from his robes. Still, it gave Harry some satisfaction to see his own work upon Draco Malfoy, and it made him even more pleased when Draco had decided to keep the look. It was all rather cute, really, but Harry would never have admitted that.

He admitted it even less when Lynch asked to switch places with Remus so she could ask Draco something. He started thinking Draco looked ridiculous, still keeping those bunny ears, when the blonds started smiling at each other. He absolutely hated Draco's new look when he overheard their conversation as soon as Snape stopped criticizing him about the state of his classes.

"Hunkleberry's Ginzai Field? I've never heard of it," Draco said loftily, and they were both aware that he had heard of, and dined with, most of the premiere wizarding restauranteurs in England.

"It just opened in Hogsmeade. Do you want to have dinner there? Friday night?" Lynch asked.

"Pardon me?" Draco asked. He did a double-take, and put his fork down.

Harry stopped eating to hear the response, trying to be discreet. One never asked a Malfoy male to dinner. Malfoy males always took the initiative in romantic associations, that much Harry knew. Malfoy females manipulated their way into making other males think they were taking the initiative when really they were just falling for the same feminine wiles against which they believed they were fortified. Harry's head stopped spinning long enough about this concept to hear the next part.

"Let me rephrase the question for your delicate ears. Would you, Draco Malfoy, give me the pleasure of dining in my company at Hunkleberry's Ginzai Field, at six o'clock in the evening on Friday?" she asked, quite clearly. Draco could not have been taken more off guard, and over Snape's head, Harry could see his rabbit ears stick straight up. She'd given him a little time to reorient himself, at least.

"I'd be delighted to accompany you, Eileen Lynch," was the smiling response. Much to his own surprise, Harry's grip tightened around his fork.

I cannot believe I'm doing this, thought Harry, as he used all his hard-earned Auror abilities to follow Draco and Lynch along High Street in Hogsmeade, this lovely Friday evening when the weather was much warmer. They entered a new restaurant with shiny glass panes, and disappeared from Harry's view. I really cannot believe I'm doing this, Harry thought again as he put a Glamour Charm on his face, flung his bangs down more to shield his scar, and asked for a table close to "the-man-in-the-bunny-ears-not-him-the-other-one-all-right-Draco-Malfoy." Harry sat down, hid behind a menu, and listened as well as he could. They had already ordered their food, whatever it was, and were now talking quietly. If only he'd picked up some Extendable Ears. This was probably just a deluded attempt on Draco's part to feel better. Of course Draco would be automatically attracted to someone with the same blond hair blue-eyed looks as Narcissa. Who wouldn't? But the way she smiled...it never felt like her entire face was doing it together.

"Did you vote in elections today?" Lynch was asking. It wasn't a bad restaurant, Harry noted, as he looked around. Your typical wizard fare, the whimsical decorations, the self-cleaning tablecloths, the fair service. Not up to Malfoy standards, of course, but what did he care for Malfoy standards? It seemed to have a motif of silver berries and flowers, which was nice enough and didn't really infringe on your sense of good taste. Although he did notice quite a few pasta dishes and decidedly French food that were given Muggle drug names because whoever had drawn up the menu apparently thought they were amusing. Harry was certain the Heroin Hodgepodge was really a knickerbocker glory and not full of heroin. Yet another reason for Draco _not_ to be going with Lynch. The man already chain-ate Fizzing Whizbees when he was in a really bad mood at the office; not to mention the last time Harry let him loose in a Muggle bar. No, no, not good at all. Draco had enough problems sorting _himself_ out without adding a girlfriend into the mix.

"Yes. I hope the Evening Prophet has the results in time for tonight's issue. I've asked Haphaestus to bring it to me as soon as possible. He's waiting at Daily Prophet Presses with the money," Draco said anxiously. "I hope he pecks the manager relentlessly." Harry wished he could watch them more closely, but Draco was an Auror, and might recognise his diguise.

Lynch's laugh was natural and nice, but suited her as much as Voldemort's laugh did. "Nothing escapes your eye, does it?"

"I can't say anything does, Eileen," Draco said, smiling. Oh great. Nothing like stroking Draco's ego to get him in the mood. Not that it was getting him in the mood for anything. Of course not. Harry took a nervous sip of water.

"I'm sorry for what I've had to put you through, Draco, with our sessions. I'm only trying to help. You've got to open up more. It's not right. It's not healthy to keep yourself bottled in like this. Give in to your instincts, Draco, to what your mind is telling you. Whatever your mind is telling you," she added. That was probably some very bad advising, given what Harry surmised about what was going on in Draco's head. If only Lynch knew Draco had been hearing Voldemort's whispers and screams, she surely wouldn't have said anything like this. Stupid bint.

"Look, don't worry about it," said Draco uneasily. "I'm the first person to talk to when it comes to not liking what you have to do for a job. But tonight I don't want to discuss any of that. I was thinking more along the lines of a less emotionally traumatic conversation, hmm?"

"You were? I was the one who asked you here," Lynch retorted.

"Ah, yes, but I'm the one who has his hand on yours, and I'm the one guiding the conversation, as it were," came the quick response. Harry almost snorted. When was Draco so sappy, so gentle, so...boring? Harry liked him better when he was insulting. Merlin forbid should he ever get married. He'd turn up worse than a Hufflepuff. Then again, Harry wasn't so skilled at this stuff either.

He risked a peek over his menu. The two were sitting side by side at the round table, holding hands and looking at each other. "Eileen?" So they were on first name terms now, were they? "May I kiss you?" Harry almost choked on his water. How polite. "Seeing as you already had the shocking daring of taking the initative for this evening's activities, I feel I must defend my personal honor." Lynch's answer was very obvious, as they were doing the dirty deed already. Ugh. Draco...kissing someone. Anyone at all. Harry nearly had an apopletic fit, but it was a quick kiss, over soon, nothing too intimate, thank Merlin. They seemed to want to do it again, only a huge eagle owl flew through the opened door and landed at their table, hooting indignantly. Good. Haphaestus was on Harry's side. It was only later that he realised the only one who agreed with him was an owl.

"Sir, no owls allowed, please!" said the waiter approaching them. Lynch was blushing furiously, but Draco plucked the Evening Prophet out of his owl's talons, gave it a treat and sent it away, all with as much aplomb as was expected of a Malfoy.

"No," he whispered, looking at the headline: "POW Win Over Incumbent WOOF!" He removed his arm from around Lynch's waist and unrolled the paper to read the article out loud.

"The close election this Friday morning resulted in a win for the Popular Ordinary Wizards, led by Chief Alai Darko of the Dark Arts Defence League, over the incumbent Wizards Ordering Organisational Feats, in office since the first war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Our own Prophet analyst, Cicero Dimmesdale, believes this upset is most likely due to the widely reactionary attitude of the public, as could only be expected after the monumental infrastructural changes made during the war, a war the former Ministry claims is still not over. The results of the election show that the public clearly disagrees. The newly-instated POW is expected to make its manifesto widely known by next Wednesday, and appointments, including that of a new Minister of Magic, are expected towards the end of next week. Continued on page ten." Draco slumped down in his seat, looking very defeated.

Their stalker, so to speak, couldn't have felt worse either. This was a serious situation. Putting power in Darko's hands was like letting a baby drive the Hogwarts Express. There was also no telling who the Minister would be, and what sort of power he'd allow or restrict to the Aurors. There were still Deatheaters out there, despite the general celebrations, but people like Ron were probably going to suffer from overwork if Darko restricted any of their support. What if the Minister was Darko? A ticking time bomb, without a true political purpose or domestic plan other than to garner himself a better position.

The situation was dire; they would have to get back to headquarters immediately and see what was going on. Draco, as a Malfoy, still had quite a bit of political clout, Harry was the Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort and both of them had Order of Merlin, First Class, Chocolate Frog cards and were Aurors. If there was ever a time for string-pulling, this was it.

"I thought you'd be pleased to know that someone's on your side," Lynch remarked, putting down the paper. She let her hand creep across Draco's arm, sliding up his shoulder and squeezing gently. "Darko's been talking about Aurors being unappreciated. So what's wrong?"

"What are you, my neuro...oh. Nevermind," Draco sat up more properly, and fingered the paper. "I'll be needed at the office. There is a difference between claimed principle and realistic application of it. Just like the concept of 'the public' does not include your neighbour. Excuse me, Eileen; I hate to cut short our little date but this is important. Perhaps another time. I do so apologise for leaving and perusing the news during dinner. Just have them send the bill up to Hogwarts, and you can order whatever you want. I'll make it up to you." He kissed her on the cheek, gave her a smile, and then stood up. "Come on, Harry. I want to get to the office; we have a few affairs to settle." No answer. "I know that's you, Harry Potter. You've been spying on us ever since we got into Hogsmeade. Now come on." Harry was too embarassed to stand up and acknowledge it. "Fine. I'm going. You can meet me at the Weasleys' house." A faint pop told them he had Disapparated, but Harry did not emerge from behind his menu until Lynch had, giggling, returned to her meal.