Declaro: Rites of Spring

The Fool

Harry knew he was insecure and secretive; he could concede that Hermione was uptight and self-important; and no one would deny Ron's blind bad temper, but they'd been best friends for seven years. So it was a given that they wouldn't just joke in the common room about Harry's declaration. They were on Harry's bed with the crimson curtains partially drawn, and he held the scroll like it might explode. Tied with a white ribbon.

"Do you reckon it's a death-eater, or just a Voldemort sympathiser?" Hermione tutted, but Ron had said it with a smile and suddenly it just seemed kind of funny. "Well - go on," he said.

It opened without any special effects. Vellum. Black ink. Signed. . . "Karkaroff!" I exclaim.

"What?"

"Headmaster Igor Karkaroff." I say it again, looking at the page. "Oh, no way."

"C'mon, read it," Ron said.

"I can't. I mean, Karkaroff?"

"Oh give it here." Hermione said, grabbing it from Harry. "He has nice penmanship."

"Hermione!"

"Ok.

Dear Mr. Harry Potter,

"Well I don't think it's the romantic kind of offer, Harry."

"Shut up Ron."

". . . and take leave to address you on the matter of the Rite of Engagement."

"Didn't take long for the word to get around."

"They are wizards, Ron," Hermione said with an eye roll.

"Yeah," Harry added, "and Karkaroff's not a Death Eater anymore, remember."

"Well, you know my policy: once a Death Eater, always a prisoner in Azkaban."

Hermione turned back to the letter. "On behalf of my daughter Anna Karkaroff"

"Oh," Harry says with relief, "a daughter." Hermione glared at him. "Sorry."

"I would like to declare her interest in negotiating an Engagement with you.

That's it."

Ron was speechless, disapproving, and grabbing the letter all at the same time. "Let's see the picture."

"Ron!" Hermione moved so only Harry could reach it. "You okay, Harry?"

"Karkaroff wants me to marry his daughter."

"Well. . ." she said.

"I'm sixteen!"

Hermione said calmly, "He doesn't say marry - I think that would be very unusual."

"Aren't you at least going to look at the picture?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Well what am I supposed to do with her then?" Harry asked, getting as far from the offending letter as possible, which unfortunately put him in clear view of the Gryffindor senior common room.

"Who's it from, Harry?" Dean asked.

"Is it a good one?" one of the other boys threw out.

"Of course it's a good one!"

"Not now, ok, Dean?" He tried to stand somewhere out of sight that was still far from the bed, and crossed his arms, and lent against the wall, and screwed up his face.

Ron made a more surreptitious grab for the page. "Harry you don't know what they mean yet. First you say you're interested, they send presents, then a detailed offer, and then you meet her, and then you negotiate all the fine print. Only if you go all the way."

Hermione glared. "Since when do you know all about it? The last time you were speaking to anyone you couldn't stand to have it mentioned." Ron blushed easily.

"A week of nights with Snape will change a man. . ."

"What if I don't want to do any of it?" Harry asked. "I never asked to meet her. She's probably all Durmstrang and horrid."

"You can always just decline," Hermione points out.

"You can at least see her picture." Ron.

Harry paced over to the window, but Seamus or someone was in the hall keeping an eye out.

"Fine, open the picture." Hermione got out her wand.

"And what happened with Snape?" she asked.

* * *

RON:

The odds on Hermione being in the library when she doesn't have a class are pretty good. I duck Madame Pince because I have a book due back today, and nod to Snape coming down from the restricted section with his arms full of folios. And that's weird. Snape and I doing resentful tolerance. He was shitting me, I'm sure, but pretty decent in his own way. I was over-reacting. Actually, while it really is deeply suspicious it's also kind of funny watching every one run around frantically trying to measure up and work it out. Harry - that was so funny, he's so angsty about it all.

Hermione's not in her favourite corner and not in the quiet section where she concentrates. Have to ask Pince. And Finch-Fletchley, this morning, that was hilarious. His declaration exploded into a swarm of bees - that hummed to him! What kind of person thinks that's inviting?

"Mr Weasley." Snape. Looming.

"Professor."

"As I doubt you're here for any other reason than to locate Miss Granger, you will need the archives. Through the green baize doors to the right."

"Um. Thanks." I reply, probably sounding as puzzled as I am by his help.

"No pass needed as the archives contain only information, and thus no students." That might be a residual smile, in the way that you have residual organs, or it might be a sneer. It's been a minute already and I haven't lost points, but people are noticing. I try the grin.

"You seem to have recovered your insipid joviality," he adds. "No more angst-ridden feelings of incompetence?"

"You would use that against me."

"Leaving just the reasonable and justified feelings of incompetence, then?"

Millicent Bullstrode interrupts for something sucky and Slytherin and I duck off.

"Hey, Mione." She smiles at me. "God, Snape. I'll never figure him."

"You know," she says, right down to business, "I'm starting to think you were right? Come and look at this." 'This' is a stack of open books, papers, newspapers, file boxes.

"Right about what, exactly?" I have a bad feeling much study is involved.

"I think the Rite's a fraud. It did exist, in lots of forms, but. . . Here where they have the green robes it's a coming of age ritual at midsummer, and here about three centuries later they have the different robes for different stages and it's only a series of dances held at Hogwarts and a couple of other schools. You don't think it's all designed to sell more robes, do you?" Hermione's in research mode and thrilled, her eyes flashing. "And the whole declaration and offer part, that was added in the 18th century, something about reconstruction of property, and doesn't really last long. Someone's just gone through these books, or books like these, and made the whole thing up."

"That's great, Mione. But hadn't we decided that if it's not hurting anyone. . ?" She gives me a skeptical look. "I know I was last to come round to that but - does it really matter?"

"Look." Oh no, she's handing me evidence. "Here's where they get the green robes and the midsummer festival, but they leave out all the coming of age part - you know, independence. Instead your parents set you up with someone or some job, for years. . ."

"Would we really have any idea about the right people to work with?" I ask, but Hermione's obviously a lot surer than me about that. "Well I wouldn't."

I'm not exactly being supportive undeclared-boyfriend here, so I concede - "But yeah I would know who I want to be with, in the other sense. That way." Which is a bit direct for us, so I check out the picture of robed boys dancing, which is actually kind of neat.

"And you were dead right about the way it keeps all the rich families together. In fact, I found, but..." She trails off to test my interest and I could plead practice. But after the last week or two I guess I owe her this and pull up a chair.

"So who's behind it then?" I ask.

* * *

Harry's plan is pretty simple. Get an early breakfast and go out to Hagrid's, thereby avoiding Hermione's crusade. There are buttons again: "Live Your Life." Sure. And leaflets on finding out your rights. But the endless talk about it is draining and today she wants a major "push", whatever that means. Right after Ron's trauma, and now Sirius has put off his visit, and Harry just can't deal with it right now. Hagrid will need help.

The common room's empty, though someone's been up. The Fat Lady says good morning rather more loudly than he wants. Maybe he should take the cloak, but that would make it obvious he's escaping.

He's not first to the Gryffindor table, but the group of younger students won't talk to Harry Potter - there are moments when that works out. There's also scrambled eggs. Though he's concentrating on the food he can't help but notice when the Slytherins come in. They're probably on weekend leave for the Rite, because it's all the 7th years except Davis, who isn't participating. Yet. Harry's not quite sure if he counts himself as participating. Or what he should say to Karkaroff. Which is where Sirius was supposed to help. Probably he should let it move on to some more polite point to turn her down. Or was it the father he'd be offending? It's crazy to think some strange girl... yeah.

Secretly, Harry likes the green robes - they're attractive and less uniform because, well, people have different bodies and the closer fit... shows that. Malfoy definitely looks good. It's such a stark contrast; the tailored black shoulders and his white blonde hair and pale angular face. He's definitely lived up to the whole sex symbol thing he was already working on at thirteen. Malfoy laughs across the room and catches Harry's eye briefly with that kind of thin crooked smile that's a bit less hard than the smirk of earlier years. Of course they've both changed; but the Malfoy-Potter thing was law in 1st year and habit by 4th. Harry flicks his eyes down as Draco looks up. There probably wasn't any contact, although he may have noticed. Harry leaves the rest of the food because he suddenly feels rather funny, and decides to make the run for Hagrid. He's intersected right away by Professor Vector, though, with a story about the new arithmantic profiling of a Quidditch broom. Harry makes the right noises and smiles in the right places, but he really has the urge to be out today. When she says she must be off now he thanks her warmly.

* * *

HARRY:

"Potter." And, joy, another tense exchange where we'll cast a few pretty empty barbs and then saunter off to opposite corners. Or, Malfoy will sweep off, and I'll do whatever I do. He's even got the costume now. "Potter!"

He catches up to me just as I turn back and, as close as I've been in seven years, I see his hair is different, longer and a bit loose, with waves that set off the tiny vertical stripes in the robe. It's too precise not to be intentional. "Draco."

And, great, now I've called him that. He gives me a look and checks who's behind him - at least, there's a little look back over his shoulder that you'd never see if you weren't so close, almost face to face. "What is it?"

"Are you going into Hogsmeade?" he asks.

"To Hagrid's," I reply automatically. "Why?"

"Well, we are. Zabini and Pansy and I. The others are flooing home."

"Oh." And this conversation must be going somewhere.

There's a breath and he says, "I thought if you were going too, we could walk in together."

"Right." I drawl it in as Malfoy a way as I can. "Why would we do that?"

"Just curious. You know, all of this," he gestures down along his robes. "Besides. . ."

I bark a laugh. "Let me guess. It's been seven years and we're growing up and getting out, and you just want to be friends, right?"

He laughs. "Well, I'm curious."

In the corner of my eye the Slytherins are watching us carefully. I'd walk off right now if Draco wasn't being so... watchful, and I'd like to know why. "And your Slytherins," I gesture to them, though I don't think they could tell, "what do they think you're doing?"

He tilts his head to the main door, and we walk out into the morning sun on the path. I want to be gone before Hermione comes down, but I have to know now. He leans against the stone lion as if he's been practicing it for months. Easy, while I'm tense. There are too many changes this year. "I'm pumping you for information, of course: who sent you the dec., what are the Gryffindork tactics; it's all very strategic."

"And is that what you're doing?"

"Of course. Partly. But they're fools," there's that something almost nervous again before he looks away. "We've got no control here."

"You should talk to Hermione; she's drawing up a list of who and why." Speaking of whom. "We can walk down toward the lake if you want, but let's do it now. I'm trying to avoid Hermione's project today." Crap. "Which, Malfoy, you won't tease her about."

He makes some kind of gesture to Zabini and walks off. Of course, they're following his instructions, how naive of me. "Malfoy? I quite liked 'Draco'".

"Where are we going with this Malfoy?"

"Want to trade information?" he says casually.

"On?"

"All this Rite shit."

"You're not keen?" I'm a bit surprised. It's all very Malfoy.

He gives me a scornful look. "Would I be doing this if I was?"

"No idea. I don't trust you at all."

"Course not. If you were that stupid I'd hardly be talking to you."

Right. We walk, and despite that we're not talking.

I've seen Malfoy in the sun, but never quite like this. It highlights and shadows the lines of his robes, and his hair is brilliant. But his face is pale, thin, almost sickly. Although it still works. And I've no idea right now what the looking at him is about. All this uncertainty, I guess. Malfoy is a constant, after all. I try to relax and he gives me that not really a smirk, like he knows - so, what the hell. "It's really very you," I offer.

"What, the inexplicable, unseen and pervasive threat?"

"Actually, I meant they really suit you," indicating the robes, "but the other too, maybe."

There's no mistaking the next smile; it's just sly. I manage to suppress the blush, I think. "You should get some. This colour would be great on you." He really laughs at my expression, tipping his head back till the sun hits his throat - and ok now I'm plain obsessing on the way he looks. I know I don't have that kind of style.

". . . and you really want to have a set before the blue ones come out," he's saying; "or the white."

"White?"

He comically shudders.

"Don't worry," I reply, "I won't get stuck with blue robes. I'm really not planning on being involved."

He stops at that. "Really?"

"Why would I? You know, Boy-Who-Lived? Really had more than enough of being a commodity up for negotiation, or a name in the paper."

"OK... but I'm not sure it's going to be an option, Harry." He runs a hand through his hair and looks around. We're most of the way to the lake, and mostly concealed from the castle by trees on one side. "I've got to go. They'll be curious. Never good." He moves backwards away from me until he could probably be seen from the front doors. "Meet me tonight? We can talk."

"No. It's not. . . We don't do this Malfoy."

He's already leaving, saying, "I'll meet you outside Hagrid's at sunset."

"No. No way. I am not running round the grounds with a Slytherin. In the dark. Alone."

"Then I'll meet you at the doors, at sunset," he says, with just a hint of urgency.

"Curfew," I reply.

"Bring your cloak."

And then he's gone, walking quickly to the castle, though you couldn't tell he was hurrying now if you didn't know. There are people about, so I keep on towards Hagrid's, running through that very weird conversation in my head. Hoping no one asks.

And who is he kidding? I was that foolish a few years ago, but I've wanted to keep on living and learnt a few things.

Doesn't mean I don't want to know what Draco's game is.