White Horses

Jackie Stevens

Story Summary:
[COMPLETE] They say that there are no white horses - those that we think of as white are really just a faded and deceiving grey. Names can be misleading, and definitions can be false, and yet through the maze of artifice and deceit, we might just find something true. When Harry returns for his last two years at Hogwarts School, he will find that boundaries are shifting and not everyone is who he thought - including himself. He will have to learn that change is like those elusive white horses: swift, beautiful and irretrievable.

Chapter 11

Chapter Summary:
We finish our Imperius lesson, Harry gets chewed out (as expected) and there is much discussion of relationships. And a ballpoint pen.
Posted:
06/18/2004
Hits:
5,659

HERMIONE STARED WARILY AT DRACO Malfoy. Her eyes slid to Harry without her meaning to, but there was little reassurance to be found there. He was watching them with a faintly amused expression. Noticing her stare, he nodded slightly and mouthed, "Go on."

Breathing slowly through her nose, she stood next to Malfoy. There was a gleam of something like triumph in his eye but before she could express any suspicions, she heard that hated voice fill her head with, "Imperio."

Before anyone could question the spell's effectiveness, Hermione's attitude and posture changed in a complete 180º shift. She threw her long brown hair over her shoulders, golden highlights glinting in the flickering torchlight. Her chest jutted out as she rolled her hips forward confidently. One languorous hand rose to trail down her slender throat, before snagging her red and gold striped Gryffindor tie. She smoothly pulled the silky material free, letting the ends trail down her front as she moved to the first button on her crisply white shirt. Ron was too transfixed to be outraged on her behalf and the sultry striptease continued in the thick silence of the room.

Suddenly, that come-hither expression faltered and Hermione was back as she exclaimed in hurt outrage, "Hey!" She started to fasten the few buttons that had come undone with shaking hands. Her eyes were filling with tears as she glared at Malfoy.

The Slytherin looked as noncommital as ever, radiating a sense of satisfaction. She wanted to slap him again as she had when they were children. Then she saw Harry. Her best friend was not only unrepentant, but was grinning broadly at her. She wanted to slap him as well, as the tears stung her eyes.

She was surprised then, when he said in a gentle voice, "You did it, Hermione."

She blinked, tears trembling on the edge of falling down her cheeks and she asked unsurely, "What?"

He continued to grin as he told her, "You broke free from the Imperius curse, Hermione." She realized what he had said and she began to smile tremulously as well. He glanced over at Draco, then said, "Now, just remember that feeling. Once you've done it once, it's easier to do it again." His eyes crinkled as he looked at her with that same pleased air that Malfoy had.

For a moment, Hermione looked at the two of them, side by side. Harry looking so open and bright, Malfoy looking so contained and still. One dark messy head and one sleek blonde one, seeming in perfect harmony as they both watched her with satisfaction - satisfaction at her achievement. And for the first time, she saw how they might complement each other, instead of just seeing the unnaturalness of their relationship.



OF COURSE, HERMIONE'S SLIGHT BRUSH with understanding didn't prevent her from chewing out Harry later that night, together with Ron. The two of them formed a solid impenetrable wall as they hedged Harry in. He stared up at them from the couch in the prefects' lounge, as Hermione used her best McGonagall voice to lecture him, "Harry, you can't just do things like this! How can think that Malfoy is trustworthy? He can use Dark magic, isn't that proof enough?"

"I can use Dark magic, too, Hermione. Does that put me beyond your trust as well?"

Hermione scoffed in the face of his earnest declaration, saying, "Just because you know how to cast Dark magic, doesn't put you on the same level as Malfoy. You don't run around casting Unforgivables on people, now, do you?"

Harry didn't answer and Ron woke from his reliving of Hermione's performance at the D.A.. The silence grew worse as it stretched on, finally shattered by Harry's whispered admission, "But I've cast them. I've cast Cruciatus on a person before."

Ron burst out disbelievingly, "You've what? When?"

Before he could get any further though, Hermione had run him over with her furious accusations. "Don't you see it?" she exclaimed shrilly, "Don't you see how he's corrupting you?"

She grabbed Harry by the shoulders, shaking him angrily. She had never raised a hand against him like this, so she was surprised when he grabbed her wrists in a painfully tight grasp. She gasped and tried to pull her hands free as she winced at the pain. Ron tugged at Harry's arm, insisting that he let go.

"The one time that I cast the Cruciatus," Harry ground out, green eyes glittering. "That time... was when Sirius died."

His friends stopped struggling against him. They had never heard Harry speak of Sirius or what had happened in the Department of Mysteries last year. Harry let go of Hermione's smarting wrists and flopped back onto the couch, closing his eyes against their questioning faces. "I used it on Bellatrix Lestrange, after she killed him." He had his hands gripped tightly together, fingertips pressed white by the pressure, as he looked up at them and said tightly, "And that was long before I started dealing with Malfoy."

Ron dropped onto the couch next to his friend and said reasonably and bluntly, "Come on, mate. You're not 'dealing' with Malfoy - you're shagging him."

Harry jerked around to stare at the ginger boy, as his friend continued blithely, "Just because he's your boyfriend doesn't mean you can trust him to cast something like an Unforgivable on you." Hermione's eyes were showing white all around as she stared at Ron. Harry scrambled back away from his friend, his hands waving ineffectually in front of him.

"He - he's not my boyfriend!"

Ron nodded sagely in response to Harry's yelp and spoke in an understanding voice, "But you are shagging him."

Harry gaped soundlessly, turning to Hermione as though she could help. She was just as gobsmacked as he was and he gibbered out, "No, no, I'm not-!"

Ron waggled his eyebrows and nudged him confidentially, "But you want to, right?"

Harry floundered and stumbled over his words, "No! Er, well... I mean... In a manner of..."

Luckily he was saved trying to answer before he hyperventilated by Hermione hissing a shocked, "Ron!"

The ginger boy cleared his throat and told Harry dismissively, "Never mind, mate. The question isn't whether or not you're shagging the most annoying evil prat in the school. The question is whether or not it's a good idea. And it's really not."

He nodded to Hermione, passing on the torch, it seemed to Harry. He thought through his horror, What is this, a tag-team?

"We've been worried, Harry. Do you know what you're doing? Because you seem to be making a lot of rash and uncharacteristic decisions lately. One of the most obvious of which is this secret relationship with Draco Malfoy, of all people - do you really think that you are gay?"

He didn't say anything, merely shook his head in denial. Hermione persisted, "You are having a relationship with another boy, though?"

Dropping his head into his hands, the Gryffindor mumbled miserably, "I guess so, though damned if I know how you guys found out. But... I've never been attracted to guys. It's just Malfoy. It's always Malfoy."

Hermione was more understanding - though her questions were no easier to ignore - as she asked, "And just what is it you have with Malfoy? If you aren't gay, Harry, than what is this?"



HERMIONE AND RRON WERE LEFT sitting mutely on the couch, after their intervention with Harry. The boy had left ten minutes ago, after listening to them lecture about the Wizarding world's particular aversion to homosexuality. The girl looked over at Ron and he could guess well enough what was coming.

"Ron..." She turned away from him, looking around the prefects' lounge with the ring of couches at its heart. "What just happened here?"

The lanky boy threw a hand over his eyes as she watched him. His voice was a bit muffled as he said, "I know we agreed earlier not to tell Harry that we know, but I didn't think we had much choice-"

He was interrupted though, by Hermione's saying, "No, no. I agree with that. But what was your attitude back there? I mean, you hate Malfoy. You always have. And you were the one who was so fed up when Harry was spending time with the Slytherin, instead of staying here with the Gryffindors. So, what changed?"

Ron chewed on his cheek for a moment, then tried to explain, "Look, I know it sounds weird but... the idea of Harry having some sort of romantic relationship with Malfoy actually bothers me less than him being friends with the git."

Hermione realized her mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut, gesturing for him to continue his uniquely Ronesque logic. He pushed himself up and started pacing, his shoulders hunched as he said, "It's hard to put into words. It's like... if Harry actually wanted to be friends with Malfoy, it would seem more personal. It would mean that he actually liked to spend his time with the Ferret, and more than that, it would mean that he liked it more than he liked being with us. Like we're missing something. Do you get it? Having some kind of relationship with the git... well, that has nothing to do with us. It's just attraction. And I know how hard it can be to ignore attraction."

Ron had stopped pacing now and was looking at her significantly. She could feel her face glowing as she cleared her throat and tried to shift the subject. "Uh, I think that I understand. So, the gay thing doesn't bother you either?"

She let out a silent sigh of relief when he finally pulled that demanding blue gaze off of her. He sounded a bit more uncomfortable as he said, "Not really, I guess. As long as I don't have to hear about it or see them kissing or anything. Again, that is." He smiled sheepishly, looking again like the eleven-year-old boy who had nearly gotten her killed by a mountain troll, and said laughingly, "I sure was glad, though, when he said he'd never liked any other boy. I don't know what I would've done if he'd had those kind of feelings for me!"



HARRY DIDN'T GET A CHANCE to talk to Draco privately until the next day. Luckily in some regards, Harry's extracurricular lessons had been put on hold while he still had no wand. There was no way Dumbledore was willing to let Harry go to London to get a wand, and judging by how long it had taken to find a matching wand the first time, it was unlikely that Ollivander could or would bring a replacement to him. At the moment, the teachers were still waffling over what to do about it.

Of course, some of Harry's lessons - such as his practice at wandless charms or his physical training with Lupin - could technically continue unimpaired, but Harry was more than happy for this reprieve. So with no demands on his time except for the regularly hellish sixth form work, revision for exams next week and perhaps saving the world, Harry felt he could spare the time to stop by the dungeons.

Draco was seated at his table, stacks of books and notes organized in front of him and trailing over onto his extra chair and the stone floor. He looked harried by his visitor, but did close the book he was researching with, carefully noting his spot. Harry sat on the edge of the bed and the Slytherin swivelled in his chair to face him. He asked seriously, "So, what is the aftermath?"

Harry nodded to himself and said, "Well, Hermione and Ron tried to rip me a new one."

After a brief diversion to explain the unfamiliar idiom and it's meaning, Draco grimaced and said cynically, "How charmingly Muggle. But was it really a surprise that your cronies got angry?"

That dark messy head ducked down as Harry seemed to address his shoes, "Their getting angry wasn't really a surprise, no. But it was a bit shocking when they got on me about us."

Draco had been unmoving in his chair, but now a new kind of stillness seemed to claim him as he asked dangerously, "'Us'?"

Harry continued to address his beat-up Muggle trainers and explained hurriedly, "Yeah. They wanted to know just what we were."

Draco looked serious as he threatened, "If you tell me that you called me your 'boyfriend,' I will tie your balls in a knot."

The Gryffindor finally looked up to frown at this threat and mutter, "Nice image, Malfoy. But no, I couldn't answer them." They both fell silent.

Draco looked wistfully at his books, then winced as he heard his guest aimlessly kicking his heels against the bed. He finally turned back to his desk and spat out, "Fine. You can call me your boyfriend, but only to your little minions. I don't want to see an announcement in the Prophet. Now, either do something or leave. I need to study."

He heard instead of saw Harry get up and found his book plucked from his hand. Harry slipped a paper in to mark the spot for him and smiled wickedly. "Oh, I can think of something to do."



"DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!"

Draco glared spitefully at the happily chirping bird in front of him, which seemed insistent on staying a bird. Harry scooped the little creature up so that it scrambled on the back of his hand, chittering indignantly. Quick as a flash it darted forward to bite the Gryffindor on the thumb and Draco felt a sudden wave of affection for the twittering little ball of fluff that they had conjured with a simple avis spell.

He asked Harry in exasperation, "Is it not working because it's not a real bird?"

The boy was flicking his fingers at the bird, as it flittered about trying to bite the offensive digits. He sound distracted as he said, "No. Most the animals we use for practice in McGonagall's are conjured as well. She wouldn't want us blowing up real animals."

Growling as the bird fluttered up to sit on his head, Draco asked shortly, "Then why won't the bloody thing turn into a lizard, like it's supposed to?" He could feel the clawed feet pressing against his scalp and a curious tugging sensation... "Potter, is the infernal bird chewing on my hair?" When Harry tried to suppress his obvious mirth and nodded, the Slytherin lost it; he grabbed the frail bundle of feathers and bones from his head and shook it.

Harry had to pry Draco's long fingers open to pluck out the battered bird before he suggested, "Well, let's try inter-species transfiguration first." Harry stroked the bird, and in his finger's wake the feathers were changing to a shiny golden sheen as the bird became plump and round. Within moments there was a golden snidget sitting on Harry's hand. It tried to dart away, but he caught it in the loose cage of his fingers. "Now you try it."

Running his hands through his violated hair, Draco sighed in frustration. He held his wand out and tried to transfigure the struggling bird in Harry's hand. Much to his own shock, the snidget turned into a raven - just as he had intended it to. Harry nodded encouragingly and prompted him, "And now, the salamander." When he performed that switch as well, Harry told him to change the little lizard into a lit candle.

Draco looked at him in surprise. He'd had difficulty with cross-species transfiguration, now to transfigure an animal into a physical object with multiple different elements would be much more difficult. But Harry seemed to believe he could do it and it made him determined to prove that he could.

The Slytherin waved his wand again and Harry now held a red candle in a silver base, burning merrily. He broke into a wide smile, exclaiming, "That's great, Malfoy!" Draco should have felt patronized, but he couldn't help a small flush of pride at Harry's praise. Then the Gryffindor held the candle between his two flat palms and it elongated, changing shape and material. He now held a black metal tube that mystified Draco, until the boy clicked a button on the side and a beam of light shot out.

He raised his eyebrows, both in appreciation and in question, and Harry replied, "It's a torch. A Muggle thing - makes light with electricity."

Draco continued to watch Harry run through different items, creating anything that struck his fancy and many Muggle things that Draco had never seen before. It was unusual enough that Harry would be so fluent with transfiguration, but to do it without a wand was positively frightening. Draco wasn't sure if McGonagall could even do transfiguration without a wand. He asked Harry about his preternatural skill.

"I don't know," the Gryffindor shrugged, a difficult task when one is laying propped up on one's elbows. "I guess it runs in the family. My Dad was great at transfiguration."

Draco was not feeling vindictive but simply curious, when he asked bluntly, "How do you know that?" It was hard to imagine Harry having parents; he seemed so isolated and independent. Of course, his not having parents could be the reason for that.

Harry explained, "Everyone says so." Then he adopted a faintly sing-song voice as he quoted, "'Your Dad was great at transfiguration and Quidditch. You know, you look just like him. Your Mum was a genius at charms - you have her eyes.'

"'They were so in love.'" He dropped that mocking tone and told Draco, "Except they weren't really. At least, in the beginning, my Mum hated my Dad. Funny how those things work out."

He looked at Draco from the corner of his eye, then his attitude became flippant again. "You wanna see?" he asked lightly, as he pulled a thin, worn leather wallet from his back pocket. The damn thing looked like it would fall apart if Draco opened it, but he was curious to see what Harry would keep on his person.

Prying open the ragged sides, Draco realized that Harry didn't keep a lot on him. There were some strange coloured bills of different sizes that were, if he remembered correctly, what Muggles used for currency. Harry also had a galleon and a couple of sickles in a small change pocket. Checking in the slots that would normally carry ID or credit cards, Draco slid free a folded piece of parchment. It was worn and creased, but when he opened it, there was nothing on it, not a spot of ink. Slightly perplexed, he also pulled out an old train ticket, which he recognized as being for Platform 9¾ at King's Cross, an empty candy wrapper, a small golden key and a small paper with print on it. (Harry called it a 'movie ticket' and he didn't ask for clarification.)

There were a series of empty, clear envelopes of a material that Draco couldn't really place. Seeing him finger the photo sleeves, Harry told him, "It's vinyl, or some kind of plastic. Most everything is made of plastic these days." Nodding as if that meant anything, he flipped through the empty spots till he found the few pictures that had been placed in the back.

The first picture he came across was of a much younger Harry, with Granger and the Weasel. It looked like second year, back before Granger got her teeth fixed (thanks to him, really). He had almost forgotten that infuriating toothy smile. Harry looked tiny and so very young. Were we ever that young? Flipping the sleeve over, he could see the writing on the back of the photo. "Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley - Gryffindor Common Room. Colin Creevey, 1992." He could vaguely recall that annoying Creevey brat waving around his camera in those days. Then he realized with a slight shock that Creevey had been killed on the train. No more photos, then.

The next photo was folded in half. It looked as if it had been crumpled up and then smoothed flat again. Looking questioningly at Harry, he removed it from its 'plastic' housing. The writing on the back looked like Harry's and it read, "Number 4 Privet Drive. Little Whinging, Surrey." He unfolded the mangled picture to see a suburban, Muggle house. It looked like every other house in view: depressingly squat and square and plain. Posed in front of the house were a small family, consisting of an abnormally beefy and moustachioed bear of a man, a skinny and pinched looking woman and what had to be the most unhealthily obese boy that Draco had ever seen. This must be Harry's family. Looking at the huge boy that must be Harry's cousin, Draco thought to himself, No wonder his hand-me-down clothes don't fit.

From all accounts, Harry spared no fondness for his Muggle relatives and so Draco felt compelled to ask, "Why do you keep a photo of them?"

Harry took the photo and looked at it for a moment, before refolding it and saying simply, "To remember."

He handed the picture back and Draco flipped to the last sleeve in the wallet. Like the previous photo, it was strangely unmoving, though it was much more noticeable in a close up photo like this. He'd thought the story that Muggle pictures didn't move was just a joke, but it sure looked to be true. It seemed bizarre, to see live people stuck in time like that, frozen in one instance of their life. He thought he rather liked it.

The picture was old, printed in monochrome and a bit grainy, but Draco began to recognize the faces. He asked Harry sharply, "Is that Professor Lupin? And... Sirius Black?!" Harry nodded, but didn't choose to look at this picture. Focussing on the still figures, Draco saw easily which one must be James Potter. Harry really did resemble him in an uncanny manner. The eyes were clearly a darker colour and seemed much less knowing than Harry's, but other than that the two faces were almost identical.

Draco said in a muted voice, "You do look just like him." Looking down at the young group, he continued, "You know, people say that I look just like my father as well. I wonder if either of us can ever be ourselves, and not just our father's sons."

He refused to meet Harry's eyes until his, hmph, boyfriend kissed him high on his cheek by his ear. Draco turned questioning grey eyes on him and any protestations were swallowed by Harry's kiss. His eyelids slid closed at that gentle touch and he felt the soft breath of Harry's words against his skin. "You are not 'just' your father's son." He felt those lips on his jaw. "If you were, I couldn't do this." The hot swath of Harry's tongue. "Or this." A quick nip of teeth. "Or even this..."

Harry flicked him hard on the forehead and his eyes popped open again with an outraged, "Hey!" Harry was grinning, looking quite unapologetic.

With a disgruntled little grumble, Draco turned back to the photo and blinked a couple times to clear his eyes; the sharp thwack of Harry's blow had caused his eyes to water. He looked down at the smiling young woman in the photo, who looked so unlike his own mother. She had long, gently waving hair and an oval face with a smooth symmetry. Physically, he could find none of her in Harry - though he knew they had the same unbelievably coloured eyes. But they seemed to share some spark of passion - an attitude of independence and, perhaps, solitude - somehow captured in the way they held themselves.

Draco thought he liked the young woman better than that cocky boy who looked so like and unlike the version lying next to him. James seemed more like the insufferable Gryffindor image that Draco had always imagined for Harry. He asked the boy, "So, she was good at charms?"

The youngest Potter looked up from his musing, his eyes finally darted over to the picture that Draco was pushing back into place. He laughed and told the Slytherin, "Yeah, but don't expect much help from me in the charms department. Guess I didn't inherit that one. She was prodigy at it - it was her charm that saved me, after all." Draco looked at the seventeen year-old girl again. He'd never heard this before, never heard anything about why the Boy Who Lived had survived at all. It was just accepted that he had.

Harry seemed to be in the mood for sharing, which was quite unusual in and of itself. He took his wallet back and slid in into his pocket, lowering himself onto his elbows again. The Gryffindor was still lying on this stomach on top of the duvet, Draco kneeling next to his hijacked bed with his chin resting on his folded arms on the edge of the mattress. The ballpoint pen that had started its life as a conjured bird lay forgotten between them.

"It was an old charm, far older than our society's records. That's what made me research obsolete charms, like the ward around this room." Harry reached out as if plucking a string and, though it might have been his imagination, Draco though he felt a slight vibration echo through the room. Harry pulled off his glasses and studied the round frames as he said, "She died for me, her love and sacrifice protecting me from the Killing Curse. It wasn't anything about me that stopped it."

The Slytherin was staring at him. That meant that everything Harry was, and the survival he was so famous for, was actually based on something that Harry had nothing to do with. He really was just a regular Wizard, powerful though he might be. And he had gotten stuck with the task of saving the world. It was a horrifying thought.

Harry didn't see Draco's expression as he continued musing, "It's hard to imagine that someone would love me so much to die for me - someone that I don't even know. They weren't that much older than we are now," Harry trailed off, lost in thought about the parents he had never known. He looked over at Draco, his glasses still twirling between his fingers, "You know, I used to be so jealous of the Weasleys."

It was a bit tangential of Harry, but this at least was something Draco could latch onto. He said scathingly, "Why on earth would anyone be jealous of the Weasleys? Unless of course, you want to be poor and ginger and sod at everything."

Harry frowned disapprovingly and Draco stared rebelliously back in the face of that censure.

"You know, Ron is my really good friend. He didn't even dig in on me for being with you, at least, not now that he knows what's going on." That shut Draco up, who seemed mind-boggled over the idea that Ron had accepted him, in any way, shape or form. Harry said wistfully, "No, I was always jealous because the Weasleys were so nice and welcoming to me. They accepted me without question. I wanted a family like that." He looked seriously at the blonde and asked him, "Didn't you ever wonder what it would be like?"

To his surprise, Malfoy bristled inexplicably and snapped back with, "What what would be like? To have a family? I have a family, Potter."

Not sure what had made the boy so defensive, Harry said apologetically, "No, I meant what it would be like to have that kind of family - to have brothers, sisters, all that."

Draco exhaled slowly. "Oh," he said, a bit reluctantly, "Well, in that case, I had a brother."

Harry started and looked at the unexpressive blonde with wide eyes. He breathed, "What? But..."

The blonde prompted him, repeating, "'But'?"

He slipped on the glasses that he'd been twiddling with and spread his hands over the duvet as he spoke, smoothing away the wrinkles as if he could do the same for his life, "Well, in the Black Manor, there's this tapestry - that shows all the family tree. And, er, you were the only child listed under Narcissa Black."

Draco nodded, not seeming surprised by this information. "It makes sense, it wasn't made public knowledge. Alexander died the day he was born." Draco paused and examined his graceful white hands, trying to imagine them on someone else. He told Harry, "We were twins."

Harry couldn't say anything to that, as he reeled at the thought of two Draco Malfoys running around and mucking up his life. He waited to see if Draco would say more and he did. He said more than he ever had to anyone else: "He was the first-born, you know. The true Malfoy heir. And I was just this imperfect copy who lived while he died."

Draco smiled gently and it was an expression Harry had never seen on the cold boy before. His voice was wistful as he revealed, "When I was young, I used to pretend he was still around. He was my own imaginary friend, you could say. A little blonde boy who looked just like me but was sweet and fun and caring." He raised glittering silver eyes to Harry and said honestly, "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I've never admitted it to anyone before." I'm not always sure who I am, he thought silently. Am I the heir or am I just a fill-in? Am I Alexander or am I Draco? When I'm with you, I sometimes think that I could be that fun, caring boy. Who does that make me?

"Draco." Harry interrupted his thoughts, pulling him away from his melancholy as he tugged on his arm. "Come up here with me." Not arguing, Draco slithered up onto the bed and lay alongside Harry. He wondered if the Gryffindor was going to kiss him, but he felt those arms go around him and bring them together. Harry breathed into the crook of his neck, as if he could have heard his thoughts, "You are Draco. And heaven save us all, because somehow I've come to think it's a good thing."

Draco laughed in surprise and held the boy tightly to him - it didn't matter who anyone else said he was, he could act like whoever he wanted to around Harry.